Are you afraid?

We’ve been out at the lake near here the last couple of weeks. It’s beautiful there and there’s a nice little community, some summer residents and a few all season. Right where you drive in there’s signs in both directions, those yellow diamond shape caution signs. They say “BEWARE OF CHILDREN.”

I’m pretty sure a few people smile at that. Unless they just read Stephen King’s “Children of the Corn,” then maybe not.

We’re used to seeing “Caution” or “Slow: Children Playing,” “Watch for Children” or even just the sign with the image of children playing. Maybe whoever put the sign up just had a sense of humour or was just trying to be different and meant the same thing. But I was thinking that they wanted more from drivers. I thought they must have wanted drivers to be aware.

So I looked up the definition of “beware” in a few different dictionaries and I have to say I’m disappointed. All of them indicated that it comes from the contraction of “be” and “ware” and means to be cautious, alert or on guard (I’m mostly okay with that) because of impending danger, trouble or risk (not fine with that at all).

I so wanted it to be a contraction of “be aware.”

I know it might seem that I’m being fussy, but I think there’s a huge difference in our world between “be aware” and “be wary.” That huge difference is fear.

Take that signage, for example. Would you understand it to mean be on guard because of the impending danger of children? Or be aware that there are children around here and act accordingly.

Well, it means the second one, of course (for most of us, anyway). But that’s probably because, like me, you read it as “be aware of children.” 

Just like the dictionaries, when we say beware we’ve already presumed danger, we’ve already assumed there’s something to fear for which we should be on guard and ready to defend, ready to protect ourselves and our stuff. And we can find lots to fear. Look around you, read the news. We could probably live our entire lives on the defensive.

Or we could be aware.

Look at Jesus for a minute. “Don’t be afraid” is his favourite thing to say. I don’t think Jesus ever meant that in a dismissive way, as if our fear wasn’t real or reasonable. Nor do I think Jesus ever meant to say it as a command, as if it were simply a question of obeying his word. Whether it’s “don’t be afraid,” “fear not,” “do not let your heart be troubled” or any of the many ways Jesus addressed our fear, Jesus never left it there. “Don’t be afraid” was always followed by “be aware.”

Sure, be aware that your fear may very well be real. But that doesn’t mean it controls you. You choose how to respond to it and how to use it. Perhaps it is time to beware - to be prepared for danger or risk - but the important part of that isn’t the danger and risk, it’s the be prepared.

It may also be that what we fear is simply the unknown, a lack of understanding or experience. And to that I think Jesus would tell us to be aware and engage the world. Find out more, wonder more, experience more, understand more. Don’t be afraid, be prepared and go experience life. You’ll be okay.

You’ll be okay because God is with you. “I know, I know,” Jesus might say, “you think that all sounds good, but what does it really mean. Well, let me show you.” Jesus’ life teaches us how to be aware, not afraid. Jesus teaches us to engage the world with love and grace and build relationships that reach out, not walls to hide behind. Jesus brings us closer to God and shows us how to live with God in our lives.

Don’t be afraid. Be aware. Be like Jesus.

Eat it, it's good for you

The very idea of literalism bothers me.  It seems to me that there really is no such thing.  After all, the moment you read something, hear something or see something, the moment you experience it, you - yourself - are interpreting it, aren't you?

I'm distinguishing from "factual," by the way.  It seems to me that something being factually correct isn't the same as literal.  Literal must surely mean something is exactly as it appears and not open to interpretation beyond what it literally is, right?

Apparently not.

I looked it up online at dictionary.com and it has this note under "usage:” "since the early 20th century, literally  has been widely used as an intensifier meaning 'in effect, virtually,' a sense that contradicts the earlier meaning 'actually, without exaggeration.'"

I guess now we’re interpreting literally.

It may seem like I'm being a bit silly about this, but many churches this month are hearing the chapter of John’s gospel in which Jesus describes himself as “the Bread of Life.” It’s the first of a series of “I am” statements that Jesus makes in order to describe himself and what he’s about.

Just to be clear: Jesus says “I am” these things. He doesn’t say “I’m like these things” or “here’s a really cool metaphorical way of describing me.”

