Tag Archives: bible

Spelling the Word

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We are in the season of gift-giving. But during Christmas we must also be able to receive those gifts given to us. And receiving that gift, celebrating it, using it – can be just as challenging if not more so than giving.

The question throughout Advent – the four weeks of preparation before Christmas – challenged us to watch and wait, to let go and forgive, to shed those distractions of our lives, to give of ourselves for the sake of others. These were the disciplines of Advent.

But now the gift of Christ is given to us. The Gospel states that the light of the world has come; the light has shone in the darkness, a light no darkness can overcome. This is the gift of God, the life of Jesus, to the world (John 1:3-5)

How shall we receive this most precious gift? And how does this gift make a positive difference in our lives shrouded in darkness?

The answer may lie in how well you can spell. How’s your spelling? I learned how to spell by doing reps; I had to practice spelling a word. I also learned how to spell by getting beyond the disappointment of the mistakes, mistakes which were bound to happen no matter how good I was at spelling.

The famous artist, Rembrandt (1606-1669), painted the “Holy Family” in the 17th century. In the painting, he portrays the nativity as if it were an event taking place in 17th century Holland. The attire and furnishings are what one would find in a typical Dutch home from Rembrandt’s own day.

In addition to Joseph standing and an angel hovering in the background, Mary is seated at the centre of the painting with an opened, well-thumbed book, presumably the Bible, held open by her left hand. Her right hand, on the top of a rocking cradle, has pulled aside a covering to reveal a soundly sleeping Jesus. Mary’s head is turned from the book to gaze upon the infant.

Whether or not Rembrandt intended it, the painting represents different ways to encounter and understand the ‘word of God’:

On the one hand, there are the Scriptures, the book that Mary has been reading as Jesus sleeps and Joseph works in the background. The Word of God is to be found in the Bible. We read the words and find we are addressed by the Word of God. We read them again and again – like learning how to spell. That is why the book is well-thumbed. Rembrandt pictures Mary as one who knows well the word of God and who ponders it in her heart.

But she does not ponder the page alone. She also ponders the infant beside her, “the Word made flesh”, rather than the Word made paper and ink. The Word is a blood-warmed, breath-enlivened human sleeping beside his mother.

I have the impression looking at this painting that when Mary returns to her reading, she will understand what she reads at a greater depth because she has encountered the Word through the Word made flesh. At the same time, when she tends to the child, she will understand the child at a greater depth because she has encountered the Word through the words in the book. Back and forth between Word made flesh and Word through words is the pattern suggested by Rembrandt’s painting.

This is how we learn to ‘spell’ our baptism in Christ — learning not only the words in the Bible, but more importantly for us Christians living in the 21st century, learning to know the living Christ in our hearts and in others and in the world today. “The Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14).

How do we live Christ in the world today? How do we tend to the Christ child in our midst?

Let the light be seen! Let the good gift of Christ within us shine forth anew, for the world to see! Those words are spoken at every baptism to the baptized: “Let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven!” (Matthew 5:16). The light wasn’t meant to be hidden under a bushel, but put on a lampstand (Matthew 5:15)!

You hold the light of Christ in your heart. There is no justification to hide it. There is some good there that the world so desperately needs. And you have it!

A royal priesthood we are! A holy nation! God’s own people! In order that we might proclaim Christ (1Peter 2:9). Martin Luther argued for the ‘priesthood of believers’. In other words, we all receive the grace of God for ministry, not just the religious professionals. That is why the baptized receives a crown – we are all now princes and princesses in the kingdom of God.

How do we live out our priesthood?

Another artist, perhaps not as well known, lived during the same time as Rembrandt. George Herbert’s life (1593-1633) overlapped with Rembrandt’s. Although the poet and painter may never have met or even known of each other’s work, I find it interesting to consider Rembrandt’s “Holy Family” in light of some lines from Herbert’s poem that resonate with the first chapter of John’s Gospel: “We say amiss, this or that is; Thy word is all, if we could spell.”

How do we ‘spell’ the Word of God? Listen to a portion of a poem written by Thomas Troeger (in Feasting on the Word Year A Volume 1, WJK Press, Louisville, 2010, p.189-193):

“How do you spell the word? /Where do you search and look – /Amidst the chaos and cries you’ve heard /Or in a well-thumbed book? /Hold back the swift reply, /The pious, worn cliché … /Instead, let all you do /Embody truth and grace, /And you will spell the word anew /In every time and every place.”

I must admit I had to practice a few times spelling ‘Kirubakaran’ before getting it right. Every name has meaning – this is also something we learn from the Christmas story: starting with the name of the newborn Messiah, Jesus – Immanuel, God is with us – the salvation of the world (Matthew 1:18/Isaiah 7:14). I was pleased when you told me that the name Roselyn takes, in your native language, means literally – “Christ who gives mercy.”

Today, as Rose is baptized, she receives the great gift of Christ in her life. May she grow to know, and live out, this mercy, forgiveness and grace.

May we all spell the word anew in every time and every place.

Discerning God’s ways

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How can we tell if it’s God’s voice we’re hearing? Joseph receives the call from God to remain in a committed relationship with Mary … in a dream, of all things (Matthew 1:18-25). And Joseph listens, and acts accordingly. His decision has huge ramifications – the salvation of the world!

No loudspeaker from the heavens, no dove descending, no John the Baptist screaming, no SMS messaging that beeps a notification on our smart phone. But a dream – which is internal, psychological and in the purview of what many of us rational types might deem a “wishy-washy” medium for trust-worthy communication.

But, if this is valid, then what would we make of it? How can we discern God’s way of talking to us?

The Gospel suggests at least a couple of clues. First, in Joseph’s dream the angel cites a scripture from Isaiah – that a virgin will bear a son and name him Immanuel (7:14). Joseph, being a righteous man (v.19), would have been familiar with these sacred and traditional texts from his faith.

So, no matter how strange and even other- or inner-worldly the news from God may come to us, the divine message appeals to, and is grounded in, some aspect of our faith tradition; in this case, the Scriptures.

The second clue lies in the nature of our expectations. The story of Jesus’ baby birth in a lowly barn dashed all popular, first-century Palestinian expectations of how the mighty Messiah was to come triumphantly. So, too, with us: When God communicates with us, it is not exactly what we expect.

