Tag Archives: Canada

Geometric power: The circle church

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The architecture of church buildings, despite Christianity’s institutional decline in the Western world today, continues to draw our attention. For the most part, these are beautiful buildings, appealing to the eye whose symbols etched in paint, glass and images conveyed through colour and the play of light and shadow serve as magnets to the curious and searching among us all.

In one reading assigned for this Sunday from the prophet Amos, God’s judgement on Israel is measured by a plumb line.[1]Construction workers measured the stone blocks to make sure they were squared so the walls of the temple could be built straight up. It was used to make sure the construction of buildings was done properly. The plumb line image conveys the proverbial ‘standard’ to determine how righteous God’s people are. Needless to say, Israel fails miserably, time and time again.

It seems, for folks in the bible, there is always good and bad in the mix. God’s people will never, no matter how hard they try, be pure and perfect in their doing and being. From ancient days to this day, people of faith always miss the mark. Just read Paul.[2]Our vision is often clouded, and we cannot help but make mistakes on the journey.

The stories from the bible assigned for this day reveal characters mired in the shackles of their humanity, good and bad. David rejoices in bringing the ark of the covenant into the holy place of the temple in Jerusalem while others look on with hatred, despising him.[3]Of course, King David was no angel himself, committing murder and adultery while he was king.[4]

Herod Antipas, in the Gospel reading, respected the rogue John the Baptist and liked to hear him speak yet condemned him to a gruesome death in order to protect his own reputation.[5]Wherever you read in the bible, you cannot avoid the sinfulness of even the so-called heroes of the faith.

What we build to the glory of God, the fruits of our labours and expressions of our faith, will also reflect this good/bad reality. The Dean of the now re-named Martin Luther University College [formerly Waterloo Lutheran Seminary], Rev. Dr. Mark Harris, once told me, when he visited me at my former parish at Zion Lutheran Church in Pembroke, that no matter all the changes that happen in the church today — good and bad — architecture always wins out.

What does the architecture of a place of prayer, therefore, communicate? What truths do they reveal about what we value, what is important to the church? How does the architecture ‘win out’?

Recently, I’ve visited other congregations that are housed in beautiful, old church buildings. The first is Merrickville United Church where last month I did a pulpit exchange, you might remember. The second was two months ago when I visited Luther Place Memorial Church in Washington D.C., which hosted some seminars at the Festival of Homiletics.

What is similar about the floors in these churches, keeping in mind [hint!] our discussion of the plumb line? What would Amos say about their construction using his plumb line?

Why did the original construction include a sloped floor? Perhaps its architects wanted to create an easier sight-line for the person in the pew to see clearly the primary furniture of worship located in the chancel — the font, altar and pulpit. The font, where the first sacrament of baptism — of entering the family of God; the altar, where the sacrament of the meal invites us regularly for nourishment on the journey of faith; the pulpit from where we hear God’s word in scripture and voice.

That’s the good from the construction, that we are drawn and can see clearly what is central to our faith: Word and Sacrament. That we can come easily; we don’t have to work hard to earn our way to God. I don’t know how many times in worships services and lectures during my time in and visits to these spaces, we had to stop whatever was going on to wait for a rolling water bottle to make its easy yet loud, clattering roll down to the front.

So, the good: We can pool down into the arms of God’s grace. We are drawn to the love of God’s welcome and forgiveness. And we really don’t need to work hard to be there. We just need to ride the current flowing to God. It is gift. It is grace. It is free. Neither ought we place any barriers to God’s grace being accessible to all, to come forward. To let all, including ourselves, come to God. Amen? All are welcome!

You may have noticed, however, that King David brings the ark of the covenant “up” into the city. Indeed, this is the geography and architecture of the city of David built upon a hill.[6]And the holy of holies is not down below in the valley, but up high by the altar.

The people have to exert some physical energy to get to the place of God’s presence. Even David, in all his rejoicing in bringing the ark to Jerusalem, “danced before the Lord with all his might.”[7]He was working hard! He was putting his all – heart, soul and body – into the effort.

At the unplanned end to my Camino de Santiago pilgrimage last year, I sat in the large nave of the cathedral in Bilbao, Spain, reflecting on the disappointing turn of events. It is a spectacular fifteenth century build.

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As I looked around me in the silent, cavernous space, for a split second I experienced vertigo, not unlike you would in the old slanted room in the Ottawa Science Centre. Something was off.

Then I realized, I’d never before been in a church building whose floor was not sloped downward toward the altar, but upward!

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And what goes up must come down. The floor was slanting outward and downward toward the front doors and down into the city!

The story of David’s extravagant, energy-filled entrance up into the holy city didn’t finish at the holy of holies. Going up was completed by turning around at the apex to come back down. The story ends by David distributing food and gifts to not only his family and friends in the city, but “the whole multitude of Israel.”[8]Everyone is fed!

Worship and centering in God is followed by a necessary, gracious giving and going out into the world. I quote again the prophet Amos, where we started: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”[9]

We don’t have slanted floors here. It’s more or less flat. Amos with his plumb line might be satisfied with the level of the floors. But what else could the architecture of our place of worship tell us about ourselves, our identity and God’s call for us?

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Could it be, sitting in room that is basically round that the obvious measure and geometric symbol is not the straight line, but the circle? And now, with larger windows surrounding us, windows which let more light in, also improve our imagination and connection with the world out there? Could it be, given the architecture of our faith here at Faith, we are now called not only to be drawn into the centre, the hub, of the circle who is Christ, but also be sent out in the centrifugal force of God’s Spirit?

In the last pages of the bible, the Book of Revelation, we read a vision of God’s magnificent future:

God’s future comes as an experience of God’s love, “flowing like a river from God’s throne, nourishing trees with leaves for the healing of the nations.”[10]This vision “pictures a world made whole, with people living in a beloved community, where no one is despised or forgotten, peace reigns, and the goodness of God’s creation is treasured and protected as a gift. Our faith is not a privatized expression of belief which keeps faith in Jesus contained in an individualized bubble and protects us from the world.

“Rather, we are on a spiritual journey in which we remain connected to the centre of the presence of God but whose love yearns to save and transform the world. We are called to be ‘in Christ’, which means we share – always imperfectly, and always in community with others – the call to be the embodiment of God’s love in the world.”[11]

In loving others by including them in the circle, we discover how much we are loved by God. We are the circle church. A porous, ever-expanding circle.

 

[1]Amos 7:7-9

[2]Romans 3:23; Romans 7:15-21

[3]2 Samuel 6:16

[4]2 Samuel 11

[5]Mark 6:14-29

[6]2 Samuel 6:12b

[7]2 Samuel 6:14

[8]2 Samuel 6:18-19

[9]Amos 5:24

[10]Revelation 22:1-2

[11]Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation, Friday, July 13, 2018 (www.cac.org)

There’s a hole, PART 2: For a purpose

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I am a hole in a flute / that the Christ’s breath moves through – / listen to this /music.            -Hafiz

If you comprehend it, it is not God. -St. Augustine

Unlike the pounding of the surf a stone’s toss away, the ponding on the nearby creek made the surface of its water look pristine. A narrow creek made its lazy, winding way down the escarpment from Highway 21 and aimed to run into Lake Huron after finally crossing the stretch of sand on the beach at Point Clarke.

