Tag Archives: Christianity

A little bit of root goes a long way

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Photo by Martin Malina, on the Mattawa River at Samuel De Champlain Provincial Park, Ontario, May 3, 2025

This past week the in-person grief group concluded our weekly meetings by planting a spruce tree in the church yard. It is a memorial tree, in memory of baby Leyla who died last December. We also dedicated it to the losses shared by all group members, in the hope of continued connection and love over time.

When I was digging the hole for the tree earlier in the day, I was about a foot down in the earth when, thunk! my shovel hit something hard. And it wasn’t a stone. It was long and cylindrical, and at first I feared I was boring into some underground pipe or cable. Upon further inspection I realized it was a gigantic tree root.

I looked up and around and then noticed that some thirty feet away in the corner of the yard close to our neighbour’s hedge line was a towering spruce tree reaching over eighty feet into the sky. From its base, facing me, one large root dove into the ground heading my way.

Well, here at the bottom of the hole, lined in the same direction was the same root upon which we would be planting a baby spruce tree.

I also realized that, before I knew what I was digging into I had damaged the root by cutting it and chipping away surface layers during my initial inspection. The giant spruce thirty feet away must have felt the pain of this violent, threatening incursion upon its body and territory.

How would this old tree heal its fresh wounds?

In the Gospel today, we witness a dramatic healing story (Luke 8:26-39). A man is besieged by demons who have possessed him and left him isolated from his community for years.

In today’s language, we might say he was mentally compromised. Nobody wanted him around. He was deranged and unpredictable in his shocking behaviour and appearance. Consequently, the man was shackled and left alone in some cave distant from the city.

After the drama with the drowning of the pigs, we suddenly see the man calmly sitting at Jesus’ feet, “in his right mind” (v. 35). He has been healed.

Naturally, he wants to stick with Jesus, travel with him. He even begs to go with Jesus. Who could blame him? His own community had shunned him when he was sick. What does he owe them? And Jesus is this man who made him well, who finally showed him some mercy and compassion.

But Jesus refuses his plea. “Return to your home (v. 39),” Jesus instructs him. Now that you are healed, share with others in your community the meaning of your healing, that this is what God wants for everyone: Restoration of relationships that have been divided, that have been hurt and damaged.

Today, we typically think of illness and disability as biological, with Western medicine set up “to find and cure disease directly” (Kenny, 2022, p. 5). People in Jesus’ day, however, thought about healing in a much broader sense. They talked about healing as integrating someone back into their social and religious life. The Greek word often used in scripture for healing means “to make whole” or “to save” (Kenny, 2022, pp. 8-9). It’s the same word used to talk about salvation.

Modern medicine still recognizes the difference between curing and healing. Curing is a physical process. Healing focuses on restoring interpersonal, social, and spiritual dimensions of our lives (Kenny, 2022).

Jesus’ healing is not just a cure. It’s not purely about a physical, biological, alteration but about reestablishing right relationship between humanity and God, and hopefully, between individuals and their community (Kenny, 2022). Jesus was sending the man back to his community, to restore his relationship with them.

And maybe that’s why the crowds who witnessed this healing were so afraid – “seized with great fear” (v. 35-37) in fact – so much so they asked Jesus to leave them. They may have understood the implications of Jesus’ healing action. They would have been much more comfortable to remain in their self-created world of perceived purity which drew dividing lines between ‘them’ and ‘us’, between those who were acceptable and those who were not. They were afraid because now they would have to change their ways.

Are we willing to change our ways so that we can be healed, so that others can be healed? Because, how else can we?

So, how was the tree root I dug into going to heal its wounds?

Well, I believe the addition of another spruce tree into its environment, its community of trees beside the church, will contribute to its healing. It will help that the new sapling was planted right over top of the wounded root. The new tree’s roots are practically touching it.

Not only will the old spruce continue to live, but it will be healed for a purpose of supporting the new member in the community. How will it do that?

Tree roots are interconnected by fungal networks, thereby creating a system of mutual support and protection. These fungi form symbiotic relationships with tree roots, creating an extensive underground network, where two or three are gathered. This network functions like a living internet, facilitating the exchange of nutrients, water, and even warnings about potential dangers between trees (Wall Kimmerer, 2015).

Not only will the damaged root heal and survive, but the new spruce will also integrate into a healthier ecosystem and contribute to the overall well-being and resilience of the entire tree community in this area.

Following in Jesus’ way, healing happens when relationships can experience mercy and compassion, grace and love. And this process of healing takes time. Just think about the time it takes for new plants to establish themselves, and trees to become integrated in a new fungal network underneath the ground.

Healing is not a switch we or God just turn on and it happens. For that healed man, it wasn’t going to be easy for him to get used to life in the city. Neither was it going to be easy for the city folks to get used to him being around.

The healing, the restoration, is a lifelong process. So, for now, just a little bit of grace and love. A little bit of grace, love and compassion can help us reach out to welcome and support others who at first may seem far away from where we are. Those roots can go a long way underground over time. A little bit of grace and love can serve to bring us all just a bit closer together.

Because, in the end, we are not divided, isolated and cut-off. Saint Paul, in that beautiful text from his letter to the Galatians, emphasizes the inclusive nature of the community in faith, “For all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). Above the ground, we may be distracted by focusing on the space between us. From what is visible, those trees are not side-by-side. There’s lots of grassy area in between. Just ask Norm how long it takes to cut the grass here!

But underneath the surface, the truth comes out. Without denying or glossing over our differences, we are connected. We are in a relationship. We are one.

For our healing, just a little bit of God goes a long way.

References:

Kenny, A. (2022). My body is not a prayer request: Disability justice in the church. Brazos Press.

Wall Kimmerer, R. (2015). Braiding sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge, and the teaching of plants. Milkweed Editions.