If we’re the ones initiating and following through on what we think God wants us to do – will we not get what we expect, what we have planned? Perhaps, sometimes, if we’re in total control. But I suspect more often than not, God’s call to us will fly in the face of all our planning, all our expectations. Very likely, God’s call to us to do something will surprise us.

And like Joseph’s experience, what may at first seem a ridiculous, unpopular and lowly proposition will turn out to be the most amazing and life-changing journey, for the sake of the world that God so loved.

And at the end of that journey, we realize that there could not have been written a more appropriate and better script for our lives. For, our true needs and desires are met, albeit in unexpected ways, should we follow.

Like in The Tale of Three Trees (A Traditional Folktale, retold by Angela Elwell Hunt, Lion Publishing, Colorado Springs CO, text copyright 1989)

“Once upon a mountaintop, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become when they grew up.

“The first little tree looked up at the stars twinkling like diamonds above him. ‘I want to hold treasure,’ he said. ‘I want to be covered with gold and filled with precious stones. I will be the most beautiful treasure chest in the world!’

“The second tree looked out at the small stream trickling to the ocean. ‘I want to be a strong sailing ship,’ he said. ‘I want to travel mighty waters and carry powerful kings. I will be the strongest ship in the world!’

“The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and busy women worked in a busy town. ‘I don’t want to leave this mountaintop at all,’ she said. ‘I want to grow so tall that when people stop to look at me they will raise their eyes to heaven and think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world!’

“Years passed. The rains came, the sun shone, and the little trees grew tall. One day three woodcutters climbed the mountain.

“The first woodcutter looked at the first tree and said, ‘This tree is beautiful. It is perfect for me.’ With a swoop of his shining axe, the first tree fell. ‘Now I shall be made into a beautiful chest,’ thought the first tree. ‘I shall hold wonderful treasure.’

“The second woodcutter looked at the second tree and said, ‘This tree is strong. It is perfect for me.’ With a swoop of his shining axe, the second tree fell. ‘Now I shall sail mighty waters,’ thought the second tree. ‘I shall be a strong ship fit for kings!’

“The third tree felt her heart sink when the last woodcutter looked her way. She stood straight and tall and pointed bravely to heaven. But the woodcutter never even looked up. ‘Any kind of tree will do for me,’ he muttered. With a swoop of his shining axe, the third tree fell.

“The first tree rejoiced when the woodcutter brought him to a carpenter’s shop, but the busy carpenter was not thinking about treasure chests. Instead his work-worn hands fashioned the tree into a feed box for animals. The once beautiful tree was not covered with gold or filled with treasure. He was coated with sawdust and filled with hay for hungry barn animals.

“The second tree smiled when the woodcutter took him to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing ships were being made that day. Instead the once-strong tree was hammered and sawed into a simple fishing boat. Two small and too weak to sail an ocean or even a river, he was taken to a little lake. Every day he brought in loads of dead, smelly fish.

“The third tree was confused when the woodcutter cut her into strong beams and left her in a lumberyard. ‘What happened?’ the once tall tree wondered. ‘All I ever wanted to do was stay on the mountaintop and point to God.’

“Many, many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in the feed box. ‘I wish I could make a cradle for him,’ her husband whispered. The mother squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the smooth and sturdy wood. ‘This manger is beautiful,’ she said. And suddenly the first tree knew he was holding the greatest treasure in the world.

“One evening a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the old fishing boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out into the lake. Soon a thundering storm arose. The little tree shuddered. He knew he did not have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through the wind and rain. The tired man awakened. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and said, ‘Peace.’ The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. And suddenly the second tree knew he was carrying the King of heaven and earth.

“One Friday morning, the third tree was startled when her beams were yanked from the forgotten woodpile. She flinched as she was carried through an angry, jeering crowd. She shuddered when soldiers nailed a man’s hands to her. She felt ugly and harsh and cruel.

“But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy beneath her, the third tree knew that God’s love had changed everything. It had made the first tree beautiful. It had made the second tree strong. And every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God. That was better than being the tallest tree in the world.”

John the Baptist’s day of reckoning

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They say that even the most confident, bold and courageous people have soft hearts. Those of us who may instinctively flinch at John the Baptist’s energetic – even vitriolic – outburst against the Pharisees, and loyal deference to Jesus Christ in his speech from last week’s Gospel (Matthew 3:1-12); those of us who would question his insensitive, uncaring, and offensive style – we might pause today in light of this Gospel story about John the Baptist (Matthew 11:2-11).

For what we see here is a more nuanced, man of faith no longer ranting out of a dogmatic cut-and-dry confidence. But a soft, vulnerable heart. He is much more than an in-your-face, sock-it-to-them extremist and extrovert. Here we get a peek at his vulnerability and the depth of his soul. Maybe it’s because he knew he was close to his death.

At Nelson Mandela’s memorial service in South Africa last week, U.S. President Obama said that Mandela’s strength was “sharing with us [that is, the world] his doubts and fears.”

In prison, John the Baptist expresses his doubts as to whether the man he had rooted for all these years was truly the Messiah. Was his entire life calling to herald the coming Christ all for naught? Like the doubting Thomas would later, John the Baptist seriously questioned whether this Jesus who ate and hung out with sinners, Romans, and tax collectors was the man whom they all expected would save them from those very sinners. John the Baptist’s insecurity is telling, especially when placed in contrast with the early depiction of him crying out brashly in the wilderness.

How does Jesus respond to John’s expressions of doubt? With not only encouragement and affirmation. But Jesus also lifts John’s ministry up. Jesus doesn’t scold John for doubting. Jesus calls him “the greatest” person alive.

I hope John heard that good news. It is a path of hardship John the Baptist undertook, without question. It was a hard path of rejection, ridicule and suffering John endured being a prophet and preparing the way of the Lord. And yet, it is also a path tempered with grace. Because the grace of God came to John in prison; when he really couldn’t do anything to change his unfortunate circumstances – that’s when he received a word of blessing from the One for whom he had prepared the way.

God is always up to something

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“… you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armour of light” Romans 13:11-12

When the first spell of wintery weather hit last week, I instinctively plugged in the new lawn ornament we purchased for display during the holiday season. Normally, we wait until later in December to light it all up. But with the advent of the storm, and the dissipating daylight by mid-afternoon, I felt I needed a boost of light to distract me from the dark thoughts of coming winter.

