15 seconds – that’s all you need

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Our response to others is often negative, if we are honest. We see something we don’t understand. (There is something wrong). We witness behavior that doesn’t fit with our ideas. (It’s not right). Someone says something we don’t agree with. (What is the world coming to?). No wonder judgement and negativity flourish in human community.

And we are affected by it. It takes a millisecond for someone’s negative statement, blaming, judgement, or criticism to make us tense up. We feel sick to our stomachs. We retreat into our minds and clamp down. We can’t sleep. Negative energy.

Yet, this is humanity’s default drive, based on a survival instinct wired into the oldest part of our brain. Self-preservation instinct often translates into defensive and protective behaviour that makes us suspicious and untrusting of others.

A best-case scenario study reveals that only about 50% of the population believe people are doing the best they can (Brown, 2018, p. 263). That means, including in the church, about half of us have a real hard time believing that generally people are doing the very best they can with what they have. Because we tend to focus on the problem, the deficiency, what is wrong. The sin.

This conclusion supports the account of Pentecost in Acts 2. Many were “amazed” at what they witnessed in the disciples’ words and behaviour. They were speaking in different languages and displaying supernatural signs involving wind and flame as gifts of the Spirit. “But others sneered and said, ‘They are filled with new wine’” (Acts 2:13).

Reflecting the dog-eat-dog competitive culture of the day and relying only on the animal parts of our brains, we remain stuck in the dominant narrative of negativity and mistrust. Even if we wanted to assume positive intent and see the best in others, this is a skill set not easy to learn and practice.

There are, nevertheless, encouraging signs of growth. In the business world, you can track the performance of the largest publicly traded companies in the United States. In a study looking at the stock market index, the S&P 500, it was discovered that companies with high levels of trust between managers and workers “beat the average annualized returns … by a factor of three” (Brown, 2018, p. 273). There is a positive correlation between high levels of trust in an organization and positive financial outcomes.

Even though far too many disregard trust-building as a “soft” or “secondary” skill, trust is not a “nice-to-have”, it is a “must-have” (Covey & Conant, 2016). It literally pays off to invest in those “soft” skills. Trust is essential in healthy and loving human relationships.

Pentecost Sunday is known as the birthday of the church, when the church was born. When the Holy Spirit descended on the disciples in Jerusalem, they were given the mission and swept into the world to share the presence and message of God’s love in Christ Jesus.

Each of us are members of the body of Christ, the church. We are given gifts, energies and talents. We must believe in the gifts we have been given. We need to trust ourselves as much as we may trust in others, in God.

Martin Luther emphasized that the essential meaning of faith is not so much belief, as it is trust.

In his 1520 treatise entitled “The Freedom of a Christian”, and in his 1522 commentary on St Paul’s letter to the Romans, Luther argued that simply knowing or acknowledging facts about God is an empty human construct. True, saving faith requires fiducia—a bold, vital, and active trust in God’s promises and grace. The quality of trust in relationship is fundamental to the life of a Christian.

Peter comes to the rescue of the disciples who are judged for being drunk on the Day of Pentecost. He validates and affirms what is happening in those disciples’ lives not as a hangover but as a presentation of the Spirit of God. He reminds them of what the prophet Joel proclaimed, that:
 17 ‘In the last days … God declares,
 that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh,
  and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
 and your young men shall see visions,
  and your old men shall dream dreams.
18 Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
  in those days I will pour out my Spirit,
   and they shall prophesy …
21 Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.’ ”

A later text attributed to Peter reflects a similar sentiment, a text we heard earlier during the Easter season:

“9 But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.
 10 Once you were not a people,
  but now you are God’s people;
 once you had not received mercy,
  but now you have received mercy” (1 Peter 2:9-10).

I hope you hear the positivity, the unconditional positive regard, and the “yes” energy in those affirming words of scripture. And Peter is not talking to an individual. He is talking to a human collective, a community. He is talking about relationships energized by mercy, characterized by trusting one another and assuming positive intent.

Birthdays are days we celebrate the life of the person reaching yet another milestone. That’s a good place to start. Birthday energy. Positive. Acceptance. We don’t always have to knee-jerk into negativity, suspicion and blame. That’s the easy way. But not always the right way. We can choose to think graciously, and with wonder and praise for the other.

Unlike our millisecond response to a negative comment, it takes 15 seconds for a positive statement, a word of mercy, affirmation and validation to signal health in our bodies, our emotions and our spirits. It takes 15 seconds for the positive to affect the neurons in our brain (Rohr, 2017). Whether on the receiving end or the giving end, we participate in the sharing of our God-given gift (Kimmerer, 2024) when the grace settles into us. Our soul, then, is revealed in the encounter.

How do we practice seeing the face of God in the other? How do we retrain our brain to notice first the good, to trust the other is doing the best they can? How do we make time and space for the grace to settle in?

Last week, early in the morning, from our back deck Jessica and I were paid a short visit by a deer walking along the fence line in our back yard. It was a large doe. I invite you to reflect on a time when you saw a wild animal in its natural habitat. Author Parker Palmer wrote about how we come to witness the good and see the soul in the other:

“The soul is like a wild animal … tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, and self-sufficient: it knows how to survive in hard places … Yet, despite its toughness, the soul is also shy. Just like a wild animal, it seeks safety in the dense underbrush, especially when other people are around.

“If we want to see a wild animal, we know that the last thing we should do is go crashing through the woods yelling for it to come out. But if we will walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently at the base of a tree, breathe with the earth, and fade into our surroundings, the wild creature we seek might put in an appearance. We may see it only briefly and only out of the corner of an eye – but the sight is a gift we will always treasure as an end in itself (Palmer, 2004, pp. 58-59).

15 seconds. That’s all you need. Stay with the positive word, the compliment, the grace, the mercy, the joy, the appreciation, for 15 seconds. Hold that positive energy in your heart and your body and your mind for 15 seconds. Feel it. Let it curate there, simmer.

And then, turn around, and give it from your own soul.

References:

Brown, B. (2018). Dare to lead: Brave work, tough conversations, whole hearts. Random House Large Print.

Covey, S. M. R., & Conant, D. R. (2016). That connection between employee trust and financial performance. Harvard Business Review [Website]. https://hbr.org/2016/07/the-connection-between-employee-trust-and-financial-performance

Kimmerer, R. W. (2024). The serviceberry: Abundance and reciprocity in the natural world. Scribner.

Palmer, P. (2004). A hidden wholeness. Jossey-Bass—A Wiley Imprint.

Rohr, R. (2017). Just this: Prompts and practices for contemplation. CAC Publishing.

Photo by Jessica Hawley Malina, May 2, 2026, Arnprior

The link of love is never broken

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Two-time Stanley Cup champion and Canadian, Adam Graves, spoke about the importance of team unity during his Cup-winning days in the 1990s. Playing a key role winning the Cup with the New York Rangers and Edmonton Oilers NHL hockey teams, Graves applied the valuable lessons he learned to his post-career community work.

Numerous Stanley Cup-winning players and coaches frequently speak about the deep, collective belief in the bond of team unity required to win the Stanley Cup. They often emphasize that the victory was won by the entire roster of players rather than just a few super stars.

It takes every team member to make the team succeed.

In professional sports competition is the fundamental belief and motivation. And yet, you could say the x-factor for ultimate success is the way team players find their chemistry in playing for one another and for the better of the group. Rather than the selfish individualism, a large measure of which got each of them, admittedly, into the NHL in the first place, what makes them champions in the end is believing in each other, putting the team ahead of their own interests on the ice (Farris, 2019).

The tale of Four Friends is a story from India, from an ancient collection of tales about unity (World Stories Bank, 2026). The story reinforces the value of building unity on the strengths of diversity. Each friend in the group is valued for their unique contribution that benefits the whole group.

(Photo by Jessica Hawley Malina, 14 May 2026 in Arnprior)

Four friends – a deer, a crow, a mouse, and a turtle – were very different from one another. One was swift, one was aerial, one was small and quick, and one was slow and armored. Yet, they complemented each other perfectly.

