“the holy or the broken hallelujah”

Death is a part of life.

It’s all too easy to fear that death is the end of life and it is, certainly, in the end of a physical existence.  But I think those who experience grief at the loss of someone they love know that it’s not the end of a life. They know it in the sensation of disbelief: they can’t believe they’re gone. They can’t believe they’re gone because they’re not. They’re still very much alive in memory, in the many, many ways in which the experience of that person has impacted, even transformed, their life and the lives of others. That life doesn’t end with death.

Nor does the life that we hope for beyond this existence, the life beyond death. I believe we all come from God and return to God. God is home. This earthly journey is just that, a journey through this part of that existence.

All journeys have to end. They have to so that the next one can begin. But that’s not where we are at first. We’re broken. We’re grieving. We’re lost. And each of us, individuals that we are, will only move forward as we are able.

Death is full of emotion. We grieve, and loss, hurt and sadness may be joined by anger, regret, even relief, if they have suffered, and many more complex and conflicting feelings. It is all these feelings that are the rich soil from which new life springs.

This, for me, is the essence of the Easter story.

Jesus was dead. Whatever Jesus had told them before he died, the grim reality they experienced cut all that away. He died on a cross and was buried. Some of them might even have seen that. Others might have been hiding, trying to avoid it. Imagine, by the third day, what they might have been feeling. I doubt that this where they thought it was leading, despite Jesus words. Jesus was dead. They would be grieving the painful, agonizing end of his life. They’d be feeling lost and alone, wondering what was next. They’d be afraid of what others might now do to them as his closest followers. Some of them might even be relieved that it was over, imagining the struggle that could have been ahead for them if he’d lived. They’re just human beings, after all, they’re not Jesus. Jesus was more. But. Jesus was dead.

This is where new life begins. Resurrection doesn’t happen in the light of day with birds singing and bright spring flowers blowing in a gentle breeze. It happens in the darkness of the cold, damp tomb.

As John tells the story, Mary is the first to see that the tomb was open. She goes and tells Peter and “the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved.” They run to the tomb, they go inside and see that it’s empty, but, says John’s story, they still didn’t understand “that he must rise from the dead.” So they went home.

They went home. Imagine what they were feeling. On top of everything else. And yet, they went home. I can’t help but wonder at how defeated they must have felt. How broken and confused. Not only was Jesus dead, his body was gone. What else to do but try and escape, to get away from here and go home.

But one person stayed. The first person in the story to see Jesus does so because she stays with her grief, right there at the grave. She sees the angels, she sees Jesus but doesn’t recognize him. Only when he says her name does she know him. Resurrection began in the darkened tomb, but for Mary, new life began in her grief, hearing her name call her to hope.

That was the first Easter hallelujah. It wasn’t a cry of joy, but a desperate affirmation of hope.

Was it like this, maybe?

Jesus is kind of a big deal. Maybe not to everyone, but still, I think we’d be surprised at how many people think Jesus is a big deal.  I think we’d also be surprised at the many different ways in which people think Jesus is a big deal. Including the negative ones.

Yes, I know that there are people who think that Jesus is a big deal but in a bad way. He challenges existing structures and the status quo in society. He’s a threat to those who like to wield power. He hangs out with all the wrong people, you know, the ones we thought we’d managed to dismiss and ignore. He doesn’t always follow the rules.

I guess that last one’s open to interpretation, of course. He says what’s at the heart of the law is more important than the letter of the law, but …

Wait. I’m sorry. Did you think I was talking about how we think of Jesus today? Perhaps it doesn’t seem like there’s much difference on the surface.  Of course, we’ve had two thousand years of what’s been thought and done in Jesus’ name - good and bad - to influence our own belief.

But try and set that aside for a moment. Put yourself outside a gate on the east side of Jerusalem, two thousand years ago. You’re in line to get into town. It’s hot and there’s probably a big line-up. It’s Passover and lots of people are making the pilgrimage to The Temple for the festival.

Passover commemorates the story of Exodus, the Hebrew people’s freedom from slavery in Egypt. Specifically, it refers to the tenth and final plague that finally persuaded the Pharaoh to let the people go, the death of the first born of every house. The Angel of Death came to every house, but God told the Hebrews to mark their doors with lamb’s blood so that the Angel would know to pass over it.

