So Many Stories

We all learn differently. I think I’m more of an experiential learner. I like to see the instructions, but, more often than not, I get more out of the doing than reading the “how to.” But, like I said, we all learn differently and it’s always better to be able to learn the way that works best for us. That’s not always possible, though, and sometimes we have to struggle a bit to find our way.

That was going to be a segue into “there’s no instruction book for Jesus,” but, of course, there are moments when Jesus is quite specific and direct. In addition, we’ve had centuries of wisdom, study, interpretation, more study, more interpretation and experience to help us understand Jesus better. I think we have to acknowledge that not all of that has been positive, especially when that study and interpretation has led us to distort Jesus’ teaching or find a way to work around it when Jesus is specific and direct. Like when Jesus says “love your enemy” and we find a way to interpret that that’s not love at all. Yeah, things like that.

Sorry, a bit of a tangent and I don’t want to go there today. Another time. Where I was going today, was to story. One of the things I love most about knowing Jesus is the story of Jesus. We don’t have a theological treatise illuminating our relationship with God by one Jesus Christ, we have stories of a life lived in showing us how to live. We have examples of how we might experience love, compassion and grace and how we might share it with others in a way that gives life.

Within that, we have stories told by Jesus, many of them parables. Long, short, detailed, simple, there’s a variety, but also a variety of imagery and contexts. I think Jesus told parables for the same reason we tell stories of Jesus: instead of instructions for behaviour, story invites us in to an experience that we can connect to on a deeper level. It engages our imaginations and encourages us to bring the story into our own lives, to make it part of our life, and inspire us in the story we are each living.

This is why I like to re-imagine bible stories and write them for children of all ages. In his book, ‘Does God Have A Big Toe? Stories About Stories In The Bible,’ Rabbi Marc Gellman says “a midrash is the Jewish name for a story about a story in the Bible. There are collections of old midrashim written by old rabbis, and I have learned from them, but the stories in this book are modern midrashim.” By doing this, Gellman says, we find new perspectives and new ways of understanding the stories. I couldn’t agree more.

Here’s a short, simple example. This week, we’re hearing the parable of the sower in Matthew 13. It’s pretty well known. A sower goes out and casts seed everywhere and it lands in different places: on the road, among rocks, in the weeds and on good soil. The seeds grow - or don’t - as you’d expect and Jesus himself provides an interpretation. The seed is “the word of the kingdom” and where it lands is how it is received. In our own interpretations, we tend to focus on the seed and how it is received (spoiler: we want to be the “good soil”). But what if it didn’t get that far…

Jesus got up one morning and went and sat by the sea. Seeing him there, many people crowded round. They’d heard about Jesus and were hoping to hear one of his famous stories. Jesus put down his morning coffee and stood up. The crowd hushed.

“A farmer went out to sow some seed,” Jesus began. “they picked up the bag of seed and began randomly throwing the seed in every direction, even before they reached the field that they’d prepared for it. The first few handfuls landed on the sidewalk and the road, and then …”

“Hang on a minute,” shouted a farmer in the crowd. Several people turned to look at them and frowned. “Shh,” the master is speaking.

“Yeah, I know,” said the farmer, “and he obviously doesn’t know anything about farming.” He shouted at Jesus “no farmer in their right mind is going to waste seed like that, Jesus. That’s just ridiculous. You should re-think this one.”

“Shh,” went several people. One said “you hardly let him get started.”

“But he’s wrong right from the get-go here,” said the farmer and they turned to yell to Jesus again. “Farmers wouldn’t waste seed by just throwing it anywhere. We plan, we till the ground and we carefully - that’s carefully - plant seeds where they’ll do the best and produce the biggest crop. Otherwise we’re losing out, money, time and effort. You don’t know what could happen, otherwise.”

There was an awkward silence as the bewildered crowd looked at the farmer, then Jesus, then the disciples, then back to Jesus.

“You’re right,” said Jesus, “you just don’t know what could happen.” Jesus smiled. “But this seed is God’s love. Let me start again.” Jesus cleared his throat. “A farmer went out to sow some seed. They picked up the bag of seed and began randomly throwing the seed in every direction …” I think we can take it from here, Jesus.

Burden of Blessing

It must have been frustrating to be Jesus, sometimes.

