Tag Archives: Liturgical

Simplicity II – Holy Week

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On Good Friday, we focus on the Cross — the central symbol of Christianity. And we reflect on the meaning of what God accomplished on that Cross in the person of Jesus Christ. The cross we bring today, you will notice, is bear, along with the altar and other chancel appointments. Stripped bear. In order to appreciate what it all means, we need to be called in our hearts to a greater simplicity. Indeed, throughout the forty days of Lent, this has been the spiritual call – to simplicity.

This call to simplicity perhaps first makes sense to us in “giving something up for Lent” – chocolate, coffee, snacks, desserts, TV, etc. I can say I have appreciated the opportunity during past Lenten seasons to simplify and try to shed peels off the proverbial onion of my life – not that some of those peels are bad things in and of themselves. But that those things are not the most important nor helpful for my physical, spiritual, mental health. It’s good to do from time to time: Simplify. Because when we do we begin to get at what’s essential in life.

And so, this holy week concludes a season of going where we don’t normally want to — call it downward mobility, or doing without, or looking at that part of our lives we keep hidden from others.

When Jesus was stripped of his dignity, his clothes, his honour and humiliated; when the king of kings submitted to torture and brutal death a criminal of the state, I can’t think of much else to do except approach the Cross with humble adoration. And bring the truth of our lives to the foot of the Cross as well.

Every time a sports team struggles through a losing streak, I hear the same thing from coaches when they’re interviewed and asked why their team is losing; often they say – “we have to get back to basics, doing the small things right.” Simplify. When the chips are down, when we’re at ground zero, it’s back-to-basics time.

And while at first this may seem an unfortunate development, it’s actually important to return to those basics. In the couple of days leading up to the Superbowl — the biggest championship game on earth — the coaches for both of the best two teams in the league were advised to have their players review basic skills and focus on these.

Getting back-to-basics doesn’t just mean taking things away. On the contrary, when we focus on what is essential we may need to return to something that we’ve forgotten over the years, such as intentional prayer with God.

And not that we must pray the same way. But simply, in our communion with God who connects with us in our hearts: as we listen, as we wait, as we praise, as we lift our hands and hearts, as we use words even as words aren’t always necessary, as we reach out in prayerful action in the name of Christ. Prayer – getting back to basics. Doing small but meaningful things from the heart.

The call to simplicity on Good Friday is then also a call to come to terms with our own mortality. Admittedly, this is not a popular way. The reality of death is one we naturally want to deny, to put off thinking about – because its unpleasantness and mystery can unnerve us. No wonder many Christians care not to worship on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday – and wait then to rejoin the worshipping assembly on Easter morning.

But without Good Friday there can be no Easter. This Friday is “Good” because without the Cross stripped bear there would be no salvation. Winning teams are always committed to doing the basics, the fundamentals, of their game well.

That’s the starting point: You can’t have Easter without, first, Good Friday. We must not deny the suffering, dying Christ – nor our own. We must first accept it.

Archbishop Desmund Tutu, fighting prostate cancer, gave an interview a few years ago right before Easter. In it he spoke of the redemptive side of suffering, the good that can come out of embracing, owning and accepting your own pain and suffering. He said, “When you have a potentially terminal disease, it concentrates the mind wonderfully. It gives a new intensity to life. You discover how many things you have taken for granted: the love of your spouse, the Beethoven symphony, the dew on the rose, the laughter on the face of your grandchild.”

Often we think of times of suffering in our lives as the “dark” times. We often associate darkness with suffering and death – and therefore bad. Christian writer Joyce Rupp admits that it is difficult to believe that darkness could be a source of growth and new life. She writes:

“Darkness to a child, as well as to many adults, can be a scary, fearsome place where wild creatures wait to pounce and prey. But, in actuality, some kinds of darkness are truly our friends. The world of our mother’s womb had no light: It is where we grew wonderfully and filled out our tiny limbs of life. Our earth would be quite lifeless, too, if we did not plant seeds deep within the lonely darkness of the soil so they could germinate and bring forth green shoots. I know, too,” she continues, “that we would soon die of an overheated planet if nightfall did not come to soothe the sun-filled land. Darkness is very essential for some aspects of growth and protection.” (p.3-4 The Star in My Heart).

When we come to terms with our own suffering by answering the call to simplicity, good things come out of it. Betty Ford, former first lady in the United States, talked openly about her cancer. She changed the culture of the time – which in the 1970s was very guarded, embarrassed, and hidden when it came to talk of breast cancer. As a woman, those secrets were at best whispered in the privacy of the home; as a woman you just didn’t talk openly about it.

