Author Archives: raspberryman

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About raspberryman

I am a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada, serving a parish in Ottawa Ontario. I am a husband, father, and admirer of the Ottawa Valley. I enjoy beaches, sunsets and waterways. I like to write, reflect theologically and meditate in the Christian tradition.

On the road to Bethlehem

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photo by Jessica Hawley Malina (July 16, 2024 / Hwy 4 between Ucluelet & Tofino BC)

It is a dark night. The cedars drape over the narrow, rocky path, blanketing out what dim starlight shines from the sky above.

A pregnant woman travels with her husband through dangerous territory in a tyrannical age, on the road to Ephrath – a small town on the outskirts of Jerusalem otherwise known as Bethlehem.

Who is this woman with her husband travelling at night?

This story is familiar in the bible. It is Rachel, going where the Lord God commanded. But the story doesn’t end well for Rachel. She dies in labour, on that road to Bethlehem, giving birth to Benjamin. And Rachel’s husband Jacob buries her by the road. He erects a grave in her honour and memory (Genesis 35:16-26).

Generations later, the lamenting prophet Jeremiah picks up the image of Rachel’s tomb on the road to Bethlehem, when the Babylonian captives are forced to march by it into exile (Jeremiah 31:15).

Tonight, Mary and Joseph follow the same path (Luke 2). After passing Rachel’s tomb on the way, Mary would no doubt have remembered the story of Rachel’s tragic end.

When she and Joseph make their anxious way on a dangerous road in the night to be registered in Joseph’s birthplace, what goes through Mary’s mind? Would she, like the faithful Rachel before her, also die on this road in labour? Would she, despite saying yes to God’s call, fail like the captives on their way to Babylon?

That dark night on the dangerous road to Bethlehem no doubt challenged her faith. Anyone who traveled on that rocky, darkened path to Bethlehem was reminded of the often-difficult realities facing God’s people throughout history.

You may be on an uncertain path, this Christmas. Thinking you are nonetheless on the right path, you still question your decision. Because there are reminders along the way from past experiences and memories, that cause you to doubt. And even though you believe you are on the right path, it is dark and hard to see the way. And you question God. Is God even there? Indeed, we travel a dangerous road tonight.

Like the prophet Isaiah, we complain God is nowhere in sight. We cry, O God, “You have hidden your face from us” (Isaiah 64:7).

When we find ourselves in the dark, what do we do?

Like Mary and Joseph making their way on the road to Bethlehem in the night, we can’t wait for sunny days. We keep moving forward in the dark, little by little. Like Mary and Joseph, we move, trusting that whatever challenges we face are already solved. The answer is out there, somewhere in the dark. We just haven’t come across it yet.

Let’s not forget, much of God’s created world relies on darkness as much as light. We need not fear the darkness. For plants and trees, seed germination takes place in the darkness of the soil below the ground. It is in darkness that the roots seek nutrients (Coman, 2024).

We require darkness for birth and growth in the human world as well, not just the seed in the ground, but the seed in the womb, the seed in our souls.

In the dark lie possibilities for intimacy, for rest, for healing. Although we may find journeying in the dark fearsome or confusing, it teaches us to rely on senses other than sight. In the process we learn that darkness bears the capacity for good, gives birth to the good.

What do we do when we find ourselves in the darkness of our own making or what the world has done?

Our work is to name the darkness for what it is and to find what it asks of us. What does the nighttime call us to do? Does the darkness ask a wrong to be made right, for justice to bring the dawn of hope to a night of terror? Does it ask for a candle to give warmth to the shadows, or for companions to hold us in our uncertainty and unknowing, or for a blanket to enfold us as we wait for the darkness to teach us what we need to know?

We need not fear the darkness of this Christmas Eve. It is a holy birth, after all, we celebrate this night.

At home this past Fall we installed LED sensor lights on the outside of the house. Our yard borders on a town pathway that leads into a back field. Sometimes people will take a short cut and walk down that path which has no lighting.

After being installed, two of the three sensor lights worked properly, coming on when sensing movement and shutting off after a minute or so. But the third one would not shut off. It remained on, even during the daytime. And no amount of fiddling with the settings could I get that light to turn off, apart from shutting down all three of them on the same breaker.

It was the light that would not turn off, the light that kept shining in the day when we didn’t notice it. The light was on, even when we didn’t see it.

“God came to us because God wanted to join us on the road, to listen to our story, and to help us realize that we are not walking in circles but moving towards the house of peace and joy.

“This is the great mystery of Christmas that continues to give us comfort and consolation: we are not alone on our journey [in the dark] … Christmas is the renewed invitation not to be afraid and let him – whose love is greater than our own hearts and minds can comprehend – be our companion” (Nouwen, 2004).

“In these … days of darkness and waiting, it may indeed seem that [at first] God’s face is hidden from our sight. But the sacred presence is there, breathing in the shadows” (Richardson, 1998, pp. 1-3).

It is a call to faith, darkness invites. A call to trust in the dawn and the sun that never stops shining. A call to trust in those who come alongside to travel with us to Bethlehem.

On that first Christmas Eve, indeed Mary was reminded of how not so well things turned out for the faithful people who went before her on that dangerous road to Bethlehem.

Yet, if anything, Mary was reminded of how God is there, in the darkness, once again, trying again. Trying again with people of faith to make a place in their lives for the coming of the Lord.

If anything, Mary was reminded that she was indeed on the right path in the dark, going in the direction God was making ready.

Mary Oliver, in her poem entitled “The Uses of Sorrow”, wrote:

Someone I loved once gave me
a box full of darkness
It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

In the Christmas story, God’s face is revealed. The stars in the night sky over Bethlehem shine on a tiny baby’s face. In the midnight hours of that first Christmas, God came into the world in the face of a baby. The dark night gave birth to the greatest gift ever.

Thanks be to God! Merry Christmas!

References:

Coman, S. (2024, December 4). Seeds of hope. Lutherans Connect. https://lcseedsofhope.blogspot.com

Nouwen, H. (2004). Advent and Christmas wisdom from Henri J. Nouwen. Liguori Publications.

Richardson, J. (1998). Night visions: Searching the shadows of Advent and Christmas. United Church Press.

