15 seconds – that’s all you need

Posted on May 22, 2026 by raspberryman

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, individually, 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.

Do you first give others the benefit of the doubt? I’m not sure I do.

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).

Relying only on the animal parts of our brains, we remain to this day 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. Because it is based on our ability to trust others.

There are, nevertheless, encouraging signs of growth. Another study about trust showed that, in the business world, companies with high levels of trust between managers and workers “beat the average annualized returns [on the stock market] … 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 an essential quality of 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 is a member 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 that what is happening in those disciples’ lives is not a hangover but 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.
¹⁸Even upon my slaves, both men and women,
in those days I will pour out my Spirit,
and they shall prophesy …
²¹Then 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.

Just as our bodies register the effects of a negative statement, our bodies are also affected by a positive input from someone. But it takes a lot longer for the benefit of that positivity to take healing effect in us. Unlike our millisecond response to a negative comment, it takes 15 seconds for an affirmation and validation to signal health from our brain to our bodies, our emotions and our spirits (Rohr, 2017).

When the grace settles into us, we participate in the sharing of our God-given gift (Kimmerer, 2024). Whether on the receiving end or the giving end, our soul is then revealed in the encounter.

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

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 …

“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. Don’t reject it out of hand. Hold that positive energy in your heart and your body and your mind for 15 seconds. Feel it. Let it curate there, simmer.

Jesus tells his disciples, “Receive the Holy Spirit” (John 20:22).

Saint Paul describes this energy from the Spirit like it is water. He writes in Romans 5:5 — “God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

We are like a sponge that gathers up the water. But a sponge does not hold onto it forever. Nor does it create the water. We are filled with the grace of God — the flowing water of life — so that, saturated, we leak that love into a dry and dusty world (DesCamp, 2025).

Hold it for 15 seconds, at least. 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

DesCamp, T. (2025). Hands like roots: Notes on an entangled contemplative life. Santos Books.

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

Posted on May 15, 2026 by raspberryman

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

Posted on May 9, 2026 by raspberryman

*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

The ‘F’-word

Posted on May 2, 2026 by raspberryman

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 5^th 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

Posted on April 18, 2026 by raspberryman

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

Posted on March 27, 2026 by raspberryman

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.

The power of the pause

Posted on December 14, 2025 by raspberryman

*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.

Even if

Posted on November 15, 2025 by raspberryman

See, the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of hosts, so that it will leave them neither root nor branch. But for you who revere my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings (Malachi 4:1-2a).

Jesus says, “When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified, for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately” (Luke 21:9).

These scriptures can make us feel afraid. We can come away from our bible reading today fearful, scared. Our already heightened sense of foreboding for all the bad things that are happening in the world today is not calmed down by these readings. In fact, these scriptures may serve only to fuel and fan the flames of our terror.

I read recently an interesting fact about our brains. When facing a threat, our brain registers three levels of response in succession. The first response – the first brain mechanism that fires when we are confronted by any threat – is not fight or flight. Whenever we feel threatened, the first level activated by the nervous system, is also not freeze and dissociation. Fight or flight, freeze and numbing, are respectively the second and third responses of the nervous system.

No, the very first brain mechanism that fires when we are threatened, the very first level activated by the brain to the nervous system, is social engagement (Van der Kolk, 2014, p. 82). It is reaching out to others. When we don’t get that, when we miss that first level of reaching out to get the help we need from another person, then the brain trips the second and third activations.

When we read the apocalyptic texts – the end-of-times, doom-and-gloom ones like for today – it makes sense to view these scriptures as messages to a traumatized community of faith that must remain together through their trials.

The follow up question for us, is how can we as people of faith meet the many increasing challenges in our lives in an increasingly hostile and divisive world. What do we do first?

I came across a picture of Jesus sitting in a tiny rowboat with a child. The boat is in the ocean. And coming straight toward them is a towering wave at least ten stories high and just about to crash over them. Jesus and the child are facing each other with a caring, trusting and loving disposition. They’re holding hands.

The caption reads: Fear is: “What if …” Faith is, “Even if ….” “What if” thinking only stokes the catastrophic thinking and anxiety plaguing so many of us today. What if I get sick? What if I make a mistake? What if I miss my opportunity? What if I lose a relationship I cherish? What if I lose my job? What if, What if, What if? “What if” thinking is based in fear and usually creates unhealthy stress and reinforces unhelpful behaviour.