We had a family gathering that afternoon. And as family members gazed  out the picture window at the front of our house onto the lawn now covered by a couple inches of snow, they laughed. I didn’t anticipate that this six-foot tall Christmas tree would blink in sequences and bright colours enough to light up the whole yard. “Looks like the Vegas strip now on Ida Street,” I joked, thinking of all the shopping still on my ‘to do’ list and all the things that needed to be done. I felt the shroud of stress envelope my being.

That’s why Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas, may be one of the most difficult seasons for Christians to observe. Most attempts in our culture to cover the darkness, literally and figuratively, only ramp up the anxiety, the fear and even the feelings of isolation that the festive season brings.

And yet, annual celebrations like Christmas are meant to transform our lives for the better. The message of God’s incarnation (Jesus, the Son of God, being born into human flesh) is transformative since now, in faith, we know God has entered our reality and changed forever the fabric of creation.

But how can the stress and incessant activity of the season contribute positively to our well-being, healing and growth? I don’t think it can, unless we give ourselves permission to hold off from fully embracing the joy of Christmas. Holding off may seem counterproductive and counterintuitive. Yet, the wisdom of the ages suggests that in order to see the new thing, we must first be willing to let go of what is not helpful. In other words, there’s some work we first have to do.

The prophet Isaiah announced the new thing which ushered Israel’s return to their homeland around Jerusalem. In order to start on that path, however, they would have to release their attachments to Babylon. “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Isaiah 43:18-19).

The Israelites, apparently, had a ‘vision’ problem. They, as the way opened for them to return home, could not visualize such a Godly freedom and transformation of their lives for the good; they could not see God at work making a way out of their problem for them.

This pattern of being blinded to God’s work has repeated throughout the sacred stories of scripture: The same we read when the Israelites, centuries before, escaped bondage in Egypt, but spent decades wandering in the desert to find their “promised land”. Rev. Riitta Hepomaki, assistant to the Bishop, quoted on twitter this week the words of Peter Steinke who wrote: “It took one year to get the Israelites out of Egypt, but forty years to get Egypt out of the Israelites. We like familiar patterns” (@RiittaHepomaki).

Perhaps we, too, are like those ancient Israelites. We get stuck in familiar patterns. We limit ourselves, therefore, from seeing what God is up to.

So, we have to practice letting go. This is what liturgical season like Advent, and practices of prayer like Christian Meditation offer to us: Opportunities to contemplate, reflect and surrender those habits of the ego that merely gloss over the darkness of our lives.

How do we let go of fear, isolation, cynicism and defensiveness? How can we lay aside those things that do not, in the end, satisfy? How can we put on that which is good and wholesome?

Well, we first have to embrace the darkness, not circumvent it. God will make a way through the desert, not around it. We need to acknowledge the fear, the defensiveness, the isolation and the cynicism which normally hides the true light from shining. Like a piece of clothing, in order to take it off, we first must get a good grip on it. We need to ‘own’ it in order to cast it away.

This is why Advent is the time for confession, silence, stillness, penitence, waiting and preparation. These weeks leading up to Christmas give us an opportunity to prepare our hearts for the true joy, the true light that always comes into the world — not to get distracted by the glitz and hustle that, in the end, only keep us stuck in those familiar patterns of blindness to the truth.

When we pause to take stock, and honestly confess the truth that we are afraid, that we are defensive, that we are cynical, that we are isolated, etc. — the true light and joy comes not because of anything we can muster up, fabricate, manipulate or engineer. True happiness does not come in me plugging in that blinking Christmas tree on the front lawn — as much as I thought instinctively it might.

True joy comes when we wait for it. In the slowing down, pausing, and calm presence of ourselves, we can see better the gift that comes to us in the moment. Saint Paul seems pretty adamant  in his letter to the Romans to stress that it is “NOW”, in this moment that our salvation has come. It is in the ordinary, commonplace, unspectacular activities of our daily lives that matters most to Christ’s coming to us. Do we not see it?

The story is told of a wise Rabbi who had many students come to him for advice. Once, a younger student came to the Rabbi and asked, “How can we tell when the dawn has arrived? How can we tell the difference between night and day?” It was a good question, the Rabbi acknowledged, since early in the morning the change is not easily perceptible: One moment it is night, the next it is already day — but when is the exact moment when it changes over?

“You know the night is gone, and the day has arrived,” the Rabbi responded, “when the faces of those around you in the dark are no longer mere shadows that all look the same, but when you can finally recognize who that person actually is, standing in front of you, when the light allows it.”

The Light of Christ is coming. God is always up to something good, even in the darkness. Even when we don’t feel like it. Even when the stress amps up for the season. Even when we have difficulty letting go of familiar patterns. God is up to something, always.

So, in the meantime as we struggle to let go, let us learn to wait in the darkness, standing together. And then rejoice, when the light does come to illuminate our way and the gift of those near to us. In Christ.

Prayer power; moving from dilemma to choice

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It may seem strange to hear this Gospel (Luke 23:33-43) for the Festival of Christ the King. At first glance, this traditional Good Friday text at the end of November seems as odd to me as Christmas in July.

So, right off the bat, we are faced with a paradox on at least a couple of levels. First, the demonstration of the kind of God we follow flies in the face of everything the world values as powerful; a king who suffers for us and becomes vulnerable in a self-giving sacrifice?! He was an object of sport and scorn. No wonder the people around the cross laughed at him: A naked, nailed-down Jesus was scarcely a powerful king.

He was, instead, a sign of failure, weakness and incompetence. This is just not the way the game is played today in the echelons of power, right?

And yet, we Christians believe that the crucifixion of Jesus is actually his moment of greatest power. To lend weight to this truth, the placement of this text a month before Christmas invites us – indeed, prods us – to reflect again on the meaning of our discipleship.

Perhaps those who devised the lectionary were wise. Because the crucifixion of Jesus is not only a record of history to be read and remembered during Holy Week when we recall Jesus last, tortured days on earth. The crucifixion of Jesus demonstrates the whole point of our identity and mission as followers of Christ. In other words, Jesus’ reign reveals values of a kingdom relevant to us today. Jesus preached, “The kingdom of God is near!” (Luke 21:31); and, “The kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17:21). This is a recognition that dramatically turns our reality upside down, if we choose to live it so.

