Tag Archives: bible

It all evens out

Posted on by
Reply

What happens when your best friend starts saying things and doing things that offend and hurt? Our responses are varied. But it is our best friend who has suddenly created this division. And we don’t know what to do.

A Manitoba family took to heart a playful suggestion made by a journalist to deploy hockey sticks in a row in snowbanks on the border. They pasted on the blades of these hockey sticks googly-eyes to provide 24/7 surveillance (Proudfoot, 2025 February 5).

In the Gospel today (Luke 6:17-26), we observe both Jesus’ actions and words. But if just look at the words of the Beatitudes alone, taking them out of the setting of the narrative, this is tricky. At best it leaves us analyzing paradox and struggling with ambiguity. At worst, the words confuse us, and we dismiss them in frustration.

Because Jesus pulls the rug out from underneath our presumption of who is blessed, and who is cursed. It’s the opposite of what we believe:

We believe you are blessed if you are not poor. You are blessed when everyone adores you. You are blessed when you have material wealth, social status, and your reputation is intact. You are blessed when you are tough and negotiate to win in a world of winners and losers. You are blessed when you win, in any relationship – even with your best friend.

Taken alone, Jesus’ words may support this winner/loser mentality. Because there are the blessed and there are the ‘woe-ed’, those who are cursed. And where do we fit in that either/or framework? Are you one of the cursed, or the blessed?

“It was said of Rabbi Simcha Bunim that he carried two slips of paper, one in each pocket. On one he wrote: … ‘For my sake the world was created.’ On the other he wrote: … I am but dust and ashes.’ He would take out each slip of paper as necessary, as a reminder to himself” (Spitzer, as cited in Burkeman, 2024).

Thank God we also witness Jesus’ actions before he said a word. Before uttering those perplexing and sometimes confusing Beatitudes, we see him in action. His action sets the context. And what is he doing?

In Luke’s version of the Beatitudes (the Gospel of Matthew also records Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5:1-12) Jesus “comes down … and stood on a level place” with all the people. In Luke’s version, it all evens out.

Not only do the divine and human come together on one plane of existence, so do all the diverse peoples gathering to watch and hear Jesus – “a great crowd of his disciples and a great multitude of people from all Judea, Jerusalem, and the coast of Tyre and Sidon” (v. 17).

And Jesus healed “all in the crowd” – the blessed and the cursed (v. 19), even before Jesus began to preach those divisive, perplexing words. Before any words, his actions demonstrated what all of us share – our common humanity.

So, what does it mean that he “healed” everyone? Let’s look at the meaning of the word, healing. In the original Greek, the word for healing means more than a mere cure. Healing, in the New Testament, is the same word as salvation, to restore, to make whole (Thayer’s Greek Lexicon, 2011). Healing is about re-establishing right relationship between humanity and God, between people. Healing is about reconciling the opposites, breaking down the polarization within us and around us (Kenny, 2025, January 28).

Amidst the division, the polarization in our lives and in the world, Jesus “healed all in the crowd”. Jesus introduced an ethical dimension for being in relationship, being a friend. Jesus was about reconciling relationships that appeared, on the surface, destined for damnation.

So, now the words of Jesus may make better sense when taken in the context of Jesus’ action, which demonstrated no enduring separation, no eternal division, but rather wholeness. Rabbi Bunim held awareness of both the good in him, and the bad. He held a high view and a low view of his humanity. Perhaps, therein lies the key. Both within us, and all around us in everyone, everything.

The writer, Anne Lamott suggests: “Everyone is screwed up, broken, clingy, and scared, even the people who seem to have it more or less together. They are much more like you than you would believe. So, try not to compare your insides to their outsides” (Lamott, cited in Burkeman, 2024).

Lamott’s dust and ashes’ low view, on the one hand suggests something important and humbling about God, about reality and our place within it. God came down to our level. God became human. And died a very human death, condemned and persecuted.

But if we have overly identified for so long with our sins, our fears, our judgements, our afflictions, our limits and weakness, and all the sins in the world today, if we stay at the cross, we get stuck in despair. That’s not where the story ended. That not what Jesus wants from us. He came down to our level, in order that we may be lifted up.

We need a high view that also recognizes our limitations and mortality. Because it does not follow, that who we are and our actions don’t matter.