Colouring the world with love

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After receiving the visit from the angel Gabriel announcing to her that she would bear the Christ child, Mary came in haste to meet with her cousin and friend, Elizabeth. In the midst of conversations between people – the angel and Mary, then Elizabeth and Mary (Luke 1:39-55) — the word of God comes. The Word doesn’t come outside of a conversation.

I read recently a definition for the Word made flesh as Conversation (Loorz, 2021). Yes, conversation. God speaks existence into being (Genesis 1-2). God creates by issuing forth a word.

But then that Word needs to be received. That word needs a response in order to take root and grow. The Word of God, Jesus Christ, as the Great Conversation, is given and received. The first Christmas didn’t happen without conversation, lovingly given and lovingly received. God spoke Christmas into being.

As they say, the world is black and white until you fall in love. Then you see the world in colour. In her book entitled Love in Colour cataloguing love stories and myths from around the world, Bolu Babalola (2021) wrote, “Love is the prism through which I see the world.”

If we will keep Christ in Christmas then we need to start with love, because “God so loved the world that He gave his only Son” (John 3:16).

Speaking of colours, then, what is your favourite Christmas colour? Red and green likely top the list. Others like white with gold. The classic debate in households is whether to go with multi-coloured lights on the tree or stick with pin-prick white to mimic the stars in the sky. Or, mix them all together? Which do you prefer?

Blue is the colour now used in churches during the season before Christmas, the season called Advent. The colour blue is an interesting choice. Why, blue? At this time of year when the days are short, we hear the colour blue perhaps associated more with our mood – the winter blues.

Some believe blue is the colour of Advent because it represents the colour of the sky at the time of Jesus’ birth (Coman, 2024). The 13th century Italian artist, Giotto, tried to replicate blue in his depiction of the nativity:

https://www.worldhistory.org/image/12682/the-nativity-by-giotto/

We see blue whenever we look up and far into the distance towards the horizon where sea and sky meet. Looking into the distance likely means we are, from the perspective of feet on the ground, looking at a whole lot of blue, pointing us to the limitless expanse of the universe. And so, blue is the colour of hope, yearning and longing.

Yet, here on earth the colour blue is extremely rare in nature. Less than 10% of all plant species are blue and even so, most of the time their blue is an optical illusion.

It’s an optical illusion created by the refraction of light against what is actually red pigment. The only plant with genuinely blue leaves lives on the floor of the rainforest in South America.

But what really stands out is that while all other plant material changes colour when it dies, blue flowers are the only flowers that retain their colour in death. They retain their colour in death – maybe to remind the world that they haven’t gone away, that they have made their mark, that they, in some way we can’t explain or see with our eyes, live on. Blue is then also the colour of steadfastness. From everlasting to everlasting.

In the end, as we still walk by faith on this planet, it really doesn’t matter what colour you prefer. It doesn’t matter whether the Advent candles are all red or all blue, or all purple or some purple and one pink, or all blue and one white or all white.

The important thing is that you know why you are using the colours you are using. What is the story behind the colours you use? And how do those colours reflect a part of the Christmas story surrounding the arrival of God and God’s love to this earth?

Today we lit the fourth and final candle on the wreath. This fourth candle is called the Love candle. When we know why we do certain things, we can then appreciate why others do it differently. We practice love. What are the reasons they have for the choices and decisions they make – regarding their traditions, their background stories?

We don’t love because others start behaving as we do. Love isn’t about making others conform to our way of doing things. Instead, love is appreciating and being genuinely curious about where the other person is coming from, and letting them know it!

And that’s how we respond in love. That’s how we keep the conversation going. Loving others is behaving in ways and saying things in order to keep the conversation going. The goal at Christmas is to love. The Christmas story lives in us when we keep the conversation going, when we don’t shut it down.

Mary said yes to the angel’s Word from God. Her heart opened even though her mind must have had many questions. Her heart expanded to include the Word of God into her life. She kept the great conversation of God’s love going in her. And her responses in love got the whole ball rolling. And Christmas happened. Thanks be to God!

References:

Babalola, B. (2021). Love in colour: Mythical tales from around the world, retold. William Morrow.

Coman, S. (2024). Seeds of hope: Day 5. Lutherans Connect. https://lcseedsofhope.blogspot.com/2024/12/day-5.html

Loorz, V. (2021). Church of the wild: How nature invites us into the sacred. Broadleaf.

Funeral sermon for an infant at Christmas

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Let us pray. Heavenly God, you formed us in our mother’s womb and, in Jesus, welcomed children to come to you. Today we grieve the untimely end to a life that delighted you and us. Our hearts are torn, and we are burdened by our grief. Be with us as we walk this shadowed valley. Receive our tears. Hold space within us for hope’s return. Amen (All Creation Sings, 2020).

No words I can say will take the pain away. Our actions now must speak louder than any words. And what you are doing today, dear family, is showing up. And more than that you do an act of love, and an act of courage amidst this horrible loss. We are grieved, deeply saddened, our hearts are torn, as we prayed. Yet, you have given each other space and permission to feel what you must.

In this collective effort and in our humble actions today, we honour the life given to Leyla. We stake our ground, together today, and affirm that Leyla’s life made a difference in the world, and in the universe. Her life was a precious gift.

Recently I read (Coman, 2024) about a giant sycamore gap tree that enjoyed enormous popularity among visitors to Northumberland Park in England. This tree was used in many films. Because of its location it was a beautiful beacon and focal point in the park.

But in September 2023, the tree was felled in an act of vandalism. The outpouring of grief and anger was unprecedented, and a testament to the beauty and meaning it had offered many.

Was it over? Was this tree, that had offered such joy and beauty in the lives of many, no more?

In the following year seeds were harvested from the downed tree. Now, the seeds have grown to become saplings and are thriving. In a project called “Trees of Hope”, these tiny saplings from the felled tree are being given to people in prison, and many charities. In this way, the Sycamore Gap Tree will not only have its own offspring, but whose seeds are now being used for good.

When the tree came down, it wasn’t the end of it. It wasn’t over. And whatever is not over, is not lost. Never lost.

Dear family, you’ve experienced a seismic shift in your life these past weeks. The earth underneath you has opened up. And grief can sometimes feel like free-falling into the unknown abyss. It is true, life will never be the same again.

