Forgive me if I've said this before

Forgiveness is a tricky thing, isn’t it?

I know, it’s another one of those things that Jesus says is so important and he makes it sound so simple. But it’s not, is it? Yeesh, Jesus really isn’t easy. And he’s demanding.

The thing about saying “Jesus isn’t easy” is needing to remind people that’s not a bad thing, nor is it something to fear. Jesus isn’t easy in the same way that life isn’t easy. Which makes sense, since Jesus offers a way of living that’s life-giving.

Jesus also doesn’t have expectations for us or demand perfection. Jesus knows you’re perfectly you, just as you are, and there’s only one of you, so that’s enough. Especially when we need to struggle with something that’s part of that life-giving nature that moves us forward and builds - or re-builds - relationships.

So maybe start by allowing yourself a little grace.

Grace and forgiveness aren’t the same thing, by the way. Grace, in a spiritual sense, is proactive. It’s going into the world with an open heart and mind, with love and compassion, and embracing life as it happens. Forgiveness is reactive. Something happens that causes hurt or brokenness, especially of a relationship, and forgiveness is offered in response to it.

I think that’s where we can get tripped up by forgiveness. It’s offered in response to the hurt, not the baggage we weigh it down with. It’s unconditional, as near impossible as that may be for us, and yet, we attach conditions. We expect an apology. We expect compensation. We expect retribution. We expect an ironclad guarantee that it, or anything like it, will not happen again. And we expect all that before we forgive.

But forgiveness is about you, the forgiver, not the person, persons or world that hurt you. It’s about grieving the hurt - that should be the hardest part - and letting go of the anger, the bitterness, the need to blame, the hate and the fear, and the expectations of what you’re owed in order for forgiveness to happen. It’s about you letting go of the things that will hold you back from moving forward and living again after the hurt. Those other things, those conditions, will chain you down, build walls around you, imprison you and keep you from reconciling the relationship that’s been broken. Forgiveness breaks the chains and opens doors to a new relationship.

Let’s be clear, though: just because forgiveness isn’t about those other things doesn’t mean some of them might not be necessary. Forgiveness isn’t about saying it’s okay, excusing it, or allowing it. Injustice must be challenged, abuse must be stopped, truth must be spoken to power and hurts healed. Things need to change. So don’t “forgive and forget.” Forgive and remember. Remember you forgave, and why, and remember what needs to be challenged, addressed and healed.

That’s where you need a little grace for yourself and a little understanding. In this world, “unconditional” anything is hard. But Jesus knows that, just as God does. Being perfectly you is enough. But imagine what a world it would be if we went with grace and offered forgiveness.

No one said it was going to be easy

Jesus isn't easy.

Oh, here he goes again, right? Sure, but it’s another one of those “we need to be reminded, constantly” kind of things. So, I’ll say it again, Jesus isn’t easy.

Jesus is loving and caring, kind and forgiving, comforting and hopeful. But easy? No. To follow the way of Jesus, to live out the profoundly simple message to "love one another as I have loved you" is full of complications and challenges in our very human world.

According to John, Jesus lost followers because of his teaching about being the Bread of Life. Remember how Jesus tells people he is the Bread of Life? Not with just a "it's kinda like this," Jesus is adamant that we must literally consume him because "whoever eats me will live because of me" (John 6:57). You can just imagine people turning away thinking "wow, this guy's really lost it." John recounts how "because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him" (John 6:66). No one wants to be a cannibal and drink your blood, Jesus, especially people who believe "you shall not eat the blood of any creature, for the life of every creature is its blood; whoever eats it shall be cut off" (Leviticus 17:14).

But, of course, that's not really the hard part for us. The hard part is understanding Jesus means that to live - to truly live - is more than behaviour and to live the life of Jesus isn't just about how you act or what you say, but how you live. To be Jesus is to live from your heart and mind and body, to quite literally live out what you have taken in, and that is Jesus. I've said this before, I think, and lots of others have, too. And it's not about achieving a perfection that's beyond us, it's about doing the best we can, as we can.

And, sometimes, that's not easy. Sometimes, we won't like it (really?). Sometimes, we'll doubt (gasp!). Sometimes, we'll want to just walk away (no!). As C.S. Lewis wrote, "if you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

Jesus wants us to know (and I mean really know) that we are loved by God and we should love others, especially those that are hardest to love. That's not easy.

Jesus wants us to know (and I mean really know) that God cares for us and is with us, in times of sorrow as well as joy, adversity as well as prosperity, just, well, all times. And we should be there for others, too, especially those who are hardest to care for. That's not easy.

Jesus wants us to know (and I mean really know) that God's grace is for all, that we are all forgiven and welcome by God, and we should show grace to all and find forgiveness for even those that it's hardest to forgive. That's not easy.