Each day, living in a forest, they ventured in different directions, hunting for sustenance. Dusk saw them reuniting, sharing tales of their day’s adventures.

However, fate took an unexpected turn. One evening, the deer failed to return. The trio exchanged worried glances. “Why hasn’t the deer returned?” they pondered. Urgency gripped them as they resolved to search for their missing friend. The crow flew high and with the crow’s keen eyes spotted the deer trapped in a hunter’s net. The crow immediately flew back and told the others.

The friends did not panic. Nor did they blame the deer for being careless. Instead, they hatched a daring plan and acted as one unit:

The crow carried the mouse on his back to the trap. Then the mouse swiftly began gnawing the net, while the turtle slowly made his way towards them to help.

Just as the hunter appeared, the mouse finished cutting the net, and the deer escaped into the bushes. The crow flew away. But, the slow turtle could not hide in time.

The angry hunter, seeing the net empty, found the turtle and put him in a bag.

The friends were devastated but refused to leave the turtle behind. They devised a new plan to save their friend using their diverse skills:

The deer ran ahead and pretended to be dead on the path near the hunter, with the crow sitting on his head pretending to peck his eyes.

The hunter, greedy for an easy catch, dropped the bag with the turtle and ran toward the deer.

While the hunter was preoccupied with getting to the deer, the mouse quickly cut open the bag, freeing the turtle.

Just as the hunter reached the deer, the deer jumped up and sped away, the crow flew off, and the mouse hid in the tall grass with the turtle. The hunter returned to his bag only to find it empty. The four friends were reunited in the safety of their home.

In a choreographed dance of bravery and cunning, the friends executed their plan flawlessly. In the end, their unity outsmarted the hunter’s greed.

Each used their gifts: The crow acted as the lookout, spotting danger from the sky. The mouse used his sharp teeth to cut through obstacles. The deer used his speed to scout areas or escape quickly. The turtle brought stability and patience.

Their differences were their strength. Alone, the crow couldn’t cut the net, and the deer couldn’t see the hunter coming. The mouse, though quick, could not cover the same distance as the deer. By bringing their unique abilities together, they achieved what one of them could never do by themselves.

And, if they were all the same – being strong in the same way and having the same gifts – they would not have been successful in achieving their goals.

Unity in diversity is the bedrock of strength.

In a world fraught with uncertainties, the message of unity serves as a beacon of hope. By standing together, embracing diversity, and leveraging individual strengths, any team can succeed.

Can it be so with the church? Of course, the church is not a hockey team and neither is it merely a group of friends. The church finds its unity in the love of God, in Christ Jesus.

The church, and members of it, are in a loving relationship with God and therefore with each other. The book in the bible entitled “The Song of Songs” is a testament to a relationship between two lovers. The analogy, so passionately depicted in “The Song of Songs”, describes an intimate union, a bond of love.

But the message of the Gospel goes deeper.

While a loving relationship is always two-way, in our relationship with God especially we are not always faithful in our end of the deal. Our ability to be constantly aware of our oneness with God and our response in faithful living, often breaks. In other words, we mess up. We fall short.

But God says to us, “No matter how often the bond breaks from your end, it never breaks from my end” (Finley, 2026, May 9).

Even when we are honest with ourselves about our misdeeds, our lack of effort, lack of ability, the link is still not broken from God’s end. And when we continue to wonder, to search, to long for a union that is lovingly complete with God even though we fail to do our part, the link is still not broken. It remains secure from God’s end. And that’s what counts.

Every time the link breaks from our end, know that whatever the break is – a questioning faith, a disappointment with God, the church, a mistake, a guilt – it’s never strong enough to break at God’s end (Finley, 2026, May 9).

In addition to the many blessings of the church, Team Church may feel weak, at times. Throughout history the church has failed, and there are signs in the church around the world of rupture and harm. The church has broken the link of love uniting us with one another and with God.

But when we practice trusting one another in the different roles and gifts we have – the possibility for renewal and health remains. When faced with dilemmas, ethical and personal challenges, we can lean on others who have different skills, strengths and gifts. They can show us a way forward in the grace of God, whose faithfulness to us is never shaken.

Gracious God, you gather your people from all corners of the earth. Heal and renew your Church, and overcome all that divides it. Pour out your Holy Spirit upon us, so that we may live as one body, united in faith, and proclaim your saving love to the ends of the earth. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.

References:

Farris, J. (2019). It takes 23 to win: Building and being part of great hockey teams. circaNow Media. https://circanow.com/products

Finley, J. (2026, May 9). The thread that never breaks. Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditations. CAC Publishing. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/lover-and-beloved-in-the-song-of-songs-weekly-summary/

World Stories Bank. (2026). Four friends [Website]. https://www.worldstoriesbank.org/story/four-friends-2/

Staying in the void

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Cabo da Roca, Portugal — the westernmost point of continental Europe (photo by Martin Malina, July 2017)

1 Peter 3:14a: 14 But even if you do suffer for doing what is right, you are blessed. Do not fear what they fear, and do not be intimidated, 15 but in your hearts sanctify Christ as Lord. 

John 14:19-20: “You will see me … I am in my father, and you in me, and I in you.”

Isn’t it odd that fear and doubt creep into the Easter stories from the bible? Matthew reports that the disciples were still afraid, even after seeing the risen Lord (Matthew 28:17). You’d think fear and doubt belong more to the season of Lent that precedes Easter.

Today is the 6th Sunday of Easter. We thus end the first half of the Christian year. In the Lutheran church, the reason we follow the liturgical calendar is to ground our worship in the story of Jesus. The focus in worship is Jesus Christ.

Theologian Diana Butler Bass writes, “The cycle of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, and Easter focus on the story of Jesus – the promise of his coming, his birth, the light he brings to the world, the seriousness of his mission, his execution, and the mystery of his resurrection …

Yet, “Fear is foundational to this first half of the year. And it isn’t just that the disciples were afraid after Jesus died. The story [of fearful disciples and followers of Jesus] began way back in Advent with the angel telling Mary, ‘Fear not!’” (Bass, 2026). Being with Jesus and following his life is to confront and deal with our fear. Following Jesus is scary business, from beginning to end!

Jesus does not introduce something new, with his life, when it comes to fear and following God. Jesus is not alone. When Jesus preached, he told others what he first heard from his own Hebrew tradition: “Do not be afraid.” Those words were communicated again and again, through God, other people, and in prayer: To Abraham and Sarah, God said, “Do not be afraid.” To Moses, “Do not be afraid.” To Joshua and Gideon, “Do not be afraid.” To Samuel and Hannah, “Do not be afraid.” To Judith, “Do not be afraid.” To David, in the prayers of his heart, “Do not be afraid.”

To the people of Israel, throughout the prophets again and again, and in every type of cataclysmic situation: “Do not be afraid.” Through Isaiah, “Do not be afraid.” To Joseph, the father of Jesus and husband of Mary, “Do not be afraid.” And, of course, to Mary who said yes, the angel said, “Do not be afraid, Mary.” (Rohr, 2026).

Why this word over and over again? Because we’re afraid! Especially when faced with change, bidden or unbidden. We’re wrapped up and sometimes even trapped in our fear. We want to go beyond it and yet somehow it more often than not gets the better of us. We fear what we do not know and do not understand.

Jesus seemed to know from an early age that we cannot build on fear. We can build only on life and love. So Jesus went to the deepest source of life and love. He gazed long and hard into God’s eyes; there, somehow, but most assuredly, he overcame fear.

And what Jesus knew by gazing into the eyes of God he handed over the vision to us: What he saw was a love that overcomes fear, a love that offers courage, allowing us to release our life, to let it fall and go where it might. Jesus’s trust was not in himself but in who he knew he was before God (Rohr, 2026): Beloved.

Why should we not fear? Because, as Jesus promised his disciples, he promises us: “You will see me” (John 14:19). We will see Jesus. Not just a physical seeing. It’s a seeing with the eyes of the heart as much as it is via the optic nerve.

We will see Jesus, in the ordinary situations and faces we meet every day. But not just when things go well in our lives. The wonder and uniqueness of the Christian Gospel is that we will see God most clearly when things don’t go well or as planned or desired. We will see God most clearly when we don’t have control, when in times of transition, change, loss, struggle and suffering.

