Let's Go Together

A few years ago, I wrote a short script for a skit telling the story of Jesus sending out "the seventy-two” (Luke 10:1-20). Jesus sends seventy-two of his disciples out ahead of him to spread the Good News and lay the ground work for his own travels. He sends them in pairs, telling them not to take anything with them and warning them that it's going to be a tough job, first, because there's so few of them and, second, because people aren't always going to be welcoming to them.

As you might expect from a Bible story, there doesn’t seem to be any questions, nor is there any indication that Jesus had any trouble at all finding volunteers. In fact, there’s not much description of their mission, either, other than to say that they returned with joy because they’d been so successful.

In my version, Jesus, clipboard in hand, is pairing people up and assigning them places to go. Some people aren't happy with their destinations, but even fewer are happy when they find out that they can't take anything with them. Even less are thrilled with Jesus' warning about what might happen. "I am sending you out like lambs in the midst of wolves," he tells them (Luke 10:3).

Let's review: tough job to do, no supplies for the job, not enough people for the job. Anyone want the job? Well, no, as it turns out. In my version people are reluctant, to say the least. Until one little boy says "okay, I'll go, who wants to come with me? Jesus loves me and I want to share that with others," he says, "no matter what."

Like so many of the observers in the stories we tell about Jesus, we might be tempted to focus on the power Jesus gives them to act in his name, the miracles, the healings, the "authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy" (Luke 10:19). And, of course, the great success of the mission. That’s what we most aspire to, isn’t it? But maybe there's a few features here that are just as important, if not more so for us.

First, Jesus sends them in pairs. Everyone has a companion. Someone has their back, there's someone to lean on, talk things through with, share the load. There's a team. No one is by themselves. Second, Jesus calls on them to rely, not just on their relationships with each other, but on the hospitality of those who hear the message they bring. So those relationships they build are key to the task Jesus gives them. 

I wish there were more said about how people got together, how they worked together, how long they were together because together isn’t always easy. And that’s the third thing. I don’t think what’s important in this story is the power Jesus gives them or its success.What’s truly important is “together.”

No one is alone here. Everyone is reaching out, perhaps not always as successfully as is implied, connecting with people and with God. What we aspire to as the Kingdom of God doesn’t come with a flash of light and the invocation of Jesus’ name. It comes in the slow and steady work of building relationships of love and grace. And that can be real work. It’s also more likely to be a journey than a quick visit. But it’s a road worth taking.

Things just got real

There’s a pivotal moment in the Gospel of Luke when the author writes that Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem.” It’s the moment, for Luke anyway, when Jesus moves from his ministry in Galilee and intentionally begins the journey to Jerusalem, knowing “the days drew near for him to be taken up.”

Even though Jesus has already been busy, it feels to me like a “time to get down to business” moment. There’s an increased intensity and it feels like things have escalated.  Things just got real, you might say.

It may be that it’s the beginning of a journey, not just geographically to Jerusalem, but to being “taken up” — the author of Luke isn’t just anticipating death and resurrection, but the eventual departure of Jesus’ person. It may also be that Jesus is beginning to attract more attention, not all of it good. Or maybe it’s something more. Two things happen as Jesus sets “his face to go to Jerusalem.”

First, they’ve sent news ahead that Jesus is coming to a Samaritan town, but the people there aren’t interested in Jesus. Of course they aren’t. Samaritans and Jews are enemies. Samaritans were originally Jews, but they’re Jews who believe that God resides on Mount Gerizim, not in the Temple in Jerusalem, amongst other things. Jesus is headed to Jerusalem. 

But the disciples are offended and annoyed and ask Jesus if they should call down “fire from heaven to consume them.” No, says Jesus, let’s just move on.

Second, Jesus and the disciples next encounter three people: one who says they want to follow Jesus, and two that seem to have other priorities to take care of first. In each case, Jesus’ gruff response feels designed to dissuade them, rather than invite them in.

So what’s going on here?

Well, let’s remember that while we revere the divine Jesus and hold up (sometimes in more ways than one) the Son of God, there is Jesus’ humanity too. I think the key purpose of Jesus - divine and human - is to show the divinity and humanity that we are all capable of and inspire us to live more fully into it. So, as Jesus begins the journey to Jerusalem, he acknowledges that we’re all on a journey and our journeys are our own, they’re complicated and they’re not always easy. 