One of our favourite pastimes on those lazy summer days was to play around the area where the creek and lake met. As children, my brother and I would build castles, dig trenches and re-direct the flow of the creek’s water.

For a real challenge, we would try to dam up the creek’s flow, which took some planning, and extra material like drift wood and larger stones to block any outflow attempts. Once we contained it, the creek turned slowly into a large pond, comfortably remaining – for the time being – behind its fortress sand walls.

I’ve already talked about how in God’s creation, it is meant to be that each of us has a hole in our heart (see “There’s a hole, PART 1: Meant to be”). Moreover, it is God’s good intention that this hole is there for a purpose.

Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthian church a confession that in all his accomplishments for the expansion of the Gospel across the Mediterranean, he was given a thorn in his side.[1]The proverbial ‘hole’. It is not important, although many have tried, to figure out what this thorn actually was.

We don’t know. Maybe that’s the point. It’s not important that we know, only that this thorn was given him in order to keep him humble. The text says that the thorn was given Paul to keep him from being ‘elated’ – to keep his ego in check, perhaps because he tended toward being too full of himself, over confident in his own ability.

How does the ego get the better of yourself? What is your compulsion? What drives you to achieve some illusion of perfection in your life? So, you don’t need to trust what is beyond your life, what is ineffable, what cannot be fully understood that is the Great Mystery (a.k.a. God)?

Let me show you an example of compulsion to achieve that which is beyond our capacity: On my fishing trip with colleagues last May to Algonquin Park, we tried everything to beat the ice on the lake. Despite the predominance of the ice-covered lake, we tried desperately to fight the odds against us catching some fish even to the point of risking our safety to break up the ice ourselves in our canoes.

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Yup, that’s me. And, yup, you guessed it: We caught no fish. The irony is that on the last day of our camp out, the wind and the sun did its job. When we woke that last day, we looked over a lake completely free of the ice.

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Was God sending us a message? Weren’t we the butt end of some divine humour?

The hole in our heart has a divine purpose: To keep us from being too sure of ourselves, over-confident in our ability and our capacity to have it all figured out. If we didn’t have this hole, might we put all our trust in our own autonomy, our independence, to lead our life without any need at all to trust anyone else let alone God.

Beyond Paul in the New Testament, the stories in the bible are about God lessening, even stopping, the compulsive drive of main characters, so the wind of God’s Spirit could draw them more gently and more effectively (Gideon and Moses in the Hebrew Scriptures are good examples).[2]

In the Gospel reading for today, Jesus instructs his disciples in going into the world to do God’s mission, “to take nothing for their journey … no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.”[3]

God’s consolation is simple yet profound: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness,” God tells Paul.[4]The making perfect here is not about getting rid of that vulnerability. Rather, whatever weakness we bear stays with us in order for us to complete our purpose as human beings. We are made complete in God’s love because of our hole, thorn, weakness – not without it.

In one of Martin Luther’s famous works entitled, “The Bondage of the Will”, he emphatically declared that we, as humans, can never work out our own salvation for ourselves. We will continually fail, even when, or especially when, we believe we are doing good in the world.

While some might find this realization depressing – and it would be helpful to know why that is, for yourself – perhaps the “bondage of the will” can be freeing. Because we don’t need to be driven to inaction because we are afraid of making a mistake. We don’t need to get stuck in the mud under the fear of imperfection. As Christians, we can be free to do good work in the world, imperfectly, knowing that what we do is for the benefit of others and not for ourselves.[5]

Author Brian McLaren in his recent book: “The Great Spiritual Migration”, describes this time in history as a transition in the church from “organized religion” to “organizing religion.”[6]

A Church in the flow of God’s Spirit pertains not only to wind and water over the earth, but also to spiritual movement. To purpose and mission. To going where we need to go as a people. To re-focus again on loving God, self and others as the primal energy of the church. To bring to life once again the old verse: “They will know we are Christians by our love …” … and not by our buildings, property, and concern for security, certainty and self-preservation.

Can we let go of these things for the sake of God’s mission, for the sake of the Gospel of life and love in Christ? As the prophet Amos so well put it, using the water imagery: “Let justice role down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream … “[7]

By the time we had finally engineered the dam on the tiny creek aiming towards Lake Huron, the sun was setting and we had to go home. Inevitably, the next morning one of three things would have happened in our absence:

Either the creek would have found the weak spot in the sandy fortress wall we built, and escape through a tiny crack; or, increasing wind conditions over Lake Huron overnight would have created larger waves whose surf reached and destroyed the walls of our dam; or, someone would have been walking along the beach and, for the fun of it, just poked a tiny hole to watch as a slow trickle quickly turned into a strong, flowing stream.

In each case, a small hole was required in order for the creek to fulfill its mission and reach its destination – despite all the efforts of playful human beings to keep it contained.

After all, nothing was going to stop the flow. God’s Spirit and purpose will flow on because and through the holes in our lives.

[1]2 Corinthians 12:7-10

[2]Richard Rohr, “Dancing Standing Still; Healing the World from a Place of Prayer” (New Jersey: Paulist Press, 2014), p.18.

[3]Mark 6:8-9

[4]2 Corinthians 12:9

[5]Ross Murray, Senior Director, GLAAD Media Institute, LinkedIn July 2018.

[6]Brian McLaren, “The Great Spiritual Migration: How the World’s largest Religion is Seeking a Better Way to be Christian” (Massachusetts: Convergent Books, 2017)

[7]Amos 5:24

Canada is a neighbour

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Happy Canada Day!

On this July 1stit is good to reflect on what makes Canada great. Let’s be positive! What is it about our society that stands out in a positive way – amid all that is not so good?

I would like to say that we are a country that aspires to a healthy neighbourliness. Being a good neighbour – whether striving for better relations with Indigenous people, whether relating to newcomers to Canada today, whether reaching out in kind to those who are different from me who live across the street – is our national identity.

Asserting this quality for Canadians, I believe, is not new. Being a good neighbour is not a recent trend in progressive society. Hearing preachers spout the virtues of neighbourliness reflects a deep seeded consciousness influenced by popular culture already in the last century.

It was in the 1950s when children fell in love with the Friendly Giant on TV in Canada. Some of you might recall watching actor Bob Homme on CBC TV from 1958 until 1985 being friendly to his puppet animal friends.

Then there was Mister Rogers’ Neighbourhood which first aired in 1968. Although an American show, did you know that Fred Rogers spent several years in Toronto in the early 1960s working with Ernie Coombs – Mr. Dressup – airing a prototype show called the same Misterogers?

Over his career, Fred Rogers was intentional about being more and more inclusive. He brought, for example, an African American person onto the show yet didn’t draw undue attention to it. This was a subtle yet poignant statement about neighbourliness when American white culture was anything but, towards people of colour.