On the other hand, people of faith will practice saying, “Even if”. After all, Jesus says these terrible things “must take place first” (Luke 21:9). It’s not even a question of whether or not, really. Eventually all of us must confront our greatest fears.

So, even if that proverbial wave crashes down over the tiny boat submerging its occupants in the turmoil and crushing weight of water, Jesus goes down with us. Jesus is not afraid to encounter with us our worst fears. Jesus is not afraid to be with us through it all, even dying, because he’s gone through it himself. Our worst-case scenario, he’s been there done that.

So even when the worst thing happens, you will not be alone. Even if you lose everything, you will not be abandoned. Even if your limitations grow and you can no longer function the way you used to, you still have purpose, and you still are loved.

The cross of Christ can enable us to live despite all that challenges us, all the difficulties we face. We gaze on the cross because the story is not over at the foot of the cross.

Our hope is sustained because we are not alone. Being in community creates a larger context for our lives, a meaning beyond our individual fate. We face the proverbial music together.

And I think that’s the point of these scriptures. They are addressed not to individuals, but to communities whose suffering is held together. Recall, that the early followers of Jesus in those first centuries were persecuted and run underground, literally. To survive, those groups of individuals needed to stick together. Given the harsh reality facing people of faith at the time, these texts served as propaganda for their time – a kind of pep talk, motivational piece – aiming to provide solidarity for communities under duress.

I read recently that when the traditional creeds – the Apostles and Nicene – were developed and composed between the 2^nd and 4^th centuries, that the phrase – “communion of saints” – was the last phrase added to the Creed. The last phrase, why is that? Is it because it took a while for those early Christians to realize how important it was to be in community when facing a personal and collective crisis – of faith, of health, of personal safety? (Rohr, 2025).

In one another’s care, when we make space and hold space for each other’s suffering, that’s where we encounter the living presence of Jesus in our midst. That’s where Christ is present.

I came across a beautiful description of an ancient pilgrimage ritual, “when hundreds of thousands of people would ascent to the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, the focal point of Jewish religious and political life in the ancient world.

“The crowd would enter the Courtyard in a mass of humanity, turning to the right and circling – counterclockwise – around the enormous complex, exiting close to where they had entered.

“But someone suffering … the grieving, the lonely, the sick – someone to whom something awful had happened – that person would walk through the same entrance and circle in the opposite direction. Just as we do when we’re hurting: every step, against the current. And every person who passed the brokenhearted would stop and ask: “What happened to you?” “I lost my mother,” the bereaved would answer. “I miss her so much.” Or perhaps, “My husband left.” Or, “I found a lump.” “Our son is sick.” “I just feel so lost.”

“Two thousand years ago, the Rabbis constructed a system of ritual engagement built on a profound psychological insight: when you’re suffering … you show up. You root your suffering in the context of care … You don’t pretend that you’re okay. You’re not okay … the whole world moves seamlessly in one direction and you in another. And even still, you trust that you won’t be marginalized, mocked, misunderstood. In this place, you will be held, even at the ragged edge of life.

“And those who walked from right to left – each one of them – would look into the eyes of the ill, the bereft, and the bereaved. “May God comfort you,” they would say, one by one. “May you be wrapped in the embrace of this community.” “What’s your story? Why does your heart ache?” And after the grief-stricken person answers, you would respond, “I see you, you are not alone.” (Brous, 2024, pp. 3-5).

Our instinct, in facing a threat or some kind of suffering, is to fight, or to retreat, to avoid, to isolate, to hide from others and give up. The tradition of faith, the good parts, are all about resisting those urges and activating what our brain structures are already, naturally wired for.

So, when you meet tough times, if anything, show up. What does showing-up look like for you? It may be faithfully watching the online, weekly services of worship. It may be coming in person to church services every week, once a month, seasonally, or whenever you are able. It may mean asking a friend to drive you to church. However it looks like for you, enter into the spaces and places where people of faith gather. Enter into those places and spaces even if it means swimming against the current.

And if you are not suffering when you go to worship, open your hearts and ears to receive and to validate the stories of those who are. And you will be giving them a great gift.