So, here you are, lining up to get into Jerusalem to celebrate a festival of freedom, a festival watched over by the Roman garrison, an ever present reminder that you’re not really free. The line might even be slow because there’s Roman soldiers at the gate checking everyone for weapons. There were always zealots trying to start something and a major festival with big crowds was a great opportunity.

That’s why there was the big parade on the other side of town. Pilate, the Roman Governor, wasn’t always in Jerusalem, but for a big event like this, he road into town on a war horse at the head of a column of Roman soldiers. A show of imperial force to remind people who’s in control.

Over here, though, there’s a suddenly a murmur through the crowd that someone’s seen that Jesus everyone’s been talking about. He’s kind of a big deal. If the stories about him are true - and so many people have seen him now - teaching and preaching, doing miracles and healing people. He preaches love and peace. Some even suggest he’s the promised messiah.

More than a murmur now, there’s people shouting and waving branches. And they’re coming this way. You can see Jesus now, he’s riding a donkey. That seems odd, since everyone else is walking. But isn’t there a prophecy in Zechariah that a king would come, humbly riding a donkey, and that king would bring freedom and peace? It’s a sign. Jesus must be the promised one!

People are throwing their coats down now, for the donkey to walk on, as befits a king. Should you cheer him on? That’s not what people are shouting. They’re calling out to him to save them, shouting hosanna (save us). Hosanna!

Hosanna. Save us. Put yourself outside a gate on the east side of Jerusalem, two thousand years ago, calling out to the promised messiah to save you. A messiah who is presented to you a few days later, broken and defenceless, a mockery of a crown on his head. Yet another wannabe “messiah” that failed you. Wouldn’t you cry for his death with everyone else?

Jesus never did the expected. Quite the opposite. And yet, we expected - and still expect - him to be the kind of messiah that will do the expected: save us. Not with an army or as a great warrior king, as they might have expected two thousand years ago. Not with force, but nonetheless, to still single handedly save us.

But this is Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” This is the Light of the World who intended to show us The Way. This is Jesus, who taught that we should love our neighbour as ourselves. This is Jesus, who was all about power with people, not over people. This is Jesus who’s life taught us to love as he loved.

This is Jesus, who meant to save with us. 

Face to Face with Jesus

"Sir, we wish to see Jesus" (John 12:21).

Me too.

In John's gospel, Jesus has become so popular that everyone wants to see him. Even some Greeks who happen to be in town for a festival want to see him.  They've heard the stories, now they want to see the real thing.  In the flesh.  Person to person. Face to face.

Well don't we all.

Just before these Greeks come along, it certainly seems like everyone wants to see Jesus.  "Look, the whole world has gone after him," the pharisees wonder, just before these Greeks step forward (John 12: 19).  It must certainly have seemed like it.

Some people think these Greeks represent the Gentiles who will also turn to Jesus.  Of course, since they're in town for the festival, it's just as likely that they're Jews from Greece.  They could also, just as easily, be tourists who happen to be in the right place at the right time. You can just hear them, can't you?   "Oh, look, there's that Jesus everyone's talking about.  Let's go see."  They could be anyone from anywhere.

Isn't that really the point?  Jesus is for everyone.  Jesus is visible, right there on the street.  Jesus is real.

Still is.

We talk a lot in church about "seeing Christ in friend and stranger."  We try to remind people to be Christ-like in their living and encourage people to follow the example of Jesus with action, not just talk.

But in the end, that's still just talk.  We could look back and see that all that preaching has often been just talk, but we could also see it today in those whose claims to be a Christian don’t match their behaviour. To follow Jesus means to do Jesus, to live Jesus, to do the best are able to live out the nature of God that is in us.

So we try to do better than talk.  We point at the stories of Jesus and say "look, just like that - Jesus doesn't just talk, Jesus lives what he preaches about.  See?"  And wouldn't it be great if we could point at the real thing, as it's happening, and say "look - that's what Jesus is talking about.  Right there."  Then we'd be, literally, face to face with Jesus.