Ultimately, should we follow this king we say we worship, this paradox must be resolved. But how do we resolve this strange juxtaposition of heavenly value of power reflecting vulnerability, surrender and mercy on the one hand; and on the other, the earthly value of power reflecting competition, judgment and comparisons? I believe this paradox must resolve itself not merely in a dilemma to be thought and talked about, but a choice that leads to behavior and action.

I remember a story my mom told me once when I was younger that helped me when I had questions about how to follow Jesus in this world: “There once was a great king,” she said, “that decided to share his wealth with his subjects. The king had a spacious compound right in front of his castle and marked it off with a large stone wall. In the compound he placed all his treasures and at its centre he positioned his throne.

“Then he sat down, called his subjects together and announced, ‘I am about to share all of my treasures with you. Choose whatever you wish in this compound — and it is yours. Choose wisely, and do not leave the area until I have dismissed you.’

“So his subjects began to scramble over his possessions, taking whatever they wished. In the hubbub, an elderly woman, small in stature and great in years, approached the king to ask, ‘ Your majesty, have I understood you correctly? If I choose anything in this compound, it will be mine?’ ‘Yes,’ the king assured her that she had understood correctly and he invited her, again, to choose wisely.

“The woman paused for a moment deep in thought. Then she looked hard at the king and said, ‘Your majesty, I choose you!‘ The crowd grew silent at her words, waiting to hear the king’s response. The king smiled at the woman and said, ‘You have chosen most wisely. And because you chose me, all my kingdom will be yours as well.’ There was abundant joy in the land that day, because the woman was much loved, and everyone shared in the king’s treasure.”

Not only are we invited this Christ the King Sunday to reflect on what kind of king and reign Jesus is and represents, we have a choice to make. Will we be the hands and feet of Jesus today in a world that suffers? Will we go to the highways and byways of our city, our country and our neighborhood to see the face of Christ in those we serve and those in need? Is this Jesus – the one who hangs on the cross – the God we follow, the Lord of our time, the Lord of our use of material wealth and our talents? Is Jesus the king in whose service we daily engage and rejoice? We know who rules the heavens. But does Christ rule our hearts?

We can choose: to play the game according to the world’s rules — competition, aggression, judgment and comparison; or, we can make choices based in compassionate justice, generosity, confidence, intentionality and trust. How do we do that?

Prayer. Prayer will move us from dilemma to choice.

I have the proud distinction this year to be the first in my extended family to produce my Christmas wish list. In fact, I had it ready last weekend, and copies to give to my rather shocked family.

Prayer at its best is not about presenting our wish list to God. Because prayer doesn’t start with us; it starts with God. Origen from the second century wrote that prayer is not about trying to get benefits from God; rather, it is about becoming united with God; about reflecting God’s gaze upon us.

We are told today that in the first few years of life, infants see themselves entirely mirrored in their parents’ eyes, especially the mother’s (p.67, Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs); “What her eyes tell about ourselves, we believe and we become … Prayer is much the same: we receive and return the divine gaze.” In other words, we know ourselves and our purpose in life in the security of the living God in Christ who holds us and continues to gaze upon our lives.

All forms of prayer are good and right and true. But without also giving time in prayer to be simply silent and still, to contemplate this knowing that is neither a mental activity nor a mere ‘good work’ on our part, is necessary. I invite each and every one of you to join our group on Wednesday evenings to learn more about this form of prayer called “Christian Meditation.” It is a form of prayer that propels us to reflect and engage the nature and mission of God in us and in the world.

But a warning: Christian Meditation is a way of prayer that exercises a surrendering, a letting go, a powerlessness that echoes the values of the Cross of Christ. It is seemingly unproductive use of time, so contrary to the values of the world of glamour, achievement and progress. But, in its very form, contemplative prayer is thus fundamentally Christian.

Because, in the end, it’s not about us, it’s about the kingdom of God – a topic Jesus spent more time talking about in the Gospels than any other topic or issue, values that continue to challenge us to the core of our being. We are more like the thieves who hung next to Jesus than we are like Jesus: it is hard for us to believe in the gracious God, in the forgiving God, in the God who would love us even when we disappoint and sin. Yet, Jesus last words to another human being before his death and resurrection were words of forgiveness, words consistent with the ministry of Jesus’ short life.

Thank God our salvation is not dependent on us, but on a loving, grace-giving, self-giving, merciful God. We may not be able to do things rightly. We may not be able. But God is. That’s why we are who we are and do what we do: Christ crucified; Christ risen.

 

Your Word is true, on letting go

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When I spent a year in Germany during my seminary days, I struggled in the first half of that year with feelings of being lost, without guidance, and without my usual supports in place. I was lonely: For the first time in my life, I wasn’t able to rely on my parents, and I didn’t have my twin brother close by to share a life experience. I felt depressed, rudderless, cut off, a ship floating aimlessly in the stormy ocean.

I was reminded of this turbulent time in my life after reading the Gospel text (Luke 21:5-19) for today. Jesus points to those external ‘structures’ in the lives of his disciples, structures that they have come to depend on for guidance, for a sense of purpose and identity – and tells them basically that they will crumble, that they will have to learn to do without the usual dependencies, that they will have to ‘lose’ these. They will be no more.

First, it’s the massive and impressive temple that Herod was building, adorned with decorations; the temple presented a glorious architectural masterpiece to the world. At the end of the text, Jesus mentions family – even those closest to us will be cut off from the path we are on. There is a profound losing that imbues this scripture today, not unlike what the Israelites had to experience when they were exiled from their land, their homes, their precious Jerusalem temple, some five hundred years before Christ. It is a pattern that is repeating again.

The first part in the path of faith – of true spirituality – is one of letting go, of releasing, of surrendering. If anyone has experienced even a margin of what that means, it’s never easy. It’s hard, especially when for most of your life you’ve placed so much energy and invested your emotions and stability in a building, a place, a person, a family – and then you have lose it.

Luke wrote this story in the Gospel some forty years after the life of Jesus. Remember, all of what we read in the Bible was for the longest time first shared by word of mouth – stories told to the community and from generation to generation. In the latter half of the first century A.D. these told stories about Jesus began to be written down in the form we see them today.

It’s important for me to mention this because Jesus’ prediction that the temple would be destroyed actually happened. In about 70 A.D. the Roman armies laid siege to Jerusalem to try to subdue the radical Jewish insurrection who were rebelling against Roman occupation of their land. The victorious Romans eventually toppled the impressive stone walls of the temple, leaving only what we see today – the famous western wall, or the “Wailing Wall”.

