Making a life-giving sabbath

There’s no doubt in my mind that everyone needs a sabbath. There’s no doubt in my heart that’s the reason it’s one of the Ten Commandments. Like the rest of them, it wouldn’t be there if it weren’t an important part of life. To me, that’s why it’s important: it’s life-giving.

That’s the nature of the day of rest part of sabbath. Everyone needs a rest. Not just a break from working or a day off, but a time that refreshes, restores, re-energizes and inspires us to engage life. There’s a lot of ways to do that, including doing “nothing.” Except, of course, that we’re not doing “nothing” - any form of relaxing that’s restorative, including sleep, is doing something. If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be, well, alive.

So there’s an important criteria for being sabbath: it’s rest. And that’s not just for us, it’s for how we engage the world. It’s like that moment on the plane when they do the pre-flight instructions: should the oxygen masks deploy in the event of depressurization, put your own on first before helping others.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been on a plane, they’re still going to remind you. We need to be reminded. We need to be told. The Hebrews did, too, that’s why it’s a commandment. And that’s where context becomes another part of the nature of sabbath.

When Moses received the Ten Commandments, the sabbath command says that “in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day” (Ex. 20:11). So the sabbath is the seventh day. That seems pretty clear to me. And it is for Jews and some christian traditions.

But for many others, Sunday, the first day of the week, supplanted Saturday as the day of rest. Especially after Constantine - he was the Roman emperor who made christianity the religion of the state - declared Sunday to be the day of rest in 321. But even before that, the earliest followers of Jesus (who were good Jews, just like Jesus) would go to synagogue on Saturday and celebrate there own gathering the next day on the first day of the week, the day of resurrection. There are other factors and it’s way more complicated than there’s room to discuss here, but the point is that Sunday became sabbath for lots of people.

So, with the day of rest, the criteria for sabbath also has the meaning of when the community gathered to worship God and share in the community’s rituals.

The Commandments don’t just appear in Exodus, though, when they’re received by the newly freed people who have just begun their desert wanderings. They’re restated in Deuteronomy to the new generation of people about to enter “the promised land.” That second time, the sabbath command isn’t framed with the creation story, it’s framed with the Exodus one. In other words, sabbath is the day to remember that God brought not just creation, but the freedom to live in it.

All of this brings me to the very essence of sabbath. Even in the words of the commandment, it comes before all the practical instruction: “remember the sabbath and keep it holy.” Keep it holy. That speaks to me of a connectedness with God, of a time set apart to reflect, pray and engage the sacredness that is in all things.

That’s the most important part. Holiness isn’t something set apart from you, it’s in the connectedness of you with God. What makes a place, a thing or a person holy isn’t just the presence of God, it’s us experiencing it, being in tune with it and knowing that we are a part of it. It’s that feeling of “oneness” with all things that can come in gathering as a community to worship, in personal prayer or meditation, a moment of true peace and quiet, in a church, in the woods, in a valley or on a mountain top, on a trail, in a comfortable chair or on a bike, a hike or a swim or just take a breath - it’s the moment that we are holy and whole, a time of completeness that renews our energy and our life. We find it in many ways and there should be no shortage of sabbath moments.

When Jesus was challenged by the religious authorities that he and his disciples did not properly observe the sabbath to the letter of the law, he reminds them that the sabbath was made for the people, not people for the sabbath (Mark 2:27). And yet, we make the sabbath by making those moments when rest and ritual are freely wound together to make a holy time with God. Are you making time for that?

Stumbling towards the light

The story of Nicodemus might be familiar to you. Or it might not. More often than not, the character himself isn’t the most important part of his own story. I think we might all feel like that sometimes, so maybe that’s one of the ways we can all identify with him.

Nicodemus appears three times in the gospel of John and only in John. Since he isn’t in any of the more narrative gospels that have similar sources, some people have speculated that Nicodemus is a fictional character created to facilitate the writer’s point. Or that he’s a composite character that represents those who are drawn to Jesus’ message but find it hard to let go of the old ways. Perhaps that also ought to be a way we can identify with him.

Nicodemus is described as a pharisee, a leader in the Jewish community. He comes to talk with Jesus (John 3:1-17), he later reminds the Sanhedrin (the assembly of Jewish leaders) that their law requires someone have a chance to speak before they are judged (John 7:50) and he assists Joseph of Arimathea with Jesus’ burial (John 19:39-42).

That conversation with Jesus gives us some of the most familiar words of the gospels: that we must be “born again” and that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” There’s a lot more there and we’ve mined it for its truth as best we can, but we often fixate on those two pieces. And that’s too bad. They’re great, they are, and need to be studied and thought about and understood and wondered about. But they can also be taken out of their context and when we do that, they can take on a life of their own. Before you know it we think we have all the answers.