The gift of Christ’s presence.

References:

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

Rohr, R. (2025). The tears of things: Prophetic wisdom for an age of outrage. Convergent.

Van der Kolk, B. A. (2014). The body keeps the score: Brain, mind, and body in the healing of trauma. Penguin.

Reception and release

Posted on October 4, 2025 by raspberryman

“Increase our faith!” the disciples ask Jesus (Luke 17:5). Perhaps they in so doing expose their underlying belief that they are not good enough at practising their faith. “Increase our faith!” is their prayer.

And perhaps yours, too.

What does it mean, to have more faith? What does that look like?

When my beef tomato plant yielded hundreds of blooms early in the summer my hopes soared. But as the blooms turned into tiny green golf-balls, then turned yellow and grew finally into the large, red ripened tomatoes, the vast majority of them had a problem.

Even in the premature, un-ripened stage all of them with very few exceptions showed signs of rot, starting from the bottom up. Many of these rotten tomatoes didn’t even have a bottom. It looked like someone had sliced off the bottom half which was flat and blackened.

At a critical stage early in the plant’s development, the tomato plant did not get what it needed. When I looked up this problem, the experts suggested this plant did not receive the requisite amount of calcium. The soil, in other words, did not provide this plant with the needed nutrients mediated by regular watering.

But it was not just about what was missing, but when. As soon as I noticed the first tiny green tomato with the rot back in July, and did my research, I started watering the plant, even soaking the ground, every evening. But it was too late. I’d missed that critical stage in its development. Early on in its growth, that is when the watering and soil treatment should have happened.

“Increase our faith!” The disciples asked Jesus to strengthen what they probably perceived to be their weak faith. They had just heard Jesus’ difficult teaching on the need to forgive others who have hurt them (Luke 17:1-4). They likely felt unable to do this and concluded that they didn’t have enough faith. They may even have gotten down on themselves. Not having enough faith translated into being a bad person.

Jesus responds with a parable to temper their expectations. To sum it up, I can hear Jesus ask them a rhetorical question: “Who do you think you are, God?”

As far as gardening goes, I felt like a failure.

A couple of things I need to remember regarding my disappointing tomato plant experience: First, we did get a few, really good, juicy-sweet tomatoes from it. It wasn’t a total loss.

Second, I might do well to recall my part in its growth. And this ties in with the act of blessing, which we have engaged in this morning. Because when we give a blessing, how are the blessing’s gifts realized? After all, the blessing’s benefits must be received in order for the blessing to be fulfilled. It’s not just the giving but the receiving as well.

The action of blessing our pets is a good exercise of faith for us today, because, of course, we have little way of verifying scientifically that our blessing confers anything of value on our pet. They can’t even say, “Thank you, I feel better already.” But we still do it, faithfully if imperfectly. And that is the important piece.

Is it not the same relating with human beings? In our stuffed-up pride, we may like to believe that our caring and our words and our blessing actions must have a positive effect on those whom we bless when we can see and verify it by their changed behaviour, or whatever. The value of our prayers, our service, our words become contingent on a verifiable result. And when we don’t have that result immediately, we may lose faith in ourselves and in God.

My gardening failure, taken as a metaphor to failing at all my righteous attempts to do good, doesn’t mean I’m weak in my faith or not praying hard enough. When you experience failure, it doesn’t mean your faith is deficient.

The paradox is that for anything great to happen, for any wondrous change to occur for the better, we first must accept ourselves as we are, with all our limits and weaknesses. Whenever we avoid, mask, pretend and think more and expect more from us than what is, we often run into trouble and bring about the opposite of what we seek.

After the first week of training and orientation at my practicum site last month, I felt I had a tentative and yet untested grip on all the policies, procedures and digital charting protocols. I was just beginning to understand how things operated in the office, receiving referrals from the doctors and using the proper charting process, never mind the actual practice of counselling clients.

There are, including me, four psychotherapists in our department. On one day in the second week, it so happened that the other three were not in the office. For the whole day, I was it, the only therapist on site.

I wondered, at first, why I had been left all by myself. There were still things I wasn’t sure about. But I managed through all the hiccups and logistics that challenged me that day. I figured out solutions, if only temporary. As the day wore on, I found more confidence in myself and found an unexpected pride in occupying that space and role for the day.