They don’t matter if we feel pressured to be winners in every interaction, especially against those who are different from us. They don’t matter if we feel pressured to achieve an extraordinary standard of merit that feels like victory on the battlefield, or in a way that’s applauded by a multitude of people. They don’t matter if our winning means someone else must be the loser. That we are blessed and those on the other side of the border line are cursed.

What does matter is realizing our individual being is inseparable from everything and everyone else. Each of us is impossible to be and do without countless people we might normally think of as separate from us. After all, Jesus made no distinction in his actions. “He healed all in the crowd.”

Our actions do matter when, despite our limitations, our simple un-extraordinary actions make a positive difference to the person we encounter in each moment.

So, what we do for God as saints and sinners, blessed and cursed, we do for no other reason than nothing could be as enlivening and truer to God in this momentary situation we find ourselves. Jesus came down to our level and made God accessible to all people in every situation. Jesus loves and has hope for everyone.

There’s lots to be done. Take heart. The good thing about everything being messed up is that no matter where you look, there is great work, important work, to be done.

God has given us the opportunity, being born into the messy state of life on earth in this time in history, to do one small thing at a time. We may not matter that much, from one perspective, but we matter as much as anyone ever did.

References:

Burkeman, O. (2024). Meditations for mortals: Four weeks to embrace your limitations and make time for what counts. Penguin.

Kenny, A. (2025, January 28). Healing beyond the cure: Jesus’ healing ministry. Center for Action and Contemplation: Daily Meditations. https://www. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/healing-beyond-the-cure/

Proudfoot, S. (2025, February 2025). A Manitoba family deployed googly-eyed hockey sticks [YouTube]. The National, CBC News. https://youtu.be/Q2yg7tkglQA?si=tKA_R0dMAGeHf-kB

Thayer’s Greek Lexicon. (2011). Biblesoft Inc. https://www.biblehub.com/Greek/2390.htm

Freed to be, freed to act

Posted on by
Reply
(Photo by Martin Malina, Sandbanks Provincial Park Ontario, 2020)

After witnessing the miracle of Jesus providing the overabundance of fish Simon Peter says, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:1-11). In the presence of a great gift, Simon feels weak.

In the Epistle reading for today (1 Corinthians 15:1-11), Paul confesses, “I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle …” In the presence of the divine, Paul realizes his weakness.

When Isaiah sees a vision of the glory of God, he beats his breast and cries, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips …” (Isaiah 6:1-8). Not only does he confess himself, but he also implicates his own people for failing and falling far short of the glory of God.

Simon Peter, Saint Paul and the prophet Isaiah, were all quick to announce their limits, faults, sins, and weaknesses in the presence of the divine. These are giants of faith and central biblical characters of God’s choosing to bear witness to the message and purpose of God.

When we experience God’s presence, when we experience a miracle, when we bear witness to something of God, we are faced first with our own failing, fault and weakness, which is not easy. It hurts. But we are not left with our broken selves alone. We are given a choice, to embrace who we are, and follow Jesus.

We are free to be, and freed to act.

We are freed to act because we accept what is truly most important. We are freed to act because we can live out of our true selves in Christ. This movement towards freedom from being ruled by our fears, however, is tough.

I remember as a kid freezing my hands outside on a cold winter’s day. They’d get so cold, not quite frostbitten. But when I came into the warm inside, they felt numb and got all red and puffy. My fingers stung for many minutes as the blood slowly returned to the tips of my fingers.

I remember complaining to my parents why they said it was good that my fingers hurt. For one thing, my fingers stinging was a sign that my blood was still flowing there and therefore were still alive! If I didn’t feel anything, that would be really bad.

This turn towards healing begins with honesty and vulnerability. The movement to our healing and transformation begins, like it did with Isaiah, Paul and Simon Peter, by entering on the ground floor with ourselves and others. And so, it begins by stinging.

Coming alive is scary. It hurts. When we realize we are seen in the glory of God’s all-pervasive light means we are changing. Jesus’ statement to Simon, “Do not be afraid” suggests that Simon was afraid bearing witness to the miracle. Because now, his life, should he choose to continue following and listening to Jesus, will change.

What is most important? To what are we making this shift? From what are turning away? What is the treasure we seek?

Fish were a valuable part of the economy in ancient Rome. But fishing was not an entrepreneurial, free enterprise. Fishing was controlled by Rome and profited only the elite. Since Caesar functionally owned Lake Galilee and all the creatures in it, the best of the catch belonged literally to him.