This week, he’s a little more specific even. "So Jesus said to them, ‘very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.  Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink.  Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them"  (John 6:53-56).

It would worry me a little if people thought we should take that "literally" - the old meaning of literally - that Jesus really wanted you to gnaw on some flesh and drink some blood.  Literally.  Of course it's an image to help us better understand the role of Jesus in our lives.  Isn't  it?

Let's step back for a minute.  When we hear this today, we employ our interpretative lenses of two thousand years understanding that Jesus was referring to the sacrifice of his life, two thousand years of teaching about the institution of the eucharist, the re-enactment of the Last Supper in which the bread and wine either symbolize or becomes (depending on your tradition) the body and blood of Jesus.  It's not hard for us to understand that Jesus means this "as an intensifier meaning 'in effect, virtually.'"

But the story's not from this century and the people listening to Jesus have no such lens with which to interpret it.  Furthermore, according to Hebrew law, it's forbidden to consume "flesh" (defined as meat without its blood spilled) and blood because of the belief that "life" is in the blood.  This language alienated some of Jesus followers.  It also left the earliest followers of Jesus with a reputation.  Seems some people got the idea they were cannibals …

So why was Jesus being this outrageous?  Well, it's not the first time.  Think of how many of Jesus' parables make his point with an extreme image.  And what about the miracles?  Not long before this story, Jesus fed more than five thousand people with five loaves and two fish.

This "bread of life" story has been going on for a little while in John's gospel and still the people don't seem to get it.  But I think for once, being literal is on the right track.  In that outrageousness is Jesus' point: it is not enough to change the way you act, it's not enough to just behave differently, it's not enough to think or speak differently, it's not even enough to believe.  To become one with Jesus and with God is to take Jesus - and God - within you, to - literally - consume Jesus so that your whole being is fed.  Your whole being.  The bread which keeps this physical body alive is not enough.  Not even the manna in the wilderness can do more than that.  Only the "Bread of Life" can feed your whole being in this life and the life to come. 

That's right.  It comes down to something we can easily understand: you are what you eat.  Literally. 

Try checking your image

Lori and I have a breakfast ritual. She lets the dogs out and feeds them, I make the breakfast, we sit down and, while we eat, we like to read the news online from a few reputable media sources. 

Well, I say “like” but sometimes we don’t “like” it at all. But it’s good to be informed even if you wish it were more positive. And truthful. When did it get so easy to lie? And steal and hate and hurt and break and? Sorry. I’m starting to sound like one of those ministers who thinks “the world is going to hell in a hand basket.”

Don’t be afraid. I don’t mean to sound like that - I’m still one of those ministers who thinks that, created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27), we are inherently good. With freewill, we are often easily led astray, but God - the power of love, grace and good that connects us all - is our default setting.

I’ll come back to that, but I was thinking about what’s true when I noticed the headline “In business, finding out what’s true is more valuable than ever.” It was an analysis column by CBC business writer Don Pittis. He started out talking about Elon Musk’s recent tweet announcing his intent to buy back shares of his company, Tesla. Was the information in the tweet true, everyone wants to know. Because if it isn’t, Pittis writes, the US Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) could charge him with stock manipulation or fraud. Pittis writes “the children's game of true or false doesn't seem as easy as it used to. For those of us grasping for truth in a world that seems full of convenient lies, knowing there is a body like the SEC to step in and try to keep powerful business leaders honest is at least a small comfort. But in so many other areas, truth seems to have lost its currency. And unlike with the securities business, there is no regulator to intervene and tell us what's so.”

He’s written about this before, he says, and goes on to talk about the lack of truth and credibility in politics, the world and the media before tying them all together with this: “In business, truth matters. Outside of business, the value of truth is harder to measure. But guiding our lives by pure falsehood surely has a cost. And there's no SEC to set us straight.”

He should read Ephesians with us this week.

