The Struggle is Real

We love our loving Jesus. We do, thank goodness. But sometimes I think we like to keep Jesus in a nice tidy little box that reflects what we think loving means. That can be warm and comfortable, as well as comforting, and while it can reflect the love we might want for each other and the world, it can also reflect the love that we’re willing to bring to the world. And that can mean the love doesn’t always get out of the box.

We’re certainly okay with the Jesus who loves and heals, loves and performs miracles, loves and preaches kindness and peace, even the Jesus that loves and dies for us, especially when we can just listen and enjoy, even be inspired by them. But then there are those other stories. The stories where Jesus challenges us. Those are a little harder to love. But still, we will love them and we will love.

And then there’s those stories we don’t want to hear. The tough ones, when we want to just shake our heads and say “well, that’s not the Jesus I know.” We might still struggle with them, but we might also want to try and explain our way out or suggest that’s not the voice of Jesus but of the writer of the story and that was a different time. Or we might simply want to ignore them. But we can’t.

It’s when Jesus says things like, well, this: “do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” And he goes on to talk about dividing families and picking up the cross and following him. And this: “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” (Matt. 10:34-49)

That doesn’t sound like the Jesus I know.

But it is. It’s the Jesus who knows he’ll have to get down in the dirt with the broken, stand up to the powerful and engage the hateful and the hated in order to make change happen. That’s the kind of peace Jesus brings. It’s not about the absence of conflict, it’s about the engagement of it. Everyone from Jesus to Gandhi to Martin Luther King to Ronald Reagan has something to say about that, just Google it. One of my favourites is the Dalai Lama: “Peace does not mean an absence of conflicts; differences will always be there. Peace means solving these differences through peaceful means; through dialogue, education, knowledge; and through humane ways.” That’s a struggle for us, because it means challenging those who want to hold power over others, it means challenging those who see themselves as better or “more equal” than others, it means challenging our own perceptions of ourselves and each other and it means engaging the hurt, loss and grief we might experience with that on our way to a more loving world.

And that sword? Well, that’s for cutting away all the crap that gets in between us and the truth. That includes all the structures that we, as a society, have created that bind us rather than free us. The very same structures, institutions, customs and practices we keep in place between us and what we feel threatens us, what we have and what we believe. But Jesus challenges that because it’s the very thing that divides us. We are not all the same and we can acknowledge that, learn from that and embrace that as the family of creation. That’s where our unity lies. In giving up that life that divides us, we find the one that’s true and life-giving. And that’s a struggle.

In fact, it’s The struggle. I think Jesus knows - and we should, too - that God loves us all equally because God knows where we come from: we all come from God. But when we live God’s love in the world, we need to share it equitably, with fairness, because we don’t all start from the same place here. And right now, we need to recognize that, historically, we’ve ensured that. That’s why Jesus spent so much time with the marginalized, the outcasts, the poor, the broken, the sinners. It’s not just because they needed the most love, it’s because we needed to be shown it. We needed to be shown how blind we’d been, how comfortable with our own selfishness, with keeping God’s love to ourselves.

We need to be in this struggle. Please don’t sit back and be thankful that “it doesn’t affect me” or “I just don’t see it.” We need to engage our differences, the inequities and the brokenness with, as the Dalai Lama suggests, “dialogue, education, knowledge; and through humane ways.” As Jesus says, with love.

Jesusness is a Word

There’s a story that appears in the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke in which Jesus sends out the disciples to be, well, like Jesus. You might think that would be a regular occurrence, but this is a particular moment and the story goes something like this, according to Matthew anyway (Matt. 9:35-10:23).

Jesus looks around at what he’s been doing and how much there is to do and realizes it’s too much for one Jesus. So he calls up the twelve, his closest companions, and tells them to go out and proclaim “the kingdom of heaven is near” and heal the sick, cast out demons, and generally do some good Jesusing. (Yes, I’m still trying to make that a real verb and I’m going to do more with it in just a minute.)

By the way, he says, don’t take any luggage or money or food or supplies. Wherever you go, people will take care of you. Probably. At least, those who welcome you will, and those who want to hear what you have to say. Some won’t and that’s okay, you should just move on. 

Oh, and, by the way, you might want to keep moving because there’ll be people who really don’t want you. They’ll arrest you and beat you and possibly kill you, but just possibly, and you’ll likely be hated and persecuted because, by the way, I’m sending you out “like sheep into the midst of wolves.”

Surprisingly, after those stirring words of encouragement, none of the gospels record any hesitation or reluctance on the part of the disciples to go. Really? Because I’d have questions and I bet you would, too. At the very least, this would be a good moment for a “don’t be afraid.” And yet, there’s not mention of the disciples being anything but willing.

