The story thus far

Are you busy?

That’s maybe not a fair question. It’s summertime, you might be on vacation. You might work shifts and be off right now. Or on. Or you might be retired. Sometimes people find themselves busier then. Maybe you work at something that’s busier at certain times of the year and this is one of them. Or not. Maybe you do something that requires near constant study or practice. Maybe that’s a lot of “maybes” and the real issue is what makes for being “busy?”

We seem to have a constant drive to occupy our time with something. Work or play, busy seems to be the normal state of things. It’s not just farmers that need to be “on” 24/7 anymore, many industries and businesses, including retail, now work round the clock 365 days a year. Our culture of availability and access requires engagement by both users and servers.

And we play hard, too. From electronic games to physical play, we keep busy. Being exhausted at the end of a vacation - as well as the beginning - has become common. I’ve heard people joke, “I had to go back to work for a rest.”

Sometimes being busy can wear you down. Sometimes it’s energizing. Again, it depends on what you’re busy with. Only you know the real difference between what refreshes, inspires and enlivens your life and what tires you, wears you down and leaves you weak and lifeless.

Wait. You do, don’t you?

Since the beginning of June, we’ve been making our way through the first part of the gospel of Mark. Each week a story of Jesus healing, teaching and preaching, there are miracle stories and important lessons told in parables, and, lately, a lot travel by boat around the Sea of Galilee. From one week to the next, Jesus is either getting in or out of a boat somewhere, relentlessly pursued by crowds of people seeking healing, of one kind or another. Jesus has become a celebrity, attracting crowds wherever he went.

Of course, we hear the story in church each week, piece by piece, story after story. But there’s a big picture here: Jesus is busy. In fact, I think a super brief summary of Jesus life, so far, in the gospel of Mark might go something like this: John the Baptist announces Jesus is coming, John baptizes Jesus in the Jordan, Jesus goes into the desert, Jesus begins his ministry, Jesus is busy, Jesus is super busy, Jesus is so busy he needs twelve assistants, Jesus is still so busy he sends the twelve out in pairs to do more Jesus-ing, the twelve and Jesus are busier than ever.

I’m not trying to be flippant about this, believe me. That there are so many broken and hurting people seeking Jesus out is heartbreaking. And I bet it is for Jesus, too. But when the disciples return, Jesus says to them “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while” (Mark 6:31)

“A deserted place.” Jesus doesn’t just say “we need some down time, let’s have a vacation.” This reminds me Jesus’ own time in a deserted place. Remember the time in the wilderness before he began his ministry? I don’t think that was just to be tested, I think it was a time to assess and prepare for his ministry, to rest and be ready.

And that’s the thing about a rest. A real rest is an opportunity to refresh and rejuvenate, to be inspired and re-energized for whatever’s ahead. It might also include thinking about what’s been accomplished and wondering about where to go from here. Only you can figure out how to provide that for you. It doesn’t have to be a literal “deserted place” or a wilderness. Perhaps it’s a garden or a comfortable couch, a drive in the country or a good book. Even Jesus had to figure that out. Even Jesus needed a rest.

By the way, in the gospel story it doesn’t seem like they get that “rest a while” right away. There’s people who need help and rush to meet them and the deserted place is suddenly full of people. But sometimes the best rest is a moment used wisely and when you know what gives you strength, it might only take a moment to truly rest.

Who are the really powerful?

The story of the death of John the Baptist is like something out of Game of Thrones: a senseless death, the result of manipulation and revenge with a little lust thrown in.

The gospel of Mark tells how John had been arrested by King Herod because he spoke out against him, particularly being critical of Herod marrying his brother’s wife Herodias. Herod was a little fearful of John, being a holy man with the support of the people, so he held him prison, but wouldn’t execute him.

But Herodias had other plans. At a party, Herod asks Herodias’s daughter Salome to dance for him but she refuses. He promise her anything she wants and she agrees to dance. She asks her mother what she should ask for and she says “the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” She does and, not wanting to be embarrassed in front of his guests, Herod reluctantly agrees. No more John. (Mark 6:17-29)

The author of Mark introduces this story with a “who is Jesus?” moment (Mark 6:14-16). Jesus had been touring around the countryside, ministering to people, healing, casting out demons and performing many miracles. He’d become something of a celebrity - except in his hometown - and people were wondering who he could be: a prophet, Elijah returned or perhaps John “who has been raised from the dead.” Herod, it seems, believed that “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” The story of John’s death follows.

