Tag Archives: Jesus

True power, true love

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photo by Martin Malina, 2019

“Love your enemies” (Luke 6:27) is a teaching from Jesus that hits especially hard in today’s economic and political climate. Because loving your opposition is not how you win. Loving your enemies goes against the grain of our conditioning. 

Using a hockey analogy, we naturally want to go on the offensive when facing adversity. We want to fight back, tit-for-tat. Seeking revenge is a strong motivator, isn’t it? 

But good hockey minds know that focusing only on offense usually means losing the game. Avoiding sound defensive play is not a winning strategy. As they say, defence wins championships. 

Winning, in the end, is about nurturing love and care for the battle that goes on in your end of the ice. Loving your enemies is first loving and taking care of your neck of the woods, in your backyard, whenever challenges or personal adversity appear.

So, on the one hand, loving your enemy is NOT about being a doormat and taking abuse. On the other hand, if the aim of any relationship is to always and unquestionably have the upper hand, that is no relationship.

Indeed, the problem with a bulldog approach to the challenges we face is that it more often than not keeps you stuck, by avoiding the things in your own life which you are scared to confront. These are issues that lurk in the places you don’t want to go. Occasions of adversity are invitations and opportunities to first take stock and look in your own life for whatever needs attention there.

Imagine these issues as “gnawing rats” (Loomans cited in Burkeman, 2024). How do you deal with these rats in your life? Impulsively we may want to eradicate and stomp the bad parts out of us, eliminate them completely. With force of willpower we will confront those rats and attack them with brute force and hatred even, eh?

The problem is that this approach simply replaces one kind of hatred (“Stay away from me!”) with another (“I’m going to destroy you!”). And that’s only a recipe for more avoidance over the long term, “because who wants to spend their life fighting rats?” (Burkeman, 2024, p. 62).

“Love your enemies,” says Jesus. What about befriending the rats instead? What about turning towards them and allowing them to exist alongside? There are benefits to this approach. Following Jesus’ command isn’t merely about being mindlessly obedient and doing whatever Jesus says never mind us. Jesus truly had our wellbeing, our healing in mind when he gave us this command. Jesus wants the best for us, wants us to be healthy.

First, to befriend a rat is to defuse the anxiety we feel, because we change the kind of relationship we have with it. We turn that gnawing rat into an acceptable part of our reality. By doing this, we can begin to accept that the situation is real, no matter how fervently we might wish that it weren’t. 

But we need to do something that initially feels uncomfortable. What would it take to befriend the gnawing rats in your life? “Loving your enemy” becomes an act requiring real courage – more courage, perhaps, than the standard confrontational approach. “Loving your enemy” becomes like reconciling yourself to reality rather than getting into a bar fight with it.

This is not passivity nor, as I said, is it being a doormat. It’s a pragmatic way, Jesus teaches, to increase our capacity to do something positive while becoming ever more willing to acknowledge that things are as they are, whether we like it or not (Burkeman, 2024).

Last week walking through the thick snow in the uncharacteristically quiet Arnprior Grove, I caught sight of a quick movement at the base of a tree. But it was too quick for me to recognize what it was. Seeing the tiny creature reminded me of an Indigenous tale taught by the late Canadian writer Richard Wagamese, whose story about true power I paraphrase here:

A young man dreamed of being a great warrior. In his mind’s eye he envisioned himself displaying tremendous bravery and earning the love and admiration of his people. The young man knew that the greatest warriors were those who possessed the strongest spirit and wisdom. He longed to become the greatest defender of his people.

And so he approached the Elder of his village. He told the Old One of his dream, of the great love and respect he felt within himself for his people and of his desire to protect them.

He asked the Old One to grant him the power of the most respected animal in all of the animal kingdom. With this power, the young man would be able to become as widely respected as this animal.

The Old One smiled. Although he appreciated the young man’s earnest desire he recognized that this was the time for a great teaching. So he told the young man that he would gladly grant him this power if the youngster could accurately identify the animal who commanded the most respect from his animal brothers and sisters.

The young warrior smiled. It was obvious to him that the grizzly bear commanded the most respect in the animal world. He stated this to the Elder and sat back awaiting the granting of the bear’s power. 

The Old One smiled. He told the young man to guess again, for despite the immense courage and ferocity of the grizzly, there was one who commanded greater respect.

One by one, the young man named the animals he felt possessed the adequate amount of fierceness, courage, boldness, and fighting power to earn the awe of his four-legged brothers and sisters. He named the wolverine, the eagle, the cougar, the wolf and the bison, but each time the Old One simply smiled and told him to guess again.

