Every Step of the Way

Life is a journey. Yes, that’s a grand cliché. But it’s still true and it’s one of the most endearing and enduring ways that we describe how we live.

Life is a journey. Or, if you’re Tom Cochrane, life is a highway (legendary song, by the way). We might be on the right track, we might have taken a wrong turn, lost our way or strayed from the path, but we journey on. One of my favourite quotes about our life journey is these words by Spanish poet Antonio Machado: “wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road — only waves upon the sea.” Every step is new, fresh and different and there’s no going back.

Wherever our journey takes us, we meet people and have experiences that help to form who we are. Good or bad, we’re constantly learning and growing with each moment. Each of our journeys is our own and wherever we are on that journey, wherever we may think we’re headed, we don’t travel alone.

We meet God - that’s the name I use - you might say the spirit of life or love or the energy of life, but however you know this force that connects us, inspires us and enlivens us (literally), it does so with every step. Say it that way and you can even call it The Force if you want to, I imagine it’s where George Lucas got the idea from anyway. And the Force is strong in many people and places and things. When we meet them in our lives we might call them teachers or mentors or experiences that transform or inspire us. Maybe we don’t even see it that way in the moment and only realize it later. We just need to look with open hearts and be ready to welcome that connection, no matter how unexpected it may be.

Each of the gospels records a story, or more than one, of the resurrected Jesus being seen. Even though John singles out Thomas as an example, none of Jesus’ closest companions recognize him at first. It’s only when he offers proof or some action that’s Jesus-like that they know who it is. This is how we’ll see Jesus alive today, by recognizing the divine spirit Jesus shows us in each and every one of us, in every living thing and throughout creation.

It can be hard for us to see sometimes, so here are these stories of Jesus’ closest companions coming to understand and “see” him. But there’s one that doesn’t feature the eleven chosen disciples or the women who were at the tomb. Not holy saints, but just two ordinary folks on a journey.

Luke tells this story of two followers of Jesus, one un-named and one whose name we only know from this single incident. They’re walking to Emmaus, a location archeologists don’t know for sure even existed. They meet Jesus on the way but don’t recognize him, even though he teaches them all about the purpose of the Messiah revealed in scripture. They don’t recognize him until he breaks bread that evening, just like Jesus, and then vanishes.

So, just to recap. Two people we don’t know were on a journey to somewhere we don’t know when they meet someone they don’t know who teaches them something that transforms their life. And then they recognize it’s Jesus.

Isn’t that the journey of every life? Image how often we encounter Jesus when we engage the journey, welcome the stranger and embrace the spirit. 

Meeting Jesus

From early in the morning on the first day of the week to beside the sea where the disciples were fishing, the stories of the resurrected Jesus being seen by people are full of wonder. And disbelief, fear, amazement, doubt and probably more than a little bit of confusion.

Well, of course. The story’s about someone physically rising from the dead. Today, we’d call that impossible, so imagine what it would have seemed like to people two thousand years ago. Despite the fact that he repeatedly told them it was going to happen. It would have been, well, God-like.

This is the power of God over death and life. A power beyond us, much like Jesus demonstrates in his life. Jesus is capable of things we simply aren’t because he is the child of God. That’s why we worship him and built a religion around him. 

I wonder if Jesus would really appreciate that. He seems to have been trying so hard to draw us close to him and here we are, setting him apart, making him unreachable.

Imagine if there were another way to know this story. A little less literal and one that emphasized the close, intimate relationship we can have with Jesus and, through him, with God. Imagine the story is meant to draw attention to the life of Jesus and how, in living as he did, he showed us what we could be capable of, that we are all children of God and, as the creation story tells us, made of the divine spirit and the earth, good from the beginning.

The women who found the tomb empty that morning were reminded that Jesus had told them he would live again and that they should go and tell the others that. Matthew says they turn around and there he is. Mark says he appeared to Mary and then “in another form” to others. Luke says that two of the disciples met him on the road and didn’t recognize him at first. John says Mary thought he was the gardener at first. And when he appeared to the disciples where they were hiding, they needed to see his hands and feet. The disciples who met him by the lake didn’t recognize him at first, either. John even makes a point of Thomas doubting the news, even though they all did. It seems like they all found it difficult to see Jesus alive. Maybe they just didn’t see what they expected.

Aren’t we all in that boat?