Why?

This is the gospel that gives us the word “gospel,” opening with “the beginning of the good news [literally, gospel] of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” It is tirelessly about Jesus, the work of Jesus and only things of direct impact on Jesus, his ministry and its meaning and here’s a pretty lengthy passage that has nothing at all to do with Jesus. It seems to be a senseless and undeserved death. So why the elaborate story? I’m not questioning that it’s “true,” I just wonder why the author took the time to include it.

I think the answer is power. The kind of power to which Jesus, like John, lived to speak truth. Remember, Jesus wasn’t the kind of messiah everyone might have expected. They were hoping for a great warrior king - one like David would be good - who would lead a mighty army against the Romans, throw off the shackles of an oppressive occupier and restore the glory of Israel. They got Jesus. Someone who, just a few verses before this story, was described by his hometown as a local carpenter, the son of poor people, who couldn’t possibly be capable of the wisdom or gifts he claims. (Mark 6:1-6) Jesus was about a different kind of power.

And in this story, who really has power? Is it the one with the soldiers, the one we keep calling a “king” but isn’t really? Herod only had power because the Romans allowed it. And he wasn’t a king, he was a local ruler called a tetrarch - literally, “ruler of a quarter.” The Romans subdivided the territory into quarters and Herod had one. But in this moment, even that kind of power is useless to him. He is powerless with Salome. She has something Herod wants. Herod has nothing she wants, but perhaps the feeling of power over him is enough to act. And then she is persuaded by her mother to ask for John’s head.

Despite John having a little power of his own - that Herod is afraid of him - it is not enough to match Herodias’s desire for his death. Perhaps that was inspired by malicious revenge or a calculated fear of his outspoken criticism of her and her husband, either way, she uses her power to ensure that Salome uses her power to end John.

And here’s two thoughts about power that make this story valuable.

First, Herodias and Salome didn’t end John. Right away, some believed (including Herod) that Jesus was John risen from the dead. And long after Herodias and Salome were gone and forgotten, except as a footnote in the story of John’s death, people were still telling stories about the Baptizer who proclaimed the coming of the messiah. The power of John’s message long outlived them.

Second, this kind of power is not defeated by force of arms, finances or status. It’s defeated in the kind of life Jesus teaches: love, respect and compassion for our neighbour, repentance, forgiveness and grace and, most important of all, a willingness to risk speaking truth to that power.

Something less than a miracle

I sometimes think that my job ought to be a lot easier. Part of it, anyway. 

Not the pastoral care, perhaps. Life’s complex and full of challenges, there’s much grief and sadness in the world. There’s also joy and happiness, challenges and opportunities and everyone’s life is, of course, uniquely there own. How that all interacts is complicated, to say the least. And it’s always a journey worth taking.

But there’s a part that feels like it ought to be easier. It’s the “proclaiming the Good News” part, the sharing of the story of Jesus, the stories of the disciples, teaching the living Word which is the essential truth at the heart of the Bible. It just seems like it ought to be easier. I mean, who wouldn’t want to hear it? Didn’t everyone listen to Jesus? Didn’t Jesus fix everything and now we’re fine?

Well, no.

It can feel like that ought to be true sometimes. Whatever your opinion of religion, I’m not sure how things like the ten commandments or God’s love being for everyone or The Golden Rule or Jesus saying that we should love one another or Paul saying that love is the fulfilment of the law are things that you wouldn’t want to incorporate into your life.

Sure, some people just don’t care to hear it. It might not have anything to do with religion, it might just be a need to find that there’s no grey area in right and wrong, it needs to be crystal clear, something which I’m pretty sure is never really possible. And yet. I despair sometimes that the answer to why you wouldn’t has a lot to do with religion and it’s often very human driven need to seek power over people rather than vulnerability with them. Every now and then I even wonder if those who say they’re spiritual, but opposed to organized religion aren’t on the right track. And I wonder if Jesus would have been among them.