For fishers, like Simon Peter and his cohort, fishing was a subsistence work. Their work was not their own. After Rome got the biggest and best fish, that haul of fish would be heavily taxed in a system of tariffs, duties, and tributes. Those who caught the fish would see little from their sale, just enough to feed their families (Butler-Bass, 2025, February 9).

In that moment, it finally came to a head. In that moment, in the face of a miracle, Simon Peter is faced with the decision whether or not he will continue working for an oppressive regime, whether he will continue to follow Caesar and his unjust policies that benefited only the powerful and rich. Or, whether he will free himself from that.

Simon is not sure he can handle that shift of thinking, of understanding. Just a moment’s hesitation, perhaps. But he and his cohorts, in the end, “leave everything behind” and follow Jesus to treasure people not possessions. Because the treasure of God is not material wealth for the rich. The treasure of God is having compassion for all people.

“In the year 258 the Roman Empire, during one of its many persecutions of the church, ordered that the church turn over its treasure. The task fell to a young deacon named Lawrence who was given three days to complete it.

Immediately Lawrence sold all the liquid assets and gave that to the sick and the widows. He liquidated also all of the property and divided that up amongst the poor. On the third day, he appeared before the emperor who demanded to see the treasures of the church.

Lawrence just turned to behind him and there were the poor, the sick, the hungry, the naked, the stranger in the land, and the most vulnerable. And Lawrence said, ‘These are the treasurers of the church’.” (Eaton, 2025 February 3).

It hurts to let go. But, when it hurts, stay with it. The blood is flowing. God might just be revealing something important about who you are and who you are becoming in Christ, a beloved child of God freed to be, and freed to act.

References: 

Butler Bass, D. (2025, February 9). Sunday musings: Fishing trip … or something else? [blog]. The Cottage. https://dianabutlerbass.substack.com/p/sunday-musings-a12?utm_source=substack&utm_medium=email&utm_content=share

Eaton, E. (2025, February 3). The Evangelical Lutheran church in America. https://www.instagram.com/elca

Which pieces are missing?

Posted on by
Reply
(photo by Martin Malina)

It is finished! The 1000-piece nativity puzzle is now done. Thank you to all who contributed – whether you fitted only one piece or sat for hours in the narthex over the past month and a half, putting it all together. It is complete.

Or is it?

Upon closer observation of the photo above you might notice there are two pieces missing. Just two, out of a 1000. But two, nonetheless. Sucked up in the vacuum cleaner, stuck on the bottom of someone’s boots, or dropped inadvertently in someone’s pant pocket. Who knows? How does that make you feel?

You might think, like me, of parables in the bible where Jesus leaves the 99 sheep to go searching for the one lost sheep (Luke 15:1-7), or the parable in which a woman searches her whole house to find that one, lost coin (Luke 15:8-10).

Whatever you may want to say about Paul’s writing in his letter to the Corinthian church, it has a clear meaning: Every piece matters. Every part is important for the whole (1 Corinthians 12:12-31a) to function well. All the gifts perform vital roles for the overall health and wellbeing of the body.

Paul even goes as far to say, “those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect, whereas our more respectable members do not need this” (v. 23-24).

In her book Fierce Love, the Rev. Dr. Jacqui Lewis refers to the Zulu concept of ubuntu which means, “I am who I am because we are who we are.” This phrase resonates with Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians. We, the body of Christ, are deeply interrelated, united by one Spirit. Perhaps we could say, “I am Christ in the world because we are Christ in the world” (Lewis, 2021, p. 11).

If each of us is worthy because together we are, this leads us to ask a very relevant question for all our families, communities, teams, groups, neighbourhoods, and nations: What parts are missing? Whose voices are not being heard? What members of the body have been ignored, overlooked, even marginalized, treated as unimportant?

In preparation for the annual meeting later this winter, the council is now searching, as we normally do at the end of terms, for a couple new members to serve. In choosing leaders on council, we can ask the same question: Whose voices in the congregation are not yet represented, nor being heard? Who is not at the table?

I love the children’s book I’ve used for Communion instruction. It’s called, “A Place for You.” The theme is inclusion. That is why in the invitation to the Communion table I will often say, “You are invited without exception.” Because Jesus loves everyone and welcomes all to the table of God’s grace.