I don’t. And I’m not doing an in depth study of the content of this story here, nor am I focusing on a particular piece. That’s important and necessary and we do so regularly. Today, I just want to wonder about why the story might be told this way in the first place.

I do like to identify with Nicodemus. I’ve given a couple of reasons above why we all might be able to and I like to wonder about Nicodemus a little less literally and a little more metaphorically.

Here’s Nicodemus, a pharisee, a leader of the community, a teacher. So he’s an intelligent person. He comes to Jesus at night, the story says. He acknowledges that Jesus must be from God because of all the things he’s done. Jesus tries to explain to him about the spirit and Nicodemus doesn’t seem to understand, something Jesus wonders at. And then Jesus keeps talking and there’s no further mention of Nicodemus. At all. It’s almost as if the sole reason for Nicodemus being in the story was for Jesus to say some important things.

And that would be okay. But what if we thought for a minute about how we’re like Nicodemus, how we hear important stuff and how we understand. And don’t. Hear me out, because it’s not a bad thing to still be wondering.

Nicodemus may have come to Jesus at night because he didn’t want to be seen. Sure. He might have worried what the other Pharisees would think, or even the general public. They might wonder if he’s sympathetic to someone who’s been challenging the status quo. It could also be that he was busy all day and after sundown was the time he was available. It doesn’t say. It could also be a metaphor: Nicodemus is in the dark when it comes to what Jesus is teaching. He’s seeking enlightenment. That metaphor makes sense in the context of the story because, at the end, Jesus talks about how the light has come to the world (in himself) and those who do what is true will come to the light.

And I like that. I’ve often thought that the story should have wrapped up with them talking all night and Nicodemus leaving in the bright light of day. Comes in the dark, leaves in the light, right?

But it doesn’t. Maybe Nicodemus didn’t stay long, he got frustrated and moved on. Maybe he left just as the first light of dawn was brightening the sky. The beauty of the sunrise might grab his attention, but it’s not really illuminating the path very well just yet. The story doesn’t say and we, if we’re even still thinking about Nicodemus, we’re left to wonder. Just like him.

And that’s just it: I think he went away with wonder. Maybe that’s why he reappears a couple more times. Maybe Nicodemus’ perspective here isn’t about getting full and complete answers. Maybe it’s about engagement and building a relationship with Jesus. Maybe Nicodemus isn’t a detail guy, maybe he’s more interested in the big picture, maybe a long term relationship. Maybe he’s still just stumbling around in the dark, but trying to do what is true and he’s coming to the light. 

It's complicated. And powerful.

Think for a minute about all the ways in which we use the word spirit. I’m going to talk about the Holy Spirit in a minute, but the same language might apply to its other uses.

When someone is spirited, in high spirits or full of spirit, we mean they’re energetic, enthusiastic. Sometimes we say they’re on fire or they move like the wind. When we describe spirits in the supernatural sense, we mean something that’s ethereal or ghostly, something that’s there, but we can’t quite grasp it. We call certain kinds of alcohol spirits because of the manner in which they’re distilled - the vapour collected in the process is a “spirit” of the original material. And then there’s how we seem to use spirit and soul interchangeably. We shouldn’t, I guess - that has to do with how we’re attached to our soul, but our spirit is the energy and force that moves us. It’s complicated. It’s all complicated.

What’s true of all those things, though, is that spirit is not something you can hold in your hand. Ok, other than if it’s over ice in a glass. But you get my point: the spirit is something we can’t really see or touch, but we describe it’s energy and it’s power with elemental imagery. And that’s what I want to focus on for just a minute because this week, for many churches, includes Pentecost, the event we refer to as the birth of the church.

The story (Acts 2:1-21) begins fifty days after Easter (that’s what Pentecost means, “fifty”). The apostles are together and suddenly there’s a mighty wind and there’s tongues of flame above each of them and they start speaking in a variety of languages. People hear them and come to see and what they hear is the apostles speaking about God and Jesus in their - as Eugene Peterson puts it in The Message - “mother tongue.” Famously, some think they’re drunk, but Peter explains that it’s the Spirit of God at work, revealing the Good News of Jesus.

From this moment, the story of Jesus spreads quickly and communities of followers are established in many places. This is why many people refer to Pentecost as the birthday of the church.