But I wonder if that isn’t because we might hear Jesus asking for a lot, in the face of great challenges, with the expectation to deliver what he does and be perfect as he is and, oh, we definitely aren’t Jesus.

Except we are and Jesus knows it.

I wonder if Jesus doesn’t appeal here to the innate Jesusness that he knows is in this little band of misfits from ordinary walks of life and asks them to let it out and do some Jesusing. I know what that sounds like (and I’m pretty sure I’m on thin ice with some people over the use of Jesus’ name), but just take a minute and replace “Jesus” with, say, love. Or goodness. Or grace. Or compassion. Or any and all of the things that they had experienced with Jesus - that we experience with Jesus. Replace the name with “image of God,” even, because I think that’s what Jesus sees in the hearts of these ordinary people. In the stories I think that’s why they are The Twelve, the inner circle, the closest companions, the dearest friends. And the first to be sent.

And when we take the stories into the world, I think Jesus looks at you and me the same way: he sees the Jesus in you and me and asks us to take that into that same world. Yes, the world that’s hard and challenging, hurting and broken, tired and worn, where there are many, many wolves. Jesus sent twelve. Imagine a world where we are all Jesus.

In and Out

We could really use a Pentecost right now.

The word just means fifty days after (because it’s fifty days after Easter), but the story behind it is all about the Spirit. It’s that great story of the disciples being in Jerusalem, after Jesus is gone - in person, anyway - and there’s a great wind and tongues of flame and they are suddenly able to speak in other languages “as the Spirit gave them ability.” The people around them, many from other countries, could understand them in the language of their home. It’s a brilliant way to make the point that the story of Jesus, the teaching and experience of being with Jesus, even the need to be Jesus, is for all and can be shared with all and the disciples find a way to do that.

Thing is, I think we hear “they were all filled with the Holy Spirit” and “as the Spirit gave them ability” as meaning something was done to them, an outside force acted on them, something was given to them that they didn’t have. So we’re just waiting for the Holy Spirit to do it to us. And right now would be good. Like I said, we could really use a Pentecost right now. Anytime, even. Waiting … still waiting.

The thing is, I don’t think that’s what happened. I don’t think it was an outside force at all. I think that they suddenly found something that was already in them - that power of God that’s in all of us - and it came out in a great rush of inspiration, creativity and connection. That’s the Holy Spirit at work. After all that time with Jesus, all that learning, all those experiences, the many, many times Jesus showed them how to love and care and connect with people and reminded them that it’s in them to love and care and connect, too, I think they finally got it. They took a breath.

And they breathed out and took another breath and realized the breath of God is in all of us. Just as importantly, it needs to get out there, too: we exhale. The breath of God in us, the Spirit in us, needs to go into the world. They found the life that’s in our breath and shared it with the world.

We could really use a Pentecost right now. So breathe. And with each breath wonder at the life that’s in you and imagine how that life could be shared with the world in loving, caring, grace-filled ways. Breathe in. Breathe out.

This isn’t an ideal place to share a song, I guess, but a few years ago I came up with a short little song for children about this. It had dance moves like Travolta in Saturday Night Fever, all the time pointing with your “Spirit Finger” - no, not that one, it was your pinky - and ending up at your heart. It went “Spirit in, Spirit out, Spirit all about, the Spirit of God is here.”

And it is. We could really use a Pentecost. So just breathe.

What do we do now?

So, we’ve been living this story for awhile now and it seems to be coming to an end of sorts. Not really an end, of course, because it’s still there, but we’re at least at a point where things are changing, we’re leaving some things behind and we can look ahead to things being different. A new story is beginning and we’re likely wondering “now what?”

You’re likely thinking that I’m talking about the pandemic and what we’re experiencing right now - and I am - but I’m also talking about the story you might be living if you know Jesus. That story, as it so often is, is reflected in the real life story we’re living and has something important to say about it.

We’re coming to the end of the season of Easter and, just before we leap into the excitement of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost, there’s a very important story that I think has something to say to us right now. Forty days after Easter comes the story of The Ascension of Jesus, his final departure from the disciples: the resurrected Jesus is taken up into heaven in a great cloud, followed by the appearance of two figures in white robes who remind the disciples that, just as he is leaving now, he’ll be back. (Acts 1:1-11)

I think this story’s a way bigger deal than the time we give it. What we’ve made of it in our religious traditions aside, it’s the hinge between the stories of Jesus in the gospels and the living out of the teaching of Jesus in the earliest days of the church. It’s the opening story of the book of Acts and that’s what the book’s all about, those days after Jesus is gone and the disciples begin to live into the Jesus that’s in them.