To assert that these cultural icons were birthed in Canada would not be an overstatement. To be Canadian is to be a good neighbour. It is in our DNA. It is our calling, our witness to a world that wants to be anything but, especially these days.

Yet, it seems every generation of Canadians needs to learn anew how to be a good neighbour. We need to be continually reminded and encouraged to practice being a good neighbour because we tend to be a fearful lot. And fear keeps us from this holy calling.

Having faith doesn’t mean the absence of fear. Having faith means stepping into the fearful place. Having faith means action. It means “leaning into” the situation as we are.[1]

Our lay delegate from Faith Lutheran Church to the Eastern Synod Assembly in Toronto last week, admits being fearful taking the train for the first time. Julia is a seasoned, experienced OC-Transpo bus rider here in Ottawa. Despite the similarities in travel experience between the train and bus, she confesses taking the train across the province for the first time was an anxious affair.

What is more, we missed each other on the train ride to Toronto. Even though we were on the same train, we boarded at different locations – Julia, downtown; and me, at Fallowfield Station in Barrhaven. In fact, as it turns out, we were on the same car – but I never once caught sight of her.

Until on the last leg of the journey, when we were on the Union-Pearson Express train. My phone dinged. Julia texted me to confirm whether I knew where to catch the hotel shuttle to the convention centre where the Assembly was to take place.

Despite her fear of riding the train for the first time, and alone, Julia reached out to me. She was being a good neighbour by making sure I was ok. Her reaching out to me was helpful since, truth be told, I was not sure about where to catch the airport shuttle bus.

“Who is my neighbour?” Jesus asks before telling the story of the Good Samaritan.[2]“Liberated by God’s Grace … to be neighbour” was the theme of the Eastern Synod Assembly. Through thoughtful, provocative and compelling bible studies, song, and interactions with various peoples, the Assembly reflected and re-committed to become even better neighbours, as a church.

Interesting, in keeping all this in mind, that we encounter the nameless woman in the Gospel reading for today.[3]She approaches Jesus in the crowd, hidden, secretly. No wonder. She is powerless and outlawed in public spaces on account of her bleeding.

The main point of the story is not that she is miraculously healed. She could have remained hidden, quietly disappearing into the crowed after she is healed. That is the way she would have wanted it, likely.

The point is that Jesus calls her into a deeper relationship. She must come out of her private suffering. She must confront her fear, and make a deeper connection with herself, with others, and with Jesus.

“Who touched my clothes?” Jesus says out loud even though he knows the woman has already been healed when he felt the power drain out of him.[4]He, too, could have enabled the woman’s secretive behaviour, letting her go and moving on. He could have protected her in her fearful existence after she is cured.

Instead, Jesus calls for her to step up and be known. Demonstrating incredible courage, the woman responds to Jesus’ call and approaches him “in fear and trembling, fell down before him and told him the whole truth.”[5]

Jesus seeks out a relationship with her. It is of God to do this. God continues to call us into ever deeper relationship – with ourselves, with others and with God. The point of the Gospel is that we affirm our connectedness with others in healthy and compassionate co-existence. This is the path to truth.

Jesus’ ‘touch’ can heal us and the world. The touch of God’s grace can give us peace. We are shaped and made human in relationship with others. All our relationships – in church, in friendships, in marriage – are not just something extra added on to life for distraction and entertainment as if we would be complete human beings in individual isolation.[6]Relationships are not some added feature to our lives in order to get something, a means to some autonomous end.

Relationships are the fabric of life. Relationship – touch, if you will – makes us human and whole. Being neighbourly can heal us, make us better people. “Perfect love casts out fear,”[7]our scriptures say. Love can only be expressed in relationship.

The reason Julia was not afraid of riding the bus in Ottawa, was because she was practiced at it. She had done it many times. Even though the train is not that much different, she had never before taken the train. The difference is, some intentional, risk-taking exercise.

Later this week, members of Faith council will be volunteering for a couple of hours at the Mission downtown for homeless, impoverished men. We will get a tour of the facility and help give out some ice cream to those who are there. Practice, to move beyond fear to faithfulness, isolation into community, to where our neighbours are.

We need to practice being a good neighbour – to those who are vulnerable, to those who are powerless, to those who are stigmatized, to the homeless, the LGBTQIA+ community, to refugees and migrants. We have to lean in to the places of fear in our lives and to take some risks vis-à-vis people who are different from us. In doing so, we realize we are not alone, and we have meaning and purpose in our lives for the common good.

Canadians and Christians share something in common, to be sure. We are called to reach out. And be a good neighbour to the world. We are not left alone stuck in our fear. Because God continues to call us into the deeper waters of grace and love. God will never abandon us, despite our fear.

Let us approach boldly the seat of grace in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

[1]Brother Luke Ditewig, “Brother, Give Us A Word” for June 28, 2018 (Society of Saint John the Evangelist) friends@ssje.org

[2]Luke 10:25-37

[3]Mark 5:21-43

[4]v.30

[5]v.33

[6]Michael L. Lindvall in David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., “Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary” Year B Volume 3 (Kentucky: WJK Press, 2009), p.192.

[7]1 John 4:18

One part per billion

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I’m going into the Algonquin Park region this coming week. As you can see outside the church, I’ve already strapped my canoe atop the car. I’m looking forward!

And when I’m paddling, I like to follow the river or lake banks. Of course, where I’m going, there are lots of little lakes and rivers, and therefore many riverbanks and rocky shorelines I will skirt (probably still breaking the ice!).

We live in a world where borders and boundaries are important. Whether these are borders between nations, continents, cities, regions, communities, families or individuals, they mark the line between separate and distinct realities. Without honouring certain boundaries, we can fail to distinguish who we are and lose a sense of our identity and purpose.

Last summer when I travelled through Spain and Portugal, I learned that he Portuguese-Spanish border is the oldest, unchanged national border on continental Europe. This surprised me because that border did not appear natural. Not unlike the border between Canada and the United States in North America, the Spanish-Portuguese border draws a counterintuitive line across the more natural flow of the continent’s geography.

For example, to see it from space, the North American continent flows more north-south: The mountains run north-south on the western half of the continent, the prairie and plains in the centre of the continent, and the Great Lakes basin spilling into both the Mississippi and St Lawrence River valleys in the eastern portion of the continent. The geography suggests more natural north-south lines.

Spain and Portugal share what looks like a giant square mass of land peaking in the northwest on what is called the Iberian Peninsula. The Atlantic Ocean hugs the northern and western edges of this square. And the Mediterranean laps up against the eastern edge and into the southern Straits of Gibraltar separating Africa from Europe.

Despite what looks like it should be a unified whole, this large land mass is divided between two nations with Portugal carving its small section on the south-western shoreline.

When the kids were toddlers — and sometimes even to this day — they often lingered on the thresholds of doorways separating outdoors from indoors. Standing or sitting on the threshold meant that the door remained open. Of course, we parents were concerned about them jamming their thumbs and fingers and toes. So, we would yell at them: “In our out! Make up your mind!”

