Shine and Rise

It’s time for Lent. I know we’re all excited about that. It’s been a long season of Epiphany and it’s time to get on.

Hang on a minute, though: don’t be in a rush to go to the wilderness just yet. There’s one more ray of light, one that might just give you reason to shine in the days ahead.

However long Epiphany is (much like winter, it can often be longer), we wrap it up with the story of the Transfiguration. We’re hearing Matthew this year, but Mark and Luke have their own versions of the story, each with its own unique details. Essentially, it goes like this: Jesus goes up a mountain with Peter, James and John. While there, Jesus is transfigured, that is, he shines with rays of bright light. Matthew says “his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white.” Elijah and Moses appear with him and a voice is heard from a cloud saying “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” Thankfully, there are witnesses. Scared ones, but witnesses, who want to set up memorials to mark the event. As things return to something more normal, Jesus tells them to not be afraid and to come with him down the mountain, warning them not to tell anyone about this until after the resurrection.

It’s one of those great, miraculous moments that we might visualize as a Spielberg or J.J. Abrams film scene. Which is cool, but more importantly, it wraps up Epiphany with a moment in which Jesus is revealed in spectacular fashion to be who he truly is. He literally shines, much like the star that marked his arrival way back at the beginning of Epiphany.

Which is great. And there’s always more to learn from the story, especially since each gospel tells it a little differently. The main thrust of Epiphany is how Jesus is revealed and this story does that in dramatic fashion: Jesus shines in a way that’s true to who he is.

But what does it say about the Jesus in you and me?

Here’s what I think. I think God is in all things and, in love, connects all things. “The Word made flesh” in Jesus means to me that Jesus isn’t just an extension of God for us to worship, an example for us to follow or a teacher for us to learn from, but a mentor who helps us live out the gifts that are in each of us. We are Jesus apprentices, invited, as I like to say, to be Jesusing in our lives. When we live true to what’s in our heart, then we live true to God. And we shine.

That’s why this story is so much more important than just a “here’s Jesus, again” story. It’s an epic moment, sure, but if we treat it like a film scene, we can easily leave it up on the screen where we can admire the special effects from a distance. I don’t see how that has meaning in our lives. We are also, I think, inclined to find ourselves in this story as the fearful, overwhelmed and cowering disciples waiting for Jesus’ invitation to get up and not be afraid.

But what if we were to see ourselves as Jesus in this story? What if we saw Jesus as the fulfillment of the potential to be love that is in each of us and embraced Jesus as the mentor who leads us to finding that love and living it out in our lives? What if we were to shine?

We put this story right before Lent, the time of discovery and discernment that reflects the story of Jesus spending time in the wilderness. But each of the gospel writers place it as a moment of transition from Jesus teaching and ministering to mention of the suffering and death that are ahead and the journey to Jerusalem. A literal movement from the mountain to the valley. In each case, this is a pivotal moment of connectedness between God and the world, the divine and the earthly. Wherever we are in life, the light of love that is in each of us can shine.

Start at Square One

How do you spell “love?” said Piglet.

You don't spell it ... you feel it, said Pooh.

There’s a lot of wisdom in A.A. Milne’s stories of the Hundred Acre Wood. And, right here, some really good Jesusing. 

That’s the word I’m trying to coin for being like Jesus. Jesus is a verb. When you “be like Jesus,” you’re Jesusing. It doesn’t seem to be catching on, though. And, in the spirit of Milne, how do you spell it - should it be one “s” or a double “ss” in the middle? Questions.

Except, just like love, it’s not about the spelling.

To live like Jesus - Jesusing - is to live with love and grace in a way that’s life-giving, both to you and the world around you. To live like Jesus - I’ll say it again, Jesusing - is to live the blessing that you are, the blessing that’s in your heart, the blessing that is God’s presence in you. To live like salt and light. (Matthew 5)

Yes, that’s what it’s all about.

