Try saying that three times

I’m very grateful that there are people willing to get up in front of a room full of other people and help lead by reading something. Especially when that something is scripture. Even if you invite people to read from the translation or version that they’re most comfortable with, sooner or later it’s going to happen: you’re going to get names. Those old, oddly spelled, awkward to pronounce names from a very different time and place that leave people speechless.  There’s the classic “begats” - “so-and-so begat so-and-so who begat …” and so on. Or simply “so-and-so, son of so-and-so.” Those are important to establish lineage, which is often very important in the Bible. But another key purpose is to establish context.

This is a good time of year for that. We’re headed to Christmas and timelines are important, especially when we usually talk about John the Baptist on the second Sunday of Advent. He was the announcer of Jesus, the one who would proclaim his coming - as an adult. But we’re hearing his story - and his call to prepare - weeks before the birth of Jesus. John has a great birth story, too, by the way, very similar to Jesus’.  You can find it in Luke 1.

But we also hear about John, the adult, calling us to prepare. So here’s his introduction: "In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" (Luke 3:1-2).

Okay, some of those aren't bad as biblical names go, but still. It would have been easier to just say “here’s John.” It's an important piece of the story, though, because it dates the events.  It's kind of like saying "in the sixty-sixth year of the reign of Elizabeth II, when Justin was Prime Minister, and Rachel was premier of Alberta, and John ruled in BC and Scott in Saskatchewan, during the papacy of Francis.”  Right, 2018, more or less.

Luke uses this same technique in another story we’ll hear soon. The story of the birth of Jesus begins "in those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria" (Luke 2: 1-2).

Except, as a means of dating things, it's complicated because these rulers and important people and big events don't always line up exactly. Lots of debate about that.

But is that Luke's only point, I wonder? And why are we hearing the story of John the Baptist - as an adult - during Advent?  Born a few months before Jesus, he was a cousin who's role was to proclaim Jesus' coming - not his birth, but his coming as "Lord" and saviour.  This story is thirty years after their births.  So why hear it now?

Of course, the "prepare the way of the Lord" is good advice anytime.  But I think this one sentence reminds us of something else, equally important.  It's not about when, it's about who.

Tiberius was the Roman Emperor, Pilate was a governor, Herod, Philip and Lysanius were kings (more or less, “tetrarchs,” technically), Annas and Caiaphas were high priests.  These were important, wealthy, powerful people. John was the son of an ordinary, everyday priest in the temple.

Augustus was an emperor, Quirinius a governor. Jesus was the just the son of a carpenter.

John and Jesus were nobodies. They had no status or station, no money, no armies, no power at all. But, "the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness" and the angel announced to shepherds that the Messiah is a "child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger." Not what anyone expected.

Maybe this is to remind us to expect less and be open to more at Christmas time.  God doesn't speak to us through the bright lights, shimmering trees and miles of tinsel, but through one solitary star in the night sky.

The Days Are Surely Coming

The new church year begins this week. Not with a festival, cards, a big party or a special dinner. There’s not much decoration that’s for new year’s day, maybe even just a single candle on a wreath. A wreath with four other candles on it, and this first one isn’t even the most important. It’s the first one on a journey somewhere else. Lighting one each week, by the time we get to the candle that matters most, this first one might be just a stub. And yet, a blazing light, a star even, metaphorically speaking, because that candle represents hope.

Christmas is coming and the church year begins with Advent, a time of anticipation and preparation for Christmas. Four weeks with the themes hope, peace, joy and love.

I know what you’re thinking. You started preparing for Christmas with some shopping back on Black Friday or Cyber Monday. And there’s so many business Christmas parties, you might have had your’s back in November. You might even have put your tree and decorations up a respectful amount of time after November 11 and started your Christmas baking. Maybe you’re holding off on the Christmas cards until the last moment. Yes, that’s all preparation, that’s all anticipating The Big Day. It is.

You might also be preparing yourself for a time of year that’s difficult. Grief and loss are so sharply felt in those moments that others find happy, when we can’t find the sense of celebration that’s happening all around us. That, too, is anticipation and requires some preparation.

