Finding a way home

It’s a difficult time. However you’re coping with the world today, anxiety is not far away. Whether you’re isolated at home or at work and social distancing, you’d best be comfortable with your own company, at least for awhile. That can be challenging at the best of times; we’re not always good at remembering that “love your neighbour as yourself” only works if you love yourself first. And there can be a host of reasons why that’s a challenge.

But here we are, maybe feeling like we’re lost in a wilderness of what’s happening next, will everything be okay and will I be alright? It’s a wilderness of not knowing, of uncertainty and doubt. It almost seems ironic that we’re in the season of wilderness, self-examination and doubt.

For Lent this year, I’ve been talking about biblical characters who had wilderness experiences in their lives. I began with Jesus, of course, the story that inspired Lent, and next week we’ll look at the Hebrews who wandered in the desert for forty years, learning how to be a “people.” But I wanted to also wonder about some stories that weren’t typical, or even desired, wilderness experiences. So we looked at Adam and Eve and Noah. Their wildernesses were  anything but desert.

And now, back to the desert, let’s look at Moses. No, not the Moses who leads the Hebrews out of Egypt, who gives them the law, feeds them, finds them water and leads them to the promised land. No, let’s talk about the Moses who was Hebrew, raised as an Egyptian in the palace of the pharaoh, who kills an Egyptian for beating a Hebrew slave and then has to flee Egypt, across the Wilderness of Sin (not, literally, a wilderness of sin, but a desert in the Sinai region) and the Red Sea to Midian.

I can’t imagine how lost Moses must have felt when he finally arrived in Midian. Who am I, really? I’m not Egyptian, but not really Hebrew either. Who’re my real parents? The family I thought I had, wasn’t. What do I do now? If I am one of God’s people, where was God as all this happened? Where is God for the Hebrew people? Why is this happening?

But, of course, Moses sees the burning bush, talks to God personally, finds out what he’s all about and off he goes. Except, no. That’s not his story. Moses meets God in a different way long before the famous burning bush (Ex.3). 

Struggling on his own, Moses finds himself in Midian where he stops by a well. He sees some shepherds keeping some women with sheep away from the water and goes to their aid. As a result he meets the daughters of Reuel, who welcomes Moses to dinner and then to stay with them. Moses marries Zipporah, one of the daughters, and settles down to be a shepherd with his family, something he’s not wanting to give up when God calls to him.

Much like Jesus, I think Moses needed to find himself and where he belonged before he was ready for what God had planned. And for Moses, finding where he belonged wasn’t just a people or a place, it was family and it was community. It was people who welcomed him and loved him as he was, lost and wandering, and helped him to know who he is. When we feel lost, wondering and alone, God is in the hands and voices that welcome us and affirm us, just as we are, that reach out to support and care for us. 

Even when isolated or social distancing, a caring community gives life, regardless of circumstance or nationality or gender. Moses wasn’t turned away because he was Egyptian or because he had nothing or because of what he had done. He found a community of people that knew themselves well, loved themselves well and didn’t fear to love others, even as they cared for themselves. God’s love is for all.

Don't be afraid. Be Jesus.

“Don’t be afraid.”

That’s the one thing most frequently said by Jesus in the Bible. It’s not “love God” or “love your neighbour,” “be kind,” “don’t sin” or “go to church” (that one’s just silly). No. It’s “don’t be afraid.”

And I’m pretty sure we don’t hear them all. I bet Jesus said “don’t be afraid” to many more people, many more times than is recorded in all the stories we have. Much like the stories of Jesus sharing a meal with others, I think the gospel authors just got tired of repeating yet another “don’t be afraid” moment. And for the same reason: there are so many that they just become an ordinary, everyday occurrence. You’d expect that with the food stories. Everyone has to eat and that’s why Jesus shared that common ground so often. But it shouldn’t be surprising, then, that he’d need to encourage people to not be afraid. In Jesus’ world, so many lived in fear.

This is Jesus’ world, too. We still have fears. There’s still the oppressive use of power, from the ruthless brutality of dictators to the more subtle ways that power is exercised in the “free” parts of the world. There’s still poverty and hunger, there’s mental and physical health issues. There’s a whole host of things that the complexity of today’s world has added with technology and how we communicate and travel and simply interact with each other. It just seems like there’s lots to be afraid of. Sometimes it feels like we’re lost in a wilderness of fear. We didn’t choose it, but here we are and we can’t seem to escape it, to get back to a world where we feel we belong, where we feel comfortable and at home.

I feel like Jesus would still be saying “don’t be afraid.” Not as a command to change your behaviour or as if you could flick a switch and just suddenly feel different. We are, ultimately, free to be who we are.

I think Jesus means to remind us that we are loved and we are love and that fear disconnects us when we most need to know that. I know that sounds like one of those things pastors say to try and be comforting, but think about it. It’s when we’re afraid that we most need to remain calm and grounded, literally, connected to the earth. It’s when we’re afraid that we’re most likely to disconnect from compassion and grace, to think less about understanding and awareness and simply react. It’s when we’re afraid that we forget heart and mind are connected, that what’s truest is when heart and mind work together. It’s when we’re afraid that we become centred on ourselves and lose contact with the people we need the most, especially the interactive connection that reminds us that the world is a “we,” not an “I.” That’s where the strength is. That’s where God is.

Don’t be afraid. And wash your hands.

From Wilderness to Wonder

I began the season of Lent as I always do. I even said “I say this every year but, much like Lent, it bears repeating.”