All this is to say, that Luke wrote these words of Jesus at a time when the rebellion was reaching its peak: “… the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” These written words carried extra emotional weight, it would seem to me, to those who first received them in the late first century. Because it was actually happening.

Early Christians were encouraged to trust Jesus, because what Jesus says is true! What Jesus promises will come to pass. This truth is consistent with the tradition of earlier scriptures, first echoed in the poetry emerging from the exile – “The grass withers, the flower fades – but the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:7-8).

Though the path is full of suffering, one thing remains: the presence and purpose of God. This may give us a clue as to the meaning of Jesus’ closing words in the text: “By your endurance you will gain your souls.” Some translations have it, “by your patience”.

Since I opened with a personal story from my seminary days, I’ll bring here another story I heard from a seminary class studying ‘the end times’. For you to get this story, I need to remind you of how a liturgical church, such as ours, organizes our reading of the Bible. We follow a lectionary, which means that there are assigned readings not only for every Sunday of the year but for every day, even. You can find these assigned readings at the front of our worship books. The point is, after a three year cycle of following this ‘lectionary’, we will have basically read through the whole Bible.

So, these seminary students were engaged in a discussion of what Bible text they would choose if they had reason to believe that this was the Final Day. Some suggested John 3:16 – “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” Others suggested Psalm 23 – “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil …” Still others suggested the very last verses of the Bible from Revelation 22:20-21 – “The one who testifies to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon. Amen! Come, Lord Jesus (Maranatha). The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the Saints. Amen!’”

But, the winning suggestion was – “I would preach on whatever Bible lesson was appointed as the Gospel for the day.”

A homeowner hired a gardener to plant a certain kind of tree. “But that kind of tree takes many years to mature,” the gardener protested. “Then get started with the planting,” the homeowner replied. “You do not have a moment to lose.”

If the first difficult part of the path of faith is surrendering, letting go, not identifying any longer with those structures on which we have come to depend heavily, the second part is the motivation to endure in the regular, daily task. It is full of promise, and new life.

Because those endings and beginnings in Christ are not our doing. We do not control our destiny, contrary to what so much of our culture preaches. We are called only to be faithful in our daily service, doing that which is set before us this day. We don’t know exactly how things will turn out. But we can take the risk and take the first step because we have the true promise of God:

Being aware of God’s faithfulness to us, being assured in the Word that what Jesus promises is true, we can be buoyed by a vibrant hope on the stormy ocean of life. We live every day as if it were the last, doing all that we can, doing the right thing, in the moment. And we cling to the assurance that God will not only do the rest, but much, much more!

In the last few months of my year abroad in Germany, I finally found my stride. Maybe it was because I knew ‘the end’ was coming; my time in Germany was coming to an end, and soon and very soon I would be returning home. Being aware of and confident in my returning home coming closer with each passing day, I was able to enjoy and fully enter each moment: I travelled with my friends, visited my families in Poland and Germany, breathed the air deeply, and went about finishing the tasks set before me.

In engaging my life fully, doing what I was called to do there – even though it wasn’t always easy – I now remember that time as one of those crucial, pivotal and cherished learning moments of my life. For, a true letting go yielded a wondrous new beginning.

Remember hope

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In “Saintly Connections” I wrote of how playing Scrabble with my brother was often derailed by arguments over whether or not a word one of us placed was in fact a real word. We were distracted – taken off course – in our gaming by these time-and-energy consuming debates. We spent more effort, it seemed, in proving ourselves ‘right’ instead of focusing on the essence of the game – using most of our letters to maximize the points in a single move.

Our readings today put these ‘distractions’ in proper perspective. Jesus’ response to the Sadducees’ questions about the resurrection – which they did not believe in – suggests we are lost when not grounded in the present moment. “Now, he is God not of the dead, but of the living” (Luke 20:38). Indeed, the Gospel focuses on what directly concerns us, now. Everything is focused on today, as the acceptable time – in the present moment.

In Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonian church, the people are encouraged “not to be quickly shaken in mind or alarmed” (2 Thess 2:2) by claims of the end times. Paul is doing here what authorities in October of 1938 had to do; police logs across the United States chronicle the chaos of people who had heard the Orson Welles radio program “War of the Worlds” – and thought it was a true news story! A tremendous amount of energy and damage control had to go into calming people down.

Indeed, we are a people easily distracted. Consider this fact alone: Let’s presume the amount of information available to the ordinary person at the time of Jesus as one unit; it took until the year 1500 (around the Reformation) for that to double. After the invention of the printing press at that time, the amount of information available to the ordinary person doubled every hundred years, then every fifty. Then, in the 1900s every ten years. At the turn of the second millennium the amount of information available to the ordinary person has doubled every seven months (p.39, Richard Rohr, Everything Belongs). Our problem is not that we need more information. We may feel overburdened with so much information that we are understandably confused and conflicted! Any wonder we are anxious and distracted?

Is it any wonder that we struggle to find meaning in our short existence? There was a movie some decades ago called “Amadeus”. It chronicled, in a creative and entertaining way, the life of music great, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. He was by any standard, a genius, who started at age four playing several instruments and created at least 528 musical compositions over the course of his life. His music is still enjoyed the world over centuries after his death.

The film ends showing Mozart’s undignified funeral: The scene is dark and dreary, and his composition, The Requiem Mass in D Minor, provides the sweeping, emotionally dense yet majestic background music. He is carted to his grave in a blizzard. Only the grave digger and wagon driver attend, mindlessly going about their jobs. There is a trap door at one end of his plain, wooden casket, and they dump his body through that trap door into a giant hole in which there are several other bodies. And then they quickly depart. He was only thirty-five years of age – a prodigy.

What a waste, we might think, that he should have died so young. Imagine if he had the years most of us enjoy – what he might have accomplished! And it makes us wonder, does it not – is this life all there is? In our information-over-loaded age we can see real-time images of starving children, millions displaced by civil war, political corruption even in our own country. What a waste of precious resources, energy, stress and life! Or, remember as we do these days the many military service men and women who have died in the wars of the last century – people so young and healthy. And we think of those who still die today in senseless killings, wars and accidents.

