Part of a Bigger Story

A couple of years ago, some friends gave us a beautiful snow globe for Christmas. It’s mostly silver and white with some gold trim on the manger scene in the globe. It’s a simple scene of Mary and Joseph either side of the baby Jesus, wrapped in a cloth in a manger. There’s a couple of curious sheep and three silver palm trees behind them. It's that "special moment" in time, perhaps what the shepherds saw, or the stable animals. My description doesn’t do it justice, of course. It’s beautiful and elegant and all contained within its protective glass shell.

Just the way we like our Christmases.

But that's just the "Christmas" we make.  The one we prepare and package, order and organize to conveniently - or not so conveniently - fit into our holiday schedule.  It's a special moment in time, sure, and it can make many memories, but when we put away the snow globes, the trees and the three cupboards worth of decorations - or is that just at our house? - we're putting that Christmas away, too.

Christmas, real Christmas, is bigger than that.

Argue about the origins of Christmas traditions all you like, the accuracy of the story and how we tell it, the arbitrary date, the pagan customs, the commercialism of today's festivities, but Christmas is bigger than all that, too.

Christmas, for me, is part of a bigger story, a story of life since the beginning, a life we're living now and a life ahead.  It's about how our relationship with God, and each other, was and is, and how it can be changed for the better by love.

For as much as we mark yearly commemorations of the birth and death and resurrection of Jesus, and we mark certain days as moments in the story of his life, they're all surely less important than the life itself.  Struggling as we were, since the beginning, in our relationship with God and each other, it was that life, that daily living of love, compassion and grace, that became our example for living.  In living, Jesus showed us how we can make life better.

And how we've struggled with that since.  And often failed.  But perhaps that might partly be because we mark these "moments in time" and celebrate them without truly realizing that they are "moments for time."  The love that came down at Christmas, to paraphrase Christina Rosetti's poem, didn't stay in the stable.  That love lives, and we can give it life each day, as it gives us life, every day.

One of my Christmas traditions is to watch the 1951 classic film of A Christmas Carol.  In it, there's a wonderful moment when Scrooge first meets the Ghost of Christmas Present.  The Ghost, a grand, jovial sort, tells him this: "Mortal! We Spirits of Christmas do not live only one day of our year.  We live the whole three-hundred and sixty-five.  So is it true of the Child born in Bethlehem.  He does not live in men's hearts one day of the year, but in all days of the year."

The Christmas story is big.  It's life, every day.

Christmas Stories

Each of the gospels has a story about the arrival of Jesus.

Mark doesn’t have a birth story for Jesus. The gospel that opens with “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the son of God,” dives right in with the adult John the Baptist announcing the arrival of the adult Jesus. Here he is, says John, the one I’ve told you about. And there, suddenly, is Jesus, being baptized by John, spending some time wondering in the wilderness and then beginning his ministry.

Matthew begins his story with a lengthy genealogy that establishes that Jesus is descended through Joseph, not just from the great king David, but from Abraham. The angel doesn’t appear to Mary, but to Joseph. Then, when Jesus is born, magi appear seeking the promised child that is “king of the Jews.” Jesus is, then, established as the king that was promised.

Luke tells the story of the angel visiting Mary, the journey to Bethlehem, the birth in the stable, the shepherds, the angels. There are no kings of the sort Matthew’s magi expected to  find. Mary and Joseph are poor. Angels announce the birth to shepherds, the lowest of the low in social standing. Those who need the most care figure prominently in Luke.

It’s these two stories we combine into the “Christmas Story” that we tell with manger scenes, beautiful works of art and music, even pictures on cards. The almost idyllic pastoral scene of the child, “no crying he makes” the song says, surrounded by Mary, Joseph, the donkey and the other stable animals, sheep and shepherds, and magi (usually three kings) with their gifts and their camels. There may be a star overhead and perhaps an angel.

Each of the stories of Matthew and Luke deserve their own time and attention, but I also don’t disparage combining them into a single representative scene. The hope, peace, joy and, most especially, love that’s at the heart of the story are all there. Yes, please go deeper, but this is a good place to start.

That’s the thing, isn’t it. The story-telling is just the beginning. The real beauty of this tableau is in the thoughts, the questions a good story brings. The real beauty is in the wonder.

This story is full of wonder. Mostly, I think, because it’s not full of fear. Luke tells that the very first words the angel says to Mary are “don’t be afraid.” Matthew says it’s the first words of the angel to Joseph. The angel appears to the shepherds and says don’t be afraid. I imagine Joseph said it to Mary more than a few times on the road to Bethlehem. The shepherds might well have said it to Mary and Joseph when the came to see the child with this crazy story of angels singing. And exotic looking magi who travelled a great distance with precious gifts just because they saw a star? Their first words must have been “please, don’t be afraid.”