Borderlands, as we know from German history (the Berlin Wall) and between North and South Korea, can be dangerous places. We call the space in the border “no man’s land.” At best, these thresholds are ambivalent to us; at worst, they leave us uncomfortable, unsettled, fearful. We feel we can’t rest in these places.

I learned recently about what is called the ‘riparian zone’ which is the border between land and water. The riparian zone can be the lake or riverbank that is a marsh, or a rocky or sandy, thin strip of land, a hardwood forest or stand of pine on the edge of the river.

This ‘in-between’ place of the riparian zone fulfills three, vital, ecological functions: First, the riparian zone functions as a natural filter, cleaning ground water as it flows into the larger watershed. It also protects the surrounding soil from accelerated erosion by slowing down wash effect of the river. In the process, riparian zones actually create new soil and provides for new habitats.

A NASA scientist called the river and its marshy edges the ‘sine qua non’ of life; that is, where water and land touch, these edges are necessary for life on earth.[1]

So, we agree that boundaries are important. Borders, whether political, relational or ecological are vital.

But we also say that the grace of God knows no boundaries. We say that God’s love crosses and surpasses all boundaries. Jesus says, “Abide in my love.”[2]Paul wrote that “nothing can separate us from the love of God.”[3]God’s love expands and grows and overcomes all obstacles.

How does this happen? How can we, on the one hand, honour the boundaries in our lives and, on the other hand, live into the boundary-busting, wall-breaking, division-crossing, far-reaching, limitless, boundless reality of God’s love? How can God’s love abide in us when we are separated from God and each other by sin?

We are human, after all.

Imagine you are at the ocean, and you’re standing in the ocean ankle-deep. It’s true, you are only ankle deep. But it’s also true you are in the ocean. It’s also true that if you keep going, it will get plenty deep soon enough. If not in the ocean you are standing in, certainly at the deepest point on earth — the Marianas Trench — because all oceans on earth are connected anyway.

What if the infinite depth of the ocean gives the totality of its depths to your ankle-deep degree of realization of it?[4]

During the Easter season, and because of the resurrection of Jesus, the church says God is everywhere. But then, we also say God is really in your soul. And God is really, really in the church. You have to go in the church to save your soul. And, in the church, God is really, really, really in the Holy Communion. And, then, God is really, really, really, really in heaven. And, here at Faith Lutheran in Ottawa, it’s like one part per billion!

But, Jesus is alive. Therefore, God is really, really, really, really, really, everywhere.

The truth is, when you’re connected to a little bit of it, you’re connected to the whole of it, the fullness of it.

Speaking of the Holy Communion, when we receive one grain, it belongs to the one bread; one grape, one cup. Many parts, one body. When you receive only one small part of the Communion, you receive the whole of Christ.

“Every piece of bread and sip of wine is precisely the same one: there is one bread, and that is Christ. We receive all of Christ in communion, not just a piece of him. If we break the loaf into a thousand pieces, there’s still only one Christ – and each of us receives all of him.”[5]

This logic extends on several levels. Our lives, for one, belong to God’s story. “We need to sense that all aspects of our history, of our experience, are part of the same story, even the bits that don’t make any sense or the meaningless parts …”[6]There is no part of us that does not, somehow, belong to the great story of God and God’s people. Every part of us — our history, our experiences — is valuable to God and to us, and to each other.

We are who we are. No part of us is wasted space, wasted DNA. No part of us is lost, no memory is gone. All parts of us and each one of us belong.

 

[1]Diana Butler Bass, “Grounded: Finding God in the World; A Spiritual Revolution” (New York: Harper One, 2015), p.68.

[2]John 15:9-17 speaks of the mutuality of divine love’s presence: We abide in Christ as he abides in us.

[3]Romans 8:38

[4]James Finley, Centre for Action and Contemplation, 28 April 2018 (audio, http://www.cac.org).

[5]Br. Mark Brown, Society of Saint John the Evangelist (SSJE), Brother, Give us a Word, 28 April 2018

[6]Laurence Freeman, Daily Wisdom (Word Community for Christian Meditation, Meditatio), 1 May 2018.

The Shepherd, and Creation

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In the midst of this season of Easter, the extreme winter weather that has plagued this part of the world recently has been the topic of conversation. Perhaps, then, it is appropriate that April 22 is Earth Day. The public, as well as Christians, are invited to pause and reflect on our relationship with all of creation.

Earth Day coincides with the Fourth Sunday of Easter, which is traditionally called “Good Shepherd Sunday”. Familiar readings from the bible populate the liturgies of this day.

The imagery from the Psalms, particularly Psalm 23, calls forth in me a context of creation that is stable, healthy. The Psalmist walks beside still waters, green pastures, verdant valleys. And if we expand the Psalmist’s repertoire we can include the hills and mountains (Psalm 121), the moon and the stars (Psalm 8), breaking waves (Psalm 42,89), expansive seas (Psalm 139) and sky-reaching trees (Psalms 1,148).

In scripture, grace is mediated through creation, not apart from it. The message of the Gospel cannot be communicated in spite of creation but in and with it. All of creation, like the Sacrament, is a beloved conveyor of God’s grace and purpose.

When in the Gospel Jesus says to his disciples that he is the “good shepherd” (John 10:11), we are invited to consider what it means to care for creation. The Greek word for ‘good’ in this text, kalos, means ‘model’. In other words, Jesus is the model shepherd. Jesus models for us, in his life-giving love, how it looks to be a follower of Jesus.

Jesus will stop at no cost to care for us and for the world that God created and so loved. What does it mean for us? What are we called to do, as followers of Jesus?

This weekend, as the weather finally warms up and feels more like Spring, please reflect and act on what it means to follows Jesus in today’s world. Start by reading the Earth Day statement prepared together by the ELCIC Bishop, the Rev. Susan Johnson, Anglican National Indigenous Bishop, the Rt. Rev. Mark MacDonald, and the Anglican Church of Canada Bishop, the Most Rev. Fred Hiltz:

Earth Day statement by church leaders

Discerning Mission today

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I’m offering the following reflection to members of our congregational council prior to a conversation we hope to have around discerning a mission focus at Faith Lutheran. I invite your responses, too!

A missional theology for the 21st century

I emphasize the 21st century, because since the 15th century most mission work done by Christians was heavily influenced by what is called the “Doctrine of Discovery”. Please listen to/watch the audio/video at this link https://youtu.be/Ygk3X5Xjjh4 as background material to the question of mission in the 21st century. While Bishop MacDonald reflects its historical effect upon the Indigenous people of Canada, this paper will clarify underlying assumptions of a mission strategy that breaks with the “Doctrine of Discovery.”

Moreover, it is important for ELCIC Lutheran congregations to be aware that a few years ago in national convention, the church formally repudiated the “Doctrine of Discovery” (Visit http://www.elcic.ca/Documents/documents/DoctrineofDiscoveryMotionFINAL.pdf).