I’ve talked about this before. A lot, even, and I think - I hope - that many people do. And there’s been more than talk, we’ve tried to engage it practically, whenever we can but also with some special events to highlight it. Like a few years ago, our church did a “Faces of Jesus” project where we invited people to bring in 10” x 10” pictures of how they saw Jesus in the world, people they know, historical figures, art, events and we created a wall of “what does Jesus look like to you?” to inspire us. For three years now, we’ve promoted Angels Among Us in November, a time in which we encourage people to see and do random acts of kindness, to be like “angels.” Or Jesus.

There are more, and many people are being just as proactive and engaging. Look around you. This week, though, I’m reminded about the specific context of that “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” verse and what happens next.

In John’s gospel, this isn’t a moment for Jesus to say “come and see, then” like he did to the first disciples to follow him (John 1:39). This is the moment at which Jesus knows his ministry is done and the next part of his journey is to death.

So, do look around you for Jesus. See Jesus in the kind, loving and compassionate. See Jesus in the strong and those with much to share. But take a hard look around and see Jesus also in those who struggle. See Jesus in those who risk and give all that they have just to be alive. See Jesus in those who grieve. The journey to wholeness, to the new life that Jesus brings, includes all these things. 

Who's a Who?

The story goes something like this. Jesus takes Peter, James and John up to the top of a mountain where he appears to be transfigured. Mark’s gospel describes that “his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them.” We might say he glowed or was illuminated. Then Elijah and Moses appeared, talking to Jesus.  The disciples are suitably terrified and a voice is heard from a cloud saying “this is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him.”  On the way back down the mountain, Jesus tells them not to say anything about this until after he has risen from the dead.

Cool story with some great special effects and dazzling imagery.  Anyone’s takeaway from it might be that clearly Jesus is something special, something divine, someone to whom we should listen, as the voice commands.

But hang on a minute. Do not stare directly at the light. Look at where it’s shining.  See who’s really illuminated?

Here’s another story.  So there’s the Grinch, all dressed like Santa Claus. He wants to stop Christmas from coming so he’s taken all the Christmas decorations and gifts and delicious treats from Whoville, loaded them on a sleigh and dragged them to the top of Mount Crumpit. Well, Max, the dog, did most of the dragging.

The Grinch stands there with poor Max, waiting for the Whos to discover Christmas is gone, waiting, so that he can hear all the Whos down in Whoville cry boo-hoo. But what he hears isn’t that at all, it’s the Whos singing, welcoming Christmas. It didn’t sound sad, but glad. And he realizes that maybe Christmas is more than all that stuff he took, maybe it’s something much more.

“And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day! And then the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches, plus two!” He brings everything back and celebrates with the Whos, even carving the roast beast. He lives into his new found enthusiasm for life.

Remember the classic Christmas cartoon version of that? How, when the Whos are singing, all holding hands in a circle, a radiant light seems to rise from them?

You know who’s who, right? The Whos are Jesus. You know what that makes us.

And why not? Like the disciples, we may not be green and grinchy - most of us, anyway - but there is, within us, a precious heart that may just be two sizes too small. Metaphorically, of course.  In a moment of illumination, of enlightenment, elucidation, insight, even bedazzling, we can experience something more than learning.

Look at Jesus, listen to Jesus. But there is more there. There is something that connects deep in our hearts. It’s something life-changing, an empowering wisdom, an inspiring spirit that moves us beyond what we might feel inside. There is a light and a love that expands our hearts and moves us to see what is around us and engage it.

The story goes something like this. Jesus’ life is a living example of love at work in the world. What’s your story?

Perfectly something to someone in this moment

This started out being about what’s wrong with saying “you can’t be all things to all people.” But I got sidetracked by perfection. Sort of.

I wanted to point out that, of course, you can’t be all things to all people all the time. That’s a pretty important principal. Presuming that you’re speaking collectively and in absolutes. Because it could also be said that you can be some things to some people some of the time. And the effort to be either of those things is neither helpful or life-giving. What you might want to consider is to be something to someone in this moment.

Sorry about the word play, but here’s why I was thinking about it. The apostle Paul writes to the people at Corinth (where he’d helped establish a church) that he has been "all things to all people, so that I might by all means save some" (1 Corinthians 9:22). I think he means, first of all, to acknowledge that he doesn’t expect to reach everyone. He wasn’t perfect.

By the way, I don’t suppose Jesus thought he would reach everyone, either. And I don’t think that necessarily consigned them to the sinner pile, I think he realized that some people would hear his message and some wouldn’t. Not being a follower of Jesus didn’t - and still doesn’t - make you inherently bad. God works in many ways.