There’s a lengthy story in Matthew that we’ve been following for a few weeks now in which Jesus commissions the disciples to go out and be Jesus for others. So, once again, just to be clear because it’s super important to remember in this particular context: Jesus doesn’t tell them to go and be like me, he says that he gives them authority to be me. And, yes, I do tend to go on at length about how Jesus is speaking to us, too, that’s why we should all be doing Jesusing (he said, one more time).

Within that “commission,” Jesus tells them it’s not going to be easy and to expect rejection, persecution and worse. And in a classic “don’t be afraid” moment, he reminds them that God is with them, just as he is with himself, Jesus. Those who welcome the disciples, meet Jesus and experience God.

Lots don’t, it seems, and there’s a pretty immediate example. Matthew writes that Jesus goes from here to “teach and proclaim his message in their cities.” It doesn’t go well. We know it doesn’t because Jesus comments, first, that people found a way to dismiss both John the Baptist and himself by their appearance and behaviour. John came from the wilderness like a “demon” and Jesus hung out with sinners, so the people didn’t listen to their wisdom. Second, he “reproaches the cities” because he did so much there and they didn’t repent.

We might be tempted to just shake our heads at this moment of disappointment in the story and move on. Especially since we know the rest of Jesus’ story, that it gets much worse. But I think we should stop here for a moment and just wonder about how Jesus might be handling it. We may also experience in our own lives the disappointment of things not going the way we want them to, especially when we’ve put a lot of effort in and truly believe in the value of our message.

I think Jesus would have had one of those very human moments like Charlie Brown, when he seems to throw his head all the way back and shout a great “aaugh!” to the heavens. This is so much more than just a *sigh* or an “oh, good grief,” and we experience those moments, too. But Jesus doesn’t stop there, and we can’t either. 

It is frustrating being Jesus, sometimes. 

So, in those moments, I think Jesus invites his followers, including us, to let go of our slavish dedication to the letter of the law, to the structures, the institutions and the hierarchies we’ve built as a society. When we yoke ourselves to that, we carry a heavy burden of predetermining how things should be. Instead, look for what’s at the heart of it. Look to bring love and grace to lifting people up and, yes, giving them an experience of all that it means to be Jesus.

That’s why Jesus offers these words in Matthew: “come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matt. 11:28-30) These aren’t just words of comfort offering a respite from things, they’re words of affirmation, inviting the Jesus in all of us to what is true. The world can give us many heavy burdens to carry that weigh us down. But the burden of Jesusing is the love which lifts hearts, inspires minds and offers hope without condition or expectation. Eugene Peterson translates these words of Jesus as an invitation “to learn the unforced rhythms of grace.” To learn that, to “yoke” ourselves to that, is a burden of blessing.

Welcoming what's next

Back in March, when the pandemic closed everything but essential services, including churches, we were always hopeful that we’d be back. And here we are. With restrictions lifted and guidelines in place, some churches are headed back. Of course, that could change if there’s a second wave, but it feels good to know that we can go back. Back to sitting in our pews or chairs, back to Sunday mornings at 10:30 (or whatever day and time you meet).

Did I say “back” enough times that you’re suspicious about how I framed that?

When the pandemic hit, we reminded people that the church isn’t a building or a gathering or a structure. Being the church means living out what we’ve learned and experienced from the Sunday meetings. Being the church isn’t about being in, but about going out and living out God’s love.

That doesn’t mean we don’t miss gathering as a church. But when this began, it was a good reminder that there’s more to church than being in a certain place at a certain time doing certain  things. It was an opportunity to truly practice what we believe, with love, grace, kindness and care, not just in church but out of it.

Even now, for those returning to the physical space, we have guidelines in place to keep people healthy and safe that restrict many of the things that were done there. Physical spacing, no singing, no sharing of food or drink. This isn’t the same as before. Will it be something new or will it just be a way of asking for more patience as this goes on longer?

It was also a good reminder that there’s no going back. We go forward, and now we go forward with all that we’ve experienced and learned in the last few months. Many people have done some amazing Jesusing, many have received some Jesusing, and a lot have talked about how important it will be to remember all this Jesusing when circumstances change again. And again and, probably, again.

There’s also no going back to before the struggles that have accompanied the pandemic and the ongoing struggles that have been refreshed in the last few weeks. Systemic racism, violence, care of the elderly - the list is long and challenging, but it’s been lifted up again and we go forward, boldly stepping into a future of love, grace and peace.

Or haven’t we been listening to Jesus?