So, here it is again. I think it’s important to remind people that when Jesus goes into the desert, he does not go alone. In the story which inspired the season of Lent - a time of reflection, self-examination and preparation for the Easter story - Jesus goes into the desert for forty days with the Spirit.  Through the desert, the fasting, the temptations, the wild animals and the angels, Jesus is not alone, whichever version of the story you read. The Spirit is there.

Well, of course the Spirit is there, you might say. Yes, it’s mentioned in the story, but we also spend a lot of time and talk on how God is present in the world. At least, I do and I was thinking about that this week in relation to another foundational story. 

I believe we’re created in the image of God, however you understand God. That could be in the religious sense, whatever your faith tradition, or simply that God is love, the energy that runs through all living things, the fabric of creation, a higher power - however you might understand God. So we are love and grace, we are inherently good, but we have free will and make choices, not always good. Frequently not, in fact. I mean, look around you.

I also believe that, whether you hear the creation story literally, mythically, metaphorically or otherwise, we are created both of the earth and by that same divine spirit (however you understand it, see last sentence). And I wonder if that isn’t part of what Jesus is all about: not changing us, but showing us and helping us to live into who we truly are and all that we are truly capable of. If God is in all creation, that means God is in us, just as God is in Jesus. Jesus is attuned to that dual nature and that’s what he mentors in us. We’ve become disconnected. Jesus tries to bring us back.

I think about how often we say things like “God is with us, we are not alone” (that’s in the United Church creed and I’m sure we all have similar statements) and we ask people to look for God or Jesus or the Spirit in their neighbours, friends and enemies alike. We say we are all children of God and that God is in all creation, the flowers, trees, the earth, water, sky … and yet, we are profoundly disconnected, from each other, from creation and God.

So I was thinking about another foundational story this week.

We tell a story of the very beginning, in which God creates all that is. And after God has created all that is from God’s divine spirit, God creates human beings from both the created earth and the divine spirit, in God’s image, and places them in a beautiful garden. Then, the story goes, they are tempted to sin, disobey God, gain knowledge and are subsequently cast out of the garden into the barren wilderness of the world and punished with the pain of childbirth and the need to work the land for food as if it were now an adversary. (Genesis 3) Our relationship with the earth is broken, our connection to God is lost and we are alone - alone - in the wilderness. Subsequent stories are told about our brokenness and how we might be fixed.

But what if we didn’t need fixing, we needed healing? What if we imagined that story differently? What if we turned it on its head, like Jesus did?

In the garden, we are so connected to the earth that we wear no clothes and every tree, fruit and vegetable, every animal and fish and bird helps feed us. We even name them. (Genesis 2) We are so close to God that God walks in the garden with us and Adam and Eve hide from God when the choose to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge. (Genesis 3).

What if the choice to eat the fruit wasn’t just about acquiring knowledge but free will as well? What if God knew that, and instead of being cast out, we were sent out? Sent out from the wilderness of blissful ignorance in the garden, where everything was done for us, into the wonder which is the world, with knowledge and wisdom, to create and grow and care for the rest of the world. What if God’s intention was never to break our relationship with God and the earth, but to grow it, to build on it, to encourage us to live into the humanity and the divinity that was in us?

Imagine, just for a moment, how different our approach to life might be if our origin story wasn’t about being cast out in sin, but being sent in love. 

And Also With You

I’m know I say this every year but, much like Lent, it bears repeating.

When Jesus goes into the wilderness for forty days - the story that is the foundation of Lent - he does not go alone. Each of the gospels of Mark, Matthew and Luke tell the story and each has their own unique details, but they all agree on this much. Jesus is baptized by John and the Spirit appears to descend on him in the shape of a dove. Then, with the Spirit, Jesus goes into the wilderness to fast and pray and be tempted by the devil. Jesus, with the Spirit, refuses to give in to temptation and then Jesus, with the Spirit, heads off into the early days of his ministry. Before the wilderness, in the wilderness and after the wilderness, the Spirit is always with him.

And also with you.

Personally, my take on this story has always been that the point of Jesus going to the wilderness is the same as it is for any of us. The wilderness is a place of discovery, a place set apart from our daily lives where we might take the time for some self-examination, wondering and visioning. A place to figure things out, about who we are, how we are, where we’re going and how we might get there. If you’re giving something up, taking something on, praying more diligently,  or engaging in some form of Lenten practice this year, that should be your goal. Not simply the doing of it, but the why of doing it. Despite the fasting (and, just to be clear, that’s fasting, not starving), the desert terrain and the solitude that might be physically weakening, Jesus comes out of the wilderness spiritually stronger and ready for the journey that’s ahead, not because he was alone, but because the Spirit was with him.

And also with you.

“With” is the key word here, I think. Each of the temptations that the devil offers Jesus in the story is an opportunity to exercise power over the world to meet very human desires: hunger and thirst, physical safety and security, and control of others for our own benefit. But, with the Spirit, he resists, each time citing scripture about the giving of the law. Remember the law was given to build community between people, God and creation and the heart of the law is about love and relationship. It was about the sharing of power, not the exercise of power over others. This is at the heart of Jesus’ ministry, too. Perhaps it was the focus of his time of discovery in the wilderness.

And also with you.

Really. Imagine how different the world could be if we all took a little wilderness time with the Spirit to figure out how we might share love and power as Jesus did. We would share it, not force it. We would look for equity, not advantage. We would listen and learn, not speak from ignorance. We would share our uniqueness and respect it, not hide from it and fear it. We would lift up the weak, not overwhelm them. We would hear the stories of the broken and share in their healing, not try to fix them. This is how Jesus built community with people. And also with you.

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.