I wonder if, after the disciples wanted to “smite” the Samaritan town, Jesus might also have said that they find their way to God their own way, and that’s okay. In a later chapter, Jesus will tell the story of the Good Samaritan. Jesus seems to want us to know that not only are other faith traditions still part of the family of God, but that we can learn from them and be inspired by them to live more fully into our own.

I wonder, too, if, with the others, Jesus is pointing us again to this truth: God is life. The divine spirit is in all things and if we don’t understand, appreciate and engage that, then what we are doing is simply behaviour. To live like Jesus is to live with love at the heart of everything, to understand that divine spirit is in every fibre of our being and every action we take, however we know God, however our religion understands it, however our traditions engage it. For Jesus, that’s as real as it gets.

Not a Bridge Too Far

There’s a story, in each of the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, of Jesus healing a man possessed by demons. You might have heard it. In one of the spookier lines in scripture, he says his name is Legion, “for many demons had entered him.” Jesus, the story says, expelled the demons into a herd of pigs which then drowned themselves. Seeing the man healed and “in his right mind,” the local people are afraid of Jesus and ask him to move on.

There’s more details, of course, and they vary between the gospels telling it. But for me, I’ve sometimes struggled to come to terms with what the story might say to us because of its original setting. Simply put, it was a different time, different place and I wasn’t there. I want to hear it speak to me not at a distance, but for today. So let me try and tell this story in a more contemporary setting.

I’d be tempted to place it in a large, modern day urban centre. There’s a person with extreme mental and physical health issues who lives in a park, maybe, or on the street, homeless and with no money or food. They probably talks to themselves, or appears to, maybe with some yelling, some anger and some tears. They grab scraps when they can, avoided, as best they can, by everyone.

Just as it was in the original story, they’d recognize Jesus for who he really is when it seems like the rest of us can't. It could be, I suppose, that they recognize Jesus because, when everyone else looks away, Jesus looks right at them. When everyone else is trying so hard not to see them, Jesus sees them for who they are, a person who needs help; a person who needs support; a person who needs connection. Jesus offers it and that makes all the difference. It also makes everyone else fearful.

Are they afraid of Jesus "power" or are they afraid that Jesus has shone a light on something they hoped they wouldn't have to see? Are they afraid that Jesus is setting an example others might follow? That's going to cost time and money.

Let's go back to the beginning. Like I said, I'm tempted to make this character a street person in a city, but I live in a small town in rural Alberta. If I put the story in a city, for me, I might as well put it two thousand years ago and halfway round the world. The stereotype of the person creates distance, too - you don't find "those people" outside the city, do you? - and if I can keep it at a distance, it can stay the tidy concept it is and not be the messy action it can be.

But that's just it. Jesus reaches out, asks their name and makes a connection. He, literally, names the demons that torment the man. He engages them and things get messy. The man is healed, restored to life - or at least begins the journey back. He even asks to follow Jesus, to continue their relationship. But Jesus says no, go and build relationships with others by sharing your story.

Healed of an illness, exorcised of demons, saved from evil - however you might see it, the real miracle here is that Jesus bridges the distance between society and the people it has cast out because they're different. Not different in appearance or culture or religion, but different in how they "be."

Jesus teaches us to engage everyone as best we can, where they are and how they are, to hear their story and help left them up. That can be scary, messy and complicated. It's no wonder we might be fearful and want him to move on. Don’t be afraid. We can do it together.

Wonder and Awe of Relationship

As doctrines go, the doctrine of the Trinity is a pretty important church doctrine.

Doctrine simply means a teaching, instruction or principle of the church. The Trinity is the doctrine that God is in essence one, but three persons, historically described as Father, Son and Holy Ghost, but now often described in other terms like Creator, Christ and Spirit.

The word “trinity” doesn’t appear in the Bible and you won’t find any explicit statement of the idea there, either. The doctrine comes from the early days of the church when Christians were trying to figure out a way to explain the relationship between God, Jesus and the Spirit, a relationship that arises from scripture, but is not named there. The discussion was a long and involved one and still is. There’ve been many thick books, many centuries of debate and many heretics as a result. Inevitably, not everyone agreed and, well, we know what happens to people who don’t agree, don’t we? Yes, they go and form their own church with their own followers. 

Or worse, of course. But I want to look at it positively. People find their way to God the way they find. And there are many ways to God, truly, and if it brings you to God and all the love, goodness and grace that is God, then travel that journey.