How is the spirit described? Wind and fire, elements of energy, power and motion. These elements have signalled God’s active presence before, even from the very beginning when “the Spirit of God hovered over the waters” (Gen. 1:2), the burning bush, the fiery cloud that signalled God’s presence on Sinai, the breath of God (“ruach” in hebrew scripture) that blew through the valley of dry bones and many other places, the dove alighting on Jesus at baptism, Jesus breathing on the disciples the spirit of peace - the list is long. And that’s not including the fiery passion of the prophets or the breath of life.

Water is another element that we associate with the spirit. It’s the essence of life, used for both purification and healing, also present in creation from the beginning. It, too, has power in motion and energy as it flows. Even in stillness, it has the power to give life.

So the Spirit is described in elemental terms with air, fire and water. But it’s also in the earth because it’s in us. We are, according to Genesis, made from the earth - that’s what “adam” means. But we are also filled with the breath of life, the water of creation and the fire of inspiration. That’s the power of the Spirit represented in this story.

And what did that power give the apostles? It gave them the ability to speak in the “mother tongue” of those around them. In other words, they were able to connect with them, to share with them a story that would reach as deeply into their hearts as it did the disciples’. It gave them the understanding that, in order to truly reach others, to share with them this amazing life-giving story, they couldn’t rely on what had meaning to themselves only. They needed to communicate with what was familiar to the one hearing the message, so familiar that it had the intimacy and depth of their own language, the language of their home. That’s how others would feel they believed in, and belonged with, the Good News.

Isn’t that really the basis of a faith community - a church - that we belong. Not just to the community, but to the story as well. Is that how we’re telling it?

If the church is dying, what does resurrection look like?

Well, I’ve been writing and talking a fair bit lately about what I believe. About how, whatever language you may frame it with, we’re all children of God (everyone), that religion is a human construct that we build around what we believe to help us (hopefully, but not always) understand it better, that there are many ways to God and that any way that’s true to love and grace and is life-giving is a way to God. My way is Jesus and Jesus, to me, is all about life, not death, inclusion, not exclusion, love, not hate, hope, not fear. I could go on, but I already have.

That seems like a fair recap, though I’ll always be talking and writing about these things because beliefs should be shared. And lived.

And how we live what we believe changes as we do, as the world does. Or it should. That doesn’t mean that change is always good, just because it’s change. It has to be authentic and true to what we believe, to what’s at the heart of our faith. So maybe we ask ourselves what’s at the heart of our faith and we build around it.

My church, nationally, is going through a fairly extensive restructuring right now. Some others are, too. Many are grappling with challenges that are financial, administrative, ethical or social. But everyone - I hope - is feeling challenged about the way forward. Where do we go from here?

I imagine that was a frequently asked question among the first followers of Jesus. I imagine it was a frequently asked question since the first creation asked “what next?” but I’ll stick with the followers of Jesus.

From the beginning with Jesus, it was “come and see.” An invitation to follow and learn by living with Jesus. And when Jesus knew his departure was imminent, it was “love one another as I showed you - live as I showed you to live with my own life.” And then Jesus is dead. And then alive and he promises that the Spirit will always be with them. And then he’s gone, ascended into heaven, the story says.

And then, according to the Book of Acts, the very first thing the disciples do, even before the Spirit’s arrival at Pentecost, is pray. And call a meeting.

Yes, they called a meeting. In order to move forward, there needed to be 12 apostles (symbolic of the 12 tribes of Israel), so Judas needed to be replaced. I have all sorts of questions about this, the process and other things, but suffice to say that Matthias is selected and the next story is Pentecost, the coming of the spirit that resulted in the spread of the gospel and the establishment of the church.

But what about Matthias? Not heard from again in the bible. So what’s the point of the story?

I think it’s that they had a meeting. They had a meeting and affirmed the importance of the 12 as the core from which the authentic, true and life-giving story of Jesus will be shared. It is soon affirmed by the Spirit, too, in the Pentecost story and moves out into the world through other disciples learning and sharing, loving and living. Through all this, the continuity of the Spirit’s presence.

There were no gospels yet, no written word except what they knew as Jews, no charter, no constitution, no manual, no set of policies and procedures, no existing network or structure, and no head office. What there was was a story and the spirit moving them to share it.

I’m not saying that they had nothing to work with. They were all good Jews who knew the structures and traditions of that faith. They also knew the oppression of an empire occupying their country. They also knew that Jesus had spent much of the time he had with them challenging those existing structures.

But they also had the profound experience of death and resurrection, a root metaphor going forward. Why isn’t it ours? We preach it every week, that we’re a resurrection people, we find hope and comfort in its promise and we call people to remember that we live in the hope of new life. And yet, among the many metaphors that we use to help us through change, the scripture passages that remind us of engaging a different perspective and the promise of a new covenant and the hope of a certain future, we are as afraid of the death of our institutions as we are our own death. The phrase “the church is dying” has been said for too many years to count. Instead of defending it, changing it and refreshing it, what if we embraced that idea for a minute and considered: if the church is dying, what does resurrection look like?