Is this life all there is? What a waste! What is the purpose of it all?

As the father of theologian Adolf Schlatter lay dying, pious friends stood around his bed trying to comfort him with reassuring and edifying thoughts such as: “Soon you will be in the golden halls of Zion gazing across the crystal sea. Soon the radiance will surround you.” And so they talked and talked and talked, mainly comforting themselves, it seemed. Finally, the dying man raised himself up and snapped: “Shut up! Don’t bother me with all that talk! Just show me a picture of the Father embracing his prodigal Son. I only want to embrace my God.”

Even on the darkest day of our lives, may our focus be God’s loving embrace reaching out to us. Everything we do and are in this world stems from what God has done and is doing for us.

The story is told that one day back in early Puritan New England a couple of centuries ago there was a major eclipse. The sun was blotted out, the day turned dark, and people were terrified. “The world is going to end. What shall we do?” One insightful man replied, “Let us be found doing our duty” (p.282, Neta Pringle, Feasting on the Word Year C Vol 4).

Questions about the after-life and end times may understandably consume our imagination and get us thinking about so many things. People have written and talked and speculated about how things are going to be and to watch for the signs of the times. We have so much information about all this. But underlying and motivating all of this chatter, is there not a lot of fear and anxiety?

The Gospel resists this kind of distraction. The bible is hardly ever really clear on all the details anyway. We are called, instead, to focus on God’s abiding presence, God’s promise and grace, and God’s mission. “Give thanks,” Paul instructs the fearful Thessalonians (2 Thess 2: 13-17). See the big picture.

If our remembering this Remembrance Day causes us to be afraid, disturbed and anxious about the ways of the world, remember above all whose we are! “God chose you for salvation!” Paul exhorts the church. “Stand firm in faith” and remember that God “loved us and through grace gives us eternal comfort and good hope.” So, “comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word.”

Our job, it seems, is simply to keep on keeping on. No matter what.

And leave the rest in God’s hands. That is all.

‘Pesky’ is good, or is it?

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I think I got my tendency to cheer for the underdog from my mother. Growing up, she would always root for the team or individual competitor that was not expected to win. Whether it was hockey, the Olympics, the World Cup, or the local highschool track meet – her sympathies always leaned towards the smaller, the perceptibly weaker, comparably unsuccessful side.

I also think the surprising success of the Ottawa Senators last season was attributed to their underdog status. No one expected them to win, especially when their top star players were out with injuries and the fact that they were only in their second year of a rebuild.

They were the ‘pesky Sens’, a description that endured right into the playoffs when in the first round they defeated the top team in the Eastern Conference. The come-from-behind pattern to win games was common. The resiliency they showed when down and almost out – to keep at it, to pester their opponents with feisty, gutsy plays – was inspiring. They persisted. They were unrelenting. They literally beat their opponents into submission.

 

Maybe that’s why I really like the woman who unrelentingly pleads with the unjust judge. She is the underdog in this scenario. But she doesn’t give up. She keeps at it. She pesters the judge. And finally he gives in.

 

We like this woman. She is given to us, we say, as a model for persistent prayer. Let’s not forget that this Gospel text (Luke 18:1-8) is about how we ought to pray. In the first verse we read why Jesus told this story: “To pray always and not to lose heart.”

 

Indeed, this is how we have come to understand our relationship with God: We are like the woman; and God is the judge. Right? It is our job to persist, and bother God with our needs and prayer requests. And not just once, but keep at it. We are to be like the ‘pesky Sens’, making our case to God over and over again. We pray to God about the problems in our world and the problems of our own making. We make it our business, as good Christians, to pester God.

 

And, for some of us, we don’t seem to give up. Because we believe that, like in the parable, God will eventually give in and grant us our request. Surely, God will look with favour upon those of us who persist in pestering God.

 

Many of us will say that when we don’t get the answer we want, it means God said ‘no’ to our pestering. But that’s not what the parable says about prayer, and about our relationship with God. It doesn’t answer the critical question: Why doesn’t God grant us our prayer request even and especially when we do persist? The truth is, persistence doesn’t always get us what we want, no matter how hard we try.

 

What is more, the granting of the woman’s plea is not based on the merits of her case but merely on the fact that the judge is fed up. Is this the image of God the Gospel proclaims – a God who really doesn’t care, has no respect for anyone, a God who becomes irritated with us, a God who is – as the passage articulates – ‘unjust’? Is this the God who loved the world so much to send Jesus (John 3:16)?

Don’t you think it’s a bit strange to identify God with the unjust judge: to identify God with someone who has no concern for justice? Isn’t it a bit strange to suggest an understanding of this parable that insists that prayer petitions are answered simply because of our nagging God into action and that God acts without any concern for the content of the petitions themselves?

So there are some problems with the traditional interpretation of this parable, as much as it can motivate us to remain faithful in our life journey with God. Persistence is definitely a quality and value much needed in a church that has in many quarters grown complacent and ho-hum about the practice of our faith.

 

But, you can see why I hesitate to conclude that being ‘pesky’ is not the point of the parable. At least as it relates to us.

Maybe that’s why Scripture lesson from Genesis is linked with this Gospel story in the lectionary. This has always been one of my favourite pieces of Scripture. I can’t help but cheer Jacob on. No matter how much of a rascal Jacob may be, I still want Jacob to win that wrestling match with God. strong>

He starts out as the underdog here, in a couple ways. For one thing, he’s up against God Almighty. For another, Jacob is returning to the scene of his crimes when he is told that Esau is on his way to meet him; on his way with a force of 400 men.

Perhaps Jacob is having second thoughts about his journey to face up to the mess he’d made of things. Perhaps Jacob is having second thoughts about continuing on the path towards reconciliation and taking responsibility for his actions. In Jacob’s dark night of the soul, God has no other choice than to wrestle with Jacob.

But, unbeknownst even to him, Jacob has inner strength, and almost prevails against God. All night long they wrestle and at daybreak it becomes clear that Jacob will not relent. And so God strikes Jacob on the hip socket; and Jacob’s hip was put out of joint.

Why did God bother Jacob like that? Maybe God pestered Jacob for the very same reason that God pesters us. As the lyrics from the new title track of the contemporary Christian music group, Switchfoot, repeat: “Love alone is worth the fight”.