And I think they weren’t afraid. I think the characters in this story chose wonder over fear. I don’t think it was easy, but I think they did and that brought hope, it brought engagement and relationships and sharing the good news that in this child is God’s love.

This is the kind of love the adult Jesus lived and taught. That same Jesus who had to remind us so frequently, “don’t be afraid.”  See, I think that love is in all of us. Fear masks it. Fear covers it and makes it difficult for us to access it, live it and share it. But wonder opens our hearts to love. Wonder reaches out and, just like in the story, makes connections and builds relationships. That’s the way love gets out and gives life. Love is always there, waiting to be let out.

That’s where the story of Jesus’ arrival in the gospel of John is so important to me. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God … What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it … And the Word became flesh and lived among us.”

This Word isn’t just about words in a story, it’s the spirit of life itself, the energy, the power of creation, the love that connects us and animates us. It can’t be overcome by the darkness of fear. And it’s here, in this child, in the Christmas Story. Wonder about that.

Wool & Straw

Occasionally, I like to write a story or a play. This is the short story version of the play the children presented in Bashaw last week. It's inspired by an old celtic tale of two brothers who didn't get along and the village priest who enlightens them. The characters and the setting are a little different here.

Long, long ago, there was a tiny little town called Bethlehem. It was kind of in the middle of nowhere in a country called Judea, a not very popular place way and gone in the backend of an empire controlled by powerful corporations and mighty conglomerates who were only interested in what they could get out of you, like oil or cheap manufacturing, and then there were the taxes, oh the taxes. But that’s for another time.

In those days, Bethlehem was so small it only had one stable, a tiny little place, full of all kinds of animals. There were cows, chickens, pigs, dogs, cats, mice, even a rabbit or two, a wise old donkey who rarely left his stall … and sheep.

Oh, the sheep. They pretty much ran the show in those days. They weren’t really mean or bossy or anything like that, it was just that … well, there were the sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley and they never did see eye to eye.

All the other animals got along just fine. They shared their stalls and their straw and whenever they went in or out of the stable, they would politely let their friends go first. Not the sheep, though. Sometimes they wouldn’t even use the same door! And whoever happened to come in first would take the best stalls and the best straw and just sit there and stare as the others came in, chewing their straw. Chewing and staring … staring and chewing …

You can imagine that the other animals were not too fond of this arrangement. “I wish they were more friendly,” said one of the dogs. “Why can’t they get along like we do,” said one of the chickens. “I wish they’d share their food,” said one of the pigs. “Mooove them somewhere else,” said the cows. “Something’s coming,” said the donkey.

Some of the animals had their own ideas of what to do about the sheep. “Build them their own stables,” said one of the dogs. “Make them take turns,” said one of the chickens (who secretly wanted their own pecking order). “Make them share their food,” said one of the pigs. “Mooove us somewhere else,” said the cows (who sincerely hoped they were ‘herd’). “Something’s coming,” said the donkey.

The sheep didn’t like any of these ideas. “We want to stay in this stable.  It’s ours,” said the sheep of the hills. “No, it’s ours,” said the sheep of the valley, “and, sure, we could take turns - as long as we go first.” “No, we’re first,” said the sheep of the hills. “And don’t even think about sharing our food.” “Maybe you should move on. That wouldn’t be so baaaad,” said the sheep of the valley. “Something’s coming,” said the donkey.

“What?” said all the sheep together (which really surprised them, since they’d never done anything together).

Now the donkey, whose name was Ezekiel, was an old donkey who’d traveled to many places, and all the other animals knew he was very wise. If anyone could do something about the sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley, it was Ezekiel. “What do you mean, Ezekial?” said one of the pigs.

“I’ve heard a voice,” he said, “like an angel speaking far away. Something special is coming.  We must be ready. This silly business between the sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley must stop.”

At that, there was much baaa-ing and snorting from the sheep. They weren’t sure, but they thought some work was coming their way. But Ezekiel had an idea.

“I will be going on a trip,” he said. “While I am gone, I challenge the sheep of the hills to gather their wool and the sheep of the valley to gather their straw, each bringing as much as they can here to the stable. When we meet together on the evening of my return, whoever fills the most space in the stable shall be the winner and be the boss of the stable.”