Divine fireworks

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July 1, 2019 (photo by Martin Malina)

For Father’s Day, I received an upgrade on our backyard fire pit. This set includes stone bricks, a metal insert and a three-foot diameter pit. A couple weekend ago Mika and I spent the afternoon laying down patio stones on which we assembled the bricks and poured in the river stones for the base. This new fire pit will be a central feature in our backyard, hopefully for years to come.

In the memorial service for Byron last week, his brothers wrote about special memories. They highlighted a particular memory outside, around a fire pit. This time together served to strengthen their brotherly bond.

They wrote, “One time when the whole family was up at the farm, we had a great campfire … The jokes never ended. Pretty sure the rest of the family [who had already gone inside] was laughing at us staying by the campfire [so late] but we were having a great time under the stars.”

Their words support what studies have shown, that family relationships are forged outdoors when camping together, whenever families gather around the fire (Jirasek et al., 2017). Summer-time campfires will make memories for friends, families and all who pull up a camp chair or picnic table to sit around the fire.

I love watching a campfire, watching the sparks rise upwards, towards the heavens, “under the stars”. The brothers quoted above had to have looked up at some point during the campfire.

Looking up at the stars.

We don’t look up anymore. Especially at night. We don’t look up anymore, when times are tough and we become lost in the darkness. We don’t look up anymore, when we can’t directly see the sun shining.

We don’t look up anymore because we are distracted, because we are in pain or we have suffered some loss and are hurting inside. We don’t look up when we’ve lost a job, failed in a relationship, make a huge mistake and are weighed down by shame, guilt.

We look down. We spend most of our time not looking up towards the sky.

1 O Lord our Lord, how majestic is your name in all the earth! —
 2 you whose glory is chanted above the heavens …                           

3 When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
  the moon and the stars you have set in their courses … (Psalm 8)

We need to look up more. Fathers need to look up more, to see that the world is much more than their failures and shortcomings. Men need to look up more, to see a reality beyond the world of their own creation.

All of us need to look up more, and beyond to the great mystery the stars represent, the great mystery of God. We need to appreciate God’s limitless, expansive universe. Just because we can’t see the sun shining when we find ourselves in the dark, doesn’t mean it isn’t, somewhere on the earth. Doesn’t mean there aren’t trillions of other suns shining in the universe.

Admittedly Holy Trinity Sunday has often got us stuck in the quagmire of analysis. We try to dissect God into different autonomous parts, like disassembling a machine. “How can God be one person in three parts?”

But we lose our way going down that reductionist rabbit hole.  Ours is not the purpose to comprehend the fullness of God. That’s an exercise in futility if there ever was one.

The purpose of Holy Trinity Sunday, rather, is to encourage followers of Jesus with the knowledge and awareness that God’s Spirit has been poured into our hearts (Romans 5:5). That Jesus and the Father are one. And that Jesus lives in us through the Holy Spirit (John 14-16) who will “guide us in all truth” (16:12-15).

God’s Spirit didn’t just come to us at one time in one historical event. God’s Spirit conveying the real presence of Jesus continues to come, to fall, to be poured into our lives.

Consider star light. Every minute on each square mile of earth one ten-thousandth of an ounce of starlight drizzles like gentle rain (Mahany, 2023). Stardust sprinkles down upon us. And not only on us.

We are made of actual stardust. All the atoms and elements in us come from generations of stars burning to dust and filtering down literally from the heavens. We have a small part of the divine in us. Just like the stars.

Origen of Alexandria, the third century theologian and truth seeker, argued there was a star-like quality in each and every human being. He wrote, “You must understand that … there is in you sun and moon and stars … You to whom it is said that you are ‘the light of the world’” (Mahany, 2023, p. 132; Matthew 5:14). Indeed, we should reach for the stars!

We belong to God. We belong in relationship with God. We belong in relationship with God’s people, united in Christ, and in the love of God for all. A contemporary scholar who writes extensively about God revealed in nature, wrote: “Love alone is what shows you the face of God. It’s what makes the stars shine” (Lane, 2019).

Maybe the very reason the stars were shining so brightly on the night the brothers were having so much fun around that campfire, creating memories that will endure forever, the reason they noticed the bright stars above them, is because of the deep, great love they had for each other.

May the light of stars shine brightly in our hearts, O God. May this world be transformed by the power of your love, O God – in, through and around us – in the name of God the Creator/Father, the Redeemer/Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

References:

Jirasek, I., Roberson, D.N., Jirásková, M., (2017). The impact of families camping together: Opportunities for personal and social development. Leisure Sciences, 39(1), 79-93. http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/01490400.2015.1136251

Lane, B. C. (2019). The great conversation: Nature and the care of the soul. Oxford University Press.

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

Can you catch it?

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When I was younger I enjoyed playing catch using a softball or baseball. My catch partner and I would stand at a distance from each other, and we would toss, whip, lob, sidearm, underhand, windmill or basically throw the ball in various combinations of the above.

That simple, and for me rather therapeutic, repetitive motion – back-and-forth—impressed upon me the truth that whether the ball is successfully caught doesn’t just depend on the catcher. Whether the ball is successfully caught depends to a large degree how accurately the ball is thrown. Assuming you want your ball partner to catch the ball!

You need to throw the ball in such a way to match the catcher’s ability, attention in the moment, stance and glove position. The one throwing the ball needs to pay attention to and know the catcher. Throwing and catching the ball is a relationship in which both parties have to do their part for the exercise to work.

Which then reminds me of a popular saying in the church I have heard over the years: That faith is not taught as much as it is caught. The ball of faith, if it is to be successfully passed on, needs to be thrown in a way that the catcher can catch it. Because every individual is unique and has different abilities, personality, and capacity, the gift of faith—if it is to stick and not be dropped—needs to come at them in a way they can handle it.

No one size fits all. The ball of faith has wings to fly in a manner in which each of us can perceive it, appreciate it, and let it enter into our life. On our part, to throw the ball of faith, we need to reach people through their point of view, not our own. In other words, we need a relationship with them to seek to understand their tendency, their perspective, and then speak their language (Rubin, 2017).