Finally, in confusion the young man surrendered. The Elder told the young man he had guessed as wisely as he could. However, not many knew the most respected of animals because the most respected one is seldom seen and even more seldom mentioned. It is the tiny mole, the Old One said.

The tiny, sightless mole who lives within the earth. Because the mole is constantly in touch with Mother Earth, the mole is able to learn from her every day. Whenever some creature walked across the ground above, the mole could feel the vibration in the earth. In order for the mole to know whether or not it was in danger, the mole would always go to the surface to learn more about what created the vibration.

It is said by the Old People that the mole knows when the cougar is prowling above, just as it knows the approach of a human and the scurry of a rabbit. And that is why the tiny mole is the animal among all animals who commands the greatest amount of respect. Because though the mole might put himself at great danger, the mole always takes the time to investigate what it feels (Wagamese, 2021, pp. 47-49).

“Love your enemies,” Jesus says.

Adversity challenges us to activate the better part of ourselves. Because however you define your enemy within and without, the enemy is an opportunity to reset a relationship, to re-balance things, with ourselves, with others, with creation, and with God.

“Love your enemies,” Jesus teaches us, because in the end, it’s about relationships. We were God’s enemy because humanity killed Jesus. Because sin kept us separated from God. What God did was to break down that barrier of enmity by forgiving us, loving us. Jesus gives us a way to deepen and in the end strengthen relationships of love despite the reality, the imperfection of it all, and the adversity we will always face in this life.

“I used to pray for everything I thought I wanted,” prays Richard Wagamese, “big cars, big money, big … everything. Mostly, so I could feel [big]. That was always a struggle. These days I’ve learned to pray in gratitude for what’s already here: prosperity, health, well-being, moments of joy and to pray for the same things for others …. I’m learning to want nothing but to desire everything and to choose what appears. Life is easier that way, more graceful and I AM [big] – but from the inside out” (Wagamese, 2021).

References:

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

Wagamese, R. (2021). Richard Wagamese selected: What comes from spirit. Douglas & McIntyre.

It all evens out

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

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

Freed to be, freed to act

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

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

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

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

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

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

We are free to be, and freed to act.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References: 

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

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

Mirror mirror

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Lake Kioshkokwi at Kiosk, Ontario (photo by Martin Malina, Sept 2022)

There’s always a reason not to act, not to do something. Even if that something is good, is right, is just and kind. Even if that something is God’s call on your life.

It can be dealing with something as ordinary as exercising or picking up the phone to call or text someone. Or it can be deciding on the big issues – relationships, jobs, opportunities – that can change the course of your life. There’s always a reason or reasons not to do those things.

At least we are in good company when we initially think and/or say, “no”, and justify our reasons for not acting on the nudge to pursue a good course of action. The prophet Jeremiah resisted the call of God because he believed himself not up to the task. He disqualified himself by not believing he had the abilities and the confidence to do what God asked him (1:4-10).

There’s always a reason not to do something. Fear is a powerful force. But fear is not evil per se. We have good cause to be afraid. But when our fearful avoidance and resistance overwhelms our pursuit of the good, “our overwhelming fears need to be overwhelmed by bigger and better things” (Bader-Saye, 2007, p. 60).

From where do these bigger and better things come? Contrary to what may first come to mind, these bigger and better things don’t stem from our achievements nor confidence in our abilities. These don’t qualify us in God’s eyes. Neither our resumé nor personality style justify our suitability for doing good. What does, is embracing, being and living out who we are created to be.

God saw who Jeremiah was in the goodness of his heart. God called Jeremiah back to himself, his true self. With all the conditioning of the world around him stripped bare, Jeremiah was called to embrace God’s love for and in himself.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall who is the fairest of them all?” The evil queen in the Snow-White fairytale is surprised not to see herself in the mirror. Instead, she sees Snow White. This revelation triggers a conflict between the queen and young Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (Grimm & Grimm, 1812).

When we look for answers, what does the mirror reveal to us? In the face of conflict, it’s like a mirror is held up to expose the battle going on inside of us. Like the evil queen, we would rather see ourselves, have our opinions validated, have everyone else be like us, reflect who we are. The rage we direct at outsiders, others who are different, others who don’t reflect us, only reveals the conflict raging within ourselves. Being angry at the foreigner indicates a self-hatred more than anything.

Indeed, “We see in a mirror dimly,” writes Saint Paul in his treatise on love in 1 Corinthians 13. “But faith, hope and love remain. And the greatest is love.” Because we shall, one day, see face to face who we truly are in Christ. Beloved. Wipe that mirror clean! To see the goodness in others, the same goodness in you — the good we share.