I will presume that bearing witness to the Gospel of Christ does not mean we treat people as objects against whom we must compete for doctrinal supremacy. People are not objects with whom we must compete for the truth. Mission is not a game. Mission is not a war. People are not a means to an abstract end, pawns manipulated on the chessboard of religious winners and losers.

The “Doctrine of Discovery” assumed that what we had (the truth, the right way of thinking, the right doctrine of God, etc.) we had to communicate, usually violently, to the other who was infinitely inferior in their thinking and worldview. In other words, our mission practice was usually characterized as an imposition, a forced laying-on of what we believe upon the passive or resistant recipient. The harder we tried, the better. Success was measured by victory on the battlefield, literally and figuratively, and number of souls converted to Christ.

The “Doctrine of Discovery”, moreover, paid little attention to the truth that God has been revealed in all of creation – including those with whom we relate in any missional work (see “incarnational” below).

In the emerging understanding of mission today, the following characteristics stand in contrast to the assumptions of the “Doctrine of Discovery”. As such, the culture of doing mission is undergoing a radical transformation. The diversity and multi-cultural social environment in Canadian society, especially in large urban centres such as Ottawa, make our context particularly attractive to practise and exercise these principles of, and attitudes towards, mission:

1. Respectful

When people who differ from each other in significant worldviews, a respectful encounter is characterized by the willingness to listen first. When all parties in the encounter demonstrate curiosity and a desire to seek deeper understanding from the other, the mission encounter can be deemed a respectful one. An initial question asked by the Christian seeker who is curious about the other, is: “What can you teach me?” / “What can I learn from this encounter?” As such, the Christian also shows genuine humility.

2. Incarnational

God is revealed in all of creation. God’s manifestation is revealed in different ways among different people. Such an outlook is more Hebrew than Platonic. Plato described aspects of reality as an imperfect, refracted reflection. In contrast, the Hebrew notion of physicality, and the Christian belief that the humanity was God’s very embodiment, suggests the revelation of God is encountered more ‘in the flesh’ rather than in abstract ideas. This incarnational mode of mission leads to at least two important implications:

First, mission is God’s work and activity before it is ours. In other words, God is already active ‘in the world’ before we decide to do anything about it. Discerning a mission focus is then about acknowledging an opportunity and then choosing to participate in what God is already doing. Second, mission work therefore addresses real life, practical needs of all creation (see ‘restorative’ below). If a missional initiative is more about spreading the right ideas about God than focused ‘on the ground’ and the particular needs of a particular people in a particular context, than that initiative lacks an incarnational understanding of God’s work.

3. Relational

Based on the Trinitarian appreciation of God (The Father, The Son, The Holy Spirit – One God in Three Persons), any missional work in God’s name will be relational. In other words, mission is a communal, corporate act instead of an individual, solitary, autonomous effort in and by the church. As such, a missional approach will hold that when one member of a community suffers, then the whole community suffers (1 Corinthians 12:26. Though Paul refers here to the church and therefore this verse has important implications for the pastoral care of and among Christians themselves, we can also suggest that the general principle applies to broader circles of community, including in the public sphere). We are all interdependent beings, as much as we like to emphasize the rugged individualism and self-reliance in North American culture. Despite these strong notions that continue to influence us, we do need each other. More than one famous person has said that a society is judged by how it treats its weakest, most vulnerable members (often attributed to Mahatma Gandhi, but was also allegedly expressed by American novelist Pearl Buck and Vice-President Hubert Humphrey (1965-1969)).

4. Mutual

Flowing from relational and respectful understandings of mission work, a healthy encounter is usually mutual. A basic definition of mutuality is: “What I want from you, I will first give to you.” If I want respect, I first need to give it. If I want your trust, I need to trust you. If I want you to listen to me, I first need to listen to you. Mutuality is thus a rendition of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do to you. That is, love the other because that is what you seek from them. A primary and fundamental question in a mission encounter is: “How can I best love you?” This brings an interesting implication of mission work: Our (deeper) needs will be met when we meet the needs of others.

5. Collaborative/cooperative

These are mission initiatives that reflect in their organization an effort and desire to be cooperative and collaborate with others. Such efforts presume not a competitive model in the marketplace of charities. Rather, these organizations envision working with different levels of government and the non-for-profit sector to achieve the highest quality of service and maximize resources for a common, shared goal.

6. Restorative

To be ‘restorative’ in doing God’s mission, is to incorporate an incarnational theology with relational, respectful and mutual modes of mission. That is, we look to where God is, in the world around us, and go there. We observe and ascertain the physical needs of the most vulnerable in our society, and we seek to meet those needs – in order to make things right or at least better. This restorative approach also presumes we address some systemic injustices in our society. Mission is not merely ‘charity’ work (which tends to be individualistic and maintain unjust structures). Rather, we gain awareness of the reality facing the vulnerable, we engage in advocacy on their behalf, and/or we engage in action to help a group, directly.

7. Authentic

A Christian mission theology for the 21st century is rooted in an identity that is clear and strong. In this emerging missional style, a confidence and joy in Christian identity is maintained and grows. We are not ‘blending’ nor ‘losing’ our faith in first listening to the other, seeking understanding of the other or loving the other first. In learning more about another’s faith, religion, or worldview, we do not lose what is most important to us. In truth, the opportunity is there to become stronger in our faith by learning more about someone who is different from us/me.

Maintaining faith-integrity is integral to this emerging missional culture. Being authentic and true to one’s belief, maintaining healthy boundaries of respect, and giving others freedom to choose – these all speak to an authenticity that is attractive in and of itself in a missional encounter. As the Twelve Step founder, Bill Wilson, laid out the policy of “attraction not promotion” (Cited in Susan Cheever, “AA and Anonymity – What Would Bill W. Do?” The Fix: Addiction and Recovery, Straight Up, 06/07/2011) , we do not force, we attract.

This might mean agreeing to disagree on some things while still respecting the other. Being authentic implies, also, that Christians in a diverse, multi-cultural world, must keep learning about their own faith, and acquire new skills in relating to each other and the world around us (e.g. active listening, assertiveness). We cannot assume anymore that everyone ‘out there’ knows what we mean when we present crosses, sing hymns, or use familiar (to us) words and symbols. We need to know what these mean to us before sharing our faith. We need to learn how to listen, and to ask for what we need and want from the other. Changed lives will attract others to inquire about the faith, not beating others over the head with a bible nor by the force of persuasion and argument.

8. Local

Finally, the emerging theology of mission in the 21st century is increasingly local in scope. In 2014, Synod Conferences in our church were restructured into smaller units, or local Ministry Areas (e.g. the Ottawa/St Lawrence Conference evolved transitioned into four separate areas: Ottawa Ministry Area /Montreal Ministry Area /Seaway Ministry Area /Upper Ottawa Valley Ministry Area). As a result, the focus of congregational and regional activity bears more on the local geographical context of the church. That is, individual congregations are now encouraged to relate more within the immediate geographic surroundings in mission work with other local congregations, as opposed to the vast area represented by the predecessor Conference structure.