All those characters from the bible I rhymed off, from the Old and New Testaments, they experienced God at precisely those difficult, pivotal moments of their lives. To embrace those moments when we face problems and challenges – these are the moments where and when we will see Jesus.

We need to make room for God in times of struggle, and with people who are different from us — in the face of a stranger, someone we don’t yet know very well.

Einstein reportedly said, “If I had an hour to solve a problem, I’d spend fifty-five minutes thinking about the problem and five minutes thinking about solutions.” This great 20th century scientist also apparently said, “It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with the problem longer” (Brown, 2018, p. 211).

The mind is quick to escape discomfort. It reaches for distraction, solutions, and anything that reduces the feeling fast. We all want to manufacture an answer to take away our anxiety and settle the dust.

Dealing with our fear means exploring what it means, why it’s there, what issues our fear reveals and exposes, issues that need loving, compassionate and direct attention. When we rush to solution-finding without first spending time with all our feelings, especially fear, we only postpone the inevitable. What isn’t accepted tends to return. And it’s much worse when we repress and avoid it.

As Richard Rohr writes, we must be “willing to stay in the void. We mustn’t engineer an answer too quickly. We mustn’t get settled too fast.” (Rohr, 2003, pp. 142-144). “Not every discomfort needs immediate action. Not every emotion needs to be fixed. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stay, just long enough to understand what’s actually there” (The Clarity Corner, 2026, April 30).

Because when you stay with your fear, it often shifts on its own. Because being felt is what allows it to move.

We can’t attack fear head on. We can’t simply say to ourselves, “Don’t be afraid” because it doesn’t work. It isn’t that simple. We have to go deeper, be curious about where the fear is coming from, and trust God with it. (Rohr, 2026).

Fear will soften once it is no longer being resisted. Staying in the void gives you space and time to gaze into the eyes of Jesus and receive grace in the moment you most need it. We don’t need fear to rule, because we will see Jesus, no matter what.

“Alleluia, Sing to Jesus” is our hymn of the day (ELW, 2006). Leonard Cohen wrote, “Love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah” (cited in Brown, 2018, p. 243). That’s ok. In this Easter season, though beset by fear we can still sing, “Alleluia!”.

References:

Butler Bass, D. (2025, May 24). Sunday musings: On fear and love. The Cottage. https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/sunday-musings-2e5

Brown, B. (2018). Dare to lead: Brave work, tough conversations, whole hearts. Random House.

Evangelical Lutheran Worship. (2006). Alleluia! Sing to Jesus! (#392). Augsburg Fortress.

Rohr, R. (2003). Everything belongs: The gift of contemplative prayer. Crossroad Publishing.

Rohr, R. (2026, April 27).Calming our fears: Do not be afraid. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/calming-our-fears/

The Clarity Corner. (2026, April 30). A simple ‘sit with it’ prompt: How staying present for a moment can change what you feel. The Clarity Corner. https://theclaritycorner.substack.com/p/a-simple-sit-with-it-prompt

Funeral sermon for someone born on St Patrick’s Day

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Every year around her birthday on St Patrick’s Day (March 17) Brenda joked with me that she is the leprechaun, which is probably height related. But she was also someone who had that mischievous and playful character. Looking at her picture posted here, you can see that playfulness if not a bit of mischief lurking behind her infectious smile.

When you joke about leprechauns, you not only smile but with that pot of gold waiting at the end of the rainbow you look heavenward towards a possibility, a hope, and a dream.

The scriptures in this funeral service for Brenda are about vision. They describe a vision for how things should be, and how they will be, one day. They speak of reality we cannot yet fully grasp in the present but for which we pray and dream. Where the weak find strength (Isaiah 40:28-31), where a banquet feast of rich foods is provided for everyone (Isaiah 25:6-10a), and the presence of God resides in each one of us (John 14:20-23).

Truly, a visionary palette.

Brenda had vision. A tiny person, she nevertheless proposed big ideas. She was a force here at Faith for re-starting fellowship time after COVID. Amid the fear and uncertainty of that time, she envisioned people of faith gathering around food and drink. And with the help of others, she brought that vision to light.

Speaking of food, her Facebook page was often filled with recipes that she ‘liked’ – and these were hearty fares! Of course, underlying her love for food was motivating people to come together. There is little else that does it better to bring people together than food and drink.

She worked at Bentleys for a time, the store in the Merivale Mall and then at Carlingwood. But what motivated her in this retail job, she told me, was connecting with people and serving them. Caring for them.

Her love for the elderly and sick led her to volunteering at the Queensway Carleton Hospital. First, she took the pastoral care course for lay people, and then in the last few years volunteered in the gift shop there. She was happiest when around people, to care for them.

Brené Brown wrote that, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care” (Brown, 2018). For Brenda, what was most important was making sure you knew in any encounter that you were cared for.

I think it was in the hospital setting where she connected deeply with a vision for God’s people. Struggling with health issues her whole life, Brenda envisioned a place where the best in people could be brought out – in their loving care and healing acts for others. Saint Augustine said, “the church is a hospital for sinners not a museum for saints”.

It was serving in the hospital where I think Brenda felt safe to be her vulnerable self. It wasn’t just a social place. It was a place of affirmation. I like to think, too, that Brenda felt safe in the church to be herself, to be accepted, and loved. What a vision for all God’s people!

You’ve described Brenda as a social butterfly. The butterfly is a beautiful image for Easter. The birds will often remind us of the hope of Christ’s resurrection. When I visited Brenda in her apartment, she would inevitably point out her window to the tree just there where a cardinal made frequent and regular visits.

The birds indeed lift our sights outward and upward towards the heavens. Mounting up on wings like eagles, our souls look even beyond the end of the leprechaun’s rainbow and pot of gold. Looking upwards to the vastness of the skies above, beyond the boundaries of our limitations and self-imposed dramas. This is having vision. I believe Brenda got that.

Heavenward is the biblical concept of everywhere. Heaven is not a specific, geographical place up in the sky. When Jesus rose heavenward, it means Jesus was no longer bound by any specific time and place on earth. Jesus is alive! means: Jesus is everywhere.

To each of us the baptismal promise is given. With Jesus, we rise to eternal, unrestricted life. Resurrection means the life of one is in all. Jesus says to his disciples, “On that day you will know that I am in my Father and you in me and I in you” (John 14:20). In the Gospel, Jesus promises that those who love and care for one another show their love for God – and to those Jesus will come and make “home with them” (John 14:23).

Our relationship with Brenda is not over. The relationship has just changed now. She makes a home in our hearts, in our memories. Whenever we encounter a vision of God through a bird sighting, a fabulous meal, or experience anything that moves us, we are reminded of where we all are headed. And we can be assured that the presence of Jesus lives in us through it all. It’s not over for Brenda. And it’s not over for us. It never is.

Born on St, Patrick’s Day, Brenda conveys another image associated with who she is. Brenda said her parents always called her their “wild Irish rose”, emphasis on “wild” perhaps? 🙂 On her gravestone I am told this epitaph will be inscribed: Brenda … – Wild Irish Rose.

Thanks be to God, for wildly loving Brenda, and for the wild grace of God which knows no bounds.

Amen.

Reference:

Brown, B. (2018). Dare to lead: Brave work, tough conversations, whole hearts. Random House.

The ‘F’-word

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Stephen forgives his enemies just before he dies (Acts 7:55-60). His last words may sound familiar, because they echo the words Jesus spoke from the cross when he prayed to God “to forgive” those who crucified him (Luke 23:34).  

Forgiveness is a theme that runs at the heart of the New Testament text from Acts for this 5th Sunday of Easter, indeed throughout the Gospels. Two-thirds of the teaching of Jesus in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, is directly or indirectly about this “mystery” of forgiveness (Rohr, 2022).

These days forgiveness is a bad word, mysterious at best. Are we surprised?

Our world more often operates on principles opposed to forgiveness. Vengeance, revenge, eye-for-an-eye, quid-pro-quo beliefs all fuel the economic and war machines of our culture. Our economy is governed by meritocracy – earning and deserving. Forgiveness rubs up against a culture that demands retribution, fuels competition and comparison and rewards only those who have achieved some measure of success.