Later I reflected how important that experience was for me not to lean on the crutch of more experienced professionals at my beck and call to help me. I appreciated the faith my colleagues had in me to leave me alone in their office and on their computers. It was, in truth, an important part of my learning.

They had faith in me! God has faith in me, and God has faith in you!

The prayer to God, “Increase our faith” is learning to trust the faith that God already has in us especially when things are stressful, tense and not going our way – when we’re not on our game, when we are suffering, grieving, losing.

Let me repeat: Increasing our faith looks more like the practice of receiving and trusting in the faith of God in us, when we are not at our best.

This Gospel is about God validating the faith already in us, never mind how strong or weak it is. The real question is – Do we trust the incredible faithfulness God has in us? Do we trust God’s faithfulness in us,

enough faith to let us make our own mistakes,

enough faith to let us make our own decisions with the resources we already have,

enough faith to let us meet those tough days without giving up,

enough faith to let us use what we already have for good,

enough faith to meet our seemingly insurmountable challenges with courage,

enough faith to trust we are never out of the reach of God’s love, mercy, grace and forgiveness.

Our new national bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada (ELCIC), the Rev. Bishop Larry Kochendorfer, said recently: “We do not fully know the future, but we have what we need. We have bread and wine, we have the scriptures, we have each other … Jesus comes alongside. Love is at our side.”

The blessing we receive from God is God’s faith in us. The blessing is the gift of accepting that God believes in us because God loves us. And this is the blessing we give to others.

When we bless others, we have faith in them, in their abilities to meet their own challenges with the resources, and the God-given capacities they have, to grow and flourish.

“Increase our faith, Lord. Help us lean on the faith you have in your creation. Help us trust you have given us enough of what we need to live by your grace and love.”

Amen.

Heaven’s perspective

Posted on September 27, 2025 by raspberryman

I surprised myself by how much more reading I’m getting done. More than I had expected. I suppose I underestimated how many audio books I would be listening to while driving up to Pembroke several times a week for my counselling practicum.

But this book I read the old-fashioned way – paper copy in hand (but not while driving, let me assure you!).

In his book entitled, “The Plover” (a plover is a shorebird), the late Brian Doyle authors a fictional tale about the seafaring travels of Declan and his crew aboard the boat called, you guessed it, the Plover.

One of his crew members is a seagull – yes, a seagull – who accompanies the Plover across the Pacific Ocean. Through storm and gale, calm and quiet, the gull is a faithful companion who, unbeknownst to the crew, tries to communicate to them. Sitting on the deck, or flying 9 feet above the stern, the gull makes remarks about their idiosyncrasies, dangers ahead, islands that exist just beyond the horizon they cannot yet see (Doyle, 2014, pp. 188-190).

This communication only the reader understands. However, Declan and his mates, for the most part, only hear what we normally hear from seagulls – a whole lot of squawking.

There is another character in the story who reflects a little bit of the gull’s perspective, a visionary or prophet you might say, who is not understood. He is referred to simply as the “minister” – a political one.

Before joining the crew, he was violently kicked out of his island home, for proposing an unacceptable vision for his Pacific nation. The minister was rejected because he described a reality he believed in, but for most, unrealistic. He envisioned people actually getting along.

This political vision was largely a dream. It existed over the horizon of human experience. The minister’s vision was the way of non-violence, care and empathy. It was a way of the future just around the proverbial bend of human history. This minister spoke of making the impossible possible (Doyle, 2014, pp. 185-187).

You think it’s impossible that human beings separated by culture, politics and religion can be caring, loving, and compassionate to one another, despite all our differences? Maybe we need to think again.

In the Gospel reading today, we, the reader, observe the story of the rich man from the perspective of heaven (Luke 16:19-31). We see the big picture of rich man’s life, and his life after death.

The rich man’s life is marked by privilege and wealth. His life on earth was the gold standard. His life is what everyone aspired to, what everybody wanted.

Contrast that with his life after death. His life after death comes as a surprise to him, and perhaps to us as well. Why would someone as great and successful and privileged as the rich man end up in hell? This Gospel flies in the face of a belief which rewards the prosperous in which you must earn your worth, where the value of your personal worth is equal to how much money you have. I’m describing the world’s values.