Traditionally, it was long thought that the letter to the Ephesians was written by the apostle Paul to people at Ephesus (a Mediterranean coastal city in what’s now modern day Turkey) and lumped in with Paul’s other letters. But more recent scholarship says that Paul didn’t write it, it was likely a student or follower later, using Paul’s name to give it credibility. And it may not have been specifically to Ephesus. The oldest existing copy seems to be blank in the salutation, so it could have been to anyone or everyone. Which is also interesting. Paul’s letters seem to be in response to a particular situation or context that we don’t have the original correspondence for, but this one is more direct and broader in scope.

Let me go back to “using Paul’s name to give it credibility.” The whole preceding paragraph shouldn’t be interpreted as questioning how credible the letter is. Truth is (no pun intended) we shouldn’t consider only it’s source, something we so often do, but investigate and discern the content for ourselves. Really. Don’t just believe it because I said so, read it for yourself. Especially Ephesians 4:25-5:2. 

The whole letter is really about the community created around the gospel story, the “good news” of Jesus, but is more than the words or theology of that, it’s the practical doing of it. The community we create and empower by being honest and truthful with each other, but not in a way that’s hurtful and destructive. Even anger is okay, but, again, the point ought to always be to build up, not tear down. And thieves shouldn’t steal, but rather work to have something to share with others. The point always being to build up the community - literally, the common unity - of people. Put away malice and bitterness, says the letter, and be kind and supportive with each other. 

Well that sounds idyllic. And difficult. And if you read the news today, it doesn’t look like we’re being very successful at it. There’s very little warm fuzzies and lots of harsh reality. Yes. But we shouldn’t give up and we shouldn’t address that with simply more of the same.

The author of Ephesians has another idea. Remember “created in the image of God?” Well, then “be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us” (Eph. 5:1-2). I think they could see how easy it was for us to look out at the world and respond in kind and they wanted to tell us all to look inwards instead, and to see God there and to live in love. Because however you know God, God is love. Jesus is that love incarnate. We are, too.

Jesus at the Potluck

I wrote about church potlucks last week. I connected them, loosely, to the miracle story of Jesus feeding the multitude (John 6:1-21), a miracle, I think, of sharing and community.

I talk about food a lot and encourage it at church. Whether it’s a potluck meal, a pancake breakfast, a community supper or just coffee and cookies or muffins or pie … mmm, the pie.

Sometimes, I have a feeling that I talk about it too much when people say things like “do you do anything but eat at your church?” Oh, yes, yes we do.

See - and you’ve probably heard me say this before - I think that the feeding the multitude story is just the tip of the food iceberg (the foodberg?) in the bible. There are loads of stories of Jesus sharing a meal with people. And I bet there were many more that were left out. I don’t think it’s just The Last Supper that’s important, or this miracle of loaves and fishes, too. I think every time Jesus “broke bread” with people something amazing happened.

Because it’s not about the bread.

John’s gospel includes seven instances of Jesus describing himself with an “I am” statement, different ways of understanding who Jesus is and what he’s about. The first follows this story of the feeding of the multitude, when Jesus tells them “I am the Bread of Life.”

It seems the crowd from the miracle story has followed Jesus, seeking more. And when they catch up to him, there’s a strange interaction. At first, he questions their sincerity, saying they’re only looking for more food, like the day before. But they ask him, then, how do we do what God wants us to do? Jesus says they should believe in him, the one God has sent. So they ask for a sign.

(This is the point that I think either Jesus is divinely patient or he did a face palm and said “what do you think the whole loaves and fishes thing was? Or what about the healing and the casting out demons, stuff? They’re all signs, people.”)

They even quote from Exodus to him, how Moses fed the Israelites with manna in the desert (see Exodus 16), another food-sharing moment.

But Jesus points out that it wasn’t Moses that fed them. It was no “sign” of Moses’ power, it was God that fed them. And now, Jesus is that manna from God, Jesus is the Bread of Life.

Because it’s not about the bread.

Jesus is truly “soul food.” Jesus feeds the spirit and living a life “fed” by Jesus brings us closer to God and the world.  And that bread is for the whole world, for everyone.  Being spiritually nourished in this way is a common element in all religions.  How can it not be?  We must feed our souls or be spiritually dead.