Wait. Let me backtrack on that a minute because that’s precisely why this story speaks to us right now.

Picture this. The disciples are standing around and Jesus is telling them “my work here is done, it’s time for you to go and do the things I taught you, to share your experiences with others and help them learn to make a better world.” He might as well have said “here, I’m passing the torch to you, now go and do it.” He gives them a wave and off he goes to heaven. And the disciples just stand there watching him go. The figures in white robes appear and their first words are literally “why are you just standing here looking up at the sky?” (Acts 1:11)

Imagine what was going on in the disciples’ heads. They’d been through so much. They dropped everything to follow Jesus. Then Jesus is killed and they grieve that he is gone. But then he’s alive and they were just coming to terms with that when he’s gone again. Now what? On top of the amazement at the way he leaves - a second time - they’re likely wondering what to do now - a second time. And they might be tempted to just stand there, wondering where to go now. And, ringing in there ears, they might hear Jesus saying “get on with it.”

So might we. We’ve learned a lot as we’ve struggled with this pandemic, and continue to struggle with it. We’ve experienced a lot and shared a lot, at a distance. We’ve seen what’s really important. We’ve seen kindness, grace, courage and caring. I’d say we’ve seen people being Jesus.

Let’s go forward with caution and safety, but let’s go forward. Let’s take all we’ve learned and experienced and, together, make the world better. I’d say, let’s be Jesus.

On the same sea

Here’s a story that’s the kind of story we need right now.

During his many travels, the apostle Paul found himself in Greece, teaching and preaching about Jesus. The crowds weren’t terribly receptive. Some became angry at what he was saying and it became obvious that Paul should move on pretty quickly. Arriving in Athens, he gets into a debate with some philosophers who bring him to the Areopagus, a place like a court where important judgements were made. There he says things a little differently than before. The people listen. There’s only a couple of immediate converts, many sneer at what he has to say, but mostly, they just hear him out.

When he arrived in Athens, Paul saw all the temples to the many gods the Greeks worshipped in those days, pretty much a god for everything. He also noticed that there was one that was for “an unknown god.” I imagine him thinking that you have to admire the devotion of people who build a temple for every god and then worry that they left someone out, so, just in case, there’s a temple to cover that.

So, when he gets up to speak, Paul’s inspired. He doesn’t tell them that they’re wrong and they’re going to burn in the fiery lake for eternity. He doesn’t paint abusive graffiti all over their temples. He doesn’t threaten them with a weapon. He doesn’t angrily yell at them, tell them what to think or try to control them in any way. 

Instead, he shows them Jesus.

He begins by saying, look, I see by all your temples that you’re very religious and devout. I am too, so maybe we’re not so different. I see that you even have a temple for an unknown god. Well, let me tell you that I think I know that unknown god and, while you have many gods for many things, I know this one God who is everything. This is a God who doesn’t live in temples or rituals, but in the world, in every living thing. This is a God of life and good and love. In the God I know, he says, “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28) just like one of your own ancient philosophers said (he quoted Epimenides). And, the story goes, some became followers, some rejected it, but many simply wanted to hear more.

This is the kind of story we need right now. 

As we’re trying to move forward from isolation, as businesses and community spaces are opening up, with guidelines and regulations for safety, some want to move faster, some slower, everyone has an opinion about everything and many are confused and concerned about how things are happening. We need to be thoughtful, aware and understanding, not only of how we’re doing it, but how we’re communicating and engaging each other. We need to know that we’re in this together, even as we’re all coming to it our own way.

Paul might easily have begun “listen, a couple of thousands of years from now, they’ll say it like this: we’re not all in the same boat, no, we’re all on the same sea, in the same storm, but in our own boats. Together, we can get through it.” That’s the kind of story we need right now.

For Troubled Hearts

I like to take every opportunity to remind people that the one thing said most frequently by Jesus in the Bible is “don’t be afraid.” Or “fear not,” if you prefer.

You might think it’s “love God” or “repent” or “love each other” or even “don’t sin,” but no, it’s “don’t be afraid.”

And I don’t think for a minute that Jesus means to say “obey me and stop that right now.” I think he simply means to comfort and encourage people by reminding them that he is with them and that God is with them, however they know God, and, whatever happens, it’s going to be okay.

I’ve been saying this even more than usual lately.

One time, Jesus didn’t even say “don’t be afraid,” he said “don’t let your hearts be troubled” (John 14:1). I like that even more because it’s not just about fear, then, it could also be anxiety, discomfort, hurt - all the things that might come along with fear or even inspire it.