The perspective of heaven, in contrast, announces that while the rich man may have reached the top of the ladder according to the world’s values, he had been, in the end, climbing the wrong ladder.

But the crux of this story is what lies in-between. Between these two realities that only the perspective of heaven can see lies a great chasm. In the story, Abraham tells the condemned rich man that this chasm “has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there” back (Luke 16:26). No one can breach this chasm, this divide. The realm of the afterlife, and the realm on earth are divided. And no crossing over is possible.

We can wrap us this sermon here and say that nothing is impossible with Christ. Christ makes all things possible, against all odds. By miraculous, supernatural means, even. To justify our claim, many of us Christians quote that famous verse from Paul’s letter to the Philippians: “I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me” (4:13). True.

But that verse is not a promise of guaranteed success in every personal endeavor. All things being possible is not a mission statement for doing the impossible according to what I want – my individual desires or longings, or even what the world values.

Rather, all things possible in Christ means all things are possible on earth according to the perspective of heaven, according to God’s vision, God’s future, God’s desire. All things are possible pursuing the righteousness of God, the mission of God.

We may not be in a position now to be able to believe that human beings can relate to one another with empathy, with compassion, with grace and love. You may not believe now that it is possible for people in your life to change for the better, for all wars to cease, for the lion to lie down with the lamb (Isaiah 11:6), for combatants to lay down the sword, for anger to be transformed into a desire for justice.

But maybe it doesn’t matter whether you can believe this claim. Maybe all that matters now is that the idea lies within you now, that the word of grace resides in you like a seed waiting to sprout.

Why?

Because this bible story from Luke is not over, on different levels. First, we don’t know whether the rich man’s brothers changed for the better or not. That story is yet to be written.

Same with us. The story of your life is not over. The story of my life. There is a reason the rich man remains nameless in this story. Because the rich man is us.

Furthermore, the story of Lazarus and the rich man is not over from the perspective of Christ’s resurrection. In the story, Abraham speaks “as if” someone rises from the dead (Luke 16:31). But someone later did! Jesus overcame the chasm separating this life from the next. Jesus overcame death and grave and opened to all people the way of everlasting life.

This past summer I’ve also watched more movies than I usually do. In the film, “The Gorge” (Apple Original Films, 2025), Cold War soldiers have kept watch over a mysterious and deep canyon since the end of the Second World War. The bottom of this gorge is shrouded in mist.

Decades after decades highly trained soldiers took turns alone at the watch towers on either side, but no one ever spoke nor communicated in any way with their counterpart. The two soldiers, from opposites sides of an impossible divide whom we meet in this film, finally do cross over, literally and figuratively. And what finally breached the divide was love. It’s a love story.

In a pivotal scene the deadly creatures climbed up from the bottom of the gorge and began to attack one of the outposts at the top. The soldier from the other side fired a grappling hook, so he could zip-line across to help defend the other from their common foe. He was motivated by self-giving love which put him at great, personal risk.

Jesus’ resurrection means that eternity starts now. The bridge over the chasm separating this life from the next is already built. God’s love for us breaches this deep and wide chasm that separates us from God and from one another. We who journey in the way of Christ always have a chance to grow, to change, to be transformed into the likeness of Jesus. Because the God of love is a God of second chances.

Even though we may stumble from time to time doing the right thing, even though we, like the rich man, fail to see the need of Lazarus at our gate time and time again (Malina, 2016), we don’t stop trying. Because Jesus’ resurrection lives in us.

The chasm can be breached, with Love as our guide. That is our hope.

References:

Derrickson, S. (Director). (2025). The gorge [Film]. Apple Original Films.

Doyle, B. (2014). The Plover. Picador.

Malina, M. (2016). Mirage gates [Blog]. WordPress. https://raspberryman.ca/2016/09/23/mirage-gates/

Raspberryman

Welcome to Raspberryman. I hope you will find in these words and books inspiration, some entertainment, and ideas to find grace in the world today.

Tag Archives: bible

15 seconds – that’s all you need

The link of love is never broken

Staying in the void

The ‘F’-word

Journey of joy

The body of Jesus

The power of the pause

Even if

Reception and release

Heaven’s perspective