But thanks be to God for Betty Ford – that she took the risk of vulnerability, for her not being ashamed or fearful. As a result, her public witness is estimated to have saved millions of women’s lives in subsequent decades – because now women could speak legitimately about their problem openly, own it, accept as their own – and therefore receive needed, life-saving medical attention.

So, finally, the call to simplicity means having an attitude of gratitude. Being thankful for simple things doesn’t begin by noticing other people’s suffering and then saying – “Well, I’m better off.” It doesn’t begin by comparing ourselves to others worse off. The kind of gratitude I speak of begins deep in the heart of our own suffering. Because we know – given what Jesus did for us on the Cross – we know that God won’t let our suffering be the end of us.

On this Good Friday, let us be thankful for the small mercies and the moments of grace that surround us and come to us, even in our suffering and death. Above all, let us give thanks to the Lord for his love for us, a love that led him to make that incomprehensible sacrifice, for us. Thanks be to God!

Simplicity I – Holy Week

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Lent is a call to simplicity. We are called in this season to simplify our lives. In the Gospels, Matthew and Luke, the first beatitude is: “Blessed are the poor (in spirit)”.

On Maundy Thursday, the altar is stripped of all its vestments and vessels to remind us of Jesus’ suffering and humiliation at the hands of the soldiers upon his arrest. This ‘stripping away’ was a negative –

Indeed, don’t we look upon “poverty” as something bad? In our remembrance of Jesus’ passion haven’t we come to look with suspicion on anything in our lives of faith that smacks of this kind of ‘stripping away’ in our lives?

Because poverty means we are in a state of doing without something we feel we need. We may even equate a poverty of spirit with self-rejection, self-abasement, self-denial.

Therefore we have quite naturally focused our efforts on righting the wrong. We pursue social justice and serving the needs of the poor.

Yet, for me, something remains unattended, inadequate, in our doing more.

In this Lenten call to simplicity, am I not also called to ‘strip away’ all that which distracts me from being truly present? Will I truly pay attention to whatever circumstance of life in which I find myself – rich or poor? Am I not also called, alongside others – rich and poor – to return to an awareness and appreciation of what is essential?

I have appreciated the opportunity during past Lenten seasons to simplify and try to shed peels off the proverbial onion of my life – peels that represent inordinate desires, stuff and lifestyle choices that are really not that important, especially for my physical, spiritual, mental health. It’s good from time to time simply to pay attention to what I normally do without thinking – my routines and regular decisions in life, my automatic emotional responses to certain situations, the stuff I purchase without thinking.

Can the way of poverty, then, also be a positive force? Especially, too, as we hear the new leader of the Roman Catholic Church, Pope Francis, declare that what he wants is a “poor church serving the needs of the poor.” Surely he doesn’t mean a poverty that is self-denigrating, self-rejecting – but rather a kind of poverty that strips away all that is really unnecessary and frankly only reflects our ego compulsions, our desires, our obsessive behavior.

And perhaps there isn’t a better time to reflect on the question of spiritual poverty than when things aren’t going all that well in life? When taking a step back and assessing where our lives are going is warranted. Maybe you find yourself in a particular bind, or facing a challenging situation with someone, a difficulty that has presented itself now. Before going on the attack and blaming others — even God — what may God be calling you to “let go of”?

Every time a sports team begins to lose games, over and over again, I hear the same thing from coaches when they’re interviewed and asked why their team is losing; often they say – “we have to get back to basics, doing the small things right.” Simplify.

And, it’s also about getting back to basics in our prayer with God. I can’t think of a better way to acknowledge among very diverse Christians our bond of unity, than to affirm the role of prayer in our common practice of faith.

And not that we must pray the same way. But simply in our communion with God who connects with us in our hearts: as we listen, as we wait, as we praise, as we lift our hands and hearts, as we use words even as words aren’t always necessary, as we reach out in prayerful action in the name of Christ. Prayer – getting back to basics. Doing small but meaningful things from the heart. Modern day contemplatives say that the best way to prepare yourself for prayer is by small acts of kindness.

Which doesn’t necessarily always have to be expressed in great deeds of social action. The action can be a small, unselfish act by a young child. Jesus said, “Unless you change and become like a little child you will not enter the kingdom of Heaven” (Matthew 18:3). Macrina Wiederkehr in the book, “A Tree Full of Angels” beautifully illustrates this truth and our need for simplicity, simple prayer, simple action; in short, child-likeness; She wrote:

“One special moment of beauty that stands out in my mind I experienced in a bus station …. I witnessed a little girl helping her brother get a drink at the water fountain. Attempting to lift him to the proper height turned out to be impossible. I was just at the point of giving them some assistance when quick as lightening she darted over to a shoe-shine man, pointed to a footstool he wasn’t using, dragged it to the water fountain, and very gently lifted up her thirsty brother. It all happened so fast and it was so simple, yet it turned out to be a moment of beauty that became a prayer for me. So much to be learned from such a little moment. Perhaps what touched me most [she concluded] was her readiness to seek out a way to take care of the need without waiting to be rescued. It was a moment of beauty: a small child with a single, simple heart.”