What if all they had to do to see Jesus was realize he was alive in them and in the people around them? What if the open tomb simply opened their eyes and their hearts? What if it really was the gardener, but they could suddenly see Jesus in them or in a stranger they met on the road?  What if the disciples recognizing the wounds or the action of breaking bread with them were metaphors for what wounds us, too, and what actions we might take to share, connect and heal? What if we could be open to seeing Jesus, especially when and where we least expect it, in someone from whom we might least expect it? What if we weren’t blinded by expectations and instead opened our eyes and hearts with hope? Can you imagine that?

Take a Moment

Can you imagine what it would be like if, when we lose someone from our life or a thing, like a place or a job or an activity that’s deeply important, can you imagine what it would be like to lose them completely and to never remember them? Can you imagine what it would be like if we could bury all memory and experience with them?

No, I bet you can’t. We’re simply not capable of it. Excepting severe physiological disorders, I don’t think we can simply let go all the memories, experiences, learning and emotions. We’ve been changed. We remember. And in our remembering, we’re changed.

We want to remember. Even when we feel like we’d rather forget, that person or experience has become part of us. How we engage, manage, even embrace that is part of who and how we are.

The tomb is empty on Easter morning, not because the physical form of Jesus has been re-animated or resuscitated, but because everything that was and is Jesus is alive. All that Jesus is cannot be contained by death and burial. What more outrageous and radical way to show that than resurrection. The miracle isn’t just that the body isn’t there, but that the very spirit of Jesus - divine and human - is alive. Transformed, transforming and alive. What he showed in his living overcomes death and brings new life.

Life with Jesus was certainly eventful. The stories we have are probably just a fraction of what was possible. For Jesus’ followers, I can’t imagine there’s any moment they’d forget or let go of. And that last week, it had begun with such a hope-filled display of support, recognition even. And then it all crashed to a halt.

It all happened so fast, and though it might appear that Jesus either knew or anticipated what was happening, his followers certainly didn’t. Suddenly Jesus is dead, in the cruellest way imaginable. Most of them ran away in fear to hide, both for their safety and their grief. Some stayed, especially the women, baring their grief without fear or shame.

Death with Jesus was certainly eventful. And then there was nothing until the third day. But wait a moment, this isn’t just a chronological measure, it’s the Sabbath. The expanse between death and new life isn’t about hours or days, it’s about the time we rest from earthly things so that we can spend it with God. That might feel different for each of us, that sabbath time, even like it’s all the time in the world.

In the biblical accounts, the women were the first to know it, the same women who stayed with Jesus and watched him die. The closest disciples followed, when they saw him, and soon the word was getting out. Even today, it takes some longer to see than others, each of us at our own pace.

Our lives are certainly eventful, full of people, places and things that come and go, beginnings and endings, change and transformation, doubt and fear and so much more. Just like Jesus. The empty tomb reconnects us to the life of Jesus and that thing that we always believed was peculiar to Jesus, but is really the one thing that we all have in common: there is this thread that connects all things, a spirit of life that is both divine and earthly, and death cannot overcome it.

I wonder as I wander

Hope.

I think that’s the thing first and foremost in the hearts and minds of the people in the crowd that first Palm Sunday. Sure, there were people who were all ready to just have a good time and go “party on, excellent!” - there always is. But I hope (there it is again) they were in the minority. I think most of the people welcoming Jesus to Jerusalem that day were hoping for a “good” time, but in the very best sense of the word.

We’ve made such a celebration of it! The traditional description is “Jesus Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem.” Trying our best to get in touch with what we think could be the spirit of the day, we might wave palm branches and parade around, shouting hosanna as if it were really a hallelujah. Of course, a parade is a great way to engage children and we might try and update it with some tree branches or banners, flags or even one of those big foam #1 fingers. It’s fun.

But is it?

It’s okay to be looking for ways to connect with what’s happening here, but put yourself in the crowd with Jesus for a minute. Not the crowd of how we’ve told the story of this day or as someone who knows the rest of the story of Jesus, but the people that day who didn’t know anything more than what they were hoping for from a king that had been promised for a long time.

Hosanna doesn’t mean “yay.” It means something like “save us” or “deliver us.” Jesus’ arrival on a donkey from the direction of the Mount of Olives was meant to fulfil the prophecy of how the king would arrive. I wonder if the crowd wasn’t so much celebrating his arrival as begging him to prove that he’s what they hoped for. I wonder if they’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t deliver what they expect.