I also think that Paul doesn’t mean to literally be what others want him to be. I think he means that he’s true to himself, which is someone who has taken the gospel to heart, recognizing the love and grace that is within him. He shares that sincerely and authentically by communicating as best he can, which means meeting others where they are, appreciating that they’re different and respecting who they are.  I think he seeks to understand their perspective, where they're coming from, what their traditions are, what their "language" is.  That allows him to offer what he can, but also receive what others offer and learn from them, too.  That builds relationships that are whole, healthy and respectful.  That creates a place where thoughts and ideas and even beliefs can be shared and people might be open to hearing new things.

This is a valuable learning for us. Paul, just like Jesus, tries to meet people were they are, for who they are and how they are. Both church and society as a a whole, we so often have a tendency to impose ourselves on others, assuming they know our “language” and will hear and understand our message as the valuable life-giving news it is. They should want to be part of it, shouldn’t they? But maybe their questions help us learn. Maybe their disagreement helps us learn, too. Or maybe our delivery of the message isn’t perfect. Maybe we’re not perfect.

Hang on. Because here’s where I found more.

Maybe our communication is flawed. Maybe our evangelizing (I just mean our proclaiming the story) doesn’t succeed like we want it to and maybe we don’t “get everyone.” But maybe we should be satisfied with just one at a time, just like Jesus. And maybe, also like Jesus and Paul, we should focus less on the perfection of our communication and more on the perfect-ness that’s a real part of the message.

Here’s what I wonder. If Genesis tells us we’re created in the image of God, aren’t we perfect in our creation? Aren’t we perfect in our relationship with God at that moment, before we start to exercise our gift of freewill and begin to experience this world around us?

I wonder if our confusion over perfect-ness doesn’t come from what we clothe our souls in with the choices we make in this life.  At the heart of things, our souls continue to know that perfect-ness of a relationship with God.  How we live, how we relate to the world around us is in the choices we make.  When our choices are “true,” we live closer with God.  When our choices are less “true,” we not only distance ourselves from God, we distance ourselves from each other and from the harmony that is possible in how we live.

I wonder if we aren’t then seeking the wrong perfection.  Jesus was constantly trying to teach people that it’s not the letter of the law, but what’s at its heart.  It’s not about the structure itself, but what lives in it.  It’s not about how well we follow the ritual, but what it means to us.  It’s not about how something looks, but what’s inside it.  

Maybe life out there isn’t perfect and maybe we don’t always meet our own standard of perfect. Sometimes it’s the little imperfections that make it interesting.  And sometimes it’s the huge imperfections that make it so challenging.  But inside, at the heart of you, in your soul: do you know you’re perfect?  Isn’t that part of the message?

"Astounded at his teaching"

Who says so?

I’m sure you’ve heard that before.  Remember on the playground, maybe, when you were a child?  It’s usually followed by “gonna make me?”

Authority exercised by might: the power of physical force to make something go the way you say it should.  Except it’s not from the play ground, is it?  It’s everywhere.  Every news cycle is full of it. Look at North Korea and the US.  Or North Korea and anybody, really.  (Although there’s that whole Olympics deal with South Korea now, so maybe there’s hope.)  Or, to be fair, the US and anybody.  In fact, there seems to be more than a few nations who operate on the “who’s gonna make me” principle.  Most militaries are on alert and they just moved the Doomsday Clock up to two minutes to midnight.  Thank you, authority exercised by might.

Who says so?

Society says so.  We elect, appoint or otherwise engage people in leadership positions and give them a title.  With that title goes authority.  Sometimes we even put that in the name - The Port Authority, for example - or it’s what we call those who enforce the rules we, as a society, set down, “the authorities.”  We always try to elect, appoint or approve the best people whom we have fully researched and confirmed.  We call this “being qualified” to be in a position of authority.

Wait.  That’s a little too optimistic. We should.  But lately, many people seem to think completely unqualified is okay.  Or maybe they just have a different idea of what “qualified” means.  Let’s not go down that rabbit hole, I think you get the point about society giving authority by a title or position. 

Who say so?