But when the ground shakes as in an earthquake, the trees shake. The pinecones fall to the ground. And the seeds within come out and are planted in the earth.

The Norway Spruce is common in Eastern Canada. One unique feature of this tree is its cones are the largest among all spruce varieties (Audubon, 2021). What does that mean? That means, lots and lots of seeds.

This sapling of Norway Spruce is now dormant for winter. It will need to be planted in the earth in the coming Spring. It needs lots of water, and it will grow. Perhaps during this wintertime, you can think of a place you’d like to plant it. In that simple act of planting a tree, there is this seed of hope that says maybe it’s not over; and because it’s not over, it’s not lost.

The cross of Christ, various legends have it, was made of varieties of wood ranging from dogwood to olive, to oak, to cypress. Whatever the blend or variety, the wood upon which Jesus died can be a sign and symbol of this close relationship between death and life. What dies finds a way to endure. What dies finds a way to live again. Our relationship with Leyla has changed, to be sure. But it isn’t over.

It is called the “tree of life”, both in the first book of the bible – Genesis (2:9) – and in the last book of the bible – Revelation (22:2). In the end, just as in the beginning, the tree of life promises that every ending marks a new beginning.

References:

All Creation Sings, Leaders Edition. (2020). Life passages and circumstances (p. 92) [adapted]. Augsburg Fortress.

Coman, S. (2024, December 9). Seeds of Hope: Day 8. Lutherans Connect. https://lcseedsofhope.blogspot.com/2024/12/day-8.html

National Audubon Society. (2021). Trees of North America. Knopf.

Expected yet unexpected

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The gift of Christmas is not what we first expect it to be.

Time seemed to accelerate beginning with Canadian Thanksgiving in October. Then before we knew it was Remembrance Day, then Black Friday, Cyber Monday, Giving Tuesday in November, then the planning for the Christmas holidays, decorating, making New Year’s reservations, attending the social office parties, family gatherings, choral concerts, organizing shopping days and finalizing all our lists in December. My head starts to spin just thinking about everything we associate with those markers on the calendar.

We wrap up our expectations of Christmas around these activities. Indeed, participating in all of it creates expectations about the destination, intended or not. What do you expect when Christmas Day finally arrives? What do you want Christmas to be for you?

Part of the challenge at this time of year is trying to match what we want with what we actually end up doing.

The Gospel today describes the people in first century Palestine as filled with expectation (Luke 3:15). What were they expecting? They were looking for someone to come and save them, a Messiah. They were a people who walked in darkness (John 1), in a troubled time in history. They yearned for a saviour to liberate them from oppression.

And they suspected that maybe this saviour was John the Baptist – a charismatic speaker with a magnetic personality that could captivate the crowds with shock-and-awe oration never-mind his poor taste in fashion.

The gift of Christmas is not what we first expect it to be.

When I think deeply about my favourite Christmas memories, they were moments that happened despite the planning and to-do lists. What sticks, what made the greatest impression on me from Christmas times past, they were all moments that were unexpected.

These precious memories came more as a surprise: a serendipitous encounter with a friend, an unexpected moment outside on a winter’s night under starlit skies, walking on snow-packed streets, delivering gifts, listening or singing to a certain piece of Christmas music, a smile and healing tears in the midst of sorrow and terrible loss.

The gift of Christmas is not what we first expect it to be. John the Baptist redirects the attention of his followers to the one who is the expected Messiah, but not in the way they expected. Jesus is the gift of Christmas who still surprises in the way he comes to us.

We’ve been taught to consider Jesus today not as a political leader to free people from military oppression. But we’ve also been taught that Jesus comes to us mainly as a ‘caring’ God, a God who is gentle, who cares, coddles, protects and watches over us.

But Jesus was also someone to reckon with. There was this no-nonsense, straight-from-the-shoulder truthfulness about the way Jesus related not just to his opponents, the Pharisees, but to his very own disciples as well.

And he was not always necessarily nice. Jesus called Peter, “Satan” in one sizzling exchange (Matthew 16:23). Jesus never said, “Blessed are the nice”. He publicly expressed his anger, causing a social ruckus on temple grounds. There he physically disrupted the unjust practices of the money changers (John 2).

The Christmas narrative is not just about coddling and comforting the privileged. John the Baptist, if no other character from the Christmas story does it better, calls us out of our comfort zone, and challenges us in our image of the Christ, the gift at Christmas. Jesus, both the expected and the unexpected one.

The true gift at Christmas makes us think twice about what we are receiving. In the One who comes to us at Christmas in ten short days, we may not expect what we actually receive. The gift may surprise us, catch us off guard. This may make us feel uncomfortable at first. That part of Christmas is unsung.

Yet, one other truth of Christmas gleaned from the biblical narrative: The gift came at the right time. God gave the people what they needed, when they needed it most.

The baby born in Bethlehem had a forerunner to get the people ready for the gift. Even though they were warned, they were still surprised and bewildered when the gift arrived: The messy stable. The crying infant. The bloody cross. The empty tomb.

Because what they got in Jesus was not a Messiah riding a chariot at the head of tens of thousands of warriors thundering up the Kidron Valley to Jerusalem. What they got was a vulnerable human who showed us the very face of God.

Today we lighted the ‘joy’ candle on the wreath. This third Sunday of Advent is traditionally called ‘Gaudete’, and it is rose coloured. ‘Gaudete’ is from Latin which means, “rejoice”, from Philippians (3:1/4:4) – “Rejoice, rejoice in the Lord always! Again I say rejoice!” Gaudete Sunday gives us permission to praise God and give God thanks for the gift, expected yet unexpected, that soon arrives.

Do you expect to be surprised? When you are, that experience brings the joy of Christmas.

Stoppage time: the waiting game

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“Prepare the way of the Lord!” shouts John the Baptist in the wilderness (Luke 3:1-6).

There was a child who was asked to read a part in a Christmas pageant at church. She had the part of John the Baptist. She was perfect for the role, a firecracker of a personality, a born leader. She had many friends who listened to her and followed her on the playground.

But she was worried that she would make a mistake or forget her lines. She told her parents that she didn’t want to go in front of so many people. It made her stomach upset and she felt scared.