Forgiveness just doesn’t fit.

And so, we have developed such a massive resistance to the word forgive that we cannot even use it (James & Friedman, 2009). It is now the prominent ‘F’-word because we no longer associate forgiveness with the qualities of strength, integrity, maturity, faithfulness and health.

If we will dare to go there, however, it is important to clarify what forgiveness is NOT.

First, forgiveness is not forgetting nor condoning actions by others, actions that have hurt people. We cannot forget abusive and offensive behaviour from anyone. When we forgive, we are not pretending that the bad behaviour never happened. We are not being silent in the face of injustice. We are not saying it’s ok that someone’s actions hurt others. Forgiveness is not forgetting nor condoning.

Second, forgiveness is not a one-time thing you do. Like setting and maintaining healthy boundaries with people, you cannot just say or do it once and expect things to change immediately. It’s not a one-off-and-done. I’ll say more about this later.

Finally – and this is the toughest one for those of you like me who are prone to manage and control – forgiving someone else has nothing to do with changing the offending person. Some psychologists who promote forgiveness argue that you should never say, “I forgive you …” directly to or in the presence of the person who hurt you. Because doing so is almost always perceived as an attack (James & Friedman, 2009, p. 140). It’s not helpful. And it’s not about them, anyway.

The act of forgiveness has everything to do with changing yourself. We do it to help ourselves.

You notice, Stephen in his final moments does not speak to his persecutors. He is praying to God. And even Saul – later, Saint Paul – who witnesses the stoning of Stephen and presumably hears Stephen’s prayer about forgiveness, is not converted at that moment by Stephen’s forgiving act. In fact, he approves of Stephen’s murder right after it happened (Acts 8:1). Saul’s conversion happens later, on the road to Damascus (Acts 9).

Again, Stephen’s word of forgiveness has nothing to do with changing Saul, and everything to do with Stephen’s soul, finding his own inner peace, before he dies. He wasn’t doing his persecutors a favour by forgiving them. He was freeing himself.

Forgiveness is letting go of resentment. It is a choice to free oneself from resentment over what could have, should have, been. Forgiveness is to let go of our hope that things could have been different. When we forgive, we hand it over to history (Rohr, 2022). We see the hurt and the woundedness in us, and we hand it over – we let it go – to God. We are freed.

There is one exception – a biblical one – to saying the words “I forgive you” directly to the other person. Because forgiveness is still a decision to do something concrete. For Stephen and Jesus, it was a voiced prayer to God. But the two-thirds of Jesus’ teaching about forgiveness is mostly about economics, about the nature of monetary transactions between people.

Originally, the word for ‘sins’ in the Lord’s Prayer was translated ‘debts’: “Forgive us our debts as we forgive those indebted to us.” The word ‘debts’ is closer to the original Semitic language meaning (Woodley, 2026). The word in the original text is clearly an economic word.

The Sabbath day, the day of rest, as well as the biblical concept of Jubilee was the awaited day of the week or every seventh year, for marginalized and disadvantaged people to be offered a new beginning. It was the time of forgiveness of debt so that disadvantaged people had an opportunity to reset and start over.

Forgiveness is thus a repeated and concrete gift of grace.

That is why forgiveness is not about a singular, one-time event to make everything right. It takes time and practice. It’s a lifestyle, an attitude by which to live. It is an attitude reinforced by ongoing work, because it is not easy. We often don’t get it right.

When Jesus says, as he does in our Gospel reading today, that he “is the way, truth and the life” (John 14:6) the gist of it is not some program of exclusion that we normally interpret from it – us versus them. It is rather an affirmation of the way of Jesus, a way characterized by inclusion, grace, by empathy, by forgiveness and compassion for all people. We affirm in this passage a way of forgiveness, where folks are regularly granted days of rest, a year of Jubilee — freedom, restitution, second chances and new beginnings.

No wonder these texts are chosen for the season of Easter. Because Easter is about rising again, being given a second chance, a new beginning, time and time again. Because life in Christ is renewed, life is given, to those who practice repeatedly in the way of Christ, the way of forgiveness.

Infant baptism is the liturgical expression of this way of grace. An infant cannot prove that they are worthy. They cannot merit their way to deserving God’s grace. Infants cannot provide a resumé of good deeds to justify their righteousness before the Lord.

They are helpless, totally dependent, completely vulnerable. They are in dire need for constant protection and care. And that vulnerability is the place and inner state for receiving God’s love and forgiveness. Today, little [….] receives the fullness of a lifelong grace in the way of forgiveness.

Today she is marked with the cross of Christ which in God’s own suffering and human weakness validates her own being human in all its fullness and folly. God doesn’t demand perfection from us. God doesn’t expect us to make everything right by our own power and on our own strength. But rather by trusting in and practising God’s forgiveness, grace and mercy within us and with others.

Forgiveness is not the ‘F’-word. It is THE Word.

(photo by Martin Malina, 20 April 2026, Ottawa River at Arnprior)

References

James, J. W., & Friedman, R. (2009). The grief recovery handbook: The action program for moving beyond death, divorce, and other losses, including health, career, and faith. HarperCollins.

Rohr, R. (2022, August 5). Letting go of our innocence. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/letting-go-of-our-innocence-2022-08-05/

Rohr, R. (2022, September 16). The power of forgiveness. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/the-power-of-forgiveness-2022-09-16/

Rohr, R. (2023, August 22). Truth and reconciliation: God’s restoring justice. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/truth-and-reconciliation-2023-08-22/

Woodley, R. (2026, February 3). Communal shalom: Sabbath and jubilee economics. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/communal-shalom/

Journey of joy

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The two disciples, after recognizing Jesus is alive on the road to Emmaus, go and tell their friends right away. They are filled with joy. They didn’t even wait an hour (Luke 24:33) before rushing back to Jerusalem to tell the others the good news. They are filled with joy.

The Gospel story today involves two disciples remembering, conversing, encountering and experiencing the risen Christ. They have this amazing experience all because they went for a walk. Talking about their grief, externalizing their feelings, thoughts while moving their bodies helped in working out their faith story.

When my identical twin brother and I tell the stories of our childhood, I often now find a remarkable pattern. We may be speaking about the same event – a lakeside holiday, a kitchen table discussion, a school yard game. This sharing of memories often begins by one of us asking the other: “Do you remember, when …?”

Recently we reminisced about a family vacation to Florida over forty years ago when we were teenagers. Late one afternoon, we decided to walk all the way from Pompano Beach to Fort Lauderdale barefoot along the pristine beach on the Atlantic Ocean. We both remembered going on that walk together.

There are aspects of that memory we share. We both recall, at the outset of our hike, seeing the long pier jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean which marked our destination south of us. We both remembered how late we started that walk in the afternoon, not giving us enough time to return before darkness settled in. We had underestimated the time we needed.

But when we reminisce about this experience, there are parts of that story one of us does not recall. For example, I mention the fact that we had to dodge the many jellyfish that came up on the shore when the sun was setting and we had to be careful on our return hike where we stepped.

My brother has no recollection of those jellyfish. But he will mention the people we bumped into on the walk that we apparently knew from the area. I have no memory of seeing those people whatsoever. That aspect, that truth, does not stick. And just because I don’t remember that part doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.

Each of us have gaps in the story we tell, even though we both experienced and were talking about the same event we shared in our lives on that same day some forty years ago.

This story from my life tells me two things about how we live our Christian faith.

First, telling the story of faith is not something left to our own individual devices. Because there are gaps in our individual telling. Being a Christian is not a solitary enterprise. Being a believer is not justified within our own mindset. Otherwise, we are just emphasizing what we want to hear, like talking in an echo chamber. Alone we will miss important perspectives.

That’s why we journey together. Telling the story of faith is a shared enterprise. That’s why it’s important, in living out our faith in Christ, to proverbially walk with another and within a community of faith.