Well, the sheep of the hills were pretty excited. Their wool was the finest and fluffiest anywhere. And the sheep of the valley knew exactly where the best straw was stored, and lots of it. “What will you bring, Ezekiel?” asked one of the cows, who was secretly concerned that the sheep of the valley might make a mooooove on her hay.

“We shall see,” he replied. And with that, Ezekiel left the stable and walked off down the road out of town.

Now, it wasn’t long before things started to get a little crowded in the stable. There was straw and wool everywhere! There wasn’t much room for the animals, the sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley still didn’t get along and Ezekiel was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, it was the day that Ezekiel was to return. The sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley stayed out as late as they could, looking for the very last bit of wool and straw. It was starting to get quite dark when they headed back to the stable and they were almost there when they heard a noise. It was quiet and gentle at first, but soon it was all they could hear and they stopped and looked in amazement: there were angels, singing, in the sky!

And then, just like that, they were gone.

The sheep of the hills hurried down and the sheep of the valley ran quickly up and, as they came to the stable, they were surprised to find Ezekiel standing at the door with the other animals.

“What’s happening?” asked the sheep.

“Ezekiel was right,” said the rabbit, “something special is happening and it’s happening right here! A baby is being born in our stable.”

“Big deal,” said the sheep of the hills. “Yeah,” said the sheep of the valley, “we want to see who won!”

But when the sheep and the other animals followed Ezekiel into the stable, no one noticed the wool piled high towards the roof or the bales of hay stacked against the wall. All eyes were fixed on the baby, sleeping quietly in his mother’s arms.

“Look what Ezekiel brought,” said one of the pigs. And they all watched as the mother gently put him down in the rough wooden manger. And the baby stretched and yawned and began to cry and his crying filled the whole stable.

The sheep of the hills looked at the sheep of the valley.

“I think he’s uncomfortable,” said one. “The wood is very hard,” said another. Then one of the sheep took some wool and another brought some straw and they put them together in the manger under the baby. And the baby smiled and stopped crying. And his mother rocked the manger gently back and forth.

Like the sheep of the hills and the sheep of the valley, we sometimes forget what’s really important, and instead we let little things come between us and others, between us and the rest of the world.  Christmas reminds us that God’s love for all came to us in a baby born in a stable.

What are you saying?

When I was a kid, I sang in the choir of the Anglican cathedral in downtown Toronto. On Friday nights and Sunday mornings, my dad used to drive my brother and I from where we lived in the far east end to the cathedral. To get there from the east you had to cross the Don River near the lakeshore and as you came over the rise of the overpass, this sign would appear just above the guardrail. It said “Christ is coming! Call Jim” and a phone number.

All my childhood I always wondered about that sign. It was a landmark for many years, perched on top of a large old evangelical pentecostal church on the west side of the river. I wondered if Jim knew something the rest of us didn’t, like when or where Christ was coming. At some point, it occurred to me that maybe Jim didn’t know and that’s why he had the sign. Maybe it was kind of a “call me if you see him” kind of thing.

Turns out Jim just wanted you to come to his church so he could tell you how to be ready for when Christ gets here. He was pretty good at that, too. Apparently the sign was still there long after Jim had retired and was spending the winters in Florida. I guess you just got his voicemail then.

But maybe, if you went to Jim’s church - I confess I never did - Jim just told you to repent and be ready. Like John the Baptist did.

John’s not really part of the Christmas story.  Although, the gospel of Luke says that John’s mom, Elizabeth, was a cousin of Mary - Luke suggests Jesus and John are related! - and Luke tells the story of John’s conception (it involves an angel, too) and of Mary visiting Elizabeth to share her own news. So John’s only about six months older than Jesus. On the other hand, Luke’s the only gospel that tells this, so maybe it’s just a good story.

Anyway, here we are for two Sundays in Advent, hearing about the fully grown John, how he’s the fulfillment of a prophecy in Isaiah, how he comes to proclaim the arrival of Jesus and how we should repent, be baptized and be ready (Mark 1). He’s not really just The Baptizer, he’s The Announcer. Christ is coming! Call John.

Thing is, Advent’s not at all about the chronological telling of the Christmas story. If it were, it would have to start nine months before Christmas. Or even six month’s before that if you want to include John’s story.

No, Advent’s about preparing for Jesus’s birth and the beginning of what Mark calls “the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” That’s why we hear John calling us to repentance now, to literally turn away from sin, and be ready for Jesus. 

John didn’t have a sign, but he did have lots of personality and he got lots of attention. At least, I think we see him that way.  All Mark says is that he came out of the wilderness, wore clothes made of camel hair and ate locusts and honey. Further stories maybe lead us to believe he was pretty direct and spoke his mind with not much subtlety.