Her parents told her stage fright was normal and that the best way to deal with her fear was to be prepared. Being prepared meant going over her lines 10,000 times in the weeks leading up to the play until she could fall asleep reciting her lines perfectly.

She protested. What if her mind would blank out when getting on stage? What if all that practice would mean nothing if she froze under the lights? Why should she even bother trying?

Preparation is the virtue we hail in Advent, when we are called to watch and wait – and prepare! – for the coming of the Lord at Christmas.

But what happens when we don’t have time to prepare everything just right? What happens when we are not prepared, when it comes down to it?

The notion that during Advent we are to wait, at first seems ludicrous. There is no time. How can we wait when there is so much to do (to prepare!)?

But what if the key to being prepared is learning and practising the art of waiting?

Because the truth is, no amount of preparation can prevent a tragedy from happening just as no amount of preparation can have you ready for the birth of a child when it happens. When it happens, at some profound level, we know we can never be fully prepared. When it happens, we know that we could never have anticipated and controlled for every contingency. So, what if being prepared means we know how to wait for it? Could it be, maybe we need first to learn how to wait?

From the Gospel, waiting first means we need to slow down. When shopping malls, parking lots and highways in December indicate everything but, slowing down is vital to receiving the Word of God this season. To practice, notice how you read scripture. So, in the Gospel reading today resist the temptation to skip through the first couple of verses (Luke 3:1-2) – it’s a list of names we have difficulty pronouncing.

Yet, there is purpose here. Luke, the Gospel writer, is intentional about naming all the political and religious rulers of the day and the time they presided. Luke firmly plants the message in a particular place and time in history. We can’t rush through this. Read those words intentionally as if they were a prerequisite for what comes after. And this takes practise. Read slowly.

Every valley shall be lifted and every mountain made low. Not just one valley. Not just one mountain. Not just the valleys associated with Friday night. Not just the mountains confronted Monday morning. Not just the valleys and mountains experienced during worship. In every valley of our lives. On every mountain encountered in daily living.

God’s message needs to land in time and place. We need to slow it down in order to notice it everywhere.

Luke is also quite clear, and intentional, about placing John the Baptist in the wilderness. Not in the crowded confines of a stuffy boardroom or lecture hall. Not in the opulent chancels and temple sanctuaries. Not in the public square in the middle of the city. Not even around the kitchen table or comfy living rooms of our private homes.

In the wilderness, there is lots of space, open areas yielding infinite horizons and unexplored terrain. There is this expansiveness associated with receiving God’s word. We rarely give thought to these conditions when the message is delivered. But there is always context. Waiting is preparing the ground, turning the proverbial soil of our hearts in order to receive the gift. God works from the inside out as much as God works from the outside in. Those expansive contexts of our lives, inner and outer, must be nurtured and practised.

Here is something you can do this Advent to illustrate this practice of slowing it down. For example, I know exchanging and mailing Christmas cards is not as popular today as it was a few decades ago. But maybe some of you can relate.

So, when you receive a hand-delivered Christmas card or in the mail after the postal strike is over, don’t open it right away. If you live with someone else, wait until you can sit down with them for a meal or coffee later that day to open it together, read it and give thanks for the person sending it. Or, if you live alone, wait until your next devotional time, or quiet time to open it, read it and give thanks for whomever sent it.

Advent is about slowing down, opening up time and space, and marking time.

Finally, waiting is becoming aware that the message is for you. Not for someone else. Not for the wayward children or grandchildren. Not for those who disagree with you. Not for those from other parts of the world. Not for those who behave differently from you. Not some part of the culture you do not participate in.

When John the Baptist spoke of a baptism of forgiveness, his opponents – the Pharisees – didn’t at first think this baptism referred to them. They, after all, had already participated in the mikvah, the Jewish ritual of immersing into the purity bath.

The rug was pulled from underneath the Pharisee’s feet when the message that John the Baptist brought was meant for them. And not just for the Gentiles, but for Jewish people as well – everyone who does not receive the message of repentance and forgiveness for themselves.

Waiting opens up regions of the soul to admit the call of repentance and promise of forgiveness into each and every one of us. Waiting allows us to contemplate what that changed life means for us. It’s very personal.

But what if we are like the little girl preparing for the Christmas pageant? What if we can’t or don’t prepare? What if we insist, “It’s not for me.”

When we are not ready for what happens in life, when there is no amount of work that can adequately prepare us for whatever comes our way, God still puts extra time on the clock. Just like at the end of a 90-minute soccer match, there’s always stoppage time to account for injuries that delayed the play of the game during the first 90 minutes. There’s extra time added. Always.

God’s patience is infinite. God waits for us. Even when we get injured, are delayed, or for whatever reason can’t seem to get our ducks in a row. God’s pacing and timing operate on a different level which we cannot fully understand, except that God makes time and space for us. And God’s message is to each one of us, personally. That message is conveyed in love and mercy.

“I am confident of this,” writes Saint Paul to the Philippians, “that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ” (1:6).

The second candle we light today is called the Peace Candle. When we wait for the Lord by slowing down, creating space, and we receive the message for us personally, we prepare in a way that brings peace into our lives. Because of God’s grace and love, peace reigns.

Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, sings God’s praise in the temple at the news of John’s birth:

78 In the tender compassion of our God
  the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
 79 to shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the shadow of death,
  and to guide our feet into the way of peace. (Luke 1)

Having peace is about living daily with ourselves and others in the mercy, forgiveness and love modelled by the one for whom we wait, Jesus Christ the Lord.

Finding green shoots of hope – everywhere

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Hope is the theme of the first Sunday of Advent. It is the hope candle, the first one, we light on the Advent wreath today.

But I must admit after reading the scripture assigned for the start of thie new year in the church calendar (Luke 21:25-36), the Gospel from Luke did not initially feel like an Advent-themed scripture. For one thing, Jesus points to fresh leaves on a fig tree, a sign of coming summer. Summer? When winter in the northern hemisphere is bearing down upon us?

After all, shouldn’t we be reading Christmas stories and singing Christmas carols already, like they are doing in the malls? We’re getting our shovels out and snow blowers primed, not looking at green leaves. Admittedly, many of us might rather skip over Advent, its call to spiritual discipline, slower pacing, prayer and perspective, and rush headlong into the frenzy of the season.