Jesus wants us to know (and I mean really know) that God is about what’s true and right for all of creation and we should seek that always so that we might live in right relationship with each other and all creation, even with those who are the hardest to live with, even when we struggle to live with the earth. That's not easy.

But it is worth it. Peter knows why.

That piece of the story in John, that I mentioned above, concludes with many of the people who'd been following Jesus just walking away in disbelief. So Jesus asks the twelve disciples, "do you also wish to go away?" I imagine there was some shuffling of feet, a few doubtful looks and a sigh or two before Peter says "to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God" (John 6:69). The way of Jesus is life giving.

I was going to leave it there, but I can't. I need to go back to that quote from C.S. Lewis for a moment. "Religion" isn't just God or the Spirit and it isn't just our faith or belief, it's the structure, the system, the institution, even, that we human beings create around our faith to give it order and a certain common expression which we might share together. There are many religions and many expressions of faith. If they follow the way of God, however we might know that God, they will surely also present the same challenges that Jesus wants us to know (and I mean really know) are part of life. That's not easy and, as churches often experience, people will often walk away. Is that because the the church has lost it's way? We certainly have some history of that. Is it because the way is hard? We have some history of that, too. But discerning that, I think, is best done by engagement, not departure. These are words of a parting prayer I've used for a number of years and, to be honest I'm not sure of the source and there's a few variations, but it is still true:

The way is long, let us go together.

The way is difficult, let us help each other.

The way is joyful, let us share it.

The way is Jesus, let us follow.

The way is open before us, let us go.

Hey! Over here!

Question: why a burning bush?

I wonder if Moses thought about that on his way back down the mountain. Why would God appear to Moses as a burning bush?

That's part of the story of God calling Moses to lead the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, to lead them to "the promised land." Moses is tending to some sheep, he sees a bush which appears to be on fire and "was not consumed," so he goes to investigate. He hears God’s voice telling him he’s standing on holy ground. God goes on to tell Moses how he will save the people and where they're going and there’s a little bit of a debate because Moses is reluctant, to say the least. Fearful, even. Moses also wants to know the name by which he will call God and God tells him "I am who I am … the God of your ancestors."

There’s lots packed in this little bit of Exodus 3: the call of Moses, where and how the Hebrews will go, who God is, and more. This is, after all,  a pivotal moment in the life of Moses and a key moment in the story of the Hebrew people. 

All of which hinges on Moses turning aside from what he's doing to see the burning bush. So. Why the bush?

There are a variety of interpretations, as you can imagine. The burning bush became an important biblical sign, a key symbol of reformed churches since the 16th century.  Originally adopted by the Huguenots (French Presbyterians), it's the symbol of most Presbyterian churches worldwide, including the Presbyterian Church of Canada.

Here’s a few. That the fire burns but does not consume is symbolic of the power of God's spirit, that we may be consumed "with" it, but not "by" it. God empowers us (as it will Moses), but does not destroy us. Another is that God's power is a mystery beyond this world. It can, literally, violate the known physical laws of creation. And a more practical one is that the bush symbolizes the Hebrew people. Though they suffer through great trials (the fire), they will not be consumed because of God's love and support for them.

There are more, of course, from the mundane (it was a trick of the light reflecting off dew) to the obscure (one commentator suggests that Moses had consumed some hallucinogenic herbs … no, really).

I like the first one, myself, because it connects with my understanding of the Spirit in our lives and I can appreciate that as a symbol. I think it also informs the rest of this passage - God is at work with Moses and his people, and with us today.

That's all interesting and important and, like I said, as a story of "call," there is so much more to this story.  It certainly worth more than I have room for here - and worth looking into, for sure - but it's not my point. What I'm pondering today is a question that's a lot simpler but one we should all spend some time with: why did God need the burning bush to get Moses' attention in the first place?

It makes for a great story, but it raises a very real question for me: how does God get my attention? What do you think? What does God have to do to get your attention?  

It Ought To Be What We're About

Let's be honest: we're just people.

Not that that's a bad thing. Or an excuse. People are extraordinary and capable of great things, even amazing things. We're capable of great creativity, love, compassion, grace - all the good things that remind us that we are created "in the image of God" (Genesis 1:27).

We're also very capable of other things, the less desirable things, the things that are the opposite of those things we think of as "good." We can destroy and hurt and hate. We can be selfish, mean and abusive.

But what we also have is the ability to learn and the power - a superpower, really, in the context of the rest of creation - to choose which path we will take.

So. Let's keep on being honest here: going to church does not make you perfect, holy, righteous, honourable, virtuous, innocent, godlike or better than anyone else. It just doesn't. And I don’t just mean going in the building, whether you’re able to do that right now or not, I mean participating in the life of a faith community.

Now hang on a minute. In case you think I’m suggesting that church isn’t a good thing, I’m not. Church is great. Church is awesome and amazing. Or it can be. It’s just that it takes more than the presence of God, it needs the presence of you. All of you, sincerely willing to be part of something and let it be a part of you.