That’s right where the church year begins, with anticipation and preparation for what’s ahead. I think that’s why the first candle is hope. Whether you’re wrapped up in all that busy-ness or holding on to grief in the midst of all the chaos, hope reminds us, deep in our hearts, that there is something special ahead: calm at the end of the busy-ness, a light lifting of the grief, new life, the possibility and potential of a new beginning.

That’s the thing about hope. It’s not about when things - busy or hard or both - will be over, it’s about what will begin. Hope carries us through to that new beginning. Whenever, however, whatever it may be. Hope isn’t quantified by time or expectation. Hope is about the arrival of peace, inner joy and love and the wholeness that comes with them.

The prophet Jeremiah knew about hope. He lived in very dark times for the people of Israel. Conquered, occupied and exiled, the Temple destroyed, the people had good reason to feel hopeless. But Jeremiah told them that “the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfil the promise I made” (Jer. 33:14). That promise is about new life coming from the line of David, of the restoration of justice, righteousness and safety for the people. That hope references a promise made in the past, acknowledges the present struggle and offers hope that it will be fulfilled. Those days are coming, it’s certain.

In our own time, we might well feel like we need to hear those words, too. And in Jesus, Christians see the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy. Jesus is born from the line of David, so he is the new branch Jeremiah refers to. But I wonder if we aren’t limiting Jeremiah’s brave and inspiring words of hope with that “fulfillment.”

Each year, we commemorate the coming of Jesus in the distant past, while affirming his presence in our lives today and calling people to live into the way of Jesus in the days ahead. That’s hope.

Jeremiah’s prophecy is fulfilled with every act of kindness we share, every time we stand up for what’s right, every time we choose to love, care and support our neighbour, every moment of forgiveness, every selfless act of service. To me that’s being Jesus, over and over again. To me, that’s the new life, the affirmation of that hope, the sharing of that hope, reminding others that it’s present in them, too. It’s present in all of us. We’re all a part of fulfilling that hope.

I like that phat Jesus

Is that still a cool word to use, “phat?” It means excellent, cool, awesome. It’s african-american slang that comes out of the beginnings of hip hop music in the late 1970s and early ‘80s. Like, “a phat beat” means a really cool tune.

Yeesh, trying to explain the meaning of cool slang terms starts to sound really ridiculous. But there it is. I’m not making it up. Google it or check the Oxford Dictionary. Yes, it made the Oxford Dictionary.

So, I think Jesus is most definitely phat. Really, because I believe that Jesus is excellent, cool and awesome. I also think he was pretty hip for his day and his ability to connect with people was, in part, due to his openness to communicating in a way they’d understand. He could be the light of the world to those who felt in the dark. He could be bread to the hungry and water for the thirsty. He told stories that used contemporary images and metaphors that people would understand in their own context. Farmers heard about sowers and vineyards, people who fished heard about, well, fish.

That’s also why you will probably not ever hear me say that Jesus is phat. It’s just not my language or my image. And that’s the point. We need to image Jesus, describe Jesus and tell Jesus’ stories with language, images, metaphors that we understand. That’s what Jesus did. 

It’s important, of course - and I’m grateful - that we have so much scholarship and study that illuminates the meaning of the things Jesus did and said in the first century. In Roman occupied Judea. With a variety of very different kinds of people. But, rather than simply explaining things, couldn’t we use that scholarship to create images and metaphors for our own time? Jesus built relationships with people where they were, how they where. Wouldn’t we deepen our relationship with Jesus if we owned the images, metaphors and language of the stories?

Take this Sunday, the last Sunday of the church year before Advent begins. In many denominations, it’s referred to as Reign of Christ or Christ the King Sunday. The theme reflects the idea that it’s Jesus that should rule our lives, not the secular world. The world would be a very different place if it were Jesus’ kingdom.

Even as I write that, I think that needs way more explanation. To Jesus, that meant serving others, loving and caring and empowering people. It was never about power over others, never about how we might understand that image of a king. That’s presuming you have an image of a king in mind beyond fairy tales, knights and the historical royalty the world has experienced. There’s few places where there’s a king or queen that rules. You’re more likely to find countries with dictators, but then, that might be a similar image. My last name is King and I can’t really relate to this image of Jesus. It needs unpacking and explaining.