The word, Advent, from Latin, means “coming” and refers to the comings of the Lord: the coming of Jesus at the first Christmas two thousand years ago; the second coming of Christ at the end of all time; and the coming of Jesus into our lives every day and in moments we perceive as grace-filled.

When we work at it a bit and unpeel the layers of this Lukan scripture we nevertheless find clues that plant it firmly in this season of preparation, anticipation and longing called Advent. In short, hope undergirds this Gospel.

“Then he told them a parable: ‘Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near’” (v.29-30).

One quick Google search reveals that figs are mentioned in the bible 50 times (Bolen, n.d.), because they were so common in that time and place, being a part of their economy and a staple of their diet.

A recent fig excavation in Ireland found 2,000-year-old remains of a fig, preserved because it had been burned (RTE Media, 2024). Among other things, this archeological discovery points to a lifestyle adopted so far north and so far away from Rome. Considered an exotic fruit, figs were enjoyed not just in regions governed by the Roman empire nearer the equator, but in areas of Europe not controlled by Rome. Figs found in the least expected places: Ireland.

Jesus often used fig trees as symbols and metaphors in his teaching. He used common, relatable images of people’s lives to make a point about living in God’s kingdom. But God’s kingdom on earth, not in heaven. “Your will be done on earth,” the Lord’s Prayer points us to focus here, on the ground.

Annie Dillard said, “The Gospel is less about how to get into the Kingdom of Heaven after you die, and more about how to live in the Kingdom of Heaven before you die.” If it were the other way around, why would Jesus spend so much time talking about coins, treasures buried in the earth, fig leaves and trees, lost sheep, seeds and mustard trees? The point of the Gospel is to point us to this life and finding hope and ways of relating to each other and the world that reflect kingdom values.

Admittedly, this perspective on faith requires some hard work. And maybe that’s why we shy away from that ‘kingdom on earth’ perspective. To nurture hope as a Christian is not to remain passive in facing seemingly hopeless situations. It is to be active in faith.

Perhaps the most striking reason for observing an intentional Advent season prior to the festivities of Christmas is the reality common to us all, the reality of death and grief. Approaching Christmas can be the most difficult for those especially experiencing this season for the first time without their loved one, or for those preparing for their last one.

In no other circumstance of life can Advent be such a gift. To slow things down. To temper expectations. To practice contemplation, value simplicity, and give permission to those who suffer, give them space, room to just be and do whatever – without the stringent expectations of the hustle culture and anxious disposition to doing what is expected. Here is an opportunity to say, ‘stop’. Breathe. And reset.

In dealing with grief, it is important to do something to acknowledge the holidays (Morris, 2018). Because grief is unique to each one of us, for some it might mean doing the same thing you’ve always done, or it may mean doing things a little bit differently this year.

The key is to do something, however simple and small – even if at first you might not feel like it. Being hopeful is not a feeling. It is doing the right thing for you.

So, on the one hand, don’t do what is expected. Don’t do what the world thinks you should do. Don’t pretend to be all joyful and happy. Don’t join the consumer frenzy and hustle or put pressure on yourself to be a certain way.

Lower your expectations. Tell yourself it’s okay to do less this year. Give yourself permission to be sad and cry during the holidays. On the other hand, do something. Don’t do nothing. Don’t wait for feelings to be your signal to act.

Many faith communities will offer a Blue Christmas service. A very valuable ministry, to introduce sacred text, Advent hymns, comforting social support, and to hold contemplative, accepting space to an otherwise loud and intense season. Perhaps you’ve once attended a Blue Christmas service. If you would like to attend one put on by Ottawa churches this month, I can give you a couple options where I know they are happening.

What are personal things people who struggle with loss and grief can do in the weeks leading to Christmas?

Lighting a candle in honour and memory of a loved one. Making or buying a special tree ornament or stocking you can hang on the tree. Asking everyone at a family gathering to write down a fond memory they have of a loved one and place those written memories in a special vase or keepsake box that you can read together later in the season. Making a donation to a charity in a loved one’s memory. Volunteering in a hospital, food bank or serving food at an Out of the Cold program. These are all meaningful activities to engage.

The point is, Advent is such an important season to observe, before launching mindlessly into the Christmas festivities and frenzy which, let’s be honest, are by and large self-serving and self-indulging. Especially in a time that feels hopeless, there are things you can do to shift that focus – meaningful things – to discover hope again.

Find green shoots of hope wherever you can. Look for the proverbial fig leaf, even if in places you might never have expected. And do something. And if, this year, you cannot …

Some people and communities are doing great things. Celebrate them. Others are doing small but important things. Thank them. Others are doing courageous things. Appreciate them. Keep hope strong. Keep hope alive (Reich, 2024).

References:

Bolen, T. (n.d.). Fig Trees. Retrieved from https://www.bibleplaces.com/fig-trees/

Morris, S. (2018). Overcoming grief (2nd ed.). Robinson.

Reich, R. (2024, November 19). How to hope in a hope-less time [blog]. https://robertreich.substack.com/p/how-to-hope-in-a-near-hopeless-time?

RTE Media. (2024, November 14). On a roll: Fig from 2,000 years ago found at Dublin archaeological site [website]. https://www.rte.ie/news/dublin/2024/1113/1480725-fig-excavation-dublin/

Water, water, everywhere – a sermon for baptism

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Photo by Ernie Dickey (British Columbia Photos, posted November 15, 2024) https://www.facebook.com/groups

Leyla is baptized today. The water in the font is not moving that much. But when we spilled it over her head, you could hear the splash and see the fall of water from her head back into the font. Water, even when it appears still, is still moving.

In baptism Water and Word come together. It is the word of promise, of hope, that amidst all the struggles and storms of life, God will never forsake Leyla. God will always, no matter what, travel with her on the life’s journey. God will always love her.

But you can’t have baptism without water. And if you think the Word part is difficult to understand, water, too, is a tricky thing, this primary conveyor of grace and meaning for us today.

On the one hand we dream and recite scripture about walking beside quiet and still waters (Psalm 23). We read about the river of life flowing through the new Jerusalem (Revelation). We consider the vital nourishment rainfall gives to the earth so desperate and dry. Water is a gift. It is necessary, required for life.