One of the most significant scientific facts in existence is something we cannot directly see, touch, taste, or even smell. But we can feel it on our skin. Planet Earth is wrapped in 5,600 million million tons of air, and most of the time most of the air is moving (Mahany, 2023, p. 93). While wind is elusive, hard to define, one thing it is for sure: Wind is impossible to ignore.

photo by Martin Malina (Long Beach WA, July 21, 2017)

The winds have been particularly noticeable of late. They have been strong enough to send us the smoke caused by wildfires in Western Canada. Over the past few years, we have witnessed the effects of powerful windstorms here in Ottawa – toppling ancient trees, downing lines, throwing damaging debris.

A couple of weeks ago, a Chinese paraglider was caught in a powerful updraft sending him some nine kilometres straight upward until he was piercing the edge of the atmosphere with air temperatures near -40 degrees Celsius. Most para-gliders caught in this unfortunate circumstance don’t survive. Miraculously, he did (TWN, 2025).

Indeed, wind is elusive, dangerous. We cannot contain it, control it, nor even predict its behaviour. No wonder for people of faith the world over and since the beginning of time have made the wind, air, breath synonymous with the divine (Mahany, 2023).

There is movement in the scriptures assigned for this season after the resurrection of Jesus leading into this Pentecost Sunday. There is movement with the Spirit. The Spirit descends on the disciples gathering in Jerusalem with “the sound like the rush of a violent wind” (Acts 2:1-21). Elsewhere in the bible, Jesus breathes the Spirit into the disciples (John 20:22). God’s breath moves over creation (Genesis 1:2). “Even the winds and waves obey” the the disciples notice after Jesus stills the storm on Lake Galilee (Matthew 8:27).

The question of faith confronting the disciples after Easter was, what happens now when Jesus, the founder of the community, is no longer around? Is the community left on its own, with no access to Jesus’ presence or transformative power (Bay, 2010)? Has the wind, the breath of God, stopped blowing?

Has Jesus dropped the ball? Have the disciples? The disciples, essentially, are anticipating their grief at losing access – physical access – to their loved one in Jesus. And they don’t know what to do without him.

The question of faith is how to live amidst the perceived absence. Pentecost answers the question of grief. Because one important aspect of healing is that we are no longer defined by our losses. While the pain of grief stays with us our whole life long, who we are now is not defined by what happened then. Not because we’ve forgotten. Healing is not forgetting.

But we are now defined by what the connection to our lost loved one means to us today, now. They live in us. They live in some way in the world today. Who we are and who they are, are no longer defined by what caused our painful grieving in the first place. Instead, we are defined today by those around us who hold us, accept us, and give us encouragement on the way.

“Show us the Father,” demands Philip (John 14:8). Jesus rebukes Philip. Philip wants to see, touch, taste, control, contain, put a lock on his apprehension of faith. No, no, Jesus says to Philip and to you and to me. You know God already. You don’t need to put God in a box in order to believe. God is already with you, in you. “You know [God],” Jesus responds, “because God abides with you, and God will be in you” (John 14:17).

God is already with you, in you. The life of Jesus, through the coming Spirit of God, lives in you, through you, around you! So, act like it!

We take a breath some 20-30 thousand times a day. Yet, are we aware when we even just take one? If you do anything on this Pentecost Sunday that is spiritual and life giving, just breathe with awareness that you do. Breathe in God’s love, God’s presence. Breathe out – return the gift of God’s life and love into the world by your loving actions for your neighbour.

Jesus throws the ball of faith towards us. And it’s not that we have to catch it one way. We don’t need to be afraid of dropping it. When we are aware of the presence of Jesus, when we face him and lift our hands to catch the ball, Jesus throws it at us in a way we can receive it. Because Jesus knows us. Jesus is in a relationship of love with us. God created us. And the Spirit lifts the ball and carries it into our hearts so that we can catch it.

Thanks be to God.

References:

Bay, E. C. (2010). Pastoral perspective: John 14:8-27. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.). Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year C, Volume 3 (pp. 20-24). Westminster John Knox Press.

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

Rubin, G. (2017). The four tendencies: The indispensable personality profiles that reveal how to make your life better (and other people’s lives better, too). Harmony Books.

The Weather Network (2025). Paraglider sucked nearly 9 km up into the frigid atmosphere [Video]. Newsflare/Reuters. https://www.theweathernetwork.com/en/video/Ke6uK9sn?playlist=JRE9lq9q

Closer to the light

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Card crafting by Jasmine Hawley; Image from ‘Creative Stamping Magazine’ (Issue 147, p. 16, 2025)

As the days lengthen and the sun shines higher in the sky, so much more is exposed to the light, and for longer. The journey of the seasons can reflect our own personal, spiritual journeys with God. And one truth becomes clearer at this glorious time of year:

The closer we get to the sun, to the light source, the more of our shadow we see. We get closer to God, or God gets closer to us. And one of the first experiences of this nearing, is exposure to what we’ve wanted to hide, what has embarrassed us, what we’ve kept hidden from view. Nearer my God to Thee, and more of myself I and others see.

It’s like two opposite movements in tension. On the one hand, towards the bright glorious presence of God. And, on the other, towards the revelation of our own truth good and bad.

This can discourage us, and we might rather turn away from getting closer to the light.

Another natural reaction is to blame others. At every level of human interaction – from geo-political affairs to national debates, to community groups, families and inter-personally – it’s easier to locate the source of the problem outside us. It’s much, much harder, to admit the problem at home, in us.

Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn put it beautifully: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them.

“But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of [their] own heart?” (Solzhenitsyn, 1974, p. 168). Jesus himself says that good and evil come from within us, from the heart (Mark 7:20-23; Matthew 12:34; Luke 6:43-45).

So, what does this mean? First, as Solzhenitsyn implies, it is impossible to purge that evil side of us. Jesus in the parable of the weeds, implies the same. “Don’t pull up the weeds because you might uproot the good wheat as well. Let the weeds and the wheat grow together …” (Matthew 13:24-30).