I’ve often wondered if a more contemporary John might be like one of those street corner preachers, yelling at the world as it goes by, shouting at us to “Repent, the end is near!” Have you ever stopped to listen to one of them? Maybe it’s John. It could be. Or maybe it’s Jesus. Quick, call Jim.

The thing is, all that brings a question to my mind: how are we announcing that Christ is coming? (Or - if you been following me the last few weeks - that Christ is here already?) Do we have a sign like Jim? Or shout to the world like John? Or do we live like Jesus and speak with our actions, not just our words?

There is hope

Haven’t we had enough, already?

I know, I could be talking about so many things. But I just did a four part series with the theme “winter is coming” mostly to cover a section of the Gospel of Matthew that talks about the end times and the Second Coming (Matthew 24-25). So we’ve been talking about “The End” for awhile, about how we should be prepared and on watch for it.  It was the last few weeks of the church year and here we are at Advent, the official beginning of a new church year and you’d think we could hear a bright and cheerful story about the celebration of Jesus’ birth that’s happening in four weeks now. Couldn’t we?

“But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory …. But about that day or hour no one knows … Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.” (Mark 13:24-26, 32, 33)

Yeah.  That’s one of the scripture readings for the First Sunday of Advent.  New year, same story. Suffering, darkness, destruction.  The end is near. Probably. We don’t know when, so we should definitely be alert.  And beware.

“Beware?”  Well, I suppose so.  That’s sure how we tend to hear these apocalyptic stories. We fear the end times, not just for all the horrifying destruction, suffering and death, but for the judgement. We fear the judgement most of all. It’s no wonder that, when we hear these stories and we’re suitably afraid and vulnerable, we’re willing to listen to someone who says they can save us. Someone who has all the answers to defend us against evil. Or, what they say is evil. We just have to do what they say. And probably send them some money. Or vote for them again.

So that’s not Jesus. We have to realize that.  Jesus never offered all the answers.  Jesus offered compassion, love and grace.  And if you think that’s just more of the warm fuzzies, it’s not.  It’s hard work.  Nothing is harder than overcoming fear.  That’s why Jesus offers hope.

Not wishful thinking, expectation or optimism.  The hope of Jesus is certainty, the certainty that God is with us through all things, however you may know God.  The certainty that in these end times, there is a  new beginning, just as winter becomes spring and night becomes day.  The certainty that life is meant to be lived with joy and engagement, not frozen in fear.  Hope is life-giving.

I wonder if Jesus really said “beware.”  Or, maybe, whatever ordinary human being who wrote this down, wrote what they thought they heard. Because I don’t think Jesus would have meant “beware,” with all that fearsome, be-on-guard baggage we give it.  Not the Jesus who so frequently said “don’t be afraid.” Be aware, sure, but better still, be open. There is hope.

Winter is coming, Part 4

It’s been a few weeks now, leading up to the beginning of Advent, the short season of preparation for Christmas. I’ve been running with the theme of Winter Is Coming to talk about a conversation Jesus has with the disciples about “the end times,” the idea that Jesus will return, the world will end and all will be judged.  Matthew’s gospel records this conversation as a series of stories Jesus tells as a way to encourage - others might say “warn,” but I’m going with “encourage” - the people to be ready, to be prepared for what’s happening and what will happen, for the kingdom of God to come.

Hmm. Warn or encourage? I think that perspective is a key part of how we’ve traditionally understood the stories Jesus tells here and I’ve tried to reframe them a little. So I suggest that maybe Jesus was already here, now, in each of us and we should be more prepared to see that and embrace it than to fear the difficult world into which Jesus comes and be lost to it. I suggest that maybe the world needs to see more of us living like Jesus and that might be the very thing to change it, rather than see the fear, the hate and the darkness as the precursor to change.

And then.  Jesus comes to this story about judgement, when the king will come and separate the people “as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.” To the sheep, he says “you fed me when I was hungry, gave me water when I was thirsty, welcomed me when I was a stranger, gave me clothes when I had none, took care of me when I was sick and visited me when I was in prison.” The sheep wonder when they did that for the king and the king says “when you did it for the least of my family, you did it for me.” 

Likewise, the king say to the goats that they didn’t do those things and the goats, also not able to recognize the king, defend themselves by saying they didn’t see the king needed those things. But they didn’t do it for those in need, so they didn’t do it for the king.

So, this must mean we should be a sheep.