Over a few weeks now, I’ve been talking about the story in Matthew’s gospel about Jesus commissioning the disciples. You might remember: it’s when I once again started encouraging you to use “Jesus” as a verb. Because that’s what he asks of them in sending them out, to be Jesus to people. And he reminds them what that means. I say “reminds them” because I think they’d been with him long enough to see and experience the effect Jesusing has on people. Just as many church going folk have now.

He also tells them they’ll not always be welcome, they’ll be persecuted and attacked and people will reject them. And he tells them that there will be conflict and there should be conflict. What’s important is that we come to it with open hearts and minds, grace, compassion and love and, well, just being Jesus. Engaging diversity with love makes the world richer.

We’re coming to the end of that story and here’s where we might want to listen most closely. Jesus says, “whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” 

Jesus didn’t commission the disciples to be indoors, asking people to come and join them there where they’d receive a warm welcome. He sent them to do Jesusing in a world desperate for love, knowing that they would not be welcome everywhere, but where they were, they would share an experience of God that would transform people, communities, nations, maybe even churches.

Whether we name it as God or Jesus or Spirit, whether we use the language of church or a particular tradition, we make the world a better place by living love into it, building relationships through grace and compassion, sharing justly and equitably and welcoming each other to the great connectedness of creation. 

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.

Body Image

This might be one of those things that I feel the need to repeat on an annoyingly regular basis, but, let’s be clear: unity and uniformity are not the same thing. And when Jesus prays that we “might all be one” (John 17:21), he means unity, not uniformity.

Imagine what the world would be like if people were all “the same.” Imagine what the world would be like if all the trees and flowers, animals and birds were “the same.” You can't, really, can you? Such perfect uniformity is beyond our ability to comprehend. Thank God for that.

Say God, if that’s how you know God, or call it love, the energy of creation, the power of the Universe, a Higher Power, the fabric of creation or however you know that oneness that connects all things, but it’s that very Oneness that is our unity that allows for the diversity that’s built upon it. We're all unique, not only in appearance but in age, gender, personality, skills, philosophy, culture and religion. There is only one of you. In fact, all of creation is unique and different. And that’s awesome.

We are all still part of the one world in which we live.

Equity and equality are also not the same. Equality is about everyone getting the same thing (there’s that uniformity again), but it presumes that everyone starts from the same place and shares the same circumstances. And we don’t. We just don’t. And that’s not just about stuff, it’s about opportunity. We have systematically ensured that some get greater opportunity than others. That needs to stop.

But equity means everyone gets what they need. It’s about fairness and justice. It’s about acknowledging difference, uniqueness and individuality with respect and ensuring that everyone has what they need to be healthy and whole. It means the freedom to be who and how we are without fear.

The apostle Paul, writing to people in Corinth, where he’d previously helped to establish a church, reminds them of that in a particular, down to earth way. They’re having some difficulty building community amongst the very different people, socially and culturally, that live there. “We are all part of one body,” Paul says, but uniquely who we are. Just as there are different parts of the body, we are all different, but connected. Furthermore, everyone is needed and important, just for who they are, with their own uniqueness. In fact, the very limbs and organs that society and culture has told us to think are of lesser value should be thought of as greater. Think for a moment how we use certain body parts to describe people and how some of them are positive and others are so very negative. But, says Paul, we need all the parts to be whole. And when any one part is hurting, we all hurt and we all need to be part of the healing.

But that isn't what we do, is it?  Sometimes not even with our own bodies. We struggle with body image. And Paul's metaphor, while philosophically right and true for wholeness, wasn't the practice even in his day.  The metaphor of the body isn't original to Paul, it was already in use as a way to describe a city or town.  And it was used as a means to assign not only gifts and abilities but status as well.  Those that did the work that made them feet and hands did not have the same status as those who did the thinking, for example.  While everyone was necessary to the whole, your status was determined by the value of your ability to the whole.

But Paul's use of the body metaphor isn't about the practical application of a person's gifts, it's about the person themselves. The body that Paul describes reflects the love of Jesus for everyone, no matter who they are, what they do, what they think or know or feel or even what they believe. In this body, every member is a part of the whole simply by "being" in the first place. In this body, the strong care for the weak, the wise care for the foolish, the big care for the small, we care for each other with equity. And everyone respects everyone for who they are.

Isn’t that at the heart of any community? A sense of ”common-unity," the embrace of diversity and an equitable place for all. The people of Corinth struggled with it. We must struggle with it, too, and be better.

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.