And, in truth, there is more to this than mere tolerating it, or putting up with the less-than-perfect ideal. Because, in truth, therein lies a key, working with both sides in your life, a key to growing and becoming stronger.

Holy is this tension between good and bad within us, not to be spurned. So, spiritual wisdom from the ages has taught: “Pray in the moments light and darkness touch” (Mahany, 2023, p. 125). Pray in the moments when the nearness of God’s light exposes the tender vulnerabilities in you.

The problem, really, are the untruths we believe – the ideals fuelled by perfectionist, purist expectations. When we set up those expectations, it is our vision we seek, rather than God’s. The problem starts when we dream up a vision of the church, for example, as an ideal we have to realize, rather than a reality created by God.

Because when it doesn’t go our way, when reality bursts our bubble, we think we are a failure. When our idealized image is shattered, we see the church falling to pieces. And then we blame others in the church, then we blame God, we blame culture, and finally we blame ourselves (Barnhill, 2005).

But Jesus doesn’t ask us to conform to some perfect ideal. When Jesus says, “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect” (Matthew 5:48) he is not talking about someone who has magically become faultless by their own efforts. Our belonging in Christ is not a race we have to run or some competition to see who conforms to Christ faster or better. Our unity in Christ is not about uniformity based on some ideal to be striven after.

As Bonhoeffer claims, “the church doesn’t need brilliant personalities but faithful servants of Jesus and of one another. It does not lack the former, but the latter” (Barnhill, 2005, p. 140).

Instead, the Gospel is about Jesus who seeks to be formed in us (Galatians 4:19). What we have trouble believing is, what may appear weak and insignificant to us – the long shadow appearing the closer we get to the light – what may appear weak and vulnerable and shameful to us, may be useful to God. May even be great and glorious to God.

How so?

Every year towards the end of the season of Easter, we receive this prayer of Christ from John 17. This morning, we heard again the words of Jesus praying that his followers for all time “may be one” (John 17:20-26). The passage concludes with Jesus’ statement about how the world will know God. They will know God by the love in them and for each other.

When Jesus says, “Be perfect as your Father in heaven is perfect” he is talking about the Father’s love. Love others as your God loves you. What binds us together in unity, how we become one in Christ in the end, is the forgiveness of sins we all receive from God. Why what appears weak in us may be great to God, is that our perceived failures open the door to being aware we are loved despite our failure. We are forgiven.

And not just me. But everyone else I want to blame for the ills of church and society and the world we live in. Our forgiveness for what appears to be a long and scary shadow behind us as we near the light of Christ’s presence is what unites us in Christian community. And that reality, that truth, is great!

We don’t need to strive for perfection, or some ideal vision of what it ought to be like. We only need to receive one another, our leaders, our volunteers, our families in the way Christ also receives us – bathed in the light of God’s loving forgiveness, always and forever.

This forgiveness releases us to be who we are, including all our limitations and failures. God’s forgiveness releases us to take the next step, and follow where Christ leads.

Indeed, they will know we are Christians by our love.

References:

Barnhill, C. (Ed.). (2005). A year with Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Daily meditations from his letters, writings, and sermons. Harper One.

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

Solzhenitsyn, A. I. (1974). The gulag archipelago, 1918–1956: An experiment in literary investigation (Vols. 1-2). Harper and Row.

Gifts from above

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I often joke that I’ll let God wash my car. After a long winter when the salt-infused grime cakes on the outside panels, I wait until the pure rains in Spring give the car a good rinse.

Indeed, the rains fall from heaven, often unbidden, to cleanse the earth, to cleanse us. Notice the direction of God’s grace, God’s new thing, God’s vision of our future in the text from Revelation today. The holy city, the new Jerusalem, comes down from heaven to earth (Revelation 21:2). Direction, downward.

Just as in the Inuit language there are about 50 different words to describe various forms of snow (The Canadian Encyclopedia, 2015), the British boast several words and phrases to describe rain’s multiple personalities:

There’s a basking – which is a drenching in a heavy shower; a drisk – which is a misty drizzle; a fox’s wedding – sudden drops out of a clear blue sky; a hurly-burly – thunder and lightning; a slotting – which is rain so hard it bounces up off the ground; and a thunner-pash – which is a heavy shower with thunder (Mahany, 2023). Have you heard of these terms? Most of these, I haven’t. There are different ways the rain comes down.

No matter the form it takes, rain has a way of catching my attention. “One minute it’s barely pebbling the windows, the next it’s making a joke of the downspouts” (Mahany, 2023, p. 90). On the one hand, we pray for it. On the other hand, we roll out tarps to stop it.

No matter the form rain takes, we feel the water-drop touch our skin. It is invasive and so often our first instinct is to get out of it, to find shelter or cover. Rain seeks to grab our attention not just by touch alone, but by smell as well.

There is that unforgettable, indescribable just-after-the-rain earthy smell. There’s a name for that scent – petrichor. It’s caused when rainwater mixes with certain plant oils in dry soil – compounds to which the human nose is highly sensitive. Add to this cocktail of smell ozone which is released if lightning is in the mix. All of this wafts into the air, and we “smell rain” (Mahany, 2023, p. 91).

Like I said, rain has a way of catching our attention in more ways than one. Likewise, there are different ways we experience God’s grace, and not always is it what we want nor expect. But it always catches our attention. Somehow, God’s presence and life touches us, our hearts, our intuition, our perceptions – even subtly.

I joked that I let God wash my car. We also joke, “We’re not made of sugar,” implying that we won’t melt in the rain. Earth and all that is in it is not destroyed, obliterated nor eradicated by rainfall.

When the author of Revelation speaks of “the first earth passing away, and sea was no more” (21:1), it is not the extinction of the earth at the end that we’re talking about. God’s grace, God’s promise of resurrection does not cancel earth, our humanity, our senses – what we see, hear, touch, taste and smell.