The missing pieces challenge us to support and lift up everyone.

In the Gospel for today (Luke 4:14-21) Jesus returns to his hometown Nazareth, the place he grew up, the place where everyone knew who he was as a child. The scroll is given to him – the scroll of the prophet Isaiah – to read publicly. He has no choice which scroll to use. But, from everything Isaiah has to say, Jesus chooses this one particular text.

He could have read anything. The prophet’s words fill a big book, some 66 chapters long. Yet, Jesus focuses on this part. He makes it a point to remind the good people of Nazareth whose marginalized voices God has heard, and whom now God’s people are called to lift up.

What captivates the crowd, as all the eyes of those in the synagogue were fixed on him, was that Jesus distinguished himself, his new role, his mission now as the voice of God to declare what people of faith were called to do with Jesus: to bring good news to the poor, to release the captive, to recover the sight of those who are blind and let the oppressed go free – the economically poor, the incarcerated, the disabled, and the migrant. They belong at the table, too.

This is now the job of the body of Christ to proclaim, in our words and actions. How do we proclaim the words of Jesus in our daily lives? How do we follow Jesus?

In the science fiction dystopian television series Silo (Yost, 2023), 10,000 people have lived for decades in an underground bunker in the shape of a cylinder over a hundred floors deep. They’ve lived in the silo because the air outside is poisoned. At least that’s what they’ve been told.

A mechanic, Juliette Nichols, uses a modified hazmat-type suit to leave the silo and survive outside. But all the people inside don’t know where she has gone or whether she’s still alive. People start to question the truth. A rebellion grows.

A group of mechanics living at the bottom of the silo claim those privileged living closer to the top have not been telling the truth about what is really going on outside the silo. The rebels rally around a spray-painted symbol “JL” and chant “Juliette Lives!” to galvanize their faith.

In Jesus’ day, we have to remember they didn’t have microphones. The Nazarenes would pack the synagogue to listen to the speaker. To make sure everyone got the gist of the speaker’s message especially those at the back of the room, those closest to the speaker would repeat in a loud voice together a phrase the speaker just said. This method of getting the word out is called “the people’s microphone,” the practice of amplifying voices without a sound system (Augsburg Fortress, 2025).

This method requires attentive ears—those nearest must hear and respond to the call of the speaker—and it requires the community’s unified work, lifting up the speaker’s voice together.

Yes, “JL” is our call, too. But for us it is “Jesus Lives!” “Jesus Lives!” is a sign of hope for the fulfillment of what is being called upon the living body of Christ today

But if bringing good news to the poor and releasing the captive was Jesus’ purpose and mission, all evidence today points to the contrary. Had Jesus failed? Has the church failed? Many today, I know, feel that it has on many levels. Because so many people still suffer. And will suffer.

Perhaps a vision of a perfect world free from all suffering is not what Jesus meant. Because if we follow in his steps: From that early synagogue worship service to the hills of Galilee, on the road to Jerusalem, and the way of the cross, we discover that suffering is not God’s will.

Rather, what is God’s will is life in the face of suffering. What is God’s will is courage in the face of fear. What is God’s will is faith in the face of doubt and love in the face of hatred and prejudice. God’s will is to call these things out of the hurt and brokenness that we are and that we find around us. “With Christ, the prophecy is fulfilled, in you and in me” (Evenson, 2025). Because “JL!” Jesus lives. Thanks be to God!

References:

Evenson, B. (2025, January 26). Comments from the cloud of witnesses; Third Sunday after Epiphany /lectionary 3, year C. Augsburg Fortress. https://members.sundaysandseasons.com

Lewis, J. (2021). Fierce love: A bold path to ferocious courage and rule-breaking kindness that can heal the world. Harmony Books.

Yost, G. (Creator). (2023-present). Silo [TV series]. Apple TV+.

Present to Presence

Posted on by
Reply
photo by Martin Malina

About once a month I have lunch at Denny’s on Merivale with a dear friend of mine. His name is Jack Murta. He is a retired politician. He was a Member of Parliament from Manitoba in the late 1980s. A member of the Progressive Conservative Party, Jack served as the Minister of Tourism in the Brian Mulroney government.

Today, he sits on the Board of the Mission in downtown Ottawa and leads Christian Meditation groups there for people who are homeless. Jack and I spend a lot of our time talking about politicians and how they related with one another back in the day. Indeed, much of our conversation recalls the past.