They weren’t the only ones with hopes that day. I wonder what Jesus was thinking. He staged his arrival intentionally to fulfill the prophecy. Was this the response he hoped for? Did he mean to affirm their hope or raise their expectations? Did he wonder if this would turn into a show of support or disappointment later in the week?

At the same time, Pilate was likely arriving in Jerusalem with a well-staged show of Roman force. Was he hoping that would keep the Passover week quiet and without any disturbances or, worse, conflict?

I wonder what the disciples, the twelve closest to Jesus, were thinking. Peter, in particular, had already declared his concern about what Jesus was saying would happen. I wonder if they were hopeful that this was a show of support or worried that it was just making matters more difficult. Maybe they were a little confused and just hoping for the best.

Maybe we all are. I don’t think the journey of Jesus’ last days begins with triumph, it ends with it. It begins with hope. It travels through anger, questions, fear, betrayal, grief, surprise, joy and more - it’s a full week. Take a walk with Jesus. 

Are You Talking to Me?

I’ve been talking about the Beatitudes for a few weeks now and other parts of the Sermon on the Mount in the weeks before that. There’s sure lots to talk about there, but I feel like I’ve been repeating myself a fair bit. 

It might seem like I’m doing that again, but, please, stick with me. It’s all connected.

Of course it’s all connected, you might say. Whether you believe that the thing we call the Sermon on the Mount was one hugely long oration or that the author of Matthew’s gospel collected selected preachings together and repackaged them that way, it makes sense as a unit. A long one, for sure, but it makes sense. Particularly if you are the view that, from the very start, Jesus was clear who he was talking to: you. You are blessed, you are salt and light, you can live into the heart of the law and here’s how you do it. It’s about you, not some generic crowd in the ancient past, but you.

And that’s how it’s all connected, right from the start.

Right from the start, I imagined Jesus approaching the crowd and seeing them. I mean, really seeing them. I imagine Jesus looked in their faces that day, saw where they were at, and began by telling them the most important thing they needed to know: you are blessed. I imagine he looked each one right in the eyes and he said you who are poor are blessed, just as you are. And he looked at the broken and the grieving, the meek, the merciful, and so many others and, as he moved through the crowd, he told each and every one that they are blessed, just as they are.

In other words, this wasn’t just a generic sermon that he posted later as a blog, it was personal. I think we tend to hear much of Jesus’ teaching, preaching and healing as stories about Jesus rather than stories about how Jesus speaks to us. That way, we can keep it less personal. But that’s just it: I think Jesus meant to be personal. That’s why he didn’t begin with “all lives are blessed,” he began with naming how we might be feeling in our lives.

Imagine you’re any of the people Jesus addresses here. It’s not hard, because we will be among theses people somewhere. Imagine Jesus is speaking to you. You are blessed.

It’s not that simple, though, is it? As Jesus moves through the crowd, everyone will hear how each is blessed. And that might be easier to hear for some than others. Imagine, for example, that Jesus looks at someone and says blessed are the peacemakers and that someone is a Roman soldier. What makes them a peacemaker is their self, not their title or place in society. Remember the story of the faith-filled centurion?

And what about those who are poor in spirit when they hear Jesus tell those who are so strong in spirit and in following Jesus that they will be persecuted for it, that they are blessed? To both he says, “theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

I think there’d be some discussion about that, and I think Jesus would say that heaven isn’t a destination, it’s a journey. It’s the journey of our life. That’s why Jesus says the kingdom of heaven is near. When we authentically live out the blessing we are, the good from which we come, we connect with God’s love and grace that’s in each of us. That’s what Jesus is all about. Wherever we are on our journey, we are blessed and that blessing connects us with God, in ourselves, in each other and in creation.

Imagine The Peace We Would Live In

Blessed are the peacemakers, Jesus says, for they will be called children of God.

It seems to me that, of all the Beatitudes, this is one of the most straight forward and easily understood. And also one of the hardest.

First of all, blessed are the peacemakers. Literally, the makers of peace. That might include peace keepers, it might include those who’ve found spiritual peace or who are at peace with themselves, but it’s more than that. It’s the one’s who work to make peace happen.

