Making the connections

Someone asked me about prayer this week.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you think you have everything sorted, planned and ready to go and then someone says something to you and suddenly that’s all you can think about? That’s what happened. And that’s good.

Every year, we have a Sunday on which we celebrate United Church camps. There’s a lot of them across Canada, and they provide amazing experiences for children of all ages. It’s important to remind people of that, promote their use and encourage support. And this year, it just so happened that the gospel story, from John, is about Jesus describing himself with the image of the vine. “I am the vine, you are the branches,” says Jesus. “Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit.” (John 15:5) Camp can be an experience that’s formative in our relationships with each other and with God. And here’s a way of talking about that with foliage. Great.

But. Prayer.

It was a very practical concern about how to pray. And yes, they knew the story about one of the disciples asking Jesus to teach us to pray and Jesus answers with the words we now know as The Lord’s Prayer. And yes, they knew how we pray as a community, in church and elsewhere. But, the question really is “how do I - emphasis on the I - pray?”

But what about that vine story? Well, come with me.

There’s communal prayer and there’s individual prayer. We pray together with the words of Jesus (historically the Lord’s Prayer) or with language “wordsmithed” to be evocative and create an impact. In other words - no pun intended - the prayer’s been well thought out for its effectiveness. And it should be. As a community joined together in prayer, those words should inspire and lift up our own prayers.

And it isn’t only words that can do that. Both communally and individually, art can do that, with images, media, music and dance. Nature can do that. Even how we move and breathe can do that. Labyrinths, yoga and other forms of meditation can do that. There’s even a way that connects prayer and doodling, called Praying in Colour, that can do that. I’m sure there’s more that can do that.

Hang on. You might have thought I was going to camping with the nature connection. And you sure could. But I’m getting there with the vine. Give me a minute.

The question is still how do “I” pray. And I think many people are intimidated by technique when, really, the only technique that matters is what focuses your conversation with God. Your words don’t need to meet a certain standard or style, they don’t have to follow a certain form, you don’t have to assume a certain posture or hold your hands a certain way. Don’t let those things get in the way when all they need to do is work for you. And they might, but don’t let them get in the way. Whatever you choose to do, what’s important is that it brings focus.

Here’s how I understand that. I believe that God is in all of us and all of creation. We come from God and return to God and God is with us in every moment of the journey of our lives. God is life-giving and life-connecting. Because of that, we are always, in every moment, in touch with God. We’re already connected, that’s why we so often hear that God knows what’s in your heart. God does. So do you. Prayer is how we focus our end of the conversation and “speak,” in words or other forms, with God.

It’s like the vine. Jesus is always with us - we’re always connected. That relationship “bears fruit” when we’re open to it, we participate in it and nurture it. Prayer is one of those ways. One. Action is another. 

When we say we hold others in our thought and prayers, whether in grief or thanksgiving, there’s great spirit in that. But there has to be more. Prayer must be accompanied by action. That action could be a personal act or inspiration to make change on a greater scale, but there is always an opportunity for action. The beloved pastor and theologian Henri Nouwen said that “prayer without action grows into powerless pietism, and action without prayer degenerates into questionable manipulation. If prayer leads us into a deeper unity with the compassionate Christ, it will always give rise to concrete acts of service.”

There are as many acts of service as there are prayers, as many leaves as there are branches. Still, one vine.

Children of God

I believe we are all children of God.

However we know God or don’t, however we know Jesus or don’t, whatever denomination or religion we belong to or don’t, whatever language or symbols we use, culture we live in or society we participate in or don’t, we are all children of God.

However we name it, describe it or label it, we are all part of the same source, connected by the fabric of life and death. Me, personally, I’m going to call that source God and we are God’s children. All of us.

While it’s fundamental to me, there are many that don’t agree. Or, at least, feel the need to qualify what it means to be a child of God. The bible, after all, seems to back that up. But hear me out.

I also believe that we’re inherently good (it’s our default setting, if you like) because we are “created in the image of God,” to use the biblical framework from Genesis. Or, another way of saying that might be that we’re made from, and in, love. That’s still biblical, in my mind, but maybe not in everyone’s. Each of our journeys in life is unique and it’s the experience of that journey that helps to form our behaviour and our understanding of who and how we are.

I believe that there is one God, but there are many ways to come to that God. Again, we may use different language, both religious and not at all, but there are many pathways to God and we, unique and individual as we are, travel our own way. Sure, we might get lost, take a wrong turn or get stalled at the side of the road, but we have companions on our journey. Some of those companions are each other, some are inspiring examples we look up to (heroes, in the classical sense). And, for me, Jesus.

I believe that religion is a human construct, an institution we created to put form and structure around what we believe so that we might better understand it and be able to live it and share it in our lives. Of course, that hasn’t always been the case. Sometimes religion has been, and is, used to manipulate, control and oppress. But I’d then ask if it was truly “religion” by the preceding description, or a cult or simply a means to manipulate, control and oppress people. In other words, true religion would be constantly growing, evolving and engaging as the people who seek its understanding do. The divine is at the heart of it and maybe even inspires it, but we build our own structures.

Roger Wolsey, author of ‘Kissing Fish: Christianity for people who don’t like Christianity,’ describes the variety of religions with a metaphor that goes something like this. We’re all thirsting for some more. So each religion is like a well. Wherever and however you dig the well, the deeper you go into each well/religion, “you’ll eventually hit the same aquifer and Source.”

So, there it is. I also believe that we all come from God and we all return to God. We come from the same source and we are seeking, in our life journey, to return to that source.

But because we travel our own journeys, create our own religions and build communities of faith around them, we constantly seek ways to define our uniqueness. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s confining, but still, not that bad.

But it sure can be when defining things for ourselves becomes a way to create exclusivity and set us apart from others, when building systems and structures leads us to build walls and believe that our way is the only way. It sure can be when we impose our system on others, demean their beliefs and demonize their religion.

See, I also believe that when John’s gospel says that Jesus told the disciples “I am the way … no one comes to God but through me” he didn’t mean only me, Jesus. It’s very likely that the very human person who wrote this down is telling the story this way because they think that. After all, it was the early days of the Christian community. They were being persecuted and they were struggling to share their message and expand their community.  They might have felt the need to believe their’s was the one way.

But I think that Jesus meant that his life was the way, his life of love, compassion and grace. That’s what is true and life-giving. That doesn’t have to be exclusive to Jesus. And I don’t think for a minute that Jesus would want it to be. It should be for all God’s children. And that’s everyone.

It’s also likely that same very human person - or persons - wrote the epistles of John, the first of which refers to the children of God as being set apart from the world and distinguishes between the children of God and the children of the devil. The devil’s a conversation for another time, but again, I want to understand the context and appreciate the author felt the need to reinforce the uniqueness of the message of living what is good and right, but it is, nonetheless, creating an exclusivity that I can’t reconcile with the Jesus I know. The Jesus who said others would know his followers by their love. Or, for that matter, the God who is in all things, however we judge them to be good or bad.

Perhaps if we could begin with respecting each other as all children of God, acknowledging the diversity of those children and respecting the many paths we find to God, perhaps then we might build relationships that connect us, rather than walls that divide us.

“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?