I wonder how often the message gets lost in the interpretation. Or manipulation. And, by all means feel free to challenge me on the same terms. It’s just that fear, hate and exclusivity are hurtful and destructive. If they’re part of the message you’re hearing, you should look elsewhere because the source of that isn’t Jesus. Jesus message is hope, love and inclusivity because those are life changing, life enriching and life giving.

Just the other day I found myself having a conversation with someone that was going just fine until we, somehow, got on to the topic of illegal immigrants in the US. I suggested that care and compassion are what’s missing from that story. It’s not deserved, I heard, because they’re all either terrorists or it’s human trafficking - “coyotes” - either way, illegal is illegal. I tried to say I didn’t think that was true, it was just rhetoric, but, even if you thought that, they’re still human beings. I’m not sure how early on the conversation was lost, but by the time we got to “godless lefties” and “something big is coming,” I was pretty sure I should just shake the dirt off my feet and move on.

That phrase only occurred to me in hindsight. Later in the day I read the story in Mark when Jesus goes back to his home town. He’d been busy and attracted a lot of attention with miracles and teaching and I think he was probably expecting a warm reception from the home town crowd at the synagogue. But he didn’t get one. Instead they took a “we know you, local carpenter boy, who do you think you are?” kind of attitude. So Jesus “could do no deed of power there” (Mark 6:5) and he moved on. I wonder how he felt.

But he moves on and, with so much to do, he sends out the disciples in pairs to do what he’s been doing (what I like to call “Jesusing” - Jesus is a verb) and he tells them to take nothing with them. They don’t need anything but themselves and the Good News. But he also says to them, “ if any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” (Mark 6:11)

Jesus doesn’t say keep badgering them, “put the fear of God in them” - what a horrible phrase that is! - or tell them they’re going to eternal damnation. He also doesn’t tell them to give up.

This story’s a reality check. Barbara Brown Taylor calls it an “un-miracle” story. Not everyone wants to hear the message of Jesus and when they don’t, there’s nothing you can do but move on. It’s what Jesus did. It also didn’t stop him loving, caring, respecting, forgiving, healing, helping and all the things that go into “living and loving like Jesus.” 

Remember, too, that Jesus knew something we should as well, but find hard to accept. Not long before this story in Mark is one in which Jesus says that the kingdom of God is like a mustard seed. That’s not just a reflection on great things coming from a single small thing, but of how they do: the mustard seed grows like a weed. That’s how the love of Jesus works. It sneaks in the cracks and grows and questions and wonders and changes things. It may not seem like it, in the moment, but sometimes a dent has been made in the armour of certainty or an idea has floated gently over the wall of indifference. Was it the Word or the action of living it out or both? That’s why Jesus sent the disciples without any gear: they are the message and the medium. And so are we. Let’s move on.

A Law of Love and Compassion

Of course it’s more complicated than it appears.

Like everyone else, I’ve been reading the stories of what’s happening with our neighbours to the south. I know, there’s so much, I should be more specific. Just this moment, I’m thinking of families crossing into the US illegally being separated at the border, banning immigrants from certain countries, scaling back welfare programs and cutting health care for the poor. And now, playing hard ball with friends and allies while engaging those who, for good reason, haven’t been.

Wait, don’t stop reading - this isn’t about politics. Well, it is, in a way, I suppose, but give me a minute, please, while I wade into some murky waters.

Sorry that list so quickly became more general than specific. And those things are happening in more places than the US, they just make the most media headlines. Here, too, these issues come again and again because safety and security, financial stability, comfort and standard of living are important to the well-being of any community, local, national or global. And these issues are complicated, diverse and interconnected. Even when we seem to do well at balancing things, no system is fool proof. Good thing we have politicians and lawyers to sort things out for us. 

Perhaps fool proof is a bad choice of words.

Maybe that’s an unkind thing to say, but I mean it in the truest sense of being unwise. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s foolishness or it’s calculated and I’d rather hope for foolishness.

See, my real concern is the use of God and The Bible to justify actions of the government and the apparent willingness of some religious institutions to not only back those actions, but to suggest that certain governments and politicians may be “ordained by God.” They’re entitled to their opinion, of course, and I have one, too.