Lent culminates in this Holy Week as we hear the stories again of Jesus’ arrest, suffering, torture and brutal death on the cross. The reality of death is one we naturally want to deny, to put off thinking about – because its unpleasantness and mystery can unnerve us. No wonder not even many Christians care to worship on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday – and wait then to rejoin the worshipping assembly on the joyous exuberance of Easter morning.

And yet, it is through the unpopular way of simplicity and this most simple reality of our mortal dependence on God that we can now know and experience the glory, love and eternal victory of God in Jesus. Without Good Friday there can be no Easter. May our Holy Week observance be a blessing for us in the simplicity of our prayer and being. May the difficult yet simple journey to the Cross and through the Cross open the way for us to eternal life, and make us aware of what is truly important. May the example of Jesus give us the courage to let go when we need to. And receive the forgiveness freely given.

For our health. For our well-being. For the sake of Jesus. And those in need.

Palms and Passion II

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Like I said, maybe you might want to stay home on Palm/Passion Sunday.

But before you make alternate plans, hold on a minute. The reading from Philippians (2:5-11) appointed for this Sunday might help us deal with the liturgical and contextual disconnect of Palms and Passion. This ancient Christian hymn describes God’s work in Jesus – particularly Jesus’ self-emptying to take on human form and be of loving service to others.

If you look at the shape of the text itself, perhaps the most notable structural element is the space between verse 8 and 9. Yes, the space.

Your bibles most likely preserve the extra-line space between two, clearly visible sections of this poetry. The first part puts the onus on us, because it is introduced by the words: “Let the same mind be in you …” (v.5). We are encouraged to embody the gift of Christ’s presence, Christ’s mind, in us – the attitude of loving service to others.

In the context of what we do on Palm/Passion Sunday – this is the Palm part. Bear with me.

You see, the crowds heralded Jesus as the King who would save the people from Roman domination. The crowds believed in the kind of Messiah who would come and make their lives better, who would change their external circumstances for the better. And so when Jesus rode in majesty, riding on a donkey, the crowds understandably laid palm branches on the royal highway and cheered “Hosanna! Hosanna!”

The Palms part of the service represents our often meager attempts at worship, at service, at prayer and Christian faith. Well-intentioned, perhaps. But, in this sometimes zealous defending of the truth or passionate display of piety, we are still seeing into a mirror dimly, aren’t we? (1 Corinthians 13).

For all their misguided, imperfect, muddied expectations, beliefs and desires – this was the human response to Jesus. I believe we can relate: Because how often do we catch ourselves falling far short of the mark? How easily do we come to confession, bearing our misdeeds and failures? Don’t we, as the Christian family, need to confess our divisions, our fighting, our self-absorbed compulsions that lead us astray, distract us, and bring us to our knees? That’s why we need to ‘do’ Palm Sunday.

But we also need to ‘do’ Passion Sunday.

Because the Palms part alone is not the full story. Doing the Palms part alone means we haven’t truly ‘emptied’ ourselves, as we are called to let the mind of Christ be in us. How can we embody the “mind of Christ” by emptying ourselves of ourselves? Is this even possible?

That’s why the space between verse 8 and verse 9 is so important. Because however we decide to respond to this scripture, to Jesus, to our living faith either individually or communally – our response dies at verse 8. After that, God takes over.

If every knee will bend at the name of Jesus, if every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, it is because God highly exalted Jesus and gave him that name that is above every name. Human volition – our action, our choice, our striving – ends at verse 9. The most important word in this text is, “Therefore”. Because now, God takes over.

We cannot do what Christ did in the Passion. We cannot atone for our sins, ourselves. We cannot by our good works save ourselves. We cannot by our even valiant efforts make ourselves right with God by what we believe and by what we do.

I know so much of our Christian culture orients itself about imitating Jesus – What Would Jesus Do? All well and good. But the Passion reminds us that it was Jesus, and only Jesus, who walked that path to the Cross for us. The Passion puts in perspective who is the author of our faith, who makes things right in our lives, who creates in us a clean spirit, who lives in us in the power of the Holy Spirit.

The space between verses 8 and 9 is the equivalent of the grave in which Jesus lay, dead as dead could be – perfectly obedient to death – with no pulse, no thought, no will (p.175, Barbara Brown Taylor, Feasting on the Word Year C Vol 2). A famous preacher, Fred Craddock, says: “The grave of Christ was a cave, not a tunnel”; that is, Christ acted for us knowing that his human life had to completely stop.