 

Why does God persistently wrestle us to the ground? Love. God says the love for creation is such that makes divine persistence annoyingly necessary. To push us. To prod us. To get us moving. To get us doing what we need to do. To keep us on the path towards doing the right things. To prompt us, nudge us in the direction we might not want or consider easy – but deep down we know we have to do.

The ‘Pesky Sens’ sometimes didn’t play by the rules. They would do the little things, sometimes illegal, that would get under the skin of the opposing players. They were pesky.

Just like this wrestling match between God and Jacob. God starts the fight. And it is God that tries to finish the match with a blow that is below the belt. God does this even though Jacob may have been a liar and a trickster; even though he may have cheated his brother Esau out of his inheritance and conned his father Isaac into blessing him.

But Jacob is older and wiser now and he’s doing exactly what God has told him to do: He’s heading home, he’s going to face the music and try to make amends with his brother. God pestered Jacob into continuing his journey towards love, reconciliation and forgiveness.

Love alone is worth the fight.

I believe that there is more to this Gospel parable for Luke. You see Jesus has this habit of turning our understanding of God upside down and if we look closely at this parable you might just see Jesus turning things over. Think about it, how many times in the Bible have you read a story in which God identifies with or sticks up for the widows and the orphans? Jesus himself was constantly encouraging his followers to care for widows and orphans.

So, what happens if instead of identifying God as the unjust judge we identify God as the widow? I believe that it is us who fill the role of the unjust judge who neither fears God or respects people, so often. It’s more than likely that we are the ones dominated by our egos and generally looking for what is in it for us. We are really stubborn in our self-seeking.

But God is persistent in love for us. God is the hound of heaven who wears us down, like the widow, by persistently pursuing us. Eventually, we waver and sometimes we let God enter our lives and guide us to do the right thing.

God is persistent in trying to break down our defenses. God is the one who is bothering us. God is the one who takes the initiative. As long as we insist as seeing prayer flowing only from us we are missing the point. Prayer is communication between God and us. Prayer isn’t just about our requests offered up to God so that God can do our bidding. Prayer is about relationship.  And every once in a while, God just can’t resist pestering us.

From time to time, I’m sure that God has no choice left but to try to wrestle us to the ground and pin us down. It’s our task to try to figure out what God is trying to tell us when we wrestle with events in our lives.

We wrestle to find meaning, to find purpose and the struggle is often intense. Sometimes we may not know the reason we are forced into the struggle. Understanding and listening don’t always come easily for us. It’s often hard for us to see the hand of God at work in the struggle. We stumble in the dark, just as Jacob is left alone in the night to wrestle.  

As for the low blows, I’m sure God knows what God is doing.  For often it is the wounds and the scars that we receive in the struggles that remind us of the pain and enable us to be better at tending the pain of others.  After one of those long periods of darkness it is only in the final outcome that we realize that we have been touched by God.

As for those unanswered prayers, remember that well-known story of this devout Christian who lived directly in the path of a storm.  And the civil authorities issued a flood warning and told all the residents to evacuate. Well the devote Christian prayed and prayed and decided that because he was on such good terms with God that God would save him from the flood, if only he would have faith.

So when the sheriff came by on patrol he tried to convince the devout Christian to evacuate…but the fellow said, “no, no, I have faith and God will save me. Well the storm came and the river rose beyond its banks and the flood waters flowed dangerously close to the fellow’s house, and the National Guard came by in a row boat and tried to convince him to evacuate but he told them, “no, no, I have faith and God will save me.”  Well eventually the fellow’s house was flooded and he had to climb up on his roof and a news helicopter saw him trapped up there and they tried to help him evacuate, but the devout Christian just waved the helicopter on and said, “Don’t worry; I am a Christian and I have faith and God will save me.” strong>

Well, finally the house was swept away in the flood and the man couldn’t hold on any longer and he drowned. When the man arrived at the pearly gates St Peter was really surprised and told him that they certainly weren’t expecting to see him there for quite some time. As you can imagine, the devout Christian was very upset and he demanded an audience with the Almighty.

And so St. Peter ushered him into the Holy of Holies and the fellow started ranting and raving at God. God didn’t take too kindly to the man’s complaints and let him know in no uncertain terms that God was sick and tired of this guy’s ingratitude. After all God had heard his prayers and God had sent the sheriff in a squad car, the national guard in a boat and the news media in a helicopter all to save him. And still this fellow couldn’t get up off his duff and do something.

God doesn’t send bad things our way. God is not some kind of cosmic puppeteer up in the sky sending us trials and tribulations to build our character. God doesn’t send bad things our way anymore than God kills innocent children. The bad things that come our way come as a result of humanity’s abuse of God’s precious gift of freedom. God does not wish us harm, God wants only what is good.

But when bad things come our way as a result of the brokenness of creation, our God does promise to be with us in the struggle. Prayer doesn’t consist merely of us reciting our wish list. Prayer is about conversation and conversation involves listening as well as talking. Prayer is about relationship and relationship requires action. It is not enough to pray for God’s reign. It’s not enough to pray for justice and peace.   It’s not enough to pray for an end to hunger. It’s not enough to pester God with our requests. God is calling us to get up off our duffs and do something. And God will provide the necessary things once we actually get off our duffs.

Like the pleading widow, our God cries out to us for justice. Like the widow our God continues to pursue us. Prayer provides God with the means to enter our lives so that God can challenge us to change the world. Like the pleading widow, Our God persistently cries out for justice trusting that eventually we will hear God’s pleas and begin to cry out for justice with both our words and our deeds.

And yes we ought to be persistent in our prayer so that our prayers can become more than just words and we can be about the work of ushering in God’s reign of justice and peace. The struggle will be intense; be prepared to wrestle with God but do so with the assurance that in the end we will receive God’s blessing. For we will see God face to face, and yet our life will be preserved.

So continue to pester God. But also continue to be pestered by God. And together with God we will ensure all our prayers are answered and God’s grace shall prevail.

Many thanks to pastordawn whose blog appears in WordPress. Her many wonderful thoughts and words appear in this post, from hers entitled “Whose Persistence”

Thanksgiving: an act of graceful resistance

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“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty”—John 6:35

When Jessica and I were married some sixteen years ago, we received as a wedding present – a bread-maker. For sixteen years it served us well. Jessica has enjoyed baking bread with it.

And then, just last week, it died. It made a very loud and scary noise … and refused to work. What to do? Despite our best intentions, we could only think of throwing it out.