Nothing can make you any closer to God, more holy, more righteous or honourable or virtuous than the choices you make and what you do with your life. And that still doesn’t make you better than anyone else, it makes you a better you. The only perfect you can be is what you already are: perfectly you. Finding that in ourselves and seeing it in others is what communities are all about.

Communities of faith - any religion or faith tradition - ought to be about that. Jesus was certainly about that.

I hope this is understood by people who go to church and by people who don't. People who go to church need to remember that just walking through the door isn’t everything. Especially right now, when we’re missing our place to gather as well as those we gather with. It can be an important piece of our life - it certainly is mine - but it’s because that place is where we learn and share with others as part of a faith community and, most importantly, how we grow into living out the love of Jesus in our daily lives. People who don't go to church need to remember that the church is people, just like you and me, and - histories not withstanding - we're just trying to be better people and this way has meaning for us. And it might for you, too. Please don't assume you know “church” until you try - and please do try! As far as I know, every church welcomes anyone.

Wait. They do, don't they? Shouldn't they?

Learning Like Jesus

Sometimes we hear stories about our heroes that we’d just rather not hear. It’ll be a moment in which they act in a manner that doesn’t fit the character we want them to have. A moment in which they’re decidedly not the hero we want them to be. Same might be true of Jesus. Here’s one.

"Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, 'Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.' But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, 'send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.' He answered, 'I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.' But she came and knelt before him, saying, 'Lord, help me.' He answered, 'It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.' She said, 'Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.' Then Jesus answered her, 'Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.' And her daughter was healed instantly." (Matthew 15:21-28, NRSV)

Excuse me? Where's Jesus and who is this in his place?

That's always my initial reaction to this story. Fortunately, some biblical scholars have saved us (no pun intended) with helpful and safe explanations of this apparent Jesus of Nazareth/Mr. Hyde behaviour.

The "He Didn't Really Mean It" explanation: this is an acted out parable and Jesus was behaving this way on purpose to make his point.

The "He Didn't Really Say It" explanation: this is not an authentic quote of Jesus, but was added by the gospel writer or the early church to make a point about welcoming gentiles or "foreigners" into the church.

The "We Don't Really Get It" explanation: Jesus wasn't really calling her a dog, but using an ancient proverb about puppies (yes, the original literally translates as "young puppies") that we just don't understand.

I'm sure there's more, but I think you get the point. All of these are meaningful, but safe ways to explain Jesus' apparent un-Jesus-like behaviour.

But what if the story is true? What if Jesus was ignoring her? What if he did say something hurtful? What if, in this moment, Jesus behaved in exactly the opposite way to what he taught people was right? What if, just briefly, Jesus was all too human?

Perhaps this is a moment in which "the Word made flesh" is truly human, a moment of "human-ness" with which we can all readily identify. Busy, maybe, with other things on his mind, tired and a little short tempered,  he responds as we might. But it's the next thing he does that is the example for us to follow: Jesus learns. Jesus is open to hearing the woman's words and seeing her faith and that moves him. It moves him - and us -to see what will be the defining truth of his ministry, that God's love is for all.

And let's not forget the real hero in this story. The "Canaanite woman" was not a Jew and she was a woman, two reasons why, in Jesus' day, she should not have spoken to him, let alone ask for something or, worse, respond to him the way she did. But she did.

Her love for her daughter and her faith in God (a faith that crosses cultural and religious boundaries to bring her to Jesus, by the way) compel her to act. It's her voice in this story that brings us the truth, the wisdom and the faith that should move us to act, to be prepared to challenge structure and tradition for what's right.

Rocks Sink, Don't They?

Can we talk about your faith for a minute?

Specifically, can we talk about how much faith you have?

I just want to tell you that you have enough. Yes. Enough. There’s no catch. It’s that simple, you have enough. Good for you.

I think we can easily get used to thinking that we always need more, like there’s a measurement of some kind and we never have enough. We’re always hearing that doubt’s bad, as if it’s the opposite of faith, and if we just had more faith, things would turn out the way we want them to.

Except that’s not how faith works, doubt’s not the opposite of faith, fear is, and faith doesn’t just make things be what we want.

You know that story about Jesus walking across the rough waters to the disciples’ boat one morning? It’s recorded in the gospels of Mark, Matthew and John, but Matthew throws in the added detail of Peter (“The Rock,” long before Dwayne Johnson), not certain that it’s Jesus, saying “if it’s really you, tell me to come to you on the water.” Of course, Jesus does and Peter steps out on to the water, walking towards Jesus. But Peter is distracted by the wind and rough seas and becomes afraid. He starts to sink and calls to Jesus to save him. Jesus does ands says “you of little faith, why did you doubt?”