Jesus joined the disciples on the road to Emmaus to get them out of their heads and out of talking only about their individual perspectives from what happened in the past days. Jesus joined them to give them an experience of the living Lord in their time and place. We need to hold space in this time and place with others on the journey.

When Jesus is present with us, we are drawn out of our self-centred, individual and past-fixated mindsets to pay attention to what is happening now.

That is why, I believe, the writer Luke does not specify the name of the other disciple walking with Cleopas. That’s because the intent of the Gospel writer is to encourage readers and listeners to put themselves in the story, to make it relevant for each of us.

Which is the second take-away from my walk to Fort Lauderdale by the sea story. When my brother and I talk about that story from the past, it becomes real to us in the present. The conversations bring us a meaning and joy for today.

We remember Christ’s story not only to tell his story alone, but also our story, and the story of every human being. The story of Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection tells not just of the deliverance, transformation and renewed life that happened back then to Jesus, but of the deliverance, transformation and renewed life we experience now and expect in our own future with the living Christ Jesus.

That’s why we engage these resurrection stories from the bible. The resurrection of Jesus didn’t happen just in that first-century community. In remembering, in re-telling, we know, and we trust that it is happening now and that it will happen again and again (Beaumont, 2019, p. 97).

When we travel with others on the journey of faith, sharing our stories and filling in the gaps of the narrative of faith; and, when we appreciate that new life happens every day, this brings us great joy.

Unlike happiness, joy can live alongside sadness, boredom, fear, or despair. Joy expands our capacity to hold contradictions at the same time. And because we know joy we recover this strange yet steady confidence that life is still worth loving, even when it hurts.

So, resurrection happens every time we love someone even though they were not loving to us. Every time we decide to trust and begin again, even after repeated failures, we are resurrected. Every time we try to stop those negative thoughts that fuel our cynicism, we experience the Risen Christ. Resurrection is always possible now, because of the joy we have in the Risen Christ. Joy is one of the most powerful experiences we can have because it an emotion that can co-exist with our actual lives.

It is not joy instead of grief. It is joy with grief. It is truer than plain happiness. It is the deep assurance that the story is not finished, even when our lives feel painfully incomplete. Easter joy is the grace of being able to say: “This is hard, I am still waiting, and God is still good.” Not because everything has changed but because one day God promises everything will (Bowler, 2026, April 7).

We don’t have wait for death to experience resurrection (Rohr, 2026, April 10). We can begin resurrection today by living connected to God with one another, filling in the gaps of our own understanding, loving courageously, trusting boldly and living joyfully.

We are so fortunate to live in this part of the world when Easter coincides with springtime. I hope you are all getting outside more these days to see the earth begin to live again after months of winter and a very late Spring this year.

Waking up, getting up, and watching the sunrise during this season of Easter can be inspiring. Because, sure enough, the sun will rise tomorrow as it always does. It peaks over the horizon, when I watch it from our back deck, between two large white pine trees in the distance.

(Photo by Martin Malina, December 2019)

But it doesn’t appear so much like a sunrise but as a groundswell. It appears like the light comes from the earth. It comes from the world we live in. It comes not from the top, but from the bottom. It seems to say, that even all the world which looks muddy and material, even all of this, which looks so ordinary and dying, will be reborn.

Easter is the feast of joyful hope. This is the time of year we hear that God will have the last word and that this last word is resurrection. God will turn all that we mess up and hurt and punish into life and beauty (Rohr, 2026, April 5). Easter is the longest day of the year because it happens every day!

What joy!

References:

Beaumont, S. (2019). How to lead when you don’t know where you are going: Leading in a liminal season. Rowman & Littlefield.

Bowler, K. (2026, April 7). A different kind of joy. In R. Rohr’s Daily Meditations [Website]. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/a-different-kind-of-joy/

Rohr, R. (2026, April 10). Resurrection is possible now. Daily Meditations [Website]. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/resurrection-is-possible-now/

Rohr, R. (2026, April 5). The hope of resurrection. Daily Meditations [Website]. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/the-hope-of-resurrection/

The body of Jesus

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Palm Sunday is about processions. And participating in a procession involves the whole body.

In my annual report presented at the AGM last week, I highlighted two memories from 2025 that stick. These two memories stuck, I believe, because my whole body was involved in an expression of faith.

First, I recall the procession with our Anglican and United Church friends in the City View neighbourhood on the summer solstice in June. We walked, exchanged gifts of plants and flowers, and prayed by walking the labyrinth – giving thanks for the gifts of creation and committing to its care.

Second, at the end of the summer, I recall processing with other Ottawa Lutherans – I see some of you in the room today! – at the Ottawa Pride event downtown when we walked in peaceful solidarity and support of the Two-Spirit LGBTQIA+ community, who have been historically and to the present day marginalized and persecuted. These were processions.

Biblical scholars describe Palm Sunday as a tale of two cities or a tale of two processions (Borg & Crossan, 2007): Jesus entered from the east on a donkey representing peace, while the Roman governor, Pilate, entered from the west with military power. This picture provides a direct, symbolic contrast.

Palm Sunday is not a parade but a protest. It is to protest the dominant, oppressive power. Protests don’t always translate into angry, violence. In fact, from my experience, whenever I’ve been involved in a peaceful protest, there is a euphoria and joy among those processing together. We give thanks for our bodies involved in an expression of joy and gratitude for all of God’s gifts in creation as we bear witness to God’s love for all people.

Like the hosannas we sang as we processed into the sanctuary this morning, we praise Jesus for the love his life meant for all people.

In Isaiah 50, the prophet draws our attention, specifically, to the servant’s tongue, ear, beard, the cheeks – all parts of the head. But the face – the head – is not the only part of the body emphasized in the Bible.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus borrows another image from Isaiah’s journey in the desert (58). Jesus says, “Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water” (John 7:38). Notice, not out of the believer’s thoughts. Not out of a believer’s power of thinking centred in the head. But out of the believer’s emotional centre, out of the body’s capacity to feel and have compassion. The whole body is important when considering our faith.

The word in Greek for “heart” is literally “belly” (Coman, 2026). The belly is even lower than the heart! Our focus shifts deeper into the centre of our bodies.

Some scholars suggest this verse from John (“Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water”) is the origin of the image of water flowing from Jesus’ pierced side in the crucifixion story. The focus here is on the abuse and torture wreaked upon Jesus’ body before he died.

Polish artist Laura Makabresku (2021) painted this depiction of Christ, entitled, “Shelter”. …..

Perhaps the most striking feature in this painting is that it completely omits Jesus’ head and only shows his body with a focus on his torso. What a change in emphasis! Not just the head – like we see in all those familiar Sunday School paintings of Jesus with a halo around his golden, flowing, wavy hair and sparkling blue eyes. Here, we are invited to focus on his body.

Can we move beyond our discomfort, to see only Jesus’ broken body?

The ancient church believed that Jesus took everything upon himself when he healed, made whole, and cared for all who suffered. Jesus makes all human experiences holy (Coman & Jorgenson, 2026).

Our bodies communicate the meaning of the Gospel in Christ Jesus, the incarnated God among us, with us and for us even as we grow older. When the aged Simeon sang his thanksgiving in the temple, he held the infant Jesus in his arms (Luke 2:35). Simply holding Christ gave him life.

Can we, like Simeon, remember that each wrinkle, each limitation, each new dependence is a place where Christ is quietly present? Our wrinkles, our pains, our limitations and dependencies all hold Jesus who is right there in us because he himself lived inside the limits of the human body (Coman & Jorgenson, 2026).

To grow older in the body is to follow the same path that Jesus walked: from independence to surrender. The ageing body teaches us that God delights in what God has come to dwell within. Our aging bodies have something, therefore, to tell us. “Our sacred, ageing bodies preach to us” (Coman & Jorgenson, 2026).

Our sacred, ageing bodies preach to us. What do they say? They tell us, ultimately, that human death approaches. Yes. Until that time, they counsel us to ask for help, to slow down, to change our expectations, to respect our limitations, to breathe each breath with gratitude. They remind us that even in death there is hope.

We have nothing to lose! So, rather than stand on the sidelines of a parade, waving at Jesus as he goes by, we join in the procession and with our whole bodies, we follow in the way of Christ.