When I consider what returning to God might look like - and I believe we all return home to God - I don’t have a clear vision of it. I have a few ideas, though. One, that whatever it looks like, it won’t be describable in the images of this world. Two, that whatever it is, it will be, in the words of the 16th century poet Edmund Spenser, “endlesse perfectnesse.” And three - and most importantly - the spirit of love, hope and grace that I know in this world will be there.

Whatever else is ahead, I know that for the church to be true, it will need to have love, hope and grace at its heart. For the rest to be new life, I hope for more than change. I hope for a resurrection.

Yours, mine and everyone's

When you read a book or a story and there’s someone who says something, do you find yourself imagining how they would say it? In your head do you imagine what they might sound like or at least the inflection or tone of their voice? Maybe even imagine an expression on their face or a hand gesture or shoulder shrug? It’d be something like those ads for audio books that audible.com runs on tv. Except it’s your imagination that visualizes the character and gives them a voice and a personality.

Of course, how you do that would need to be informed by what you know about the character, the context of the story, the ideas they’re expressing and other factors.

I think that can be really important with bible stories. Partly, because we so often do exactly the opposite: we tend to read the bible for ourselves how we hear it read in church. At best, that might be a solemn declaratory tone with little to no emotion that’s just, well, flat. I know we’re trying to respect the sanctity of the Word, but why would we do that by sucking all the life out of it? How often have you heard the story of Jesus throwing the money changers out of the temple and overturning their tables read as if it were the instructions to assemble a bicycle? Where’s the passion, the anger, the sense of excitement and action? How are we supposed to engage something which can have such meaning for our soul and yet we read it as if it had no soul at all?

And, mostly, it’s also about how the story speaks to us. Bible studies inform our understanding, but how we read the story can inspire our hearts and minds in bringing the truth of that story into our lives. It brings it closer, makes it more real, more relevant and more life-like. Very much like God: is God distant, emotionless and irrelevant or intimate, passionate and relevant? Only one of those is life-giving.

Take for example, the story the gospel of John tells of the last night Jesus spends with the disciples before he’s arrested. This week, we’ll hear the part of it that includes Jesus’ “commandment” that we “love one another as I have loved you.” (John 15:9-17)

Now, I admit I have some issues with the gospel of John that arise out of it being written so much later than the other gospels and its nature as being less about the narrative and more about the meaning of Jesus. I’ve written about that before. But there are also times when that’s an important perspective. And this is a moment that, for me, distills the narrative of Jesus into a very succinct and simple ideal: love one another as I have loved you. It’s Jesus saying “in my own life, I’ve showed you how to love. Now go and do it.”

By the way, I also imagine that Jesus had a little more to say about how easy that was going to be to do. Or rather, how not easy. I imagine Jesus also reminded the disciples that it’s going to be hard to do, that they’ll be constantly challenged and will fail often and that they must keep trying. I imagine that he reminded them how often people rejected him and that it was the people who will be the hardest to love who will need it the most. And I imagine he reminded them that, no matter what happened, God would always be with them and they should never give up hope.

“This is my commandment.” (John 15:12)

Now read that again as if you were Jesus and this was a commandment that is yours, not anyone else’s. You’d emphasize “my,” wouldn’t you?

And that speaks to me about my understanding of commandment. When Jesus says its his command, it moves me away from the language of command that is authoritarian, that’s about obeying and following an order to behave a certain way and takes me instead to how I understand commandment in the biblical context of the Ten Commandments in Exodus. Right back to Adam and Eve, we’re famously good at disobeying, but this is something different.

Back at the beginning of March, I wrote about the ten “sayings” and I suggested they were not so much laws and rules as we understand that, but rather fundamental principals by which we could live together, build relationships together and grow - together. I also said that they’re more than a social contract, they’re part of deep, heart-filling covenant with God.

This is how I understand Jesus’ new commandment, too. It’s not about following orders, especially the kind that are imposed with fear. It’s not about imitating behaviour, especially the kind that’s routine. It’s not about anything exclusive, destructive or cast in stone.

This, Jesus points out, is not a master-servant relationship, but one in which we are friends with Jesus (John 15:14-15), equals in a relationship that is nurturing, supportive, open and full. It’s a relationship in which, Jesus says, I have shared with you everything that God has given me.  That is the wholeness of the love Jesus shares with us, complete with his own life.

Could you say “this is my love, too?”

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.