But what does it mean to be spiritually nourished? Jesus points out that there must be more than the offer of spiritual food here: it requires also the willingness to receive it, to understand it and to believe in its power to nourish. The life of the Bread of Life – sounds awkward, but it’s what I mean, I think – is our example for living, for loving one another and living right with our world.  It’s part of our responsibility in this relationship to discern what is bread and water that nourishes and what is coffee and donuts that feed a craving or candy that fattens our soul.

I mean that last sentence metaphorically, of course, but here’s the moment that it’s also about the bread. Jesus doesn’t call us just to be fed and to feed others spiritually. That doesn’t bring wholeness. Living right with our world means that we need to feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, embrace the stranger, clothe the naked and care for the sick and broken (Matt. 25:35-36). Fed but the manna, the Bread of Life, we can feed others.

It’s like a good church potluck. The food’s always good, there’s always lots of it and I’m pretty sure it’s blessed with no calories or cholesterol (I’m going to think that, anyway). But it’s not just about the food, it’s about the sharing, the community, the giving and receiving, the conversations, the inspiration, the love. Oh yes, the love.

There's always leftovers

I don’t think I’ve ever been to a church potluck that ran out of food. Maybe it happens, but I can’t imagine that it does very often.

They’re a beautiful thing, potluck meals, especially church ones. They’re a culinary adventure that could include a variety of things, things you may love and others you may not like at all . But it always seems to balance out. You never really know what you’re going to get, just that there always seems to be so much of it. And more than enough to feed everyone that’s there, including those who may have forgot to bring something. Or couldn’t.

It’s a miracle, really, isn’t it?

There’s one miracle story that appears in all the gospels in the Bible. It’s the miracle of Jesus feeding the crowd with only loaves and fishes. Each of the gospels tells the story with it’s own unique touches from the perspective of the teller, all avenues worth exploring, but the basic plot is the same. Jesus is teaching a large crowd when it gets late and everyone is hungry. There is no where to get food, but there’s a few loaves and fishes, not enough for a few to eat let alone the huge crowd that’s there. But Jesus blesses them and the food is passed around, miraculously feeding everyone until they are “satisfied” and there are twelve baskets full of leftovers.

That’s a miracle. There’s no doubt that’s a miracle, whether you believe Jesus miraculously fed the crowd with only the loaves and fishes or Jesus, with an extreme act of generosity, inspired others to share all that they had so that everyone was fed. Both of those are miracles and show the power of Jesus.

No, I don’t think the second one “explains it away.” Nor do I think it was an act of social manipulation, that Jesus guilted the crowd into sharing by his act of generosity. I think this is a miracle not only of the moment of Jesus sharing, but of his teaching leading up to it. The story doesn’t say exactly what Jesus said and did that day, just that he taught and healed. But the crowd followed him and stayed with him, even to being hungry. Love inspires love. That we might look at this miracle so cynically misses the point of Jesus’ message, both in word and action.

All we see in this moment is what the disciples see: a crowd of hungry people and a scarcity of food to feed them. It’s one of our greatest fears, not having enough. So great is our fear that we would hold on to it - whatever “it” is - protect and conserve it, hide it if we must. You’d need a miracle to make us part from it.

That Jesus wants to feed the people is an act of compassion, yes, and the sharing of the food an act of generosity, absolutely. But I think Jesus also knows that, in that gathering of people sharing in the community that’s been built around their time together hearing and seeing his message of love, healing and wholeness, Jesus knows that there is an abundance of just that, love.

Perhaps some people found they had food to share. Perhaps some didn’t. Perhaps some wouldn’t and perhaps some couldn’t. Perhaps some people came to a better understanding of what it means to be satisfied and shared without fear because there was more than enough.

And there was. In every account of this story, there are leftovers. A lot of leftovers. The storyteller doesn’t say what happens to them, but I like to think in that time of sharing, the community figured out who needed the most. And that’s who it went home with.

I’ve noticed that can happen with church potlucks, too. Sure, some leftovers go home in the pot they came in. But, more often than not, I think the person who brought that realizes the abundance they have and is more than happy to share.

I like to think that, at the end of the day, the people who took “leftovers” home with them shared them with others, too. And not just the food. I like to think they sat down with others and said “let me tell where this food came from. It’s a miracle.”

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.