Not denying the good work of national and global missions, Lutherans in Canada are encouraged to focus on more local, immediate needs of the vulnerable and disadvantaged.

An implication of a local emphasis in mission is, we are poised to engage people more, thus fulfilling the relational, respectful, mutual modes described above (rather than merely putting a cheque in the mail to some distant, detached-from-our-reality effort – as worthy and good as it may be). A local mission, then, becomes more present to us and our ordinary, daily lives.

9. Compelling

A purposeful and authentic mission commitment will emerge from who we are as a congregation. I paraphrase Frederick Buechner’s words to say, we must go to where “our greatest passion meets the world’s greatest need”. What will generate a collective commitment and enthusiasm for a project will depend on the degree to which the creative juices in our community flow in this discernment. We can think outside the box. We can risk failure. We can try again, and not give up. It’ll work when the imagination of the congregation is stirred and captivated. Is the initiative meaningful to a growing number of people associated with the church? Younger generations want to make a meaningful difference for the better, in the world, through their activity in the church.

Conclusion

In discerning a mission focus for our congregation, I would consider these principles as guideposts for the degree of our participation. For example, to what degree does such-and-such initiative reflect respectful, incarnational, relational, mutual, collaborative, restorative, authentic, local and compelling principles of engagement?

Respectfully offered, and for the purpose of ongoing discussion,

Pastor Martin Malina
April 2018

A wintery spirit

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The winter of 2018 has been record-setting, so far. And we are barely one week into the new year! Did you know it was Ottawa’s coldest New Year’s Day since records began in 1873? At 8am on January 1st, the mercury dipped to a frigid minus 30.2 degrees Celsius (-22 Fahrenheit); New Year’s Day also marked Ottawa’s sixth consecutive day with temperatures below -17 degrees Celsius (1 Fahrenheit), which made it the longest run in exactly one hundred years.[1]

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A full onslaught of winter can help us appreciate the meaning of Christianity. Though much of the bible’s stories and lessons were wrought out of the harsh desert climate surrounding the Mediterranean and Arabian seas, the winter realities we face in Canada are not that much different. I suggest, then, let’s take desert and winter as synonymous – meaning, essentially, the same things.

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American Lutheran theologian, Martin Marty, describes the importance of what he calls a “wintery spirituality”, defined by the shrill cry of absence, frost, and death. In contrast to a summer spirituality, winter is more given to being emptied than being filled. Winter is harsh and lean in imagery, beggarly in its gifts of grace and love.[2]

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Of course, Jesus goes into the Judean wilderness to be baptized in the Jordan River. And right after his baptism, he spends forty days and nights in the desert.[3] The desert is not a comfortable place to be. For one thing, it makes scarce and even denies the basic need for our survival – water. A desert is an arid region where annual rainfall remains miniscule. Some deserts average only one centimetre a year, with parts of the Sahara not receiving a drop of rain for more than twenty years.[4]

The word and image of water appears in each of the Hebrew readings assigned for this festival day in the church calendar, and is tied to baptism in the readings from the New Testament.[5] More to the point, water is given out of the chaotic void in the creation story, and in the arid wilderness as a gift and a grace. Water is thus a sign of God’s love amid the harsh winter or desert realities of our lives.

The prophets of old affirm that it is precisely in the desert where God expresses God’s love to the people. The grace of God cannot be received outside of winter. “Thus says the Lord: The people who found grace in the wilderness … I have loved you with an everlasting love …. I remember your love, how you followed me in the wilderness.”[6]

How, then, can we appreciate and even thrive, living out of this truth? How can we follow Jesus in his way? After all, the Baptism of our Lord is about Jesus beginning the journey to fulfill his God-given purpose in life. How he does it is of particular importance to us, if we are interested in following Jesus in our life-style.

Listen to a story first told by a nineteenth-century teacher, Awad Afifi the Tunisian, who drew his wisdom from the wide expanse of the North African desert:

A gentle rain fell on a high mountain in a distant land. The rain was at first hushed and quiet, trickling down granite slopes. Gradually it increased in strength, as rivulets of water rolled over rocks and down gnarled, twisted trees that grew there. The rain fell, as water must, without calculation. After all, water never has time to practice falling.

Soon, it was pouring, as swift currents of dark water flowed together into the beginnings of a stream. The brook made its way down the mountainside, through small stands of cypress trees and fields of lavender, and down cascading falls. It moved without effort, splashing over stones – learning that the stream interrupted by rocks is the one that sings most nobly. Finally, having left its heights in the distant mountain, the stream made its way to the edge of a great desert. Sand and rock stretched beyond seeing.

Having crossed every other barrier in its way, the stream fully expected to cross this as well. But as fast as its waves splashed into the desert, that fast did they disappear into the sand. Before long, the stream heard a voice whispering, as if coming from the desert itself, saying, “The wind crosses the desert, so can the stream.”

“Yes, but the wind can fly!” cried out the stream, still dashing itself into the desert sand.

“You’ll never get across that way,” the desert whispered. “You have to let the wind carry you.”

“But, how?” shouted the stream.

“You have to let the wind absorb you.”

The stream could not accept this, however. It didn’t want to lose its identity or abandon its own individuality. After all, if it gave itself to the winds, could it ever be sure of becoming a stream again?

The desert replied that the stream could continue its flowing, perhaps one day even producing a swamp there at the desert’s edge. But it would never cross the desert so long as it remained a stream.

The stream was silent for a long time, listening to distant echoes of memory, knowing parts of itself having been held before in the arms of the wind. From that long-forgotten place, it gradually recalled how water conquers only by yielding, by turning to steam in a natural cycle. From the depths of that silence, slowly the stream raised its vapours to the welcoming arms of the wind and was borne upward, carried easily on great white clouds over the wide desert waste.

Approaching distant mountains on the desert’s far side, the stream then began once again to fall as a light rain. At first it was hushed and quiet, trickling down granite slopes. Gradually it increased in strength, as rivulets rolled over the rocks and down the gnarled, twisted trees that grew there. The rain fell, as water must, without calculation. And soon it was pouring, as swift currents of dark water flowed together – yet again – into the headwaters of a new stream. [7]

Jesus instructs his followers to become the people they are called to be.[8] God is aware that our lives are like a journey through the desert. Or, as Canadians, we can say that our faith journey is not dissimilar from living through an Ottawa record-setting winter.

To thrive in this life is to see that this journey of becoming is not static. We are not called by Jesus to become mere swamp lands at the edge of the desert. Rather, the journey calls us to be vulnerable, to recognize what we may initially want to resist in us – like the stream that first struggled against yielding to the wind.