Instead, new life is embodied and transformed on earth, from the earth. The direction of grace may be downward. But the reason the promise and vision come down to earth is because God will use the stuff of earth, and embody it. The goal of resurrection is earth’s transformation (Carey, 2009).

Rain, yes, is invasive. But it renews, refreshes and generates growth and life. Out of the old emerges the new.

I was given two Hosta plants last year which I planted on the side of our house that receives a lot of sunshine. But these Hosta plants were designed to thrive in more shade than sun. They didn’t look so good by the Fall time. They were sporting large brown spots which covered their large, limping leaves. Honestly, I didn’t expect them to come back up this Spring.

But out they came a week ago, bursting through the less-than-ideal soil and location for these particular plants. The young shoots already showcased their green, lustrous leaves reaching upward to receive the gifts of rain and sun. Coming from above. Downward.

There’s a path on that side of the house, a ravine at the bottom of which the deer will follow. Deer love to munch on Hosta plants. But the Hosta plants will live, I do believe, despite the deer. Despite the hail. Despite thunner-pash, slotting, hurly-burly and basking rain falls those plants will surely endure this summer. I believe!

New life, new beginnings, the promise of resurrection, is not without its difficulties, challenges and little deaths. We may not understand yet its deepest mysteries and paradoxes, death and life, life and death.

But those raindrops will continue to descend from above. Even if we can’t understand it, or when we come up against our own limitations. Despite hearth’s and humanity’s imperfections, God’s work of reviving, renewing and enlivening the earth will not stop. Easter is a forever-promise.

Those raindrops will always be awakening us to the wonderful mystery of God. Those raindrops will remind us that even though we may suffer disruption, and painful transitions in life, the rain of God’s love will continue to nourish us and enliven us to reach forward into the unknown future with trust and assurance.

References:

Carey, G. (2009). Exegetical perspective: Revelation 21:1-6. In D. L. Bartlett & B. B. Taylor (Eds.). Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year C, Volume 2 (pp. 463-467). Westminster John Knox Press.

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

The Canadian Encyclopedia. (2015). Inuktitut words for snow and ice. The Canadian Encyclopedia [Website]. Retrieved from https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/inuktitut-words-for-snow-and-ice

Nearer, my God

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Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice” (John 10:27). He doesn’t say, “My sheep see me.” In this Gospel, belief is equated with hearing and listening, not seeing.

At this time of year, the birds are finally returning to our feeder. And when I go for my walks around the neighbourhood I know where the cardinals live – in a stand of old growth trees near the Algonquin Trail in Arnprior. Almost every time I walk through there, I first hear the cardinal’s distinct song.

photo by Martin Malina (Aug 6, 2023)

The point is, I know the cardinal is there. I will scan the trees, fence lines and roof tops from whence the song comes. Rarely will I first observe the bird nestled deep in the foliage, despite its catchy red coat. But because I can’t see the bird doesn’t mean it’s not true, doesn’t mean it’s not there. I know it is nearby. I believe, not because I have seen it with my own eyes but because I hear it close by.

When I was in public school, at Halloween teachers handed to us students those orange UNICEF boxes. We strung those boxes around our necks and carried them with us trick-or-treating. Some of you may remember those boxes. So, when we went to each house for candy, neighbours would also have the option of dropping some coin into those iconic boxes. All the proceeds were then donated to the United Nations Children’s Fund, originally labelled the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund (https://www.unicef.ca/en).

I value that experience of learning. I learned that what I did for myself was not enough to be a good human being. I also had to do something for other children, especially those who were suffering hunger and persecution in faraway lands. Just because I couldn’t see these children with my own eyes, just because these were not my personal friends, didn’t mean I wasn’t called by God’s voice to do something to care for them in their suffering, their hunger, their pain.

Today it’s unfortunately fashionable to openly admit that if some situation that others suffer doesn’t impact me directly, I don’t care and I don’t want anything to do with it. We shy away from taking on the responsibility, collectively, to teach by example younger generations the vital importance of working together to care for those who are not our own, so to speak. If the problem is far away, far removed from my or our reality, then forget it.

My wife Jessica talks about a cherished memory of family friends whose parents created a home environment in Ottawa where neighbourhood kids felt comfortable dropping by at any time of day or night. Not only did those parents care for their own children with fierce love, but their home also became grand central for all the kids in the neighbourhood to hang out and even eat meals together.

Jessica has often remarked how influential that early childhood experience was in forming the desires of her own heart in wanting to be open to others and engage those outside the family with caring acts of compassion, generosity and respect. In response to a need.

God’s voice, God’s call – the root of the word vocation – doesn’t come from far away. God doesn’t come to us from some celestial, otherworldly heaven removed from our day to day. God’s presence is near to us, in fact born in the nitty-gritty of our lives. The call is to live out from our Christian values of compassion and love.

Jesus assures his disciples of two things in the Gospel text for today. First, that he and God “are one” (John 10:30). So, if Jesus will never allow anything or anyone to snatch us away from his care and protection for eternity, neither does God. For Jesus and God are one. In other words, we are never, ever out of the scope, the field of belonging to God’s loving care and attention. Ever.

The second assurance flows from the first. God and Jesus are not only faithful and loyal to us – as a shepherd is to their flock of sheep, using a biblical metaphor. God’s loyalty and faithfulness means that God perseveres. God does not give up. Even if for just one out of the hundred in the flock (Luke 15:1-7). No matter how awful and terrible the human circumstances can get for anyone. No matter how lost one can get. God keeps at it, keeps loving us, finding us, embracing us, forgiving us, protecting us.

That ‘snatch’ verb repeats twice in the conclusion of this Gospel’s short eight verses (in verses 27 and 28). That should draw our attention to the persevering God we worship. Nothing will snatch us away from God’s perseverance.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer translated the word perseverance to mean, literally: “remaining underneath, not throwing off the load, but bearing it” (Barnhill, 2005, p. 72). Bearing it.