Recently, for example, the US Attorney General cited a verse from Paul’s Letter to the Romans to support the manner in which illegal immigrants to the US were being treated. The single verse he cited calls for everyone to obey the law and the government because they are established by God. Fair enough, but it doesn’t take wise theologians or even a late night talk show host who taught Sunday school to see the flaw in quoting one verse out of context. A few verses later, Paul also writes that all the laws “are summed up in this one command: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ Love does no harm to a neighbour. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law.” (Romans 13: 10)

There’s a pile more wrong with that particular incident and wiser people than I have already had there say. What I’d like to say about it is that it’s a piece of a larger and more widespread problem: an absence of love and compassion.

There’s a beautiful story within a story in Mark when Jesus meets a crowd of people, just as he steps out of a boat. In that crowd is a man, Jairus, a leader of the synagogue. He would have been of high standing in the community, perhaps even wealthy, certainly educated and respected. His daughter is ill, so he asks Jesus to come heal her. Jesus heads there right away, but, on the way, being something of a celebrity now, Jesus is surrounded by a crowd of people. In that crowd is a woman who has been ill for many years. Her illness cost her all she had financially, spent on doctors, and her standing in the community, because she would be considered “unclean” and an outcast. She believes that if she could just touch Jesus she would be healed. She does and she is, but Jesus notices. In all that crowd, he notices what she has “taken” from him. So he stops and demands to know who did that. She fearfully confesses and he tells her “your faith has healed you.”

In the meantime, someone has come from Jairus’ house to say that his daughter has died. Jairus gives up, but Jesus tells him “don’t be afraid. Believe.” Jesus goes to the house and tells the daughter to get up. She does and is restored to health and her family. Jesus even calls for someone to bring her food.

There’s so much in those intertwined stories, but overarching them both is Jesus’ love and compassion. The easily ignored woman - no one saw her in the crowd - poor, outcast and forgotten, is worthy of the same compassion as the daughter of a community leader. Both come in desperation, even fear, and they are each, equally, answered with healing.

Imagine how differently we’d be hearing the stories we’re currently hearing if they all began with love as the fulfillment of the law. Imagine if compassion, grace and respect were offered, rather than fear and force. Imagine if our attitude didn’t instil fear, but offered hope.

Then, maybe, we could say that we are truly followers of Jesus.

To get to the other side

As miracles go, the story of Jesus calming a storm while in a boat with the disciples is definitely a chart topper. It’s an epic demonstration of the power of Jesus, not just to heal people or to cast out demons, but over nature itself. “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?” (Mark 4:41)

That’s what the disciples are thinking after all this happens. And you can’t blame them. It had been a long day to begin with and then Jesus wants to cross the lake at night. In the dark. Well, okay, they’re seasoned fishermen, they can do that. But “a great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped.” (Mark 4:37) The guys used to the water are afraid, but not Jesus. He’s napping in the back. They wake him up and he stops the storm - just like that. He asks them why they’re afraid and questions their faith. By now, they’re probably more afraid of Jesus than the storm.

And why wouldn’t they be? That’s a thing with miracles: even when it benefits us, like saving our life, the fact that it can’t be explained is a little scary. And when the miracle is in the hands of a single person who suddenly exhibits inhuman power and ability, well, that’s pretty scary, too. Our gratitude is tinged with a little fear.

I wonder if those contrasting fears is a learning from this story. The disciples are afraid of the storm, justifiably so because they know what the storm can do. “We are perishing,” they say to Jesus (Mark 4:38), and I think they’re expecting to die. This is the right moment for Jesus to say “don’t be afraid.”

But then he does this thing that they never could have imagined possible. He stops the storm. That’s not just a “how’d he do that” magician’s trick. It’s the kind of moment that should make the hair stand up on the back of your neck. It’s the kind of fear that you feel in the pit of your stomach. It’s the fear of the unknown.

It doesn’t say that Jesus makes any further response to the disciples in the story, but I bet if he did, it wasn’t “don’t be afraid.” This time it would be “embrace your fear.” Engage the wonder, amazement and awe. There’s an energy in that, so let that drive you to the next shore.

That’s what it does for the disciples in this story. Nobody bales on Jesus soon as they get out of the boats. They’ve got a story to tell, for sure, but it’s a story of Jesus calming their fear of the storm and inspiring their fear of the unknown.