That is precisely what God has exalted and vindicated: self-denying service for others to the point of death without first claiming any return, no eye upon a reward (p. 42, Philippians – Interpretation Series). Otherwise, it wouldn’t be death, would it? Our human thoughts and beliefs and wishes all have to die. So it was for Jesus’ humanity. Love for others, to the point of death.

I read the Processional Gospel from Luke this year. What immediately follows this text we didn’t read. The form of the Lukan text implies that Jesus went immediately from the triumphal entry on the donkey to the hillside overlooking Jerusalem, where he weeps over a people so misguided and delusional. But unlike a natural human reaction which would dismiss and discard with disdain, Jesus weeps out of love and great desire to gather everyone under protective wings as a mother hen her chicks. (Luke 19:41-44)

Jesus reconciles Palms and Passion in his love for sinners. That’s us. Despite our sin, Jesus sees in us a beauty and a reflection of God’s goodness worth dying for. Worth going to the Cross for.

That is why on Palm/Passion Sunday, in the end, we do not focus on what we believe about Jesus. We focus on what he did. And what we can do because of what he did.

God’s laugh at Easter

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In his 1962 literary classic, “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, Ray Bradbury writes about a carnival that comes to a small town. The novel describes the evil, carnival magicians who inflict the townsfolk with demonstrations of supernatural events that confirm the main characters’ worst fears: Their very lives are in danger. The dark fantasy climaxes with a confrontation between the Wicked Witch and Charles Halloway, the town’s librarian.

She finds him in the library among the book stacks and begins her evil design to kill him by stopping his heart. He is terrified, locked in the hypnotic power of her dark presence. Charles can only watch, transfixed, as she weaves the air with her scorpion fingers, slowing his heart, beat by beat …

He feels his heart squeeze. Nearing the moment of no return when darkness engulfs his vision, Charles last notices her spindly fingers tickling the air. And he giggles —

A giggle which then turns into a deep, rolling, belly laugh. He can only laugh at her performance.

The witch stops short. She renews her efforts with vigor, waving her hands all over the place. But her power is suddenly thwarted. Laughter turns the tide of evil. And the carnival leaves the town. Laughter, in the face of evil, saves the day.

Easter is God’s last laugh at the devil. When all seems lost and Jesus lies in the tomb, apparently defeated by the evil of humanity …. The morning sunlight bursts on the scene, the stone is rolled away, and the grave is found empty! Ha! Jesus is not dead. He is alive! Hallelujah! Ha! Happy Easter!

It is tradition at Easter time to tell jokes. Because laughter reflects the character of this season of joyous celebration. Here’s a joke about golfing – a true story, actually:

Four retired vets, even with the limitations of ageing, regularly golfed together. All of them, though, especially Jerry, had the reputation of cheating a bit to gain an advantage against his very competitive group of friends.

One time when the foursome was out on a warm Spring day, Jerry hit his ball from the fairway and made an awful mis-hit. His ball flew into the bush off to the right of the fairway. The ball was so far into the bush that when he finally found it his comrades could not see him from the fairway. All they could hear was the “swish-swish-swish-swish” from swinging his club at what must have been a terrible spot.

Finally after about seven “swishes” the ball popped out on the fairway. When he emerged from the bush one of his comrades asked, “So, how many strokes, Jerry?” And Jerry, thinking quickly, replied, “One.”

“One!” they all said together, “We heard you take at least seven swings!” Jerry immediately replied, “Darn snake and I got him too!”

On Easter, the tables have been turned. God did not “cheat” death; like breaking the rules of a game. Instead, God overcame death; there’s now a new game in town. Now, bad news is dwarfed by new life. It’s called: Resurrection. Life triumphs over death. Death and life did hang in the balance in the torturous, grievous days leading to this morning. But now, there is no question of who is victorious. The life of God in Jesus triumphs over death.

What does the new life – the resurrection – of Jesus mean for you? That’s a very good question that I hope you will reflect on in this season. One thing it means for me is, now I can believe in what without the resurrection of Jesus would at first seem impossible.

Just like when Charles Halloway laughed at the witch in the Ray Bradbury novel: After Charles shared his discovery with others in the town, they were able to believe something that didn’t seem remotely possible before. They were able to believe that they could expel the evil carnival from their town. Which they did. With the gift of laughter.

For many years athletes believed it was impossible for humans to run a 4-minute mile. In track events around the world, top milers ran a mile in just over 4 minutes.

Then, a British runner named Roger Bannister decided to determine what changes he could make in his running style and strategy to break the 4-minute barrier. He believed it was possible to run faster and put many months of effort into changing his running pattern to reach his goal. In 1954 Roger Bannister became the first man to run a mile in