When you imagine Jesus, what do you see? There’s no physical description in the bible and yet, in the west, we’ve tended - until recently - to portray Jesus as a pale, white european male with brown or blond hair and blue eyes. Not at all what a first century Judean Jew would look like, but, yes, what we would look like. The dominant part of society, that is. And there’s the problem.

I think we do need to image Jesus in a way that’s meaningful to us. But we can’t insist that’s the only image and we can’t say that’s the only way to embody Jesus. I believe I’ve seen Jesus, and been inspired by Jesus, in a host of people in my life. Colour, gender, shape, style shouldn’t matter except in how it helps you relate to what’s in the heart. And hearing other people’s ways of imagining Jesus may even open a door and bring us closer.

So you’ll probably never hear me talk about phat Jesus. Although, I might say it and mean something else. I do have an idea that Jesus shared a lot of his teaching and built a lot of relationships over food. I know he walked a lot, but I also wonder if he might have been a little more husky than slim. I like food and I don’t walk enough. Wonder if Jesus looked like me?

Still Standing

Jesus and his followers were leaving the Temple, when one of his disciples makes a seemingly innocuous comment. “Look, Teacher! What massive stones! What magnificent buildings!” (Mark 13:1)

And they would’ve been right. Back in the day, the Temple was impressive. And it darn well should have been. After all, it was the house of God. So you’d expect that Jesus might say something like, “why, yes it is. The fine craftsmanship and sheer grandeur of the place is worthy of the glory of God’s presence.”

But he doesn’t. Instead he says that all these buildings will come down. There’ll also be wars and famine and earthquakes and this is just “the beginning of the birth pangs.” A lengthy apocalyptic passage follows reminding the disciples to keep watch, be ready and not be deceived by others claiming to be Jesus.

So, just a regular day, then.

Feels like it, sometimes, doesn’t it? That’s when it’s best to remember that what we so often fearfully refer to as “The End Times” are, in fact, “the beginning of the birth pangs.” The new heaven comes from the end of the old sinful ways. And that, we should engage with hope.

But let’s go back to the disciple and their admiration for the buildings for a minute. I think the context of this comment can give us something to think about. 

They’re leaving the Temple after a lengthy stretch of Jesus’s authority and teaching being questioned by the chief priests, the teachers of the law and the elders. These Temple authorities tested him and asked him questions hoping to embarrass him. At the end of all that, Jesus challenges us to be discerning about leaders who like to dress the part and be respected, but don’t “walk the talk.” He then observes a poor widow who gives all that she has to the Temple and commends her generosity and, I think, her belief in what she’s giving her money to. She trusts that she’ll be taken care of, as she should be, by the Temple - the extension of God’s love and grace. And now, here we are at the magnificence of the building.

So often we seem to live in a “bigger is better” world. Size matters, in structure and quantity. But what about quality and commitment? What about joy? Is the important thing the structure itself or what it stands for? That’s a question churches are continually asking, as are many other organizations where the people are the most important ingredient. Or they should be. The size and beauty of the Temple honour God, but what about the actions of the Temple, what about its care of the poor widow? Isn’t God honoured by love, grace and compassion being lived out?

What’s more is the question of which is the more durable, the building or what it stands for. The Temple will be undone by time, if not force, but God, loving and life-giving, grows and changes and lives. Always. We can see that in history, we can see that in the world around us and even in our own bodies. Structures, whether physical buildings, institutions, religions, hierarchies or societies can be broken down and pass away. But love, joy, hope, peace, grace, compassion - these are the things that carry on because they are endless, boundless and timeless.  Like God, they can’t be worn out.

Promise, Gratitude and Trust

The Gospel of Mark tells a story about Jesus and the disciples sitting by the Temple treasury one day, watching people bringing their donations. They watched some “rich people” donate large amounts, says Mark, although one has to wonder what or how one would qualify as “rich” in a country occupied by the Romans. Then, a poor widow arrives and puts in a couple of small coins, all that she has, and walks away. Jesus tells the disciples that she has given more than even the richest person because they had so much and gave only a piece of it, but she gave everything she had.