Our journey through life are journeys of vulnerability. Of taking little. Of trusting God. Of appreciating the value of small things. Of letting go into the Spirit wind of God. Then, we can, with the Psalmist see that, even in the wilderness, the Lord fulfills God’s promises and does indeed give strength to us and bless us with peace.[9]

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[1] Ottawa weather records, Twitter @YOW_Weather

[2] cited in Belden C. Lane, “The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality” (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), p.37

[3] Mark 1:12-13

[4] Belden C. Lane, ibid., p.38

[5] The Baptism of our Lord, Revised Common Lectionary Year B: Genesis 1:1-5, Psalm 29, Acts 19:1-7, Mark 1:4-11

[6] Jeremiah 31:3; 2:2

[7] as written by Belden C. Lane, ibid., p.20-21

[8] read the entire section from Matthew 10:5-42

[9] Psalm 29:11, NRSV

Reforming Remembrance

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In the last couple weeks, we have worn our poppies and have been challenged to remember.

There is little to question about what actually happened in the First, Great War, the Korean War, The Second World War and all the military conflicts in the last century including Afghanistan. We have the numbers, the maps, the results, the casualties. We honour the soldiers and veterans who made sacrifices in service to their country. We recall the horrors of war and pledge to be agents for peace in the world.

Remembering is important to do. How we remember and what we remember is another question worth pondering.

In recent years whenever my twin brother and I have gotten together we are intentional to remember times especially with my Father, growing up, travelling, spending ordinary days doing ordinary things. As with any life, there are lots of stories to remember.

And what is almost always the case, is that David remembers one aspect of the same event that I don’t; and, I remember a completely different part of that event – which David doesn’t. For example, David remembers the imaginative story Dad told us when we were about ten years old about Mr. Black fighting Mr. White. While he remembers more the content of the story, I remember that when Dad told us that story we were sitting on the back porch after having gone for a bike ride together.

We spend these times reminiscing by ‘filling in’ each other’s gaps in memory. Same event. Just different things remembered. And different things forgotten or overlooked.

In this 500th anniversary year of the Reformation, the Lutheran and Roman Catholic churches have attempted a different tact from the way we have ‘celebrated’ Reformation anniversaries in the past. Listen to what the Lutheran World Federation scholars and Roman Catholic leadership wrote together recently about the task of how we remember the Reformation events of the sixteenth century:

“What happened in the past cannot be changed, but what is remembered of the past and how it is remembered can, with the passage of time, indeed change. Remembrance makes the past present. While the past itself is unalterable, the presence of the past in the present is alterable. In view of 2017 [the 500th anniversary of the start of the Reformation] the point is not to tell a different history, but to tell that history differently.”[1]

That same history, you will know, was used for centuries to incite conflict and division between our churches. Reformation was traditionally a time to celebrate how good we are and how bad they are. Today, in a changed context reflecting globalization, ecumenism and a pile of new research and study about Martin Luther, his times and his theology — these have yielded fresh approaches that emphasize unity rather than division.

Perspectives have changed. And continue to change.

This year in Canada we are also celebrating our 150 years of history with more of a critical eye. We acknowledge publicly, perhaps in a new way, the fact that Canada was already occupied by people long before the first Europeans settled here. This understanding may be challenging for us settlers because for so long we have reaped the vast material benefits of settling and working here.

Part of my sabbatical journey took me to Lisbon, Portugal. On the far westernmost coast of continental Europe, Lisbon was a natural launching point for the various expeditions and voyages made by Europeans during the “Age of Discovery”.

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On Lisbon’s extensive waterfront at least a couple of impressive monuments stand in celebration of the achievements of European explorers and aviators. There is the looming Monument of Discovery which depicts the personalities of various explorers making their way across the ocean.

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And there is an airplane monument commemorating the historic first south Atlantic crossing in 1922 flown by Gago Coutinho and Sacadura Cabral.

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In the decade following Coutinho’s and Cabral’s inaugural south Atlantic flight, another adventuring aviator, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry who is perhaps most well-known for writing the children’s book “The Little Prince”, reflected on what flying did to our understanding of the land upon which we live:

The airplane, he writes, “has revealed to us the true face of the earth. Through all the centuries, in truth, the roads have deceived us … They avoid barren lands, great rocks and sands, they are wedded to the needs of men and go from spring to spring …But our perspective has sharpened, and we have taken a cruel step forward. Flight has brought us knowledge of the straight line. The moment we are airborne we leave behind those [winding] roads …  It is only then, from high on our rectilinear course, that we discover the essential bedrock, the stratum of stone and sand and salt…

“Thus do we now assess man on a cosmic scale, observing him through our cabin windows as if through scientific instruments. Thus we are reading our history anew.”[2]

As we retell our history, as we seek understanding of what and how it happened, do we take the winding road, or do we take to the skies?

Amos the reformer was a prophet in ancient Israel. He challenged especially the northern kingdom in the eighth century B.C.E. to accept a new way of worshipping God. No longer where they to worship at the old shrines established by earlier prophets Samuel, Elijah, and Elisha at Beer-sheba, Bethel and Gilgal. Now, they would have to learn to worship God in a central location, at the temple in Jerusalem.[3]

In order to persuade them, he railed against the rituals and heartless pomp often associated with worship in that day.[4] The Israelites’ understanding of their own history needed changing. Without denying or changing the history itself, Amos helped them grow into an appreciation of the centralized worship which was not inconsistent with the Hebrew faith, a faith that had always emphasized care for the poor, the widow, the destitute. As such, Amos was “an agent of reformation”[5].

Whether we speak of ancient Israel, or the Reformation, or the Age of Discovery, or World War Two, or present day Canada, our remembrance is being reformed.

This first week of November is Treaties Recognition Week in Ontario. Listen to what perspective is offered in the writing of our history. Again, this perspective is not untrue. It simply offers a fuller understanding of what happened when Europeans ‘discovered’ this land:

“This native land was the home of many peoples, who have lived here for centuries and millennia. There is extensive archaeological evidence to confirm this statement. North America was occupied long before European strangers from across the ocean ‘got lost’ on their way to India and ignorantly named the inhabitants ‘Indians’.

“The residents of this new land had a deep regard for the practice of hospitality. So they welcomed the strangers to come ashore and opened their lives to these ‘lost’ explorers. This invitation to step out onto the land conveyed a message that did not make sense to the newly-arrived who had their own primary interests; wealth and resources.

“These alien visitors were nominally Christian. They were supported by ‘Christian’ interests intermingled with commercial and imperial motives. The biblical foundations and the practice of hospitality had been lost or buried under the exercise of abusive power that appears to be the inevitable companion of empires seeking to expand their influence and control. Equally forgotten or ignored was the fundamental biblical concept of covenant whose goal is establishing and nurturing respectful relationships that honour the Creator.

“These European strangers had been told by their highest authorities that any people unlike themselves actually were nobodies. The Doctrine of Discovery … reminded the newly-arriving aliens that they were superior to the ‘nobodies’ greeting them in hospitality. The rest is history and now we are trying to ‘get it right’ so that we can discover what it means to live in peace and mutual respect. It is time to set aside suspicion and abuse so that we can again become hospitable to one another as well as to contemporary visitors.”[6]

This anniversary year we sing “O Canada” and this Remembrance Day we’ve worn our poppies. It is important that we remember. It is important that we commemorate our history, good and bad.