Here’s what I mean. Why did Jesus and the disciples get in the boat in the first place? To get to the other side. And just like the chicken, I don’t think the disciples knew what was on the other side of the lake. Maybe Jesus didn’t know either. It was just another stop on the journey. And the Sea of Galilee isn’t that wide, so it’s not that far and they crossed at night. It’s almost as if it were setup for something to happen.

And it does. It always does, because life is full of crossing the lake moments. Life is lived forward, it has to be in order to be “alive.” When you feel afraid of what you know, Jesus says “don’t be afraid, I’m here with you,whatever happens we’ll do it together.” When you feel afraid of the unknown, Jesus says “embrace it, engage it and find your way, I’m here with you, whatever happens we’ll do it together.” And, for Jesus, “together” is always more than you think. It’s more than the presence of Jesus in you, it’s the presence of Jesus in all of us with you. 

What's your story?

There was a story recently that prosperity gospel televangelist Jesse Duplantis was asking his followers to contribute towards a new personal jet for his ministry. $54 million US is all it would cost for him to add this fourth plane to his fleet. He told his followers that he needed it to get closer to Jesus and spread the gospel. Jesus himself, he said, had told him so. According to CNN, he also said that “all it's gonna do is it's going to touch people, it's going to reach people, it's going to change lives one soul at a time … I really believe that if Jesus was physically on the earth today, he wouldn't be riding a donkey.”

In a followup story a week later, Duplantis seemed to be backing away from the request for financial support, saying instead that he asked people to “believe for it.”

Okay. Well, I’m not really interested in debating the prosperity gospel here or questioning the sincerity of his ministry. He claims his “ministry reaches 2 billion people worldwide” (CNN again) and that’s a few more than me and, hey, he’s already got those three other planes, a $3 million house and $40 million net worth. That’s a lot of prosperity to back up his preaching. I have enough trouble keeping my 12 year old car on the road - I hope that’s not a sign of the success of my ministry.

I would like to pick up on something he said about the plane, though. It sounds to me like he believes that the new plane means he can reach more people and, though he says “one soul at a time,” I have a feeling he means in the context of very large meetings of thousands of people. And if Jesus were here today, that’s how Jesus would do it, too.

I don’t know that I agree with that. I don’t mean the first part. I’m sure that Jesse thinks he’ll reach more people, no doubt about that, it’s just that I don’t see how he’ll be doing that “one soul at a time” flying into big meetings, events, conferences and conventions. Or through his media empire, either, and you don’t need a plane for that.

No, I don’t think Jesus would ride a donkey, but I also don’t think reaching as many people as possible was what Jesus was about. I truly believe gathering as a faith community is important - however and whenever one does that - and that we should communicate with any and all kinds of media that are available - whichever might connect with people. But I think we get caught up in numbers: the point isn’t the many, it’s the one. And then the next one and the next one.

Jesus didn’t seek out crowds. They sought him. Jesus sought individuals or maybe two or three people over a meal. I think Jesus was more interested in how many people experienced him than heard his words. Jesus wanted to meet people, one on one, and connect with them. I think he wants to know us as much as we know him.

That’s why I think the gospels are basically a highlight reel. None of them had room for all the details, but there are hints of more. So here’s how I picture Jesus’ ministry. First of all, I think Jesus sought out the broken, the hurting, the marginalized and the forgotten. And it was never a question of bring me more or filling a room.  I think Jesus had a gift for making an individual feel like they were the whole world to him, that’s part of what healed them. I hear Jesus beginning with “what’s your story?” and listening to what they had to say before doing anything else with them. Knowing them, meeting them where they were most vulnerable and honouring their story was the beginning of their healing.

And when Jesus had to move on, that wasn’t the end for anyone. They had a new life and a new story to share. And they did. And soon crowds were following Jesus. More importantly, a single person’s story, shared with many, was helping to spread Jesus’ message of love, grace and caring, of turning back to God and living a life that was good and whole. That message was deeper and more personal than just words and it wasn’t spread by Jesus addressing vast crowds, it all began with Jesus and one person who knew his love.