Maybe what sits uncomfortably for us has something important to offer us, something we need to hear, to bring healthy balance and healing ways into our lives.

Usually we listen from our head, which often results in more separation between people as we argue over our differences. But it is a profound experience to listen from the heart, to involve the whole body. The heart is the window to the soul. We can connect through our hearts. Listening from the heart leads to kinder and more caring attitudes, greater trust and a greater ability to collaborate. When we listen from the heart, we are present and see the whole world from the other person’s window on reality. This is a good start. Because when we operate from the heart, people will notice a gentle power, a power that endures through the millennia (Lippitt, 1998).

Maybe if we skip any service in the coming week, it ought not to be Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, those holy days that draw our attention to Christ’s suffering body and invite us to listen from the heart.

Holy Week invites us to listen and pay attention to our feelings, our emotions, and our bodies. In this journey to surrender ourselves, we discover a healing path together, not divided by our humanity but made whole, through the cross of Christ.

References:

Borg, M., & Crossan, D. (2007). The last week: What the gospels really teach about Jesus’s final days in Jerusalem. HarperOne.

Coman, S. (2026, March 10). Day 18; From dust still holy: A daily devotional for lent and holy week. Lutherans Connect. https://fromduststillholy.blogspot.com/2026/03/day-18.html.

Coman, S., & Jorgenson, A. (2026, March 19). The ageing body, day 26; From dust still holy: A daily devotional for lent and holy week. Lutherans Connect. https://fromduststillholy.blogspot.com/2026/03/day-26.html.

Lippitt, L. L. (1998). Preferred futuring: Envision the future you want and unleash the energy to get there. Barrett-Koehler Publishers.

Makabresku, L. (2021). Shelter. In Coman, S. (2026, March 2). Day 11; From dust still holy: A daily devotional for lent and holy week. Lutherans Connect. https://fromduststillholy.blogspot.com/2026/03/day-11.html.

Peregrenatio

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(photo by Martin Malina)

After receiving God’s blessing and vision at his baptism, Jesus is led into the desert. He is led into the wilderness by the Spirit of God where he spends the better part of a month and a half (Matthew 4:1). That’s a long time.

Who would go there? And for what purpose? Why would anybody, especially right after receiving a holy calling and divine blessing, wander into wastelands full of danger and unpredictability?

You would think Jesus would immediately go to launch his mission of healing and proclamation. You would think Jesus would go directly from the Jordan river where he was baptized to the highways and byways, the street corners and the seats of power around Jerusalem. Which, he eventually does.

But instead, the first thing he does is go alone into the desert. For a long time.

The season of Lent is upon us. The long weeks leading to Easter have been described as a pilgrimage, a journey (Pope Francis, 2025). Martin Luther opposed the concept of pilgrimage in the medieval sense because he deemed going on pilgrimage as “works righteousness”. But Luther kept Lent. He saw the season of Lent as an opportunity to reflect on the Passion and suffering of Christ.

Today Lutherans will frame the 40 days of Lent as a “journey to the cross” or a “spiritual journey,” a concept that aligns with Luther’s theology of the cross.

It is on the cross where God is revealed most clearly in Jesus’ suffering. The heart of the Gospel is the mercy and grace for humanity that God experienced in Christ crucified. The intention of Lent is to focus on the path Jesus took through the cross to the empty tomb. Lent acknowledges that the only way to a good, new beginning is by embracing and working through the losses in our lives. This journey through the desert – the cross – is not easy. It’s work, moving forward.

Another way of describing it is that it’s always three steps forward and two steps back, between the cross and the empty tomb, never a straight line. But it’s the backward that creates the knowledge and the energy for the forward. We have to allow it. The desert is necessary for our growth.

We have an aversion to the cost of this journey. And that’s why we avoid it. We distract ourselves with efforts to win and achieve glory. We are inclined to skip Good Friday and go straight from singing the hosannas of Palm Sunday to the alleluias of Easter Sunday. We would rather avoid the desert experience.

What’s this business of God dying on the cross, anyway, suffering defeat at the hand of Jesus’ enemies? Who would go into the desert, anyway? Who wants to associate with losers?

Jesus does. And many did and still do, follow him there. Who were these first desert mystics and contemplatives, as we’ve called them?

I think we have this notion that the early desert mothers and fathers were some sort of super saints or perfected hermits. We falsely presume these desert Christians were pious followers of strict religious rules who had purged themselves of all fleshly desire and pleasure. That is incorrect (Colón Delay, 2026).

In the year 313 of the Common Era and the Edict of Milan, Christianity became the official religion of the empire. While the edict granted religious freedom and presumably ended the persecution of Christians, many Christians at the time were concerned with how becoming yoked with political power would affect the message and meaning of Jesus Christ. Beginning in the 4th century, many Christians who wanted to genuinely live out the promises of Christ and deepen their walk with God left the empire, so to speak.

And so, they went out into the deserts of Egypt, Palestine, Syria and Arabia. These were women and men, rich and poor. Some of them had been working in royal courts, and some had been murderers. Some were people of high esteem in society while others were viewed by society as scoundrels, persons of ill repute, outsiders, misfits (Acevedo Butcher, 2026, February 15).

By shedding their securities, and courageously moving into the unknown and potentially dangerous desert they knew they would be transformed by the experience of trusting in the ever-presence of God alone. On the journey itself, without necessarily knowing the destination, they knew they would be changed for the better.

From the desert into the open sea.

Some of the first monastic missionaries, from the Celtic tradition, would put themselves out in a boat – without oars. These boats were built to be sturdy enough to sustain a long voyage, but they were still small and could not be called ships.

Trusting the currents and the winds, the voyagers would simply drift until they landed where God had called them to be. For them, trusting God required a complete surrender to God’s will in the present moment. While a ’pilgrimage’ has a clear end in sight, a ‘peregrenatio’ does not. It is a wandering or drifting without a known destination (Valters Paintner, 2018).

Who would go into the desert or out onto the open sea? A people following Jesus. A people wanting and preparing for meeting the risen Christ who travelled there himself, who had experienced the challenges and temptations of going on this kind of journey.

I’ve been on a journey during my practicum. But this journey really started when I began the master’s degree program in counselling / psychology over two years ago.

Early on it felt to me like a pilgrimage with all the attending ups and down and unexpected twists and turns along the way. Early on it felt like as long as I stayed on the path I would eventually arrive at the destination – which was the end of the course work and this practicum. And then, it would be back to being the same it was before I started the program.

As the journey continued, however, the experience caused a shift from that of pilgrimage to peregrenatio. I knew and trusted it was God’s leading because every step of the way was validated, and I was finding traction in moving forward.

But I was growing more and more unsure about exactly where this was leading me. I was asking more questions about the purpose of the journey.

At the same time I was beginning to sense how I was growing through the experience itself. The end wasn’t as important as the becoming.

The congregation, too, has been on a journey these past several months. You didn’t know what this experience would be like when we started on this journey last Fall. What have you learned about your relationship to this congregation? With God? What events, developments and experiences during this time stand out in your memory? And which of these events or experiences align closest to what you value?

The journey itself changes us – our minds, our perceptions, our awareness of who we are becoming. We are like the monk in the boat on the peregrenatio, drifting out on the sea, surrendering to the will of God, not knowing exactly the destination but hanging on, nonetheless. How different are you by the end of this journey than you were at the beginning?

So much on this journey calls us to pay attention to the present moment, not ruminating about the past nor worrying about the future. When you don’t have control over the outcome, you will need to learn to let go and surrender to the present moment and what it invites us to notice. The desert and the open sea call us to ‘stay awake’.

The monk in the boat, not knowing what tomorrow might bring, would be fully alive in the present moment. The monk would be scanning the horizon, paying attention to conditions, aware of what his body needed in the moment, ready to respond without judgement just acceptance to whatever came his way.

Although Martin Luther frowned upon the medieval pilgrimage, he was all about being in the present moment. He is known to have said that if he knew the world would end tomorrow, he would still go out today to plant an apple tree in the ground.

So, too, when we stand at the threshold of an unknown future, we may not know the outcome nor the precise destination of our travels.