Well, of course, be a sheep.  But look more closely. The story isn’t just sheep good, goats bad.  Neither of them recognizes that the king is the people and the people are the king.  Jesus is present in all of us and neither recognized that Jesus was right there in their brothers and sisters who were in need. Jesus was there, in plain sight, and neither saw that.

But the sheep didn’t need to see Jesus to be Jesus.  They didn’t just sit around waiting for something grand to happen, they went about the business of living as Jesus taught them, sharing kindness, care, justice and love.  The goats may well have been the holiest goats around, but they were too busy doing nothing, they didn’t have time for living.  The sheep may not have seen Jesus in each moment, but they were certainly ready to. Life is about engagement, about living into the relationships that are possible with all around us.

The sheep and the goats aren’t all that different.  This story could have been told with deer and moose, cats and dogs, Oilers fans and Flames fans. We’re not all that different, either: we are all children of God.  Perhaps the real judgement to focus on here is how much time we spend judging others, rather than helping them, or how we value what’s important to us over what’s important to others.

Winter isn’t coming any more, it’s here, so live into it.  Embrace the world around you as Jesus would.  You might even see Jesus around you.  You might need to look in a mirror.

Winter is coming, Part 3

There will be a Part 4.  I just want to be up front about that.

Jesus told a lot stories.  It was his primary teaching tool, after all, and we tell the stories of Jesus the same way. However we might interpret them - yes, we do interpret them - we should be looking for the truth that’s at the heart of them.

That’s a tricky business, sometimes, and never more so than when what we think the story’s about collides with what we know, in our hearts, about Jesus.  Like right now, here in Part 3 of 4, because there’s a stretch of stories in Matthew’s gospel that we’ve traditionally looked at a certain way.  They’re all related to Jesus’ conversation with the disciples about “the end times,” when there will be all that cataclysmic destruction and Jesus will return and everyone will be judged.

Last week, I suggested that a story about bridesmaids being prepared for the arrival of the bridegroom may very well be about warning us to be ready (Jesus saying something like “be ready” was kind of a give away).  Half were prepared, half were not, and only the former were allowed into the wedding.  But I also suggested that Jesus might not have meant in the distant future.  What if he meant tomorrow?  What if he meant that he was here all along in each and everyone of us, and seeing the kingdom of heaven in the midst of our world today was a simple as seeing Jesus in your neighbour or in an act of kindness or compassion?  What if “keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour” meant now?  What if the “second coming” wasn’t a single being, but in all beings?

Now, hold that thought because the next story that Jesus tells is about a very rich man who goes on a trip.  To care for his wealth, he divides it among three servants, according to their ability, and leaves.  The first two servants used what they were given and doubled it, the third, who began with the least, buried it in the ground and did nothing with it.  When the man returned, he rewarded the first two (“well done, good and trustworthy servant”) and punished the third.

We’ve traditionally interpreted this story with Jesus being “the man” and we are the servants - as we wait for Jesus’ return, we should use what we’ve been given to increase the kingdom.  Yes, good point.  We’ve also often used this parable as a stewardship story: we have talents - both money and, literally, talents - that we should invest in the work of the church.  Why, yes you do and you should.  Those interpretations are just fine.

But, again, what if this story isn’t about waiting, but about now?  What if the story Jesus is telling is a description of where our world is at right now and a reminder to look for Jesus, now, not just in the future?

Here’s some things in this story that lead me to wonder about that.  The man is a very rich man indeed.  A talent is a measurement of silver or gold by weight some historians say is equivalent to 6,000 denarii or 20-30 years worth of daily wages for a labourer in the first century.  So the man isn’t just rich, he’s very rich.  He has servants (slaves in most translations).  And we learn a little bit about his character and how he may have acquired that wealth when the third servant says he was afraid because “I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed.”

That’s not sounding much like Jesus to me.  That sounds more like the rich people that Jesus regularly called out.  That sounds more like someone who might finish off that third servant with a pointing finger and a “you’re fired.”  This story sounds more to me like Jesus is describing the very world we live in, one in which the rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

It says in the story that each received an amount equal to their ability.  So maybe the third servant just wasn’t very good at the business skills so prized by the master.  Maybe he was, indeed, afraid of the price he’d pay for just holding on to it, but he tried to do the right thing anyway.  Now that sounds like Jesus.

Or maybe it was just an ordinary person trying to be more like Jesus.  Maybe Jesus is waiting outside, waiting to greet this “worthless slave” with kindness and compassion.  Maybe he might even say “well done, good and trustworthy servant … come and join the flock.”  That’s for Part 4.