How do we recognize God’s voice, today? God’s voice emerges from human suffering and loss.

Bearing the load. God bears the human load. The cross of Jesus indicates the kind of God we worship. We worship a suffering God who knows our pain, our hunger. We worship a God who is revealed to us most poignantly in the lives of those who persevere in their suffering. Bearing the load.

From the UNICEF website (https://www.unicef.ca/en/blog/seven-inspirational-stories-about-mothers-around-world), I read about a brave Mom, named Neveen Barakat, who kept her family strong in the midst of war. Neveen’s husband died in a blast that hit a UN-run school in Gaza. The blast wounded three of her children and left Neveen with a permanent disability. A photo from the webpage cited above shows Neveen comforting her six-year-old daughter, Rosol.

The mothering love of Neveen is bearing a huge load. And that is why we must care with the mothering love God reveals to us in Jesus. Because while God’s revelation comes to us daily in our human suffering and pain, God’s grace calls us to care for others in the way of Christ who bears their suffering, too.

We can care for others close and far because God is never far away. God doesn’t care from a distance. God will hear our voice when we call out, just as we know and listen to the voice of our loving God who will never give up on us. Even if it’s just a whisper under our breath, God is near and hears us. God is close and will help us persevere.

References:

Barnhill, C. (Ed.). (2005). A year with Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Daily meditations from his letters, writings, and sermons. Harper One.

UNICEF. (2025). Seven inspirational stories about mothers around the world [website]. https://www.unicef.ca/en/blog/seven-inspirational-stories-about-mothers-around-world.

A gateway at the edge

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Photo by Martin Malina (Kalaloch Beach, WA, August 16, 2022)

Today, we stand with the women and disciples at the foot of the cross. We have arrived at the end of our Lenten pilgrimage. Or so we may feel.

We have come now to the base of the hilltop of Golgotha. We have come to the edge. We’ve made it.

We may have been carrying a heavy burden—our own cross. What do you bring? What have you carried? Maybe at this point you realize you can carry it no longer? Because the weight of it is just too much. Because, while at the start of this journey you thought perhaps you could carry it all, you now realize your own limits, your own complicity, your own misguided perceptions, your own sin.

“We come to the edge, when what we hold cannot be contained” (Mahany, 2023, p. 52), when we have to finally lay it down.

Golgotha stood at the edge of the city of Jerusalem. In order to leave the city, or enter it, you had to pass through the place crucifixion, of death. There is no bypass where truth is concerned. Pilate sought refuge in argument and exercising power — that was his bypass. “What is truth?” (John 18:38) he quipped, retreating into abstraction and perceived safety of his privilege and power.

“What is truth?” Jesus’ answer to Pilate? Watch me. Watch what I do. Watch the power of God’s love in the actions of Simon who will carry my cross (Luke 23:26), in the centurion’s cross-side confession (Matthew 27:54). Watch the power of God’s love in those who wait at the edge of the hilltop and witness the day turn to night (Mark 15:33), the curtain in the temple being torn in two (Luke 23:45). Watch the power of God’s love in the grace shown by Joseph to provide a tomb for my body (Luke 23:50-53). Watch what God does, then …

Jesus knew his path. Jesus’ path led through the challenge, the suffering, the cost – not around it. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the famous Lutheran pastor who was executed by the Nazis 80 years ago this year for opposing Hitler, noted in one of his books, how Jesus fulfilled his call on earth.

But in this short reading, Bonhoeffer extended the example of Jesus into our own lives, as his followers, should we seek peace for our souls at edge of our journeys.

He writes, “Our hearts make sure that we only keep the company of friends, of the righteous and the respectable. But Jesus was to be found right in the midst of his enemies. That is precisely where he wanted to be. We should be there too. It is that which distinguishes us from all other … religions. In them, the pious want to be with one another. But Christ wants us to be in the midst of our enemies, as he was; it was in the midst of his enemies that he dies the death of God’s love and prayed: Father, forgive them for they know not what they do. Christ wants to win his victory among his enemies. Therefore, do not withdraw, do not seclude yourselves; rather seek to do good unto all. Make peace, as far as it depends on you, with all” (Bonhoeffer cited in Barnhill, 2005, p. 31).

This was Jesus’ path, to be in the middle of the tension, the conflict among his enemies. This had always been his way.

For example, Jesus could have avoided Samaria on his way to Galilee. Samarians were in tension and at odds with Jews. Jesus could have gone around. But instead, he travelled through the region, some 150 kilometres on foot. No wonder the Gospel writer reports Jesus as “weary” (John 4:6) when he stops at the well to talk with the Samarian woman. Many others would have gone around. But for Jesus, it is always important to go through even though it cost him. The path is hard.

We have a famous path in Canada. And it isn’t easy to follow. The Path of the Paddle is a series of portages between lakes and rivers from the western edge of Lake Superior into the bush of Northwestern Ontario. The path is part of the Trans Canada Trail. In one of its hardest sections, where in order to travel when the water is not frozen, the trail must be negotiated at the height of bug season, soon upon us. Portaging is not for the faint of heart: each portage means traveling twice – once to carry the canoe, and the other time to carry the gear from one lake’s edge to the next.

This path was first charted by Indigenous people as the Anishinaabe Trail, before it became a major route for Europeans interested in the fur trade. Today, this path is being restored in the hope of re-establishing the original route as it once was.

The 1200-kilometre journey was made by Carrie and John Nolan ten years ago. It involved 120 portages, and it took them 58 days. It was certainly a test of their fitness, endurance and physical and mental stamina (Coman, 2025, April 11).

When we come to the edge, when what we hold can no longer be contained, tears will often fall. Is it any wonder that God turned to water when making our tears? We can go to the water’s edge, when what we hold can no longer be contained. The water’s edge, like at the foot of the cross, is the place to let it all out, to lay it all down, to let it go. The baptismal waters, our place of identity forming in Christ, is sacred, this holy edge. Where we can be honest, vulnerable, and let the tears roll.