Foolish woman.

Okay, Jesus didn’t say that. That was me being cynical. But you can’t tell me that it hasn’t occurred to anyone to wonder about this woman’s motivation. She gave away all that she had. Now what? Let’s be discerning for a minute.

For so long, we’ve heard this story used in church fundraising. This poor widow is truly generous and gives with a sense of abundance in her heart. Yes, absolutely, she is an example of generosity to be emulated. Where does she give “all that she has?” To the Temple, the very people who should be most involved in the care of the widow, the poor, the sick, the needy.

We don’t hear any more about this widow than Jesus commenting on her example, but I’m sure we can safely assume that she was suitably thanked for her generosity and further, lived happily ever after in the care and safekeeping of the Temple authorities.

Or can we?

Jesus’ relationship with the Temple authorities - the pharisees, scribes and sadduccees - is well known. They didn’t like Jesus’ teaching and felt threatened by it. But Jesus was also very critical of their behaviour, mostly that they didn’t live the law and the faith that they proclaimed. Right before this story, Mark tells of Jesus warning people about “the scribes” who like to dress up, expect to be respected and to be honoured, but their heart is not in it. Beware those who do it for show, Jesus says.

But the widow doesn’t. Or she sees something different. Either way, I don’t think the point here is just her generosity. I think it’s about believing in where she offered her generosity. Right or wrong, she has faith in the Temple and believes that is where she should put all she has. Is she right to do so? We don’t find out for sure, but perhaps that’s the point - to ask the questions and be discerning.

Maybe that shouldn’t just apply to the Temple. Governments, businesses, charities all ask for our trust that they deliver what they say.

So there’s two sides to this. The first is that we be discerning about what we believe in, that we what we support with our finances, resources, even lives, should truly honour what we intend. And that, of course, should reflect our love, grace and compassion as children of God.

The other is that we honour what is given, first with thanks, but also with the gratitude of being true to what is promised for it. In other words, we be worthy of the gifts given to us.

As I write that, I find I’m struggling with the language because I’m not thinking of it in the context of the church or temple, but Remembrance Day. So many have given so much. Have we honoured that gift of sacrifice by living out its promise? Have we taken care of those who gave, their families and their communities? And when we ask those questions, let’s not ask them one day, but every day.

The devil didn't make me do it

Ben Wilson and I record a podcast each week. It’s a twenty-five minute (more or less) discussion over coffee about faith, God, church, the world, usually connected to whatever the theme or scripture reading is in our church that week. It’s not meant to be an academic endeavour, a lecture or anything definitive about a particular topic. Like any good discussion, we hope it opens some doors and gets everyone - us included - thinking more. You can find it on risingspiritministry.com or iTunes (as Six Ways From Sunday).

So, the commercial aside, I mention it because this past week it seemed appropriate that we talk about Halloween and All Saints Day and, as one might expect because it’s just a conversation over coffee, we got a little sidetracked. We started out well. We were trading stories about Halloween when we were kids and Ben had a costume story, so I had a costume story. For the record, his was about a cute bunny costume. Mine was about being a little devil. I think I was three, maybe four years old. I had a whole red suit, horns and tail, you know the traditional thing. There’s a picture of me walking down the street swinging my tail.

The point is, somewhere in that conversation I commented on the irony (or appropriateness, depending on your view) of me being a little devil. Especially since there isn’t one. And, as I tried to go on to something else, Ben said something like “hang on. What? Go back. Are you saying there’s no devil?” 

Well, yes. I did say that. Please hear me out.

I believe God is and always has been. I believe that because I believe that God is love, the energy of life, the power of creation, the web of life that connects all of creation, a higher power, the Great Spirit  - all of those things, and I call that God. You might call it one of those other things, but I call it God. So God is the Always, the good, the creative, the life. In the beginning, God created and because God created, there is something of God in all things. In the story of creation, human beings are the only thing in that story to be created by God in the image of God, but from the already created. I believe that we’re inherently good, then. Our life experience and, more importantly, our choices sometimes distance us from God. That’s sin, the actions that distance us from God. That’s how I believe the creation story, so I believe that we come from God and we return to God. (Jesus, by the way, teaches us how to live the love which is already in us and brings us back into a closer relationship with God.)