Yet, sometimes those waters can get rough. Indeed, being in the water can be dangerous business. In the Psalm today, the water mentioned is not some gentle, mountain stream or a placid pond. We’re not talking here about a dreamy Hallmark waterfall.

The pounding waves described in Psalm 93 are more akin to the weather bomb affecting the west coast of BC this past week. More like the deadly flood waters that devastated Spanish towns in a few terrifying hours, last month. The violent and deadly Noah’s flood from Genesis (chapter 7) describes this contrasting aspect of water images from the bible.

Getting into the water, we confront our fears. Getting into the water we become vulnerable. We know the dangers that lurk for humans who are not fish. We can even die, submerged under the water too long.

Waters, even baptismal waters, symbolize both peaceful religious experience as well as potential danger. Waters, even baptismal waters, take us out of our comfort zones as much as they bring comfort and joy.

Herein lies the paradox of faith, actually, between life and death. Two apparent extremes can co-exist on the same line at the same time. Both/And. Peaceful waters. Stormy waters. Same place.

The oceans on this planet represent the most mysterious and unknown region yet to be discovered. Its depths have not yet been fully plumbed. It’s a place of fear and danger, of mystery. As much as oceans determine our weather – la Nina or el Nino – and the amount of water we receive and need, they represent a vast unknowing.

What a beautiful metaphor for God. What a profound image for Jesus who invites us on the journey to follow him our whole life long. Baptism is the Christlike means to launch each of us on this journey of faith. Water and the Word combine to enrich our faith and give us hope.

Indeed, we sail over the tempestuous sea of life. Our world is in storm mode – it may be on a personal level but also on national, and definitely global levels. Danger threatens all about. No wonder we are afraid.

And yet, only when the water moves, and the more it moves, the more energy for life it gives. The powerful impact of waves gets us moving! The ocean, after all, is alive with energy: Roiling waves, crashing surf. According to CBC Radio’s The Current, scientists are now trying to harness the power behind those waves. And the impact could be staggering, providing electricity, experts believe, for up to a third of American homes (Galloway, 2024).

As we ride those turbulent seas, Christ is on the ship with us. We may be perplexed facing a great mystery. We may be afraid to move, to change. But Jesus is with us. Jesus is aware, he knows – even when from our perspective he seems to be asleep in the back of the boat (Mark 4: 35-40). With the Psalmist we can declare, “He who keeps watch will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:3).

Today the church celebrates the reign of Christ. Christ is king. What does that mean? In the Gospel, Jesus tells Pilate that the kingdom of God is not of this world (John 18:33-37). Who and what Christ Jesus is about doesn’t look like the powers of this world.

The water images from the bible suggest the reign of Christ is not one-dimensional. Jesus is in it all – the rain that nourishes, the surf that pounds, the tsunami that terrifies, the floods that wash it all away, the waters that calm and refresh. The contrasts may befuddle and bewilder us. The journey of faith takes us right into the middle of the ambiguity. Yet, Jesus is right there, with us, giving us energy, giving us life – new life.

Jesus watches us and keeps us, no matter what storms we face, no matter how poor the prognosis is, no matter how uncertain the horizon looks, no matter how badly the waves threaten to wash us overboard. Jesus watches us because he loves us and sees us as we truly are. This is the baptismal promise.

Because even when we are submerged in water, the only way out is up. It is the first thing we do when coming out of the waters. To open our mouths and gasp for air we have no choice but to look upwards, to the hills, to the horizon, to the heavens, to the one who reaches out to us.

Christ will stay on board with us until there are no more seas to sail. Jesus will guide our days and travel with us on the journey until the storm clouds break, the sun’s rays shine through, and we can look up again.

Thanks be to God.

Reference:

Galloway, M. (Host). (2024, November 21). Harnessing the oceans waves [transcript]. In The Current. CBC Radio. https://www.cbc.ca/radio/thecurrent/thursday-november-21-2024-full-transcript-1.7390604

God waits, for us

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Towards the sun, through the flame (photo by Martin Malina, October 2024)

Despite condemnation of these acts by public leaders (Alhmidi, 2024), temples, synagogues, mosques and churches in Canada are burning.

A House of Commons report published in September catalogued a chart of statistics showing, by a breakdown of provinces and territories, how between 2010 and 2022 the number of police-reported cases of arson causing significant damage to religious institutions steadily increased from 13 incidents annually to 74.

These stats reflect not only damage to material property but acts of violence against people on site (Government of Canada, 2024 September 16).

Religion has become a target for people’s pain. A church near Eganville (Ottawa Valley) covered their building with tin late last century to protect it in the wake of suspicious fires that destroyed the Lutheran and Catholic church buildings in town at the time. They call it “the tin church”.

Visions of burning churches capture our imaginations. These visions stir up fear and despair. And one of the first things we want to do is to circle the wagons. What is the world coming to?

The Gospel for today (Mark 13:1-8) was first heard in the Jewish-Roman war of 66-70 C.E. Ultimately, in this war the temple in Jerusalem was demolished never to be rebuilt. It didn’t look good for the people of faith in the day, as the outward signs of their religion were torn down and burned.

It feels like ‘the end’ whenever the beloved symbols, forms, and outward appearances of our lives at best change, at worst are destroyed, especially in dramatic fashion and/or through violent conflict.

We feel like we are in the midnight hours of a life when we suddenly lose what we have cherished and become attached to over time. It is a trauma from which many do not recover. Some people struggle under the weighty pain of regret regarding past behaviours. Many today face incredible and what can often feel like and may actually be insurmountable obstacles.

We shake our heads in disbelief. How can the goodness of God prevail in the midst of this harsh reality? Is faith just a pipe dream? Is the kingdom of God merely some illusion to distract ourselves in one of many ways we amuse ourselves to escape from this reality? We look to the Black Friday deals.

There is word, a phrase and an image of Jesus the writer to the Hebrews uses that caught my attention. In verse 12 (Hebrews 10), “When Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God, and since then he has been waiting …”

The writer of Hebrews bears witness to God’s great acts in Jesus of overcoming death and the grave and rising to new life. And then the writer of Hebrews pictures Jesus as sitting down and waiting. You can almost hear a pin drop. There is Jesus dusting off his hands with an attitude of mission-accomplished and slumping into an easy chair with a satisfied grin (Wallace, 2009).