In the Gospel reading for today (John 2:1-11), guests to a wedding party in Cana, Galilee, meet most likely in a garden setting, to celebrate a joyous occasion.

Certain clues in the story attract our attention. I’d like to point out, first, the empty jars normally filled with water used for the Jewish rite of purification. People engaging this rite did not drink the water. It stayed on the outside of their bodies when they immersed themselves in the bath.

The jars in this story direct peoples’ attention to their past, their Jewish tradition and ritual. The garden also was the usual setting where Jewish weddings took place, a reference to the Garden of Eden in the first book of the bible – Genesis (Shaia, 2021). The jars and garden are indicative of tradition, the past, the way things had always been done.

And not only does the Gospel look to the past, it points us to the future as well. “My hour has not yet come.” Jesus hints to Mary about his future path, when Jesus’ purpose will be fulfilled on the cross and by the empty tomb.

But it’s the present moment where the miracle—the sign—happens. It’s into the present moment that the Gospel ultimately draws us. “You have kept the good wine until now.” The steward recognizes Jesus’ act of bringing an unexpected gift for the guests.

And Jesus’ action in the present does more than merely get the bridegroom out of an embarrassing social faux pas. The unexpected gift is good wine, not normally offered late in the party. It’s in the present moment, even in an unpleasant situation, when people enjoy themselves.

Brain studies have examined where most of our time is spent thinking. They show that we spend most of our time thinking either about the past or the future; and, between these two, most of it is about the past. In other words, being fully present in the moment is not where we spend most of our time. And this is true even among young adults (Bellana et al., 2017).

Our thinking, entrenched in the past or fantasizing about the future, is also closely related to speech. Thoughts and words go hand in hand. Talking a lot is related to thinking a lot (about the past).

But in the Gospel, it’s more about what is not said that draws my attention. Mary does not tell Jesus what to do. She merely points to the problem. And leaves it up to her son.

The head steward didn’t know where the wine came from, but the servants knew because they drew the water for the jars as per Jesus’ instruction. How did they know it had turned to wine? Did they taste it, before and after? If it were left up to the dialogue alone, what was said out loud, we would be missing important pieces. There would be gaps in the story filled in only by observing behaviour.

As much as 80% of what is communicated takes place on the nonverbal level: our tone of voice, our body position and movement, our facial expressions, the direction of our eyes (Mehrabian, 1972).

What is more, if you want to be friendly, or hostile, your body language is over 12 times stronger in getting the message across than anything you might say (Argyle et al., 1971). What we do and how we do it speaks volumes. Words are important but have power only when anchored in the present reality. Simply pointing to the reality without judgement nor instruction, without any hint of direction nor evaluation, Mary said to Jesus: “They have no wine.” Fact.

Events and situations that bring us into the present reality are often not initially pleasant. We resist the present moment because we may be afraid of what we encounter there.

From the garden to the hospital. There aren’t other settings that bring us, force us, to the present moment more as in the hospital. When we are sick or visiting someone who is ill, or working in the hospital setting as a nurse, PSW, doctor – being there makes us grapple with the sometimes-harsh realities of the present moment.

And in that present moment, very few words are necessary when it comes down to it. The past, the future, these are all important and good. But when it comes down to it, presence is all we need in the present moment.

My friend, the retired Member of Parliament, Jack Murta, was also good friends with one of Speakers of the House of Commons at the time. And when you think about it – a politician Member of Parliament and a Speaker of the House – you can imagine the jokes about them entering a bar: There would be a lot of words spoken to say the least! Even the name – “Speaker” of the House – evokes images of a whole lot of verbiage. Words. Words. Words!

And yet, at the end of his long life, when this Speaker of House was dying in the hospital, he indicated he wanted to see Jack one last time. So, Jack drove to the hospital. And at this point the Speaker was no longer saying much of anything. But when Jack sat down beside him, the Speaker reached out and Jack took his hand in his own. And for many minutes they just sat there without saying a word. The touch of his hand was all the Speaker wanted and needed in that moment.

What mattered, what really mattered, was not the past on earth nor the future on earth. What mattered, what really mattered, was not saying a whole lot of words anymore. Because the joy of living even in that desperate moment, the true joy was found in the simple touch of another in the present moment.