But will we notice, as we continue doing what we do, the sprig of new life budding in the ground upon which we stand? Will we see and appreciate the signs of hope and life around us? And they are there! From this hope we are nourished and strengthened for the journey ahead.

Who goes into the desert? Who would go there anyway?

Jesus does, to enrich his own life, to embolden him in his mission and purpose. And we go to follow, this Lent, to prepare ourselves for meeting the new life springing up all around us (Isaiah 43).

Then the devil left him, and suddenly angels came and waited on him.

References:

Acevedo Butcher, C. in Richard Rohr (2026, February 15). Wisdom from the outside: Desert and transformation. Daily Meditations. Center for Action and Contemplation. www.cac.org/daily-meditations/wisdom-from-the-outside.

Colón Delay, L. (2026). The way of the desert elders: How the wisdom of ancient Christians sustains us today. Broadleaf Books.

Valters Paintner, C. (2018). The soul’s slow ripening: 12 Celtic practices for seeking the sacred. Sorin Books.

Vatican News. (2025). Pope Francis: Lent calls us to journey together in hope [Website]. https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2025-02/pope-francis-lent-calls-us-to-journey-together-in-hope.html#:~:text=This%20journey%20is%20not%20merely,are%20pilgrims%20in%20this%20life.%E2%80%9D

Come, and see!

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Jesus said, “Come, and see!” (John 1:39)

The French Impressionist painter, Claude Monet, captured my attention when Jessica and I visited the National Art Gallery over the Christmas holidays. It was in the special exhibit about snow and winter. The winter exhibit runs until the end of March at the National Gallery.

I lingered a little bit longer before Monet’s “Floes at Bennecourt” which captures the remarkable scene after extreme weather in January 1893 caused the Seine River in France to freeze and then thaw, “producing dramatic ice floes” (National Gallery of Canada, 2025, p. 271).

Claude Monet, “Floes at Bennecourt” (National Gallery of Canada, ‘Winter Count: Embracing the Cold’, 2025, p. 272)

What struck me was the way in which Monet so brilliantly used muted purples and browns to paint such a clear picture of what was there despite the frosty haze clouding that vision. The cloudiness, so prevalent in his art, stands in between the observer and that otherwise clear, indisputably real scene behind it.

I’m right away reminded of Saint Paul’s famous words from 1st Corinthians 13:12 – “Now we see in a mirror dimly.”

Now, it’s January, but not 1893! We find ourselves in this season after Epiphany in 2026. The word, ‘epiphany’, means revelation, uncovering. We read biblical stories of Jesus being revealed to the first disciples as the Son of God.

Epiphany asks us to grapple with the question, “How do we know Jesus, God, is revealed to us, talking to us today?” Indeed, today we see in a mirror dimly. Today, when we might not know what to do given a particular challenge in our life, we seek answers. In a time when truth seems to be covered up, clouded, we want direction. When we are not sure about who we are, what our purpose is, we may easily be attracted to voices that shout the loudest telling us what to do. Ok.

But how do we know if that’s what God wants us to do? It seems to me we need to do some work to clear the frosty haze and uncover what’s really there behind the cloudy vision. We need to practice looking beyond what is immediately apparent.

Some of my favourite biblical characters are the Magi, the wise ones, the sages from the East, who visit the Christ child by following the star to Jesus’ place of birth (Matthew 2). I aspire to the courage and confidence they demonstrate by faithfully trusting in and following that star all the way to their destination.

But perhaps the most telling part of their story is what they do after meeting with Herod on their way to visit the holy family. After their visit, they decide it is too risky to go back by the same road which would expose them to Herod’s unpredictability and violence. They have a dream that convinces them of this decision. God speaks in their dreaming.

But that’s where the biblical narrative stops. After we read that they decide to go home by a different road, we hear nothing more of the Magi. We can only imagine:

It must have been hard, perhaps frightening, journeying under threat of Herod’s wiles. We may wonder who they met along the way, what they learned, and how they told the tale of meeting Herod and seeing the Christ child (Butler Bass, 2026). Whichever way they went, they no longer had that external guide – that star – to guide them. They only had their dream.

The biblical story is nevertheless unfinished. Perhaps intentionally so, to be worked out and continued in our own lives.

Claude Monet’s “Floes at Bennecourt” was hanging in the part of the exhibition that showcased how painters use light – daytime and nighttime – to create their art.

In Epiphany, the central image is light. In the New Testament, the expression “the light of the world” is used to describe Christ Jesus (John 8:12). But then Jesus applies the same phrase to us. In Matthew 5:14, he says to the disciples, “You are the light of the world.”

Light is less something we see directly, and more something by which we see all other things (Rohr, 2025, December 28). Looking at the light directly is tough, even impossible for us humans. Just try to look at the sun for more than a few seconds! It can damage our eyes. We can’t really, directly, and always be looking at the sun, the source of the light. That is not the point of faith. The purpose of the light being given is so that we can look at what that light source illuminates, on the earth.

It’s like God is telling us to wake up! And look! And see! Maybe, see again, with renewed vision what is before us!

We have faith in Christ so we can have the faith of Christ. Practising the faith of Christ is the goal of our lives. We look at Jesus only so far as we can look out at the world with the eyes of Jesus. You are the light of the world!

So, what are we to see? What does God see, so that we can see with the eyes of Jesus? Historian, writer and theologian Diana Butler Bass, whose book (Freeing Jesus) is the subject of the Ottawa Lutherans online book club tomorrow, comments in a recent blog on what God sees when God looks at the world, at our reality.

“Certainly”, she writes, reflecting on the creation story from Genesis, “God sees sin, sorrow, the shame, the pity, the terror, and the sheer horror of it all …

“God sees beyond, through, and past the covering of the fig leaves. God sees creation ‘without deceit.’ God beholds the world as it really is, a beloved community, a feast of abundance, sparkling in the light and glory of love.

She concludes: “And God invites us to see that goodness also – with our own eyes. To see differently, looking beyond, under, through, and past the shadows … But seeing isn’t only for visionaries. Every person called to follow is called, first and foremost, to come and see. The Light dwells with all of us, opening our eyes. The Light widens the circle of welcome … The Light beckons: Come and see” (Butler Bass, 2025, pp. 89-90).

How do we tell if God is speaking to us? By looking at the world with the faith – the eyes – of Christ and focusing on where that Light shines. Come, and see!

In my practicum, a client will sometimes come to therapy expecting the counsellor to be the expert. They show up assuming the therapist will have the answers to their confounding questions about what is going on in their life and find the perfect solution for them.

They expect the proverbial star to suddenly ‘poof’ appear through the counsellor’s expertise and show them the way to go. It seems a similar dynamic exists across many professions of care, whether we are talking about mental health care, medical care or spiritual care.

During the first “Conversations Across the Church” webinar on November 30, 2025, ELCIC national bishop, Larry Kochendorfer, noted at least a couple of shifts the church needs to make in a season of anxiety and uncertainty, when our vision is clouded. He stressed that Lutherans today need to shift away from envisioning ministry – service in Christ’s name, discipleship, mission work – as clergy-led and lay-supported, to ministry that is lay-led and clergy-supported.

“The priesthood of all believers” – Martin Luther’s term.

In psychotherapy, solutions are found not in the expertise of the counsellor, but in the resources and sometimes hidden strengths in the life of the person seeking help in therapy. The job of the counsellor is to help the client realize, accept and act out of their strengths and resources.

We call it client-centred psychotherapy. The counsellor does not have all the answers and cannot know more about the client’s problem and experience of life than the client themselves. They are the expert.

“You are the light of the world.”

The other shift Bishop Larry indicated for the church today was away from a mentality of “fixing” problems to the practice of “listening”.

Sharon Brous writes, “sometimes the holiest work is not to pray them into the light, but instead to join them in the dark” (Brous, 2024, p. 144).

If we want to follow Jesus and do his work, we don’t need to drag people we care for into the light and fix their problems. We just need to listen to them. And that is accomplished by sitting with them in the dark. And see what happens. “Come, and see!” (John 1:39).