I walked only a small portion of the Camino de Santiago in Spain – some 800 kilometres long. It is one of the oldest trails on the planet, dating back over a thousand years to the 9th century. Last year, in 2024, the Camino attracted almost half a million pilgrims.

If you are walking, it could take months to cross the Iberian Peninsula in northern Spain towards the destination. The destination? Pilgrims will say, it is the city of Santiago de Compostella, in the shrine of Saint James.

But increasingly over the years, more and more pilgrims go through Santiago and travel an extra 100 kilometres to a town called Fisterra, whose name literally means, “the end of the world.” This town lies on the coast along the Atlantic Ocean which at one point in history was deemed to be situated literally at the edge of the known world.

Santiago becomes a way point on a journey to a more significant edge where the horizon is limitless and points our vision upward. This extended journey does not end at the Cross but continues beyond the original destination to a more expansive vision beyond the hardship of the trail.

The Cross is not really the end point. That is why Good Friday is good. Because the Cross, while necessary to go through, is merely a gateway to the edge of a new world coming.

References:

Barnhill, C. (Ed.). (2005). A year with Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Daily meditations from his letters, writings, and sermons. Harper One.

Coman, S. (2025, April 11). Streams of living justice [Blog]. Lutherans Connect. https://streamsoflivingjustice.blogspot.com/2025/04/day-33.html

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

The cost of energy

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photo by Martin Malina (July 15, 2024) in Tofino, British Columbia

This year is the 80th anniversary of the death of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. After spending two years in prison, he was executed on April 9, 1945, just days before the end of the 2nd World War, for playing a key role in opposing the Nazis under Hitler.

Bonhoeffer’s life and death bear witness to the Cross. During this coming Holy Week we focus on the passion of Christ. And Bonhoeffer, like few other Lutherans in the last century, bears witness to the truth that we must first endure the cost of following Jesus to the Cross before celebrating the resurrection joy.

Bonhoeffer writes in A Testament to Freedom: “… if we would have a share in [the] glory and radiance [of Christ’s resurrection], we must first be conformed to the image of the Suffering Servant who was obedient to the death of the cross. If we would bear the image of his glory, we must first bear the image of his shame” (Barnhill, 2005, p. 107).

In other words, it costs something to be Christian in Canada. What is that cost? Perhaps the cost is our privilege, for the sake of one who is marginalized. Or maybe our pride, for the sake of respecting and dignifying another. Or our energy, for the sake of doing the right thing in the right moment. Our comfort, for the sake of exposing a harsh truth. It costs, to follow Christ.

One take away from our Sunday reflections throughout Lent about spiritual gifts and growth in faith, is that in order to develop our gifts so they can be a blessing for others, we need to cross to the other side – literally and symbolically. It’s easy to slip sideways on the pretense of growth. But for real growth to happen, we need to get out of our comfort zone and try something we’d sooner not.

The message of faith, nevertheless, is that the cost is worth it. Whatever it takes. Because the resurrection promise motivates us, inspires us, encourages us, and supports us. Because there is always grace, love, forgiveness. We believe in a God of second chances. We believe in a God who will never forsake us even in our moment of greatest need. Bonhoeffer hung on to that truth. It empowered him.

During Holy Week, we celebrate the persistence of God’s mercy despite stubborn obstacles. A major source of those obstacles resides in ourselves. Despite the self-incrimination of the convicted criminal hanging beside Jesus, Jesus’ final words to him, and the last words Jesus speaks to another human before he dies, is a word of mercy and promise (Luke 23:43): “Today you will be with me in paradise.”

God’s grace and mercy is our fuel for living. We need it. Because we will never get it right. We will miss the mark. We will stumble. But God does not give up on us. Despite all our mistakes, missteps, failures and self-doubt, God continues to nudge us forward through all the discomfort, risk-taking and vulnerability that we experience in being faithful servants of Christ. God’s grace and mercy is our energy source.

And that is why the Eucharist, the Holy Communion, is central to our Holy Week pilgrimage. It is at the table, the holy meal which we celebrate today and later this week on Maundy Thursday, when we affirm our deep and enduring connection with the living Lord Jesus.

And this connection is not just figurative or symbolic. But real, as well. This real connection gives us strength to carry on.

In 2019 a study published in Smithsonian revealed that some seeds discovered in Eastern France dated to Roman times, including the time not long after Jesus lived, in the 2nd century. It was discovered that these seeds had the same DNA as some types of contemporary wine grapes (Coman, 2024 December 10). 

In other words, some wines we drink today contain grapes with the same DNA as grapes in Jesus’ day when “on the night before he died” he took a cup and blessed it for his disciples to drink. This connection is real.

The cross, which now becomes our focal point in the days ahead, was made of wood and therefore is often referred to as ‘the tree’. In these last days we make our final leg of the Lenten pilgrimage where we will stop at the foot of the tree on Good Friday.

There is a Roman era tradition, in which to honour a special tree, wine was poured on their roots. It is no wonder then that in some legends the tree of crucifixion was a rowan tree whose berries look like droplets of blood (Mahany, 2023, pp. 45-47). The very fuel, energy source, is Christ’s blood shed for us.

We are connected, in a real sense, to Christ’s life source. We are connected through earthly elements that nourish, sustain and empower us to live and follow Jesus right to the very end. In following Christ’s mission on earth, we have what it takes.

Thanks be to God.

References:

Barnhill, C. (Ed.). (2005). A year with Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Daily meditations from his letters, writings, and sermons. Harper One.

Coman, S. (2024, December 10). Seeds of hope. Lutherans Connect. https://lcseedsofhope.blogspot.com/2024/12/day-9.html

Mahany, B. (2023). The book of nature: The astonishing beauty of God’s first sacred text. Broadleaf Books.