I suggested in a Six Ways From Sunday podcast recently that the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew’s gospel has basically two sections: this is who you are and this is what you do with it. That was quite an oversimplification, of course, and Ben called me on it. We’d been talking about the first part (as I have in this blog, if you follow it weekly), which I think comes down to this: 1.a. you are blessed by God; 1.b. you are salt to season the world around you and light to shine in life; 1.c. living out the blessing that is you as salt and light is what brings fulfillment to our living together with each other and all creation. What’s critical to this, and my point in suggesting the two parts, is that you don’t earn blessing by doing what Jesus says, you already are blessed and living like Jesus is living out that blessing. That’s what makes it life-giving.

So, what’s in Part 2 then, asked Ben. Well. A lot. Some of the most important teachings of Jesus about the law, some very familiar sayings about sincerity, being genuine and judging others and, of course, how to pray (Matt. 6:9-13 gives us The Lord’s Prayer). An awful lot, and I don’t mean to minimize it. Except this blog can’t be long enough to cover everything, so hear me out on the simplicity of the two parts. 

From those very straightforward statements that you are blessed and that we live that blessing into the world as salt and light, Jesus reminds us that this is how the words of the law and the prophets are truly fulfilled. So, now look at everything else in the Sermon on the Mount with that lens.

The very first thing in Part 2, for example, is Jesus talking about law (Matt. 5:21). The laws he talks about, he reframes, not to contradict them, but to reconnect them to their purpose: to help us live well together and not be destructive. That’s what’s at the heart of the law, Jesus says. It’s not about retribution, but restoration, restoration of the relationship that has been broken and the building up of the community that is the kingdom of God. How do we do that?

Start with blessing. Look for the way that is life-giving, creative and loving. Offer grace and understanding. Look for the blessing in each other and find the way that draws that out and gives it life, not the way that breaks it down or destroys it. That’s the heart of the law, to give life to each of us, to our relationship as a community and our relationship with God.

Is that complicated, difficult, challenging, a lot of work, not perfect and does it often seems next to impossible? Yes. And it’s worth it. And so are you. You are blessed and you are loved, however you spell it.

You Already Are

You are salt and light. You, a child of God, are salt to season the world around you and light to illuminate life. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not. You are.

Not just because I say so. Jesus says so, right near the beginning of what we’ve called the Sermon on the Mount in the Gospel of Matthew (Matt. 5-7).

I’ve heard many people say that a good preacher always begins a sermon with a funny joke. It gets people’s attention and breaks the ice. Assuming it’s actually funny, I guess. Or understandable or relevant. 

Jesus doesn’t. The Sermon on the Mount begins with Jesus telling people they’re blessed. And he names them, all the people who society or tradition or culture or religion - especially religion - might say are anything but blessed, Jesus says yes, you are. You are blessed by God.

What’s more, you are salt and light.

Now, I know what the biblical scholar in you might be thinking: but Robin, the Sermon on the Mount is really just a collection of sayings and teachings that the gospel writer most likely assembled into this format for convenience. We, then, called it a “sermon,” not Jesus. 

Okay, but that’s just the point. It’s not just Jesus who knows to prioritize. This is about the Jesus in us. This is an epiphany moment for us.

We’re used to hearing Jesus described as light - the Light of the World - and other things like the Bread of Life, the Good Shepherd, the True Vine, the Way, the Truth and the Life, all thanks to the Gospel of John. But here’s Jesus in Matthew, telling us that we are salt and light. We’re the ones to connect with the world in an elemental, even essential, way.

And, just like being blessed, you already are salt and light. You don’t need to change or work at becoming salt and light, you already are. It’s already in us to be, we simply have to live it out. This is the sharing part of our blessedness, the elemental way in which we live the blessing we are into the world.

And what a way to describe it. Salt was far more valuable in the ancient world than it is today and yet it’s still important now. When used effectively for its purpose, which is to act on other things, especially to bring out their flavour, to add zest and liveliness by acting with other things.