That phrase might sound familiar because it comes from verses we often hear at a celebration of someone’s life. I wish it were something we shared more often on other occasions because I don’t think it’s just about the next life.

In the gospel of John, Jesus makes a lengthy speech to his disciples on the night he’s arrested. We call it the Farewell Discourse partly because it sounds like a parting speech but also because we know what happens next. And that’s just it. We know. The disciples don’t.

Sure, Jesus talks about leaving and he won’t always be around and how he’s “going to the father” but we hear that the way we do because we know what’s ahead. I don’t think the disciples had any idea. I think they were anxious, concerned, perhaps even a little frightened and certainly confused by Jesus’ talk of leaving, but I don’t think they heard “I’m going to die.” Sensing their unease, Jesus says “don’t let your hearts be troubled.”

Prompted by a question from Thomas, Jesus goes on to talk about being “the way, the truth and the life,” and tells them that, in seeing him, they have seen God. Then Philip asks Jesus to show them God and I think you can just sense Jesus’ surprise and disappointment when he replies “have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father?’” I think that’s Jesus again having to tell them that the love Jesus lives, the same love he’s already told them is in his command to “love one another as I have showed you to love” (John 13:34), that love is in each of us, too. And then he doubles down on it “truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these” (John 14:12). Yeah, that’s for you.

I wonder if we shouldn’t be hearing this passage not just as comforting words that there is a place for each of us with God in the next life, but that there is place for each of us with God here. Now. Jesus has prepared the way, it is true and life-giving. When we live it, our hearts need not be troubled: God is with us, we are not alone.

It's enough

What’s enough for you?

Even when we might be tempted to say “times are good,” I’m not sure that one can generalize like that. There’s always people who find themselves struggling to have enough money, food, resources, health or happiness. Even trying to determine what might be basic needs or “essential” is tricky, at best.

And here we are. Times are most certainly not good and, particularly because we’re isolating, making sure that we have enough of anything is a top priority. There may be things that are obviously essential, but there’s still debate about many others. What’s “enough?”

Reminds me of a song.

Last fall, Bashaw Community Theatre presented a very successful run of ‘Matilda’ with additional show in Camrose in January. Amazing performances, so shout out to the cast of children and adults of all ages, crew and their awesome director. ‘Matilda,’ by Roald Dahl, is the story of a unique and specially gifted little girl and it includes one of my favourite songs, written by Tim Minchin.

In the show, Miss Honey, a kind and gentle teacher who helps Matilda, sings a song about her home, a rundown garden shed where she is forced to live by her aunt, the evil Miss Trunchbull.  It might not look like much, she sings, but it is enough for her.

She sings about the ordinary structure and meagre furnishings that simply meet her every need. It protects her, provides a place for work and rest and allows her to “stand on her own two feet,” to dream and imagine and be free and not be afraid. “There is nowhere I would rather be,” she sings, “it isn’t much but it is enough for me.” It’s not rationalizing what little she has, it’s knowing what really matters and that it’s enough.

“It isn’t much, but it is enough for me.”  I think Miss Honey, with all her hardship and struggle, has found "abundance” in her life.

That might not be how we, as a society, see it. I think we tend to see abundance as meeting our desires, not our needs, as having enough to have excess, rather than just the right amount.

But I think Jesus meant what Miss Honey knows when he said “I came that all may have life, and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). 

In John 10, Jesus talks about being the good shepherd who cares for the sheep. He provides for them, feeds them and protects them. He’s also the gate through which they pass from pasture to fold, the way home. The sheep respond to his voice because he know them and they know his voice. All simple, perfectly ordinary images to his first century listeners. Not so common to us, maybe, and our understanding of sheep-like behaviour can take on a negative connotation today, but I think we get the picture: it is all the life that is needed. They lack nothing.

Just like in the classic Psalm 23, “the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want for anything.” It’s a song of green pastures, gentle streams, the comfort of a shepherd's care and protection, food and drink, goodness and mercy.  Simple, perfectly ordinary images.  They are not grand or elaborate or even generous and yet, “my cup overflows.”  They're not big or fancy or even nice, but it is enough that "I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long" (Ps. 23:6).

Abundance isn't excess or extravagance or even plenty, it is simply enough. That's all. Enough for us to stand on our own two feet, on a floor or in a green pasture. Enough to keep us warm and safe, from rain or cold or on the right path. Enough that we might not fear, in winter storms or in the shadow of the valley of death. Enough that we would dream and be free. That is the life Jesus offers abundantly, and it is enough for me.