‘Patron’s Corner’: Multifaith Housing Initiative Ottawa

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As a patron of the Multifaith Housing Initiative (MHI) in Ottawa, I was asked to respond to the following question, published in their April 2025 newsletter in the ‘Patron’s Corner’ (https://mailchi.mp/multifaithhousing/april-newsletter).

MHI: “How does your faith community emphasize the value of community and belonging?”

RASPBERRYMAN: The Canadian Lutheran Church happened because of immigration. All Lutherans are immigrants. It’s just a question of what time in history the boats and planes from Europe and beyond arrived in Canada. Because we are an immigrant church, now by and large privileged in the established sense, our call is to embrace diversity in community.

The 16th century reformer Martin Luther’s a-ha moment happened when the words of Paul struck his heart. Scriptures, for example, from Ephesians: “For by grace we have been saved” (2:8) and from Romans: “Grace to you …” (1:7) emboldened Lutherans the world over to emphasize the role of God’s grace in all our relationships. Therefore, human divisions and merit do not define our relationships. Our unity in Christ, who is gracious, does. 

20th century Lutheran pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, while imprisoned by Nazis at the end of the 2nd World War, wrote a book entitled “The Cost of Discipleship”. In it he emphasizes the communal aspect of following Jesus. He criticized what he called ‘cheap grace’ which happens when individuals fail to confess their sins against one another and God’s purposes, when God’s grace is reduced to an individual transaction rather than providing a path to transformation.

What Lutherans value in community is what makes grace transformative in our relationships – forgiveness, mercy, compassion and inclusion. It’s not an easy grace; it’s costly – to change and grow. Beginning in the 16th century and lasting to this day, Lutherans therefore embraced the reforming principle which became a motto for the Reformation church – in Latin, Ecclesia reformata semper reformanda – the reformed church always reforming.

Our immigrant identity in Canada, from a grace-centred approach, means that as we once came to this land centuries ago, so now, too, we are called to welcome and affirm newcomers to Canada in building communities of grace.

Surprised by new life: a funeral sermon

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Earla’s commitment to the altar guild attuned her to the seasons of the church year. The paraments and colours around the altar had to be changed when the seasons changed – from Christmas white to Epiphany green to Lenten purple to Easter white to Pentecost red, etc.

So, Earla would know we are now in Lent, and what that implied as far as the communion ware, flowers and colours that did or did not appear around the altar. She followed those rules, and advocated for them, faithfully.

And I broke a big one. Not intentionally. During a worship service I spilled half a bottle of communion wine on the new carpet in the chancel right after the renovations were completed 8 years ago. Earla, despite being a stickler for doing things right, showed me much compassion and grace. There wasn’t a hint of anger or frustration as she helped me clean up the mess behind the altar.

What strikes me in this season of Lent in which she spent her last days, are what the scriptures assigned to the church at this time reveal about God. Consistently the texts depict the disciples of Jesus and others gathered around a feast, a meal, at table. God’s message of love and grace in these texts are conveyed in, around and through eating and being at table for a meal:

The story of the fig tree (Luke 13:1-9) came to us the day after Earla died: Figs are mentioned a few times in the New Testament because figs were a staple food item in the Mediterranean – like potatoes are for us today. Then, last Sunday, the story of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:1-3,11b-32) ends with the Father throwing a great feast with the fatted calf for the son that was lost but now was found.

And tomorrow in the Gospel (John 12:1-8) Jesus is anointed by Mary but not after we find the disciples gathered with Jesus’ friends Lazarus, Mary and Martha around a meal in their Bethany home. I hope you hear the reference to a meal in each of the first two verses from the Gospel:

1 Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2 There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 

Here these friends are gathered to eat together. But surprise! The Gospel emphasizes that Lazarus was there too. This is the Lazarus who died but whom Jesus raised from the dead (John 11). To show the reality of this new life, he is described as “one of those [eating] at the table.”

Lazarus is no ghost, no figment of whimsical imagination, no other-worldly vision flicking in and out of our line of sight. No. This is real flesh and blood, consuming and digesting the food everyone else is eating. God’s promise of new life comes by way of mealtime with friends and family.

Earla loved food. She loved her fish filets from McDonalds and hot fudge sundaes. She indulged in her bacon and processed foods. She was 95 years old! Eating was not only a personal pleasure but a reason to gather with others in the church. When she was able, I don’t think she missed a church potluck.

Like the Gospel which takes pains to convey the truth, the reality, of the resurrection – in this case, Lazarus – the promise of new life for us, new life in Christ, can encourage us on our life’s journey.

Because it isn’t over. Not for Earla. Not for us. Some things have certainly changed. Your grief bears witness to the fact that you will no longer relate to Earla in the ways that gave you much joy, that created wonderful memories and supported you in many different ways.

But while the relationship has now changed, it isn’t over. And there are abundant signs of this! Both the poinsettia given to Earla in hospital a year and a half ago, and the orchid plant that lay dormant for two years in Earla’s keep are reminders of the hope and promise of being surprised by the gift of new life.

After that first Christmas the poinsettia was all but destined for the compost pile. But it refused to wither and die. Contrary to anyone’s expectations, the leaves to this day have produced red leaves and remained healthy. It was one plant in Earla’s hospital room, on the windowsill, that drew our attention in amazement each time I visited.

And after two years of producing nothing, it was just this month that her tiny orchid plant decided to bring forth its majestic blooms. Who would have anticipated this?!

Their centre remains a violet/purply reminder of the journey of life on earth that will often include suffering and pain. But their frame dominates in Easter white – conveying the hopeful message of resurrection. And as you can see there are more buds to come! More surprises on the way!

Earla’s liturgical sensitivities are on display to this day as these plants from her continue to shout out that your beloved Earla sits today around the table. But now she sits at the banquet feast of heaven.

To welcome Earla at that heavenly feast, I am sure the heavenly hosts are serving it up in abundance: fish filets, bacon and hot fudge sundaes for everyone!