I mentioned the water for the purification rite. It stayed on the outside of the human body. We don’t normally drink our bath water. Jesus performed a miracle of transformation: from water to wine.

When we celebrate Holy Communion, wine is offered. Jesus transformed an understanding of religion from external ritual to internal reality. We don’t wash our bodies with wine. We drink it. We bring it inside of us. We consume it. We digest it. It becomes part of us.

Holy Communion invites us to be present in the moment. To touch. To feel. To drink. To taste. To eat. Let this sacrament in which we participate weekly give us an occasion to practice being present to the holy Presence of God in Christ Jesus. So, with Christ’s presence in us now, we can be God’s loving presence in the world by what we say and what we do.

Behold, now is a very acceptable time; Behold, now is the day of salvation (2 Corinthians 6:2).

References:

Argyle, M., Akema, F., & Gilmour, R. (1971). The communication of friendly or hostile attitudes by verbal and nonverbal signals. European Journal of Social Psychology, 1, 385–402.

Bellana, B., Liu, Z. X., Diamond, N. B., Grady, C. L., & Moscovitch, M. (2017). Similarities and differences in the default mode network across rest, retrieval, and future imagining. Human Brain Mapping, 38, 1155-1171. https://doi.org/10.1002/hbm.23445

Mehrabian, A. (1972). Nonverbal communication. Aldine.

Shaia, A. J. (2021). Heart and mind: The four-gospel journey for radical transformation. Quadratos.

Washed in the waters of love

Posted on by
Reply
The Jordan River
(photo by Jean Housen, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons)

There is this sense of judgement in today’s Gospel (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22). Taken alongside the imagery of gathering the wheat and burning the chaff, the announcement of a baptism with Holy Spirit and fire leaves an impression of division, exclusion and judgement (Honig, 2025).

Last weekend my brother and his wife noticed that their outdoor Christmas lights, particularly the spotlight on their nativity scene set up in the flowerbed by the front of their house was mysteriously disconnected during the night.

Examining the scene the following morning they found the bulb lying on the snow a couple feet from the extension cord. Human footprints leading from the sidewalk were evident in the snow. They also noticed what looked like a dog’s footprints in the front yard.

Who did this? Why did they do this? My brother and I came up with a list of several reasons and scenarios that might lead someone to this act of aggression. And they weren’t positive reasons. Our imaginations swirled, as I’m sure you can understand, around worst-case motivations.

If it weren’t for a chance encounter in the local grocery store the next day, I wonder how long and how deep those judgements would burrow into and affect our hearts and minds.

Thankfully, in the grocery store my brother bumped into their next-door neighbour. And immediately the neighbour apologized for their dog’s erratic behaviour the previous night.

Out for their daily late evening walk, the dog had bolted and escaped its leash, and then leapt onto my brother’s yard. The dog began digging up the cords embedded in the snow and pulled apart the outdoor lights, resulting in the displacement of the nativity spotlight. The neighbour promised to replace any damaged cords or lights.

Truth be told.

The New Testament, taken as a whole, proclaims ours is not to judge (Romans 114). In this Gospel text, there is debate about who is the Messiah – John or Jesus (Luke 3: 15-17). The people wondered if it should be John. But even John makes an error in judgement when he expresses by his false humility – “I am unworthy to untie the thong of his sandals.”

Because recall that at the Last Supper, Jesus gets down on his hands and knees to untie the shoes and wash the feet of his disciples (John 13). In his confession, John’s idea of Messiahship was mixed up because being the Messiah was not about fright, might and right – the assumption of many at the time (and today).

Rather, to be the Messiah was to be servant of all, as Jesus modelled. It was God’s choice to make, not the crowds. It was God to judge who was to be the Messiah and who wasn’t. And at Jesus’ baptism (Luke 3:21-22) what was important was the voice of God making it clear on whom God’s mission would fall.

The beloved.

Baptism is a sign and promise of God to confer the blessing of love — to gather together, to end division, to bridge difference and to welcome all into a life that is beloved (Quivik, 2025).

The reason people make great mistakes in judgement and in their behaviour, I suspect, is because they never heard what Jesus heard on the day of his baptism (Rohr, 2021). They have never heard another human voice, much less a voice from heaven bless them by saying, “You are a beloved son. You are a beloved daughter. And in you I am well pleased.”