The parable of the mustard seed is a classic among Jesus’ stories (Mark 4:30-32). The kingdom of God is like a tiny little seed that grows into “the greatest of all shrubs, and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.” A pretty obvious metaphor for great things can come from the smallest gesture or moment or act of kindness or even a single person. Great, except how it grows into its greatness is just as important.

Jesus didn’t use an oak for his metaphor, or even a Lebanon cedar. No mighty trees, but rather a lowly mustard. Mustard is a weed. It’s invasive, it creeps in, it takes over, it’s hard to get rid of no matter how hard you try. All it takes is one seed and, before you know it, it’s taken over your field. That’s definitely how the kingdom of God grows.

But mustard being a “weed” depends on your perspective. Even in Jesus’ day it was also a useful crop, producing spice, greens, oil and pigment. With the right care and nurture, it can produce abundantly. That’s the kingdom, too.

Either way, it all begins with one.

Are you out of your mind?

I suppose that I’m stating the obvious here, but I think Jesus taught in two important ways.

One is that he preached. And by that, I mean that he proclaimed a message of love, grace and care for others which he backed up with action. It’s easy to say that preaching is just talk, but the real thing is what Jesus did: he lived what he proclaimed. We don’t just learn from his words, but his living.

The other is that he told stories. Mostly parables, but I’m sure he just told some good old stories. Nothing makes a point like a story. After all, we live in story, right? When we describe what happened to someone else or even recall it for ourselves, it’s a story we’re telling, our version of things. It’s no wonder Jesus liked to use stories, so that people could relate to his point. That, unfortunately, is also where it gets tricky because stories tend to become our version of things and we can easily interpret what we see and hear differently.

By the way, if someone is teaching you a story of Jesus that leaves you feeling judged, found wanting and fearful, then I think you need another teacher. The stories told by Jesus, like the story of Jesus, were meant to help us live better lives, not make us feel like we failed.

Of course, though I feel pretty confident in saying that, it’s my interpretation, isn’t it? We all hear the message our own way. So you can understand why people in positions of authority might find Jesus to be a problem and why they, and others, might think Jesus is out of his mind.

I use that expression deliberately because that’s the scene early on in the gospel of Mark. Jesus has been busy, so busy that he decides he needs help and appoints the twelve apostles. He’s been performing miracles, healing people and casting out demons, and preaching his message of love. And he’s been attracting a lot of attention. The crowds are overwhelming, some think he’s gone “out of his mind,” (Mark 3:21), his family shows up to get him out of there, the authorities show up and Jesus just keeps on going - it’s just a really busy, if not chaotic, scene.

In the midst of it, Jesus makes some pretty startling pronouncements. The authorities accuse him of acting for the devil, so he debunks that and, in doing so, uses a short, simple parable for what he’s all about. He says “no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.” A somewhat obtuse metaphor to us, I guess, but essentially he means that he is the one who comes to the world (the house) to “tie up” evil (the strong man) and change the world. In a recent Working Preacher blog post, theologian Matt Skinner describes the whole of the gospel of Mark as “a story about the reign of God coming to displace another reign, and that other one will not relinquish its power without a fight.” That sounds pretty subversive and alarming.

Jesus goes on to say that there is a sin that cannot be forgiven, a sin against the Holy Spirit. But I wonder if the sin here, the “blasphemy” (Mark 3:29), isn’t simply the rejection of what the Spirit offers. There’s no possibility of knowing forgiveness if you don’t accept that it’s been given. The language is harsh, but realistic: how will you ever know forgiveness if you don’t accept the grace that gives it? Again, pretty subversive and alarming talk. But it gets worse.

Jesus dismisses his blood relations and claims his family to be something different, something bigger, something not defined by the rigid structures of a hierarchical Hebrew society. It’s those who “do the will of God” (Mark 3:35). You can imagine how outrageous that would have sounded in that day. It still does today, even with a more global worldview, even with a better understanding of different societal structures, even with a better appreciation of how dysfunctional families can be, even then, it sounds, well, crazy. He must be out of his mind.

But look, right from the beginning, Jesus was clear that things were going to change, needed to change and wanted to change. Nowhere did Jesus say it would be easy and comfortable. If our relationships are built on structures that perpetuate brokenness, exert power over others, exclude and subjugate them, then those relationships need to change. That’s not crazy talk. That’s love in action. That’s empowering and life giving.