So here’s the thing. I think the opposite of good isn’t evil. The opposite of good is the absence of good. We start with good, we have from the beginning. When someone told that creation story in Genesis for the first time, I don’t think they ended each day with “it was good” because it was an issue of product quality or an assessment of artistic merit. It was good. We are created in the image of God which is inherently good. So, again, from the beginning there is good.

But we have freewill and choose how to fill that void. If we come to it thinking that we’re inherently good, that we’re created in the image of God, full of love and grace and, yes, good, then we’re likely to bring good to it. If we think we’re inherently sinful, prone to sin, and something less than the image of God, then what will we bring? I think this is where evil can enter the picture, not as the opposite of good but rather as a consequence of its absence.

It’s so much easier to say “the devil made me do it” or to suggest that evil can be personified, like a vice or virtue, when we make choices that lead away from good. God needs to have an adversary, right? No, I don’t believe so. We think in opposites, in comparison, in beginnings and endings. But let go of that for a moment and wonder about God - that love, creativity and life giving essence - that is always creating, always growing, always expanding, always bringing good. Wouldn’t the world be a different place if we didn’t give evil so much credit. It’s good that’s at the heart of all things.

I see

The gospel of Mark tells the story of Bartimaeus, a blind man healed by Jesus (Mark 10:46-52).  The gospels of Matthew and Luke tell a similar story of Jesus healing the blind and the stories have several characteristics in common: the location outside of Jericho, the blind calling out to Jesus and being hushed by the crowd, Jesus being addressed as the "Son of David," and the healed then following Jesus.

But Mark's story is somehow just a little bit more personal.  I think it's because it's the only time, in any healing story, that the person is actually named.  There are certainly lots of scholars who have good theories about that, even about the significance of the name.  But for me, even just knowing his name gives us more of a connection.

That's also, I think, why we're so quick to identify ourselves with Bartimaeus in the story.  We, too, are blind in many ways and our sight is restored by faith in Jesus.  Faith heals.

Or maybe we're in the crowd, hustling by that blind beggar on the corner, wishing he would be quiet because we want Jesus' undivided attention.  After all, he's just another street person and we're so much more deserving of Jesus' time.

That's not quite so comfortable is it?  But how often do we find ourselves, without thinking, in too much of a hurry or involved in our own stuff, passing by someone or something that needs us?  Sometimes we do notice, but we just don't have the time or the inclination to get involved, even when they call out to us in some way.  I know that I've often found myself regretting, later, that I didn't stop to talk with someone when I should have, just because, in the moment, I was in too much of a hurry.

Thank goodness there's Jesus to show us the way.

Which brings me to who I want to be in this story.  I want to be Jesus.

Imagine how different this story would be if Jesus, responding to the man calling out to him, had said "yeah, sorry, I just don't have time for you.  I have to preach in the next town and I'm late."  Or "would you stop bothering me, I have more important things to do.  Someone else can help you."  Or even "you know, there's government assistance available to you.  Get off the street and stop bothering people."

Well, you can't really imagine it, can you?  Because that wouldn't be Jesus.

Jesus makes time.  Jesus cares.  Jesus helps.  Jesus brings healing and comfort. Jesus loves everyone, especially those pushed to the margins of society.  Most importantly, Jesus doesn't ever see things as "someone else's problem."

The poor, the sick, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless, the lonely - the list may seem endless at times.  The are so many hurts in the world, so many people in need of healing.  Even the world itself needs healing.  But as far as Jesus is concerned, one thing any of those things will never be is "someone else's problem."

We are called to be like Jesus.  Not just for the care of others, but for the care of ourselves as well.  Jesus knows, as we must, that our own sense of wholeness and healing is connected to how we bring healing and wholeness to others.

Maybe the whole world at once is too much.  But we can start with that person on the corner.  We can be Jesus, too.