For me, the thing about the Trinity isn’t knowing the correct definition or following the proper doctrine of my faith tradition to the letter. For me, the Trinity is like light. Sure, you can explain it with all the science and demonstrate it with all the right lenses and equipment, but the really important thing is what it illuminates. (And the shadows it does, and doesn’t, make, but that’s a different story.) We are enlightened, and our attention is drawn to what is illuminated by the light.

The Trinity illuminates two contrasting things for me. The first is that God, the source and energy of life, is present in all creation and is constantly seeking relationship with us and through us. That is the “oneness” of which we are a part, though that oneness is still present with our individuality and in our living, both as individuals and as one. That’s pretty Trinitarian right there, but more important, perhaps, than the “three” is the connectedness. I believe that all living things are built for relationship and true relationship isn’t built on uniformity, but unity: true relationship is built on both the common ground and the respect and appreciation of our differences, together. 

That leads me to the second thing the Trinity illuminates for me: how broken our relationships can be. When we focus on our differences without an appreciation and respect for their value, we aren’t seeking relationship, we’re seeking uniformity and that’s not the same thing. Uniformity rejects diversity for sameness, which is easy and comfortable, but ultimately not as rewarding, or as life-giving, or as essential to life as trying to find a path to unity. It’s also invariably built on control, on power over others in order to ensure that they conform.

Maybe that’s why we so often refer to the Trinity as a mystery. Not that it’s a puzzle to be solved, but that it’s a source of wonder and awe. It can draw us together and into the sense of oneness that is God when we fully embrace true relationship. And yet, we so often choose sameness, fearing diversity as if we might somehow lose ourselves, rather than enrich our own lives. Choose the wonder and awe of relationship.

What Can You Say?

You might be surprised to hear that I often feel like I don't know what to say.

I know, right? Isn’t that what you do, you might think: talk? And aren't pastors supposed to always know what to say?

Hmm. Well, no, I hope it’s not just what I do, and I've always felt that it isn't so much a question of knowing what to say as knowing when there isn't anything to say.

The Bible’s full of stories of Jesus with always just the right thing to say. Well, of course, you might think, it's Jesus. Yes, but don't you think it’s possible that, for every time Jesus had just the right thing to say to someone, there was probably a time when Jesus knew there was nothing to say. Perhaps it was just a moment to spend some time quietly with someone who simply needed some company because no one else would be seen with them, or to cry with someone who just needed to share their tears, or to wonder at a sunset with someone who could see for the first time or even just to rest in green pastures or walk by still waters.

I often wonder why there aren't more stories like that, but then I also realize that very ordinary, very human people wrote these stories down. Of course the most meaningful stories would be the ones that provided those words of wisdom, that instruction on living they wanted people to know.

But Jesus isn't always about words. Jesus does. Jesus, I bet, would go to where people are grieving and cry with them. He'd share lots of hugs and he'd encourage them to put up pictures on a wall and write their thoughts there, too, even if it was as simple as "I miss you." He might do a sharing circle or share a meaningful tradition of his faith or lift up some thoughts in prayer. Or maybe plant some flowers or mow the lawn or do some things that would be helpful, without being asked. Maybe he even made a casserole and dropped it off.

And maybe it wasn't only a question of quiet time. I bet Jesus was a good listener. For all the teaching and the preaching and the words of wisdom, for all the acts of kindness and compassion, I think Jesus listened. A lot. I think people shared their stories with Jesus, their feelings and their thoughts, maybe even their wonder - and anger - at what God was or wasn’t doing.

I doubt Jesus told them to get over it or move on. I doubt Jesus told people how they should feel and think. And when they were angry at God, I think he said that's okay, God can take it and the anger will pass someday because you should know this: God loves you and is always with you. God loves us so much that God doesn't control our journey, but God goes with us every step of the way, a companion to celebrate with and to cry with and to live with. God loves all of us, in whatever way we know God or don't, and that, in the deepest, darkest hurt, can be the beginning of light. In the coldest moment of loneliness it can be the hand that warms ours. Life can be full of grief and joy, but there is always love.

Jesus teaches us to live that out. When it's hardest to find the words, love calls first for our presence. Love calls for us to listen and to respond with love.

If not now, when?

How much longer do we wait for something to happen?

We pray, we talk, we think, but we don’t really do anything more. We don’t act, we just wait, wait as if for something magical to happen. Is that what we do?

I didn’t give that any context, but I bet you’ve already given it some. It could be any number of things in the world today: the unspeakable tragedy of gun violence in schools and communities, racism, hate, war, climate change, inflation, poverty, housing, healthcare - the list is seemingly endless. And the few I mentioned are certainly not in any order of priority because that can change with our experience.