Is this a picture of Christ the first hearers of scripture needed to hear as their temple burned? Isn’t Jesus supposed to rescue people in trouble? Swoop down and pull us out of the hellfire? Doesn’t he care? We get a rather passive image of Jesus sitting, waiting, and doing nothing. We don’t want this Jesus – a God who waits!

Facing the craziness of this world today, trying to cope with all our losses, we want a strong man who will make things right and make us great again!

Hebrews (chapter 10) cites a beloved passage from Jeremiah (31:33-34) where the prophet announces God’s vision of writing God’s covenant, God’s promise, on our hearts and minds (Hebrews 10:16).

What is implied is that the life of faith is not a matter of living under external measures. Our minds, our hearts – that’s where God goes. The life of faith is not validated by blind compliance to the outside demands of the law. The life of faith, rather, is Spirit-driven and a Spirit-given ability to live into the new covenant (Fahey, 2009). In other words, people of faith are called to live a new life, a changed life, from the inside out.

The early church had to hear again the gracious word of God. That is the purpose of this letter to the Hebrews. In facing their losses, they needed to hear again the Gospel promise that God will be faithful (Hebrews 5:12). God has faith in us. God believes in us, trusts us to do our part, to make our move. To be loving. To see in the hearts of everyone we meet the face of God, to be gracious and compassionate, and generous.

This is not a cockeyed optimism. It is not a life based on emotional reactions to outward circumstances. Rather, it is a life practised in hope and trust.

Jesus waits for us to take responsibility for our actions – past and present. Jesus waits for us to forgive ourselves, show compassion to ourselves, as God has already forgiven us and first loved us. We cannot have outward renewal unless and until we experience for ourselves inner renewal and change.

We may not see the victory of God in Christ with the naked eye. But we can hear it again with the naked ear (Long, 2009). The message here is that if you want to know the truth, pay attention not to the evil you see out there, but to the Gospel you hear and receive in here.

We do not rely on external circumstances or outward legalities or protocols to validate our faith nor to justify our actions. Instead, we find, in and through God’s grace, a pathway through devastation and suffering to freedom and salvation.

The time of loss and change signifies an ending to be sure. It is also a new beginning for people of deep faith. To have new life, all things must grow and change. It is no accident that the final words of today’s Gospel are: “This is but the beginning of the birth pangs” (Mark 13:8).

The midnight hour feels heavy buried deep in the shadows. The nighttime of our lives hides all things true from view. But dawn is just a few hours away. In the concluding words of Hebrews 10 (25): “Encourage one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

We need to make the move, towards the light. Because the sun will rise. The son is coming. And that is the surest promise of faith.

References:

Alhmidi, M. (2024, October 15). Video of Trudeau remarks edited to remove his condemnation of church fires. The Canadian Press. https://www.thecanadianpressnews.ca/fact_checking/video-of-trudeau-remarks-edited-to-remove-his-condemnation-of-church-fires/article_d82061e0-4cf5-55c7-83f0-f586a1016a1a.html

Fahey, J. E. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Theological perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Government of Canada. (2024, September 16). Inquiry of ministry Q-2825. House of Commons. Retrieved on 14 November 2024 from https://smartcdn.gprod.postmedia.digital/nationalpost/wp-content/uploads/2024/11/Q-2825-Order.pdf

Long, T. G. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Exegetical perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Wallace, P. M. (2009). Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18), 19-25; Homiletical perspective. In D. Bartlett & B. Brown Taylor (Eds.), Preaching the revised common lectionary; Feasting on the word; Year B, volume 4 (pp. 302-307). WJK Press.

Love – the override button (a funeral sermon)

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View over the Ottawa River at CFB Petawawa, August 2023 (photo by Martin Malina)

One thing Garfield loved to do was drive. When he still lived in Ottawa, he was determined to drive to bible study every Monday even in freezing rain. And as long as he was able, he drove.

In Petawawa, it was his precious cart that he scooted around in the neighbourhood off Laurentian Drive, sometimes pushing the limits of its speed. It’s as if he had a secret override button, that when he pressed it, it would give him just a bit more torque, a little more juice. I think he loved that.

We started the service today with a thanksgiving for baptism. Water.

At a wedding reception I attended last week, I sat beside someone who worked on cruise ships for almost twenty years. I asked him about what stood out in his memory, working on a boat sailing the world over.

He said what stuck out for him were those few times “Man overboard!” was called, those horrifying instances when it was believed someone had fallen into the water.

He told me about a time when a pop music group was celebrating New Years. Its lead singer was especially exuberant and tried to dance on the railing at the back of the ship. His body was never found.

The contrast struck my reflective cruise ship manager. On the one hand going on a cruise symbolizes vacation and fun and good times. Those “man overboard” occasions, on the other hand, were tragic events. How one extreme could exist so close alongside its opposite bewildered him. And me.

Indeed, being in the water can be dangerous business. On the one hand we dream and recite scripture about walking beside quiet and still waters (Psalm 23). Yet, sometimes those waters can get rough. Noah’s flood (Genesis) was not a dreamy Hallmark waterfall. More like the deadly flood waters that devastated Spanish towns in a few terrifying hours, a couple of weeks ago.

Getting into the water, we confront our fears. Getting into the water we become vulnerable. We know the dangers that lurk for humans who are not fish. We can even die, submerged under the water too long.

Waters, even baptismal waters, symbolize both peaceful religious experience as well as potential danger. Waters, even baptismal waters, take us out of our comfort zones as much as they bring comfort and joy.

We gave thanks for baptism at the beginning of this funeral service for Garfield. I want to tell you a baptism story from his life. For the longest time Garfield expressed his desire to renew and reaffirm his baptism. And when A put in the in ground pool at their home, Garfield spent a lot of time over the last couple of summers lounging in that pool.

And so, last July we all got into the pool. I could still see Garfield’s face. He wanted to do this, but I could see a bit of fear in his eyes. And before I could say anything, he had steeled his energy and dipped under. He had just pressed that secret override button.

This was a beautiful experience for me to witness. Garfield expressed his baptismal faith amidst the growing physical challenges he faced. Garfield’s baptismal faith was the marriage between water, will, and divine promise.