I understand there are e-waste organizations out there now that will collect electrical appliances for a proper recycling. Apparently these outfits will disassemble the appliance and dispose or recycle each separate part appropriately and carefully.

So as not to waste any piece. To gather the fragments, that nothing may be lost.

At the heart of John’s story of the feeding of the multitude, which is the context of our Gospel reading for Thanksgiving Day (John 6) is Jesus’ thanksgiving over the loaves. After the crowd had been fed, John adds a word not found in the other gospels: Jesus says to the disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost” (verse 12).

In God’s kingdom, the fragments are precious. Broken life is precious. Jesus declares this a little further on in the chapter: “And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day” (verse 39).  We give thanks that the broken life in us is cared for and mended, redeemed by the one who is bread of life for us.

Jesus’ birth took place in Bethlehem, in the town whose name means “house of bread.” And he was laid in a manger, a feeding place. Right from the beginning, Jesus came as bread. God knew how hungry the world was. And continues tobe.

It is a dark and hostile world, where only the winners are recognized. It is a dark and hostile world, where the survival of the fittest is the mantra for ‘success’. It is a dark and hostile world, where those who do not measure up are easily forgotten. In this dark and hostile world, it is easy to get lost, overlooked, misunderstood and dismissed as irrelevant. In this dark and hostile world, there is no room for everyone, where some are expendable.

In the dark and hostile place where we live, a loving God offered the bread of life. It is a great wonder that we are offered such bread. When we seek to follow him, we discover that our following takes us into every broken place where people are hungry for bread, for peace, for freedom, for affirmation, for acceptance, for spirit. Our giving of thanks is lived out when, with those early disciples, we gather up the fragments of life and offer the living bread that is in us.

The poetry of Wendell Berry, an American farmer-poet, shows a beautiful understanding that this offering stands at the heart of faithful living. In a three-line poem entitled February 2, 1968, he wrote this:

In the dark of the moon, in flying snow, in the dead of winter,

war spreading, families dying, the world in danger,

I walk the rocky hillside, sowing clover.

I think only a profoundly grateful person can face the darkness this way. What hope is there of life rising in such conditions? Many would say, “Wait for more suitable weather, wait for a favourable season, wait until the conditions are perfect when all is well … then we can be thankful, then we can share with the world…”

But one who trusts God to make whole what is broken approaches all life in gratitude, and offers back an open heart and open hands. Thanksgiving is an act of graceful resistance that allows us to admit to the fragility of life, but also realizes that every fragment is of infinite worth. Jesus speaks to us again: “Gather up what is left, that nothing may be lost.”  

This Thanksgiving, remember that in Christ you are living bread. Remember, too, the fragments. Love finds a way on the rocky hillsides of our lives, gathers us in and holds us forever in God’s hands. As a favourite hymn puts it: “For the wonders that astound us, for the truths that still confound us, most of all, that love has found us, thanks be to God” (Evangelical Lutheran Worship #679 “For the Fruit of All Creation, verse 3).

Thank you to Gordon Light, writing many of these words in the Anglican Journal, “Gather up what is left, that nothing may be lost” (the full text can be read at m.anglicanjournal.com/articles/-gather-up-what-is-left-that-nothing-may-be-lost)

Playing in Marriage

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Philippians 4:4-9 / Isaiah 43:1-5a, 18-19

Whether it is soccer, or ballroom dancing, or dragon boating, or whitewater rafting –  is your marriage characterized with ‘play’?

I would say, this is a good thing. For each of you. And for the health of your marriage.

Given the way the institution of marriage has suffered some in recent decades, for me to stand here today to suggest we need to be more playful in our marriages may seem, at first, counterintuitive.

After all, this is serious business. Relationships are not something to be taken lightly. Marriage, in some religious traditions, is a sacrament. It is holy, godly, and to be held in the highest esteem.

We may be driven to feel guilty, then, when nothing short of perfection describes any partnership – especially one tagged by ‘marriage’.

Is it any doubt, then, why marriage is not looked upon anymore with the beauty and joy it deserves — for those who consider following its adventurous path?

So, it lands on us who are married, and getting married, to bear witness to its joy. And you have already done that for us.

But sometimes playing can be dangerous. Especially for those of us passing middle age. My sister-in-law warned me last year not to play soccer. Why? She claimed that she didn’t know anyone in their forties who played soccer who hadn’t seriously hurt themselves – a sprained knee, twisted ankle, even worse – broken bones. And, come to think of it, she’s right. Yup, she scared me out of it.

I suppose that’s one way of responding to any opportunity. We may dwell on the risks, fearing the rough and tumble realities associated with anything potentially good in life. And avoid it, pretending we can somehow go through life unscathed.

But is that even possible? And, will that way of responding to life bring joy and a deep, meaningful satisfaction to our lives?

I read recently about mountain goats who bound playfully along rock faces thousands of feet high. It is very clear that they, especially the younger ones, are playing. But the truth is, sometimes they fall. Mama mountain goat must be saying: “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.”

You’d think that over time, these mountain goats would learn their lesson and stop dancing on cliff edges centimeters from their doom. Stop it, already! But they don’t. It is in their nature to play.

Scientists have speculated and studied this paradoxical characteristic of animals. And they have concluded that even though playing is potentially dangerous, it is still necessary. It is necessary because, for one thing, playing is practice for skills needed in the future (Stuart Brown, Play, 2009). An attitude of playfulness is necessary not only for our survival, but our health, our creativity, and building up a resiliency for later in life when challenges and difficulties escalate.

A healthy marriage is not supposed to be always sugar-sweet. There are times when difficulties, challenges and disappointments will arise in the relationship. Playing is dangerous, sometimes. But it also provides a way for learning how to deal with what may come down the road.

The most beneficial play, they say, is playing with another. It is with another person that we discover our true self. It is caring for another, seeing to their needs, forgiving another and being forgiven in which find our stride, personally and spiritually.

God knew this about us. That is why we are created the way we are: To be together; to cry together; to laugh together; to play together. It won’t always be easy; sometimes we get hurt. But that’s reality. And it’s worth the effort!

I suspect you two have already experienced how that feels, because you play together. And you give space for each other to enjoy each other’s company and explore further goals and aspirations.

May God bless you this day, and in the time to come. Play on!