Likewise light, when used effectively for its purpose, illuminates things. It lights the path, enlightens our minds, banishes shadow and darkness and warms our hearts.

We don’t have to become these things, Jesus says, we already are them. But. We have to claim them. We have to be willing to embrace our blessedness and engage ourselves and the world around us in living it out as salt and light. 

This is the pivotal moment of the “sermon.” All the teachings that follow - and they form many of the core ethical teachings of Jesus - are built on this: you are blessed, you are salt and light. Jesus didn’t start with “I’m going to teach you how to be blessed” and then keep reminding us that if we just do this and this and this, we’ll get that blessing. No. You are blessed. You are salt and light. Go and share your blessing with others, go and bring zest to life and shine on the world around you.

Begin With Blessing

You are blessed. You, a child of God, are blessed. Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re not. You are.

Not just because I say so. Jesus says so. I think that’s part of what that passage in Matthew we call The Beatitudes is all about.

Matthew says that a crowd had gathered and Jesus goes up a mountain and begins teaching. The geography could be just about finding higher ground in order to be heard better, but mountains are big in the bible. Think Moses and Sinai. God lived on the mountain.

So, from a vantage point for authority and hearing, Jesus begins a lengthy teaching about many things. What we call the Sermon on the Mount goes on for quite some time in Matthew, the longest discourse from Jesus in the Bible.

And where does he begin? You are blessed. All the teaching comes after that. You are blessed. You weak and poor in spirit and in life, you grieving, you shy and meek, you hungry, you kind and caring, you who make peace with cooperation and sharing, you who engage others and look to do good no matter the cost, you are all blessed. And when people put you down, say mean things or lie about you, don’t be afraid, because you’re blessed.

I paraphrased that, sure, but you get the point. Jesus begins by saying that all the people most likely to think they’re anything but blessed are, in fact, just that. Not that you will be if you assume that attitude or you should want to be because there’s rewards ahead. No, simply, you are blessed.

This might be the moment that well-meaning pastors and others remind you of the context in which Jesus says this. 2,000 year ago, long in the distant past, people believed that if you did well in life, attained  high social standing, became rich or lived long, that was a sign of God’s blessing. If you were sick, poor, of low social standing, disabled or struggled in life, that was a sign of God’s punishment for some sin in you. Here’s Jesus saying no, that’s not right. You’re blessed. Period. People back in those days needed that reminder.

Sure, but we still do. Don’t let this be another way to distance ourselves from Jesus, he’s right here, right now. 

Maybe if he said blessed are those who struggle with feeling good enough when they don’t look like the latest “it” person, can’t afford the latest fashions or just don’t seem to “fit in.” Blessed are those who do their best and feel like it’s still not enough. Blessed are those who feel like a failure because they lost their job and are struggling to find one. Blessed are those who work two or three jobs and have trouble making ends meet. Blessed are those who feel ignored and unheard, like no one is paying attention to them. Blessed are those who struggle with mental health. Blessed are those who feel abandoned and lost in a complicated world. Blessed are the vulnerable, the gentle, the kind - all those whom society labels weak, you are stronger than you know. You are blessed.

It’s just as radical today as it was then, and just as urgently needed. Stuff doesn’t make you blessed. Power doesn’t make you blessed. Nor does status, culture or religious beliefs. You are blessed because you are of God, made of love, part of the energy, power or spirit of all that is. Whatever language you need to use to understand, embrace and engage it, being vulnerable is what opens us to that great connection. Open your heart. You are blessed. 

Lighting Our Own Universe

Great Canadian hero Chris Hadfield’s a retired astronaut who, among other things, commanded missions to space, helped build the Canadarm on the International Space Station, commanded the ISS and walked in space. First Canadian to do most of those and certainly the first person to record an album in space, including his famous cover of David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” (watch it on YouTube). These days he travels and speaks and teaches. He’s also written some books, including a great children’s book “The Darkest Dark.”