Later in the summer he went into the pool again. In those same waters he had an episode that triggered his recent hospitalization. Herein lies the paradox of faith, actually, between life and death. Two apparent extremes can co-exist on the same line at the same time. Both/And. Peaceful waters. Stormy waters. Same place.

In scripture we find many such paradoxes; In First John, between fear and love: “Love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). When love casts out fear, it is not to eliminate it. It is to put it in its proper place. As long as we live on this earth, we will have fear. But love puts our fears in perspective, in the larger perspective. As Garfield did so often, we need to press the love-override button.

While I could already see some trepidation in Garfield’s eyes on the day he reaffirmed his baptism, what carried us through that experience was an overriding love.

He knew the love of God for him. He believed in the promise of God to be with him. Tears came to his eyes every time he spoke of God’s love for him. And, of course, by that I also mean the deep and committed love he felt from his so-called angels – P & A – who lived with him these last years and watched over his days.

When you enter their pool down steps into the water, you basically face the Ottawa River direction, and just over the trees in that direction are the Laurentian Hills. I like to think that even as Garfield descended into the waters, even as he faced both the joys of faith and the fears of being human, he was also literally facing the direction of the hills. No wonder one of his favourite verses from the bible is from Psalm 121: “I look to the hills from whence is my help to come?”

Love calls us to take the long view. I think that’s why Garfield often mentioned wanting to get in a helicopter to see Petawawa from above. Did he ever do that? (Well, he is doing it today!)

Because looking to the hills means lifting our gaze upward. It is the first thing we do when coming out of the waters. To open our mouths and gasp for air we have no choice but to look upwards, to the hills, to the horizon, to the heavens.

Indeed, we sail over the tempestuous sea of life. Our world is in storm mode – it may be on a personal level but also on national, and definitely global levels.

But Christ is on the ship with us. Jesus is in command – even when he seems to be asleep (Mark 4: 35-40). With the Psalmist we can declare, “He who keeps watch will neither slumber nor sleep” (Psalm 121:3).

Jesus watches us to protect us and keep us, no matter what storms we face, no matter how poor the prognosis is, no matter how uncertain the horizon looks, no matter how badly the waves threaten to wash us overboard. Jesus watches us because he loves us and sees us as we truly are. This is the baptismal promise.

Christ will stay on board with us until there are no more seas to sail. Jesus will guide our days and travel with us on the journey until we have climbed the mountain of our lives and reached its peak.

And then, the sky will be the limit. For Garfield, today, it is so.

Thanks be to God.

Jesus’ eye is on the sparrow

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photo by Martin Malina (Aug 26, 2024)

Many of us who love to read fiction, or watch movies, do so not only to find out whodunnit. We continue reading because we expect that a happy or at least satisfyingly good and appropriate ending awaits.

What is more, some hardened book lovers will toil through a dry and thick middle part of a book just to get to the ending trusting it will be well worth the work. Some people in this room today whom I know – not mentioning any names – will even have the audacity to cheat. They will peak ahead to the last page to determine whether or not it is worth their time and energy to plow through those sometimes-boring middle sections of the book.

The lectionary readings for this Sunday deserve a careful reading and re-reading. And you will note that the story of the widow at Zarephath feeding Elijah ends in abundance and promise fulfilled (1 Kings 17:8-16). The lecture in Hebrews about Jesus’ sacrifice for our sins ends in the promise of salvation for those who wait for God. That text ends by explicitly stating that when Jesus comes again it’s not to deal with sin, but to save people (Hebrews 9:24-28).

Judgement and sin are not the end of the story. Mercy, grace, salvation and promise-fulfilled are.

When we read this sacred text thousands of years after it was first written, what do we hear? What do we say? What do we believe about what’s important in our faith?

Last month, the father of liberation theology, Gustavo Gutiérrez, died at age 96. Once considered a revolutionary, his notion of God’s preferential option for the poor, his idea of empathy and advocacy for the poor, have influenced the social teaching of the church over the last century (Friskics-Warren, 2024 October 24).

According to Lutheran theology God is revealed most clearly in the suffering and death of Jesus. The cross therefore becomes the central metaphor for how God comes to us, and in what circumstances of life. God is revealed most profoundly not in glory, not in victory, not in riches, not in greatness, nor in prosperity.

But, rather, in conditions that are the exact opposite. Hence, the missional stance that suggests the voices of the poor, those on the margins, those who don’t have it all, in fact guide the church.

The cross shows us the way of Christ in the world and in the church. It is a humble way, a way of honesty. A way of being vulnerable. A way of asking for and receiving help and love from others. In receiving love we know who we truly are. At very least, we say God is revealed in all things, even in the tragic and sad.

In grief work, we say that sad is not bad (Morris, 2018). Sad may clue us, in fact, to the way forward in faith. What we initially ignore, dismiss, discard, pity, even despise in others and in ourselves may clue us, invite us into the truth of faith.

I think the woman gave her two cents worth, literally, because she trusted God. Hers was the faith in trusting that ultimately what awaited her at the end of her life was not judgement and sin. At the end, for her, was the embrace of a loving God for eternity. What has she to lose?

From his great sermon on the mount, we learn something important about Jesus verified in this Gospel today. Jesus’ eye is on the sparrow, on the littlest bird (Matthew 10:29). Therefore, we know that he watches, not to judge, not to put pressure on us to perform righteously, not to goad us to make a good example for others, not to make us great. No.

Jesus watches to protect us. To love us. To hold us through thick and thin.

The end of our story, your story, is good. Trust that life which God gives, reigns! Trust that love, which is still expressed from time to time in the world, reigns, in the end. Trust that God will not forsake you, that God will not forsake the little ones, that God will give voice in our weakness, that God will rise in the voices of the poor, in their example to us.

Will we listen? Will we watch where Christ looks?

Reference:

Friskics-Warren, B. (2024, October 24). Gustavo Gutiérrez, father of liberation theology, dies at 96. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/10/23/world/americas/gustavo-gutierrez-dead.html?unlocked_article_code=1.W04.MM2s.LBybnrYFAjNp&smid=em-share

Morris, S. (2018). Overcoming grief (2nd ed.). Robinson.