Expertise says so.  Years of education, research and experience.  That’s what “qualifies” us to be in those positions of leadership.  Of course, we are who we are, as a person, and all that expertise doesn’t make us be thoughtful or unselfish in how we wield it.

Who says so?

According to the Gospel of Mark, “who says so?” was not the first thing that people in the synagogue thought when they heard Jesus speak to them.  “...And when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught.  They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes” (Mark 1:21-22).  There’s no indication that these people knew Jesus, he didn’t seem to have any education, he had no title and he certainly had no army.  And he didn’t teach like the “scribes,” temple officials who were the keepers and interpreters of the law.  So what was this authority that so astounded the people?

It would be easy to answer “who says so?” with, simply, Jesus.  But I believe Jesus showed them something we can share with each other, too: the sincerity of Jesus teaching.  Jesus taught a love that was genuine in its justice, compassion and care.  It was without hypocrisy or pretense.  It was true.  And, just as important as the truth of his teaching, was the sincerity with which he lived it.

According to Mark, the very next thing Jesus does - action follows his words - is to heal a man possessed by a demon spirit.  He teaches what may make us whole, and then helps someone to become whole.

Who says so?  The one who, like Jesus, lives the sincerity of what they teach.

Maybe it's time for a change

When it comes to bible stories, I’m sometimes torn between wonder and explanation. That sounds like a loaded statement, but it’s not a bad thing, I don’t think.

The thing is, I think the stories in the bible have an essential truth at the heart of them. That’s why the bible is still relevant - yes it is - and as long as reaching that essential truth is our goal, the manner in which we reach it might be through wonder or explanation. Hmm. Maybe I’m not torn so much as I just waffle between them. I need both.

Miracle stories are a great example. I think that different facets of what’s true can be revealed through wonder at the seemingly unnatural as well as through a reasoned interpretation that puts understanding in our hands as well as our hearts.  Spirit and body, creative and practical, inspiration and action, we need them both.

But the story that’s got me thinking about this isn’t one that we’d necessarily think of as a “miracle.” I think it’s a miracle, in it’s own way, but when Jesus calls his first disciples, we tend to just think of it as an example to follow (no pun intended) just as it is.  Jesus calls us and we will follow.

I’m speaking of the story in Mark, Matthew and Luke, of course. In John, as we talked about last week, the story’s a little different. There, the first disciples of Jesus were followers of John the Baptist. He tells them to check out Jesus because that’s the guy he’s been saying is coming, they do, Jesus says “come and see,” they do and decide to follow him.

The other three gospels tell the familiar story of Jesus walking by the sea. He sees the fishermen and calls to Simon, Andrew, James and John and says “follow me and I will make you fish for people.” They drop everything and go. They don’t hesitate, they drop everything and go because Jesus calls them.

You can see why the church has always liked this story. It’s simple and straight forward and reflects the power of Jesus.

Maybe. And there’s a variety of ways that you could address that. One might think that there would have been many fishermen by the lake and Jesus picked these ones. Did Jesus, being of God, somehow know them already? Did they recognize something in Jesus that caused them to follow? Maybe, in their hearts, they knew Jesus already. Maybe they just wanted to get away from a life of back-breaking hard work. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe.

We live in a time when our leaders seem to command more followers with their charisma or their physical appearance rather than wisdom or insight. Or empty promises and ideas about who to blame rather than how to fix it, or quick fixes at the expense of others. It doesn’t seem like “follow because I said so” is a good model for today.

But is this that model? I’ve always preferred the story in John because it seems like Jesus invites people to come and see what he’s doing before choosing to follow him and this one seems like Jesus just exerts his power over them and compels them. Yes, this may be a miracle moment when Jesus and his first followers know each other. But it may also be more a miracle of understanding.

The story doesn’t begin with “follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Jesus’ ministry begins with “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (Mark 1:14-15) He was already teaching and preaching. He was already ministering.

Maybe Simon and Andrew came so willingly because they’d already heard the message and it resonated with them. Maybe Zebedee, the father of James and John, was okay with losing two hard working sons from his boat because he’d heard the message too and saw how it touched them. Maybe Jesus wasn’t displaying his power over others, but his connectedness, his ability to engage and touch people’s hearts and minds with a message about making a world of love and grace, peace and hope. 

Listen. Maybe we can all hear it.