Do you see the dysfunction, the problem, and do you expect the other to adopt your solution? Or, do you look for the good, maybe hidden deep inside the other? Trust, that in your faithfulness to listen, the path forward and the way home will be illuminated.

“The Light shines in the darkness.” See with the eyes of Jesus where that light shines. And go there. Amen.

References:

Brous, S. (2024). The amen effect: Ancient wisdom to mend our broken hearts and world. Avery Books.

Butler Bass, D. (2026, January 3). Sunday musings: Another way home. The Cottage [Blog]. https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/sunday-musings-another-road-home

Butler Bass, D. (2025). A beautiful year: 52 meditations on faith, wisdom, and perseverance. St. Martin’s Essentials. Rohr, R. (2025, December 28). That by which we see. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/that-by-which-we-see

Rohr, R. (2025, December 28). That by which we see. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/that-by-which-we-see/

The power of the pause

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photo by Martin Malina, October 10, 2025 (Ottawa River at Arnprior)

It’s my job to change the calendars hanging in various locations on the walls of our house. There are a few. And I’ve notice that when I flip the calendar to the next month, I feel this grumpy eagerness to get on with it, to the next month, with a kind of dismissive good-riddance attitude towards the passing month. Like I’m on a treadmill that’s hard work and I’m glad that the month is over and we can just move on.

When I catch myself changing the calendar and feeling this ‘let’s-just-get-on-with-the-next-month’, I know there is something off within me.

So, I decided to try changing my approach. I promised myself that when I turn the calendars next time, rather than happily/grumpily dismiss the previous month I would pause and bring more of a thankful, reflectiveness to that ritual. I will intentionally bring to mind, if not anything specific that happened, a general attitude of thanksgiving for having made it despite everything that’s happened good and bad, through another month in 2025.

What this exercise — this intention — does for me, I think, is slow me down a bit to stay in that changing moment, that ritual of transition, with more positiveness and a restful, gracious heart. This change-over becomes, in short, a prayer.

Advent underscores this pivotal place for me. To stay in the pause before getting on to the next thing. This journey of change – from one thing to the next – is worthwhile because it is a better way to live.

But it’s not easy to be ok in the in-between time of waiting. It’s not easy to practise the virtues of patience, of watching, of observing, of trusting what is promised.

This hustle culture we live in puts a whole lot of pressure on us to perform perfectly, and to ramp up our activity and consumption. How can we journey on without losing our minds, our faith, our well-being? How can we experience the power of the pause which Advent invites us to experience?

Before I went on my camino in northern Spain years ago, other pilgrims who had completed the 800-kilometre hike advised me to be scrupulous about how much weight I would haul on my back. They suggested I rip out and discard the pages of the novel or guidebook I was carrying with me after I was done reading them. Just to get the weight down with each passing step on the way.

At first, I thought this was crazy. I would just make sure I didn’t pack too much from the start. The thought of needing to shed backpack weight as I went along seemed absurd to me.

Needless to say, once I started the hike, I soon learned the wisdom of this advice, to make my journey a whole lot more manageable and easier. It’s during the journey, not arriving at the destination, where the most important lessons of life are learned.

And what are we to learn during this Advent journey, this year, as we pause together between what was and what is to come?

When the ancient Israelites took their circuitous route through the desert wilderness en route to the Promised Land, they navigated hunger and thirst, desert heat, and attacking armies. And while they met up with all these challenges on the way, they carried the holy ark containing the tablets — the ten commandments — Moses had received on the mountain inscribed by the hand of God.

“But those tablets were actually the second set that Moses received.” I read recently that “right beside them in the ark sat the broken shards of the first set, which Moses had smashed in his rage when he witnessed the people dancing mindlessly around the golden calf” (Brous, 2024, pp. 98-99). Both sets. The tablets and the broken tablets – both holy – rested together in the ark.

That’s a significant amount of extra weight, wouldn’t you say, to carry on a long journey?! Not very efficient packing for the long, desert journey! Why wouldn’t they have just taken the new, second set and discarded the broken pieces from the first set? Why would they have intentionally doubled their load to carry? You may think this is mere biblical trivia. But there’s nothing trivial about this.

The desert figures prominently in the readings for Advent. It’s in the desert where the prophets of God do their work. Isaiah preaches a future vision free of suffering (Isaiah 35:1-10). John the Baptist foretells the coming of the Messiah (Matthew 11:2-11). These proclamations all come from within the desert.

Biblically, the desert is the place of transition and transformation. The desert, for the ancient people of faith, was the way home – first the way out of slavery in Egypt to the Promised Land, then, centuries later, the way out of Babylonian exile back home to Jerusalem. In the Christmas story, the Holy Family also travelled through the desert from Egypt back home to Nazareth after the threat of Herod’s reign had passed. Through the desert. Back home.

That first journey through the desert out of Egypt was, by the way, a journey that could have taken the Israelites just 11 days on foot – the direct way to the Jordan River. You wonder if they couldn’t have been more efficient in their travel plans, especially because of all the hardship they met in the desert.

But instead, it took them 40 years. A journey that, at the time, could have taken just 11 days, took them 40 years. So, two conclusions we cannot ignore: First, the theme of journeying is vitally important to a life of faith.  And second, what we carry on that journey includes even the broken pieces of our lives!

Seasons of transition, these difficult times of change and challenge, from one place or situation to the next, these in between times need our attention. They give us permission and call us to explore the power of the pause in our lives individually and as a church. These times and places have something to tell us and call us to change our direction.

Maybe, to start, one lesson here is that in times of change, the broken pieces we carry have just as much value to us and our faith as do the more polished, perfected, certain and secure aspects of our lives.

In the Gospel today from Matthew 11, Jesus rebukes those who expected the word of God to come by means of “soft, plush robes in royal palaces” (v.8). The word of God comes by means of the desert, the wilderness, by the raw, rough and even harsh words of a less-than-polished, trouble-making John the Baptist.

Author Cole Arthur Riley writes, “There is no greater exhaustion than a charade of spirituality” (Riley, 2022, p. 186). The charade is maintained when celebrating Christmas ignores the wisdom of Advent preceding it.

Advent does not permit us to rush headlong into soft lights and mistletoe, cheery or sentimental Christmas music. Advent calls us into that pivotal space where we slow things down to find the “sacred fusion of sorrow and celebration” (Brous, 2024, p. 99). In so doing, we discover a way home to what God is preparing for us.

The pain cannot be hidden away, even at this time of year. The sorrowing world, the grief we bear, these changing times with all the suffering we encounter. Advent calls us not to dismiss and discard these realities. Rather to hold them all in the light. Even as we sing, Joy to the World.

The Gospel brings good news, yes. But it never minimizes the realness of our pain. “Rejoice with trembling” (Psalm 2:11, English Standard Version) the Psalmist instructs. Even when we’re rejoicing, we should tremble a little. In other words, be careful “not to … disconnect from [our] humanity that lives and dies, loves and loses, suffers and sometimes finds solace” (Brous, 2024, p. 102).

So maybe Advent is the simple invitation to try. Try to stay in the moment of in-between a little longer. In that in-between, try to embrace both the joy and the suffering. And maybe, in the desert, you too will witness the power of the pause as you discover God’s promise delivered, in and around you.

In a webinar a couple of weeks ago called “Conversations Across the Church” hosted by newly elected national ELCIC bishop, Larry Kochendorfer, he concluded by praying his favourite prayer from the ELW. It’s on page 76, the last one on that page, for those who would like to look it up later. Let us pray:

O God, where hearts are fearful and constricted, grant courage and hope. Where anxiety is infectious and widening, grant peace and reassurance. Where impossibilities close every door and window, grant imagination and resistance. Where distrust twists our thinking, grant healing and illumination. Where spirits are daunted and weakened, grant soaring wings and strengthened dreams. All these things we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen. (ELCA, 2006).

References:

Brous, S. (2024). The amen effect: Ancient wisdom to mend our broken hearts and world. Avery.

Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. (2006). Evangelical lutheran worship: Pew edition. Augsburg Fortress.

Riley, C. A. (2022). This here flesh: Spirituality, liberation, and the stories that make us. Convergent Books.