If we’ve never had anyone believe in us, take delight in us, affirm us, call us beloved, we don’t have anywhere to begin. There’s nothing exciting and wonderful to start with, so we spend our whole lives trying to say those words to ourselves: “I’m okay, I’m wonderful, I’m great.” Which can be helpful, to a point.

But we may not really believe it until that word also comes to us from someone else, someone we adore or at least respect — a partner, a friend, a parent. And when we do hear those words directed at us, we are changed. We are empowered.

Henri Nouwen wrote, “We are the Beloved. We are intimately loved long before our parents, teachers, spouses, children and friends loved or wounded us. That’s the truth of our lives. That’s the truth I want you to claim for yourself. That’s the truth spoken by the voice that says, ‘You are my Beloved’” (Nouwen, 1992, p. 30). This is our greatest need, to hear those words spoken to us. It is the greatest need of everyone.

The banner hanging right behind me is one of my favourites in our church: Christ’s light shines in us. In us. It’s not just that Christ’s light shines. But that it shines in us. And, therefore, like Jesus, because we shine in the light, we, too, are beloved.

That new year’s fright of finding the spotlight on Jesus torn from its extension cord in the front yard of my brother’s house and then finding out the truth of what actually happened, taught me something about how quick I am to judge others.

So, I invite you to consider with me a new year’s resolution that on paper may seem rather soft. But it is more difficult, I imagine, than any new year’s resolution you can make:

Rather than judging others or evaluating them for where they fit on our scales or standards, can we, near the start of the new year and in the way of Jesus, commit to compassionately understand every person we encounter, approaching everyone with humility, with empathy, no exceptions? Can we resolve to begin every encounter with everyone we meet, in our hearts and in our words, with grace and love?

Let us be renewed in the waters, in the river, of God’s never-ending love.

References:

Honig, C. (2025, January 12). Crafting the sermon; Baptism of our Lord /lectionary 1, year C. https://members.sundaysandseasons.com

Nouwen, H. J. M. (1992). Life of the beloved: Spiritual living in a secular world. Crossroad Publishing.

Rohr, R. (2021, October 28). Beginning as beloved; Original goodness. Daily Meditations. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/beginning-as-beloved-2021-10-28/

Quivik, M. A. (2025, January 12). Crafting the sermon; Baptism of our Lord /lectionary 1, year C. https://members.sundaysandseasons.com

Love, in the book of life – a funeral sermon for losing someone you loved dearly

Posted on by
Reply
God’s love can’t be washed away (photo by Martin Malina, July 2018, Long Beach WS)

The ‘book of life’ is mentioned not only once in Revelation – this last book of the bible – but several times (3:5, 20:12, 20:15, 21:27), as well as in Philippians (4:3) and Exodus (32:32-33). The book of life is mentioned throughout the bible.

The book of life is an image that came to my mind after something you said to me recently that made me think about the length of the books we read.

Normally I don’t like reading big books with hundreds if not thousands of pages in it. I feel I don’t have time nor energy to plumb the depths and breadth of long books. I prefer short books, under a couple-hundred pages.

While a short book I can easily get a handle on, understand and keep track of all the characters, plot lines, and themes, there is one problem with short books. If it’s a good book, I don’t want it to end. When I reach the last page, I want more. So, it’s tough putting down a quick read that I really enjoyed.

Your beloved’s last words to you were, “I love you.” Indeed, you had a love story that ended too soon. In other words, the book was too short. And reading this love story, we all wanted more.

The thing about the book of life in the bible is that it is ongoing. People’s names are written in it. But it’s not closed, reserved only for the names of those who lived thousands of years ago. It is open, and names are continually added including, today, your loved one’s.

In the life of spirit, of faith, nothing ever ends. And while our flesh withers away on earth, our relations continue forever. While your relationship with your loved one changed at their death, it is not over. And therefore, your relationship with them is not lost. It has just changed. Their name, after all, is written in the book life, forever.

Your love story is not over. Another book in the series is being published. Part two. Because it is the book of life. Life and love never end.

Jesus said, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, the seed remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:23-24)

On the road to Bethlehem

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

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

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

Who is this woman with her husband travelling at night?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God! Merry Christmas!

References:

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

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

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

Colouring the world with love

Posted on by
Reply

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

Expected yet unexpected

Posted on by
1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stoppage time: the waiting game

Posted on by
Reply

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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