When our mind’s eye clouds our vision, is it because we have forgotten who we truly are? How smudgy is our mirror? How distorted is our vision? Saint Paul says it is! So, then, look at Jesus.

When faced with the violence and acrimony of the crowd, notice Jesus neither disputes nor argues with them when they lead him to the edge of a cliff. Nor does he back down. He remembers who he is. He is solid in his identity.

And Jesus simply passes through them. He simply goes about his business of showing love to the outsider, just as Elijah was sent by God to care for the widow at Zarephath, and just as Naaman the Syrian was healed from his leprosy by the command of God (Luke 4:21-30).

Who are we? How do we keep from forgetting who we are as people of faith? Martin Luther understood Confession and Forgiveness as “a return and approach to baptism” (Luther, 2000, p. 466). Baptism is the sacrament sealing who we are – our identity in Christ. Every time we face the mirror and come true and honestly to ourselves, we recommit ourselves to baptism. In Confession and Forgiveness, we are being renewed by the love of God Paul described.

God’s love binds us together, not as isolated individuals, but into a whole community in Christ called to care for others and the world God created.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born, I consecrated you” (Jeremiah 1:5).

“I have been sustained by you ever since I was born; from my mother’s womb you have been my strength” (Psalm 71:6).

Though these words originated in the context of their lives, these two texts are not just for Jeremiah and the Psalmist. These two passages offer powerful words of hope for us as well: God knows us. God declares us, each of us, as sacred. We can lean on God. God protects us. These passages illustrate a lifelong conversation and a loving relationship between us and God.

Indeed, “today the scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” Jesus told the crowd in the synagogue (Luke 4:21), and Jesus tells us.

So, like to the prophets before us, God nudges us, whispering in our hearts the truth of who we are. And when we feel the tensions rise around and in us, we look for where God is in the world.

Maybe not in Nazareth. Maybe not in our own backyard, so to speak. Maybe God is active somewhere else, even in places and in people we least expect.

But that’s where God is, right now. And that’s where God is calling us to join in the Holy Spirit’s work there. Will we follow? Will we trust in the bigger and the better something that can overwhelm our fear?

Because there’s always a reason not to do something good. But what about the reasons to do something good? Remember who we are as followers of Jesus. Because divine love will never forget us.

References:

Bader-Saye, S. (2007). Following Jesus in a culture of fear. Brazos.

Grimm, J. & Grimm, W. (1812). Children’s and household tales. Germany.

Luther, M. (2000). Baptism, the large catechism. In R. Kolb & T. J. Wengert (Eds.), The book of concord (p. 466). Fortress.

Which pieces are missing?

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(photo by Martin Malina)

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

Or is it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

Present to Presence

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photo by Martin Malina

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

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

Washed in the waters of love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truth be told.

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

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

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

The beloved.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

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

Cats and birds – an epiphany

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photo by Martin Malina (Aug 24, 2022, Driftwood Provincial Park, Ontario)

I was amazed at the dark and rich red colour of the cardinals I saw in Gatineau Park last week. I’ve seen cardinals before, but for some reason my experience of these many cardinals I saw in the trees along the Gatineau River appeared differently to me.

At first, I wondered if I was encountering the scarlet tanager. But no, the peaked heads, black collars and red wings were give-aways. Definitely cardinals.

The Day of Epiphany is tomorrow, January 6. It is, every year. So, today, we celebrate Epiphany Sunday. Epiphany means something revealed for what it truly is. In other words, ‘revelation’.

When it comes to the bible, we normally associate Epiphany with the star shining over Bethlehem and the arrival of visitors from the East bearing gifts for the Christ child (Matthew 2). The light image of the star goes with a common phrase we use when we have an epiphany: A light bulb comes on.

Two other very important biblical stories we will encounter in this season of Epiphany reveal Jesus for who he truly is. The first one is the Baptism of our Lord; we will read that story next week (Luke 3). The second is the Transfiguration of our Lord on the first Sunday in March which is the last Sunday in the season after Epiphany this year (Luke 9).

These stories show Jesus is not just a son of a carpenter born in Bethlehem and raised in Nazareth with common human interests, relationships and activities. Jesus is also given a mission on earth as the Son of God.

There are several common elements in both stories. Perhaps the most obvious is the voice from heaven – from a cloud – God’s voice declaring Jesus as God’s beloved. In the baptism story, the drama is made complete by a descending dove. Epiphany is about a great uncovering, a revealing of something important and worth paying attention to.