It’s the defining story of his childhood. He always wanted to fly, be a pilot and an astronaut. But he was afraid of the dark. His parents let him sleep with them, but then they couldn’t sleep either. They’d check his room for aliens, gave him a night light and even a bell to ring if he was scared. The bell got taken away pretty quick, but finally his parents had to tell him something that was scarier than the dark: if he didn’t go to sleep in his own bed, he couldn’t go to the neighbour’s the next day. So he did. Chris’ family, you see, lived on an island in rural Ontario and it was 1969 and only the neighbour had a television.

Everyone was going to their house to watch Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin walk on the moon. Real astronauts. On the moon. And Chris was amazed. He also notice how dark it was there. “Outer space was the darkest dark ever.”

That night, when Chris went to bed, he wasn’t scared. It was still dark, there were still shadows and mysteries, nothing there had changed. But he had. He’d seen the universe was bigger and darker and he wanted to go there and explore all of it. He realized, too, that you’re never really alone there, because you take with you your dreams about what you want to be and do.

That’s just a brief “adult” description. The book’s way better and you should read it. Sometimes it takes an adult remembering what it’s like to be a kid, to tell a story like a kid, to help us understand the wisdom of a child is at the heart of being an adult.

He adds a personal afterword in which he says “it was quietly in the dark where I first decided who I was going to be and imagined all the things I could do. The dark is for dreams - and morning is for making them come true.”

Thank you, Jesus.

I’m pretty sure my interpretation of that isn’t what Chris had in mind. But listen, Matthew’s account of the life of Jesus has him begin his ministry in Galilee because that fulfils the prophecy of Isaiah: that’s where, he says, “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.” (Speaking of interpretations, that’s the Christian one, of course - Isaiah’s audience would have heard it differently.)

The first thing he does is shine on some fishermen who drop what they’re doing and come and follow him so that they can “fish for people” with Jesus. They learn how to shine their own light and, looking ahead, they shine on people who, looking further ahead, learn to shine their own light who shine on people who, well, you get the idea.

But wait, Robin, if the light shines on everyone and everyone shines their own light - because, yes, the Light is in everyone and everything created by God, with God and in God - wouldn’t there be no darkness at all?

I want to say that would be nice, but no. How would we distinguish anything? How would anything be unique and how could we all have the uniqueness of our own perspective: the view created by us, shining our light into the world? And, we have freewill and make choices. Look at how Chris talks about the universe. I think he learned to shine his light into the darkness and that showed him the power and mystery and beauty of what’s there and then he did something with it. That, I think, is what Jesus does and what we, too, can do.

This could be just what you're looking for

So, here we are in the season of Epiphany. The stories we hear about Jesus, if you’re following the season, are about revealing who Jesus is and what he’s about. One of those is how Jesus acquires the first disciples.

I feel the need to say “acquires” because, while we’re so familiar with the story of Jesus calling the disciples from their boats to come and follow him and “fish for people,” that’s not how John tells it.

John, the writer, tells a story about John the Baptist or, as we should know him from his more important job, John the Announcer. The Announcer, says the writer, has just finished explaining that’s his job: he’s not the promised one, he’s to herald the arrival of the promised one. The next day, he sees Jesus and he says “that’s the one I’m talking about.” And he says he knows that because God told him that the Holy Spirit would appear as a dove with “the one” and he saw that happen. He has a first hand experience of Jesus.

The next day, he sees Jesus again and this time he tells two of his followers “that’s the one I’m talking about.” So they go to check out Jesus, Jesus sees them following him around and asks them “what are you looking for?” They ask Jesus where he’s staying and he says “come and see.” Now it’s their turn to have a first hand experience of Jesus.

In hardly any time at all, of course, they’re sharing their experience of Jesus with others and inviting them to come and see, too.

I think I like this interactive “call” story more than the fishermen story. There, it seems like Jesus charismatically commands we follow, here it seems like he gently invites us in to see what we might find in him. It’s good we have both, though, because an important piece of the Jesus story is that we all come our own way, in our own time, from our own lives, looking for our own meaning.