What we hear is Jesus criticizing Peter’s faith and his doubt, whether that’s in himself responding to Jesus’ command to come to him or in believing that it’s really Jesus. We hear that Peter didn’t have enough faith and there you go, it’s an example for us: it’s about what we don’t have. We need more faith and doubt is what’s holding us back.

But what if we heard something different. What if we could hear the tone of Jesus’ voice and heard the Jesus who keeps encouraging people. Remember all those times Jesus said to people “your faith has healed you” or “your faith has made you whole?” That was sure enough.

Listen, what if it went something like this. The disciples see a figure walking towards them on the water. They’re already nervous with the weather and now this. The figure says it’s Jesus, but Peter wants to check it out. Believing it to be Jesus, Peter steps out on the water. He’s doing fine - being Jesus - until he’s afraid of the wind. He calls out to Jesus who saves him. And Jesus says: Good for you, Peter! Look what you did with just a little faith! If only you hadn’t become afraid and doubted yourself. Remember a couple of chapters back when I said to you “go and be me” to people? See, you can do it. Look what you did - you stepped out of the boat. You weren’t afraid to take the risk and step out. You started the journey and when you needed help, you reached out for me. And where was I? Right here.

Maybe, if that were the story we heard, we might know that all it takes is a little faith to step out on the journey. And, instead of being afraid, we might share our real doubts and questions and learn from them. Because that’s what happens. We step out with the faith we have, we use it and we grow in faith by asking questions and learning. That’s why we share the stories of Jesus, so we’ll learn that a little faith is all that’s needed to get started. And when we need help, God’s right there to hold us up, just like Jesus.

See, a little is enough. Use it.

You can do it, too

I’m not sure if now is the best time or the worst time to hear the story of Jesus feeding the multitude.

In the days of the pandemic, there are limits on the number of people who can gather in one place, even outside. There are way too many people simply ignoring that, but I doubt Jesus would be one of them. At the very least, he would have limited the size of the gathering, handed out masks and sanitizer and ensured that everyone was appropriately physical distancing. Not sure how he would have fed everyone, but I’m sure he would have found a way and it would have met recommended guidelines. Even then, it would have been far less than a multitude, so would that have made it less of a miracle?

On the other hand, because of the pandemic a lot of people are hungry and need to be fed and there are some very worthy organizations trying to do that very thing. Now is maybe the best time to remind people that compassion finds a way, as Jesus did.

Ah, but that was Jesus, you might say, and it was a miracle.

Sure. That’s true. But Jesus believes that you can be Jesus, just like the first disciples. Get in touch with the image of God in you and be Jesus. And, by the way, you can make miracles happen, too. Depends on your perspective.

One way to understand this story, like so many of the miracle stories (and there’s a lot of them), is to see it as an act of power from the Divine Jesus. This is the Son of God, the Word Made Flesh, and Jesus wields the power of God to instantly provide food for everyone who’s there. It’s a supernatural act done for us by Jesus.

Okay, but I have questions. These people followed Jesus out to the middle of nowhere and didn’t take any food or an extra cloak or anything with them? Why start by telling the disciples to feed everyone? Why start with what they have? (Or, in John’s version of this story, there’s a small boy who offers his lunch.) Why not just make a feast appear out of thin air? And why the needless extravagance of leftovers? There’s twelve baskets full, where are they going? Food Bank? Home with everyone? Back to the disciples? Why feed them at all?

I’m sure there are answers to those questions - probably several - but the biggest issue for me is this: even with the disciples handing over their wee bit of food, there’s no further participation from anyone but Jesus. The people themselves have no part in this. Jesus does all the work.

But I think Jesus’ life is about showing us how we can be love, just like Jesus. I think we’d have a part in this miracle.

How about this. Jesus shows the people that the disciples are willing to share all that they have. It’s nothing, really, it’s all we’ve got, and I want you to have it. Those who did have something already, find themselves inspired by this radical act of outrageous generosity. So they share. With complete strangers.

Please don’t tell me I’m explaining away the miracle. That kind of sharing is no less miraculous. It must be or there’d be no one going hungry right now. Everyone in our own communities and in the world would have enough. But they don’t. If they did, it’d be a miracle. A miracle we could do.

Jesus doing all this in a way that’s impossible for us to do, well, that just let’s us off the hook. And not a spiritual one, either. It’s not a metaphor. People’s spirits have been earlier, this is the practical moment of putting love into action and feeding hungry bodies. We can do that. We can do that and it will still be just as miraculous.

I wish it weren’t. I wish it were ordinary, everyday, just how it is. But it wasn’t in Jesus day and it isn’t now. That’s why we think it’d be a miracle.

But there’s a way for us to make this miracle happen and it’s in how this little vignette begins: “when he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them” (Matt. 14:14). Any story, miracle or not, that begins with compassion is one that we need right now.