How we remember is important, too. What aspects of our remembrance we emphasize speak loudly about the kind of people we are and aspire to be.

Amos presented a pretty bleak picture of Israel’s plight in the eighth century B.C.E.  The tone of his message is harsh, doom-and-gloom. It seems the Israelites can do nothing to avoid the inevitable calamity that awaits. It’s easy to lose hope and despair in the present circumstances. It doesn’t look good, what with all that’s going on in the world today.

From the perspective of history, though, we know how the story ends for them. We know the people of God are headed to the trials of Babylonian exile a couple of centuries later. We also know that one day, they do return to Jerusalem to restore the temple worship and re-build their lives at home.

Antoine Saint-Exupéry tells the story of when he and his friends from northern Europe invited some north Africans from the Sahara to visit with them in France.[7] These Bedouin, up until this point in their lives, never left the desert; they only knew the scarcity of water that defined so much of their lives and perspective.

When they climbed in the foothills of the French Alps they came across a thunderous waterfall. The French explained to their astounded friends that this water was enhanced by the Spring run-off of melting snows high above them. After minutes of silence during which the Africans stood transfixed before the bounteous and gorged scene before them, the Europeans turned to continue on their mountain path.

But the Africans didn’t move.

“What are you waiting for?” Saint- Exupéry called back.

“The end. We are waiting for the water to stop running. A stream of water always runs out. We are just curious to see how long it takes.”

They would be waiting there a long time. The prophet Amos concludes his diatribe by doing what so many other prophets of Israel do: They call on the people to have faith in God’s action in the world, God’s righteousness and justice. “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”[8]

God’s justice never runs out. The waters of God’s grace, mercy and truth never cease flowing. Our perspectives, our experience, our opinions are limited and sometimes scarce, if we rely on these alone.

But God’s work continues to gush forth in and all around us. Let us trust and have faith in the never-ending flow of God’s love and presence in the world today. So we may grow into the fullness of God’s vision for us all.

 

[1]  “From Conflict to Communion: Lutheran-Catholic Common Commemoration of the Reformation in 2017” (Leipzig: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt/Paderborn: Bonifatius, 2013), p.16

[2] Antoine Saint-Exupéry, “Wind, Sand and Stars” trans. by William Rees (New York: Penguin Classics, 2000), p.33-34.

[3] Wil Gafney in David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., “Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year A Volume 4” (Kentucky: WJK Press, 2011), p.266-270

[4] Amos 5:18-24

[5] Wil Gafney, ibid., p.268

[6] Reconciling Circle: reconcilingcircle@execulink.com, Daily Readings for Treaties Recognition Week: 5-11 November 2017, Day 1 “Have You Ever”

[7] I summarize and paraphrase his telling from “Wind, Sand and Stars”, ibid., p.54-55

[8] Amos 5:24

Why? To melt hearts of stone

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In a typical Canadian winter at this time of year, salt and light (Matthew 5:13-20), of course, serve a particular purpose.

It doesn’t matter how cold it can still get in February, if the sun is shining then the snow and ice will melt under the strengthening, radiant beams of warm light. And, with the occasional freezing rain still in the offing, that bag of salt sitting on the porch or in the garage can come in handy, to sprinkle on the walkways and driveways — to melt the ice.

Salt and light, in any given context, serves a specific purpose. I can remember when the kids were younger, one of ours had the habit of picking anything and everything up off the ground and putting it in her mouth.

I can remember needing to intervene when she was in her exploratory mode, walking down the sidewalk in the middle of winter. “Don’t eat it! That is road salt, dear. Not table salt.”

We are called to be like salt and light in the world. But that gift will serve a specific purpose, according to the context and circumstance of our lives.

How can we know what that gift is, and for what purpose it serves? It can be challenging to claim that gift for our lives, and then have the courage to use it. This can be difficult because the world and the dominant powers of culture may not support it. The gift and purpose may seem small in comparison to the dominant climate of coldness, hatred and violence so prevalent in the culture today.

Julian of Norwich in her first of Divine Revelations writes about the small hazelnut. She writes, that God “showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazel nut, lying in the palm of my hand …. I marvelled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God.”

It may seem pallid at first, even pointless. But there is power in small. Ezekiel writes, “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you …” (Ezekiel 11:19;36:26-27).

In words that may make better sense in our Canadian winter, God is promising us that God will melt our hearts of stone-cold bitterness, resentment, fear and hatred. And put the warmth of God’s light in Christ and the loving power of the Spirit to change our lives, and the world around us.

Salt and light are gifts that are subtle and small, yes, similar to the smallness of the hazelnut. And yet, these are gifts you cannot easily hide. Nor will they go away. They are public gifts, not private, in scope. They affect the whole experience of living.

You cannot add salt to soup, and not notice a difference. You cannot throw ice-melter on the driveway, and not notice some change on the ground. You cannot stop the sun from shining, and not stop the smile that comes on a sunny day after weeks of dark, grey, cloudy existence.

Faith Lutheran has a renovated gift, the gift of a safe and modernized building — a gift, yes. But why will it be used? How will our (Faith Lutheran’s) soon return to that site on 43 Meadowlands Drive restore something that was missing in the neighbourhood while we were here (at Julian)? Or, does it? What difference does that gift make to the world around us?

Our gift has a purpose. And that purpose is meant to catch the attention of a world that is shrouded in cloudy days and numbed to the slippery vices of distraction, delusion and fear.

Why is this important? How is it worthwhile? In an age when the church in North America is facing challenge and change, perhaps it is time again to focus on the WHY. It has been argued that people don’t buy-in to the WHAT we do but the WHY we do it. (1)

We need to be clear about that. The only way we can know WHAT do do with our faith, the church and our buildings is first to claim, embrace and communicate clearly the WHY of our faith. The WHY.

In the aftermath of the tragic violence in Quebec last weekend, the premier challenged his province, indeed our whole society, to reflect and consider again how we treat one another in a culturally diverse community. How we treat one another through the changes and stresses of life that can be disruptive. How we treat one another who are different and come from different walks of life, religious experience and ethnic diversity.

Observing how we do what we do may also give us a clue to the WHY. I believe the church has a lot to offer this world of ours, as salt and light. St. Paul encourages the fledgling, conflict-ridden Corinthian church to claim their identity they already have, in Jesus: “We have the mind of Christ,” he concludes (1 Corinthians 2:16). And Jesus, in short, came to show the love and grace of God to a world so hung up on achieving, earning, competing, judging, proving themselves, excluding others and fighting.

I believe the church has a lot to offer this world. To reflect Christ, the light of the world: to receive the love of God, to accept the love of God, and then demonstrate that compassion and love to the world. It is behind everything we do in the church. Everything. Let’s not forget that.

To melt hearts of stone.
(1) Simon Sinek, “Start With Why” (New York: Penguin, 2009), p.58