Secondly, by virtue of being that, they’ll be called children of God. Okay, but we’re all children of God. Yes, but I think what Jesus is pointing out is the example they become. In order to be peacemakers, they live into their nature as children of God and bring that to the world around them. They’re aware of the divine spirit within themselves and live that love, compassion, grace - all that good stuff - into the world around them. They’re doing their best to live into their relationship with God and with God’s presence in the people and the world around them. They become an example to the world around them and each are called a child of God. Just like Jesus.

Which I think, as I’ve said before, is what Jesus is about. Imagine the peace we would live in if we could all be Jesus.

And that’s the hard part. Well, parts. We don’t.

Just like the crowd that listened to Jesus that day, we’re all different. We have different relationships with ourselves, with God, with people, with creation. Just like the crowd that day, some of us struggle, some of us doubt, some of seek, some of us are weak. Most of all we’re afraid and angry. We don’t imagine peace like Jesus does.

We still think peace is simply an end to conflict and the way conflicts are ended is by force. Fighting is ended because there’s a winner and a loser and the winner is the one with the most power. That’s not just today, I think many in the crowd listening to Jesus that day may have understood that, too. They lived under “Pax Romana,” the Roman peace, imposed on conquered peoples and maintained by an army. That’s a particular order maintained by power over people and we see it in everyday life, whether that power is force, persuasion or manipulation. That’s not the peace Jesus is talking about.

Jesus means the peace that comes from creating community where people feel they belong, where there is freedom, equity and an appreciation for the diversity which contributes to that community. That’s a wholeness of being that comes from sharing, respecting, communicating and doing all that with grace and an open heart. This peace honours vulnerability, empathy and engagement, not force and oppression.

And we don’t imagine we can be Jesus. We set Jesus apart and hold him up as an example of something we can never attain when we should be holding him close and aspiring to be what he shows us we can. We’ll fail sometimes, but the divine spirit in each of us can pick us up and try again.

We know peacemakers and we do call them children of God. I’m sure Jesus saw them in the crowd that day and we see them, not just in history or in the headlines, but in our everyday lives. And, just like Jesus, we should embrace them, hold them close, and learn from them.

The More You Know

Blessed are the pure in heart.

Jesus wasn’t the only one to say that. It’s one of the Beatitudes (Matt. 5:3-12), but, like others, it can be found elsewhere in the Bible and other sacred texts. Blessed are the pure in heart, says Jesus, for they will see God.

Hmm. That might sound like a tremendous blessing, but a challenging one, too. Who can say that their heart is pure?

And yet, I’ll say it again. I think Jesus looked at the crowd and he saw in their faces how they were that day and he decided to begin with reminding them of the most fundamental thing: you are blessed. Just as you, from the very beginning, you are blessed.

As he moved through the crowd, he met the poor in spirit, people who were grieving, who were broken, meek, hungry. He met people who struggled to find the strength to live in a challenging world and he met people who’s strength of spirit challenged the world: people sharing compassion and grace, working for peace, living true to what Jesus was trying to show us all. I think Jesus saw this as a moment to remind us that, while it’s easy to say all lives are blessed, there are moments when it’s important for the individual to hear their experience named, just as they are in this moment, and know the intimacy of that connection recognized.

Jesus may well have found himself face to face with many more than the gospel records, but those that we have cover a lot of ground, moving from weak in spirit to being of such committed spirit that they are persecuted. And there in the middle seems the impossible: someone with a pure heart. Brokenness and grief we can understand, even care, compassion, working for peace, even being righteous we can see, but pure in heart? With all our human failings, how can that be possible?

We judge a pure heart with our own notions of morality and ethics, cleanliness and perfection, expecting, even, that it be without sin. We judge it to be unattainable, with maybe an occasional, even flawed, example. But I wonder if that’s what Jesus had in mind.

I wonder if, for Jesus, a pure heart was simply one that was able to strip away all that we pile on it and break down all the walls we build in the name of protecting it. What’s then laid bare is that divine spirit that’s at its centre, that essence of good that is in all of us. That’s why Jesus says the pure in heart see God. Not just in the visual recognition of God at work in the world or in the wonder of creation, not in seeing the surface, but in being aware that behind that and within that is the same divine spirit that’s in our own heart. Seeing God is knowing, understanding and connecting to God in the intimacy of a relationship. That’s what Jesus is trying to do for all of us, to bring us back to that original blessing.

I think Jesus saw that in someone’s face that day. Maybe even more than one. We can see it, too, maybe even in a mirror.