Therefore, how we respond is important. Our response to the stars, the doves and voices booming from heaven influences when and if the proverbial light comes on. Do we expect God to be revealed in our lives? What will we believe about what happens? Will we reject it outright? Or, will we accept the signal, the sign, as God’s way of speaking to our hearts?

Often, God’s revelation catches us by surprise. Like when a bird visits us at our window, when we notice something we hadn’t before, or we receive an unexpected text or phone call from a friend, or a visitor drops by. An unexpected gift. These epiphany moments happen when our perception changes, in the moment.

Terry Tempest Williams offered an astute observation about birds who will often catch our attention. Birds, he wrote, “mediate between heaven and earth”. But then he goes further to detail the eyes of certain birds:

“The eye of the cormorant is emerald. The eye of the eagle is amber. The eye of the grebe is ruby. The eye of the ibis is sapphire. Four gemstones mirror the minds of birds … We miss the eyes of the birds, focusing only on feathers” (Williams, 1998). About birds, why do we focus only on feathers, their coat, their tails, and colours? When was the last time you looked at a bird’s eyes? Can you get close enough to see them?

Our perspective can change. The Epiphany story that launches us into the season – the visit of the magi to Bethlehem – is about what happens once we encounter the newborn Jesus. Like the magi, we are called to search out Jesus. And that moment surprises us on our search. And changes our trajectory moving forward.

The wise ones cannot return to their country by the same road they used getting to Bethlehem. While they cannot go the same way because of Herod, we cannot go the same way once we’ve met Christ. We emerge from every encounter with Jesus changed people. The path ahead is now different.

Speaking of birds and their eyes, scientists studied how birds perceive colour in the world. Birds do not see ‘blue’ in the sky in the way we do. Instead, most birds see ultraviolet light, rendering the sky on a bright sunny day not in blue but in magenta tones (Coman, 2024).

Whose reality is truer? Is the sky blue or magenta? I guess that depends on whose perspective we take, the birds’ or the humans’.

Despite the question, God’s capacity for creating this diversity of perception holds all perspectives together. Indeed, God’s view knows no bounds and extends farther than we can ever imagine.

Epiphany for the church is a season in which we are invited to consider and experience Another’s perspective. It can be as simple as realizing it’s not all about us, or something isn’t in fact what we have always made of it.

From birds to cats. In the 18th century William Cowper wrote a poem entitled, “The Retired Cat” (2022). It’s a lengthy poem so I won’t read it but will summarize for you.

There was a cat who indulged in her master’s attention. The cat had full reign of the house wandering wherever she pleased whenever she pleased. It was a good life. She believed she was the centre of her universe.

It was cold one day in the winter, and the cat wanted to find a more comfortable place to lounge. So, going into the master’s bedroom where she assumed a snug spot would await, she noticed an open drawer atop the dresser and leapt into it.

As she sunk indulgently into the fine linen folded layer upon layer, suddenly the maid, not seeing the cat inside, shut the drawer closed!

There the cat remained the rest of the day, trapped inside, not able to escape. Certainly, someone would notice her absence and come find her. But no, time passed. And she was left alone. Day turned into evening. Fearing she would be there entombed, the cat remained unattended until in the middle of the night the master in bed heard a mewing and scratching. Alas, she sprung from her cage the moment the master opened the drawer.

Now modest, sober, cured of all her notions of self-conceit and hubris, now to her more ordinary place of rest downstairs she returned.

From that day on, the master noticed a change in the retired cat and reflected on the folly of the person who dreams themselves so great, and their importance of such weight.

Like the retired cat, we too can learn from our experience about the limitations of our perceptions and expectations. No perspective commands the complete corner on truth. Life experiences, good and bad, can be our epiphany moments because they allow us to enter a wider field if we choose to go there.

Life can teach us that while our individual perspective may be valid and true and good, we are part of a much larger and glorious web of relationships and perspectives. “The more perspectives we can learn to see, the greater our understanding” (Rubin, 2023). We are then no longer just seeing through our own narrow sliver, but broadening our scope so we can more accurately approach what truly is.

A bigger world is, after all, what God created us to live in. Let us, therefore, rejoice and be glad in it!

Glory be to God!

References:

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

Cowper, W. (2022). The retired cat. In J. M. Hunter (Ed.), A nature poem for every winter evening (pp. 25-29). B. T. Batsford, Ltd.

Rubin, R. (2023). The creative act: A way of being. Penguin.

Williams, T. T. (1998). Refuge: An unnatural history of family and place. In J. Gardiner (Ed.), The sacred earth: Writers on nature and spirit (p. 42). New World Library.