Churches and faith communities might also want to wonder about that. Sometimes, I think we’re really quick to share what we believe with a sense of command, wondering why everyone isn’t drawn to Jesus like we are. We might even judge accordingly those who aren’t. We might welcome everyone, but that’s a welcome to be one of us, to fit in and be just like us, and to meet our predetermined community behaviour. “Come and see” then becomes “be one of us.”

But that’s not what Jesus means, that’s why it’s not the first thing he says. “What are you looking for?” What do you need, what can I do for you, how can I help you - tell me your story. Those are the words that I think began every one of Jesus’ interactions with people. When we hear about Jesus healing the broken, reaching out to the marginalized, talking to all “the wrong people,” I think that’s how he began the conversation: “what are you looking for?”

We could do that, too. We could welcome people by affirming who they are and asking what they’re looking for. Then we could offer not only what we already have, but our openness to what they bring - questions and needs as well as gifts - and invite them to come and see how all that might go together with the love and grace that Jesus brings. That’s what creates a community in which we all learn and grow.

I have a lot of question about magi

The world could sure use a few magi right now.

We seem to have an over abundance of Herods and Ceasars. And I think we’re good with Chief Priests and Scribes. But where are the magi?

It’s not that I don’t believe that they’re here. Somewhere. In fact, I’m pretty sure they are. Maybe they decided to take another route home (Matt. 2:12). 

Much like the Christmas story itself, I think it can be easy to put away the Epiphany story as just another moment in time, a moment in which we say that Jesus is revealed as “the one.” That’s what epiphany means, a revealing, a manifestation or appearance. The magi are following a star that will lead them to the fulfillment of a prophecy: the birth of the messiah. Despite what they might have been expecting, they find what they know to be true, that this child, Jesus, is the promised one. Herod wants them to tell him where they find the child, but an angel (a common sense one, for sure) warns them not to, so they go home by another route. (Matt. 2:1-12)

The End.

Except, it’s not. We often stop there because no one really wants to hear the next bit. There are repercussions. That same common sense angel warns the new family to flee to Egypt. They’re in danger now because Herod knows about Jesus. This is the part where they become refugees from a brutal oppressor. Angry that the magi didn’t reveal to him the child’s location and feeling threatened by Jesus, Herod orders children in Bethlehem to be killed. Years later, when Herod dies, the family returns, but not to Bethlehem, which is still unsafe, but to Nazareth in Galilee. (Matt. 2:13-23)

So, that’s The End?

It can’t be. Look, we know the bible story now pretty much leaps over Jesus’ teen and young adult years to his baptism by John (Matthew does, anyway), but there was time there and there was years of living. Sadly, the gospel writers didn’t think those formative years were important to the story (their story, at least). Think about that, because we should talk about that sometime, too, but right now, since it’s Epiphany: what happened to the magi?

I don’t think “they left for their own country by another road” because they were afraid for themselves, they were afraid for Jesus. They might even have said so to Mary and Joseph and warned them to leave town. Although having the angel do it makes for a much better story, divine protection and all that, it seems to me that wise people would have given that wise counsel. But we don’t have any more of their story. They seem to have done their job - “he’s the one” - and disappeared.

I refuse to believe they did nothing. In fact, when we tell the story like that, what does it say about us? I think it leaves us abandoning the story right where epiphany becomes action, where faith becomes alive. Wouldn’t it be great if we had stories of what these great and wise believers did with what they found? The first thing they did was protect Jesus by not telling Herod anything. What happened next, living the rest of their lives secure in the knowledge that the messiah was here and it wasn’t about power, might and glory at all, but vulnerability, humility and love? How did they live into that wisdom?

Where are they now, the ones who see what is true and will travel a life journey to find it, the ones who believe that there’s something better and it’s here, the ones who are wise enough to keep seeking it. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re a magi, hiding in plain sight.