I want to talk about the disciples of Jesus for just a minute, though, and where they found themselves in the story when Jesus leaves them for the last time, ascending to heaven. They’d lived with Jesus for a few years, traveled and wondered and learned with him, experienced him and got to know him. Then he’s arrested, dies, is alive again and now says he’s leaving - again - and tells them that they will soon receive the power of the Holy Spirit. Then he ascends to heaven.

I imagine them, after all that, wondering exactly when that spirit thing will happen. It’s just a few days on our calendar, but what were they doing? Were they just sitting and waiting for the spirit to happen to them?

All that time they’d been with Jesus, learning to be Jesus, the times Jesus sent them out, told them they were to be Jesus to others, to share all that Jesus was about, not just in words, but in action. “As God has sent me, so I send you,” he’d say, and “love each other as I showed you to love.” He’d breathed the breath of life to them, offered them peace (the peace of God, not just a worldly peace) and said “receive the Holy Spirit.” And now, they should just sit around and wait to be empowered?

I’ve always felt that the story of Pentecost, of the disciples “receiving” the Holy Spirit and suddenly being able to communicate to people in their own language (metaphorically, I think, as well as linguistically), wasn’t really about something being done to them, but something finding its way out of them. We’re made in the image of God and of the earth: the divine spirit is already in us, equal with our earthliness, we’ve just not been very good at letting it out. It’s all part of our factory setting being love, not sin.

So why wait?

What if they were already at it, already living what they’d learned, being Jesus to each other and the world? What if they were already following Jesus’ instructions to love as he showed them, to live as he showed them, to be what he showed them? What if the Pentecost story is simply the moment of that being revealed to the wider community?

Let’s give that a different context. Imagine how different the world would be if we didn’t wait for some magical moment of inspiration to solve a problem that could have been avoided if we’d put love, creativity and life before hate, destruction and death - right now. What if we didn’t wait for some outside force to move us or some public opportunity to make a difference, but, instead, loved right now. What if we didn’t let apathy or fear, shyness or cowardice guide us, but instead broke out all the love that is in us and poured it into every moment of our living, overwhelming the culture of power, control, greed and selfishness that seems determined to make our world?

What did you say?

“I hate it when that happens.”

Do you, though? I know it might seem like a little thing to some, just a casual expression and all. But it seems like there’s already so much hate in the world. Maybe we could pause for a moment and think about how easily, how casually and how readily we throw that word around. Maybe we could even spare a moment to wonder at what hate really is.

It’s being so vividly and graphically displayed in the world, that slipping it into casual conversation seems, at least, disingenuous. I hope. We’re becoming more and more accustomed to throwing around incredibly volatile language, employing rhetoric that encourages conflict, not relationship. It seems so pervasive.

Our language, like our world, has become incredibly complex. And misunderstood. And inappropriate. But hate, that's something that's still as simple as it's always been.

Hate isn't about personal taste, opinion, dislike or disagreement. It’s just not. The roots of hate are in fear, ignorance, power and rejection.

It was just a few weeks back that we celebrated Easter. Jesus is alive, we shout, and we say it’s a good time to look around and see how Jesus is alive in the world today. (By the way: anytime is a good time to do that.) I remember saying that Jesus is alive in each of us, in the love and caring we show for each other, how we share things, how we respect each other, how we live as Jesus taught us to live. Together.

To be honest, it can sometimes feel hard to say that convincingly when the world seems determined to show something different.

And what we say and what we do are intrinsically linked, aren't they?  One of the fairest criticisms levelled at the church - and governments and institutions and societies - is that we don't live what we say. We don't "walk the talk."

We should. There isn’t an excuse for that. We should. But we should also be as sure and sincere and authentic as we can be about our talk before we walk it out. How much of the bad that happens in the world today is inspired by words that are essentially hate born from ignorance and fear?

Jesus' answer to hate is love. Hope-filled, determined, life-giving love. The love that's at the heart of Jesus' teaching is about compassion and justice, it's about sharing in relationship, it's about being open to the new and different in order to know it and understand it, it's about bringing people together to share life, not just behave the same. Jesus' love is about respect and dignity for all. Jesus' love is God's love, and God's love is for all.

You cannot say that God loves everyone and then say “except those people.” Nor can you say God's grace is for everyone - but I don't have to forgive. Or that at the end of this life, only God judges us - but I can tell you where you're going.

Wholeness can't be achieved just by doing, it must be in what we say, too. And we should think about that first, and share it with God.