Re-storied in us

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You are enjoying today a service full of singing. And, since today is the fifth day of Christmas, all the songs are intentionally and exclusively Christmas carols. And hopefully, you are singing some of your favourites.

When I hear you share their favourite memories of Christmas, often those memories include singing Christmas carols. Indeed Christmas is a time for singing.

What you are doing today is the heart of worship. And you are in good company. Singing was the primary mode of praising God since ancient times. The Psalms formed the first songbook for people of faith in the centuries before Christ. That is why we normally sing the Psalms in worship.

The tradition of singing comes from scripture itself. In the Christmas narrative, the angels sing “Glory to God in the highest” in the brilliant skies over Bethlehem. And, from last Sunday we read and sung the Magnificat.

The Magnificat is a Latin word meaning, “My soul magnifies.” Of course, it is the Song of Mary, a canticle she sung to magnify the Lord, to sing God’s praises at receiving the news from the angel Gabriel that she would bear the Christ child.

From early Christianity on, this text was associated with the Christmas celebration, but not just at this time of year. According to the lectionary, the Annunciation falls on March 25 every year, which is exactly nine months prior to Christmas.

The date of March 25 was then recognized as the historical date of Christ’s death. This is significant because, according to ancient Jewish mythologies—as well as very often in Christian traditions—great prophets died on the same day as their births or conceptions. This forms a strong symbolic connection: Jesus was conceived on March 25, was born on December 25, and died on March 25 exactly 33 years later. Interesting, eh?

But that’s not the only curiosity surrounding the Magnificat. From a literary perspective, the form of the Magnificat – this beautiful poetry—resembles the Song of Hannah, from 1 Samuel 2.

Hannah was the mother of Samuel who we meet in the scripture for today. Samuel was a young boy still wearing the linen garment or apron called an ephod. We know Samuel will become one of Israel’s great prophets.

What’s remarkable in the stories about young Samuel, are the similarities between the Song of Hannah and the Magnificat.

Some background: Hannah and her husband Elkanah have not been successful in having a child. Hannah continually prays to the Lord for a child, and she is distressed because for the longest time, it’s not working out. She persists in prayer, offers more sacrifice in the temple and expresses her longing. 

Finally the Lord “remembers” (1 Samuel 1:19) her, and Hannah conceives and bears a son, who is Samuel. The Song of Hannah is her response in thanksgiving to God for giving her a son.

The phrasing in Hannah’s song echoes the words in the Magnificat: “My heart exults in the Lord” in the opening line; “The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength”; “He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts up the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes …”

And then in the readings today we note how both the young Samuel with his parents Elkanah and Hannah, and the young Jesus with his parents Mary and Joseph, make their annual pilgrimage to the temple. Fascinating to notice the similarities and compare those texts – one from the Hebrew scripture and the other from the Gospel yet both from the bible.

While on my annual retreat this week, I make it a point to read through my journal from the past year. I figure, as we turn the calendar to a new year in a couple of days, it’s an appropriate time to look back.

My journal contains first drafts of some of my sermons, quotes that have inspired me, thoughts and aha moments I had for different reasons wanted to write down, prayers, key learnings from my studies, etc.

It’s an important exercise for me to look back and review my journal. It is just as important for us to review our history and see those connections between past and present. Reading through I notice the changes in myself. Sometimes I laugh at myself and sometimes I am embarrassed for having thought certain things. Other times I’m impressed by the way I’ve expressed a thought. It’s inspiring to do this. And it builds hope, courage and confidence.

In a yearly review, I can note the progress, the change, the growth in perception, in life. And through it all, I am encouraged that despite the challenges we all must face, God delivers. God responds. And while some doors close, God opens others, makes stuff happen that is good, and worthy of our attention and faithful response.

Participating in worship at Christmas is a way to remember the story of Jesus’ birth and early life. It is also a way to remember the stories that preceded Jesus. When we gather in the name of the triune God, these holy stories are “re-storied in us” (Coman, 2024)!

So let’s live out the sacred story. Let us, like Mary and Hannah before her, sing God’s praises and give thanks for the gift of divine grace, the gift of Christ’s presence, and the love that holds us all.

Happy New Year!

References:

Faith Fact: Why do we celebrate Christmas on December 25?

Coman, S. (2024, December 11). Seeds of Hope: Day 10. Lutherans Connect.
https://lcseedsofhope.blogspot.com/2024/12/day-10.html

On the road to Bethlehem

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

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

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

Who is this woman with her husband travelling at night?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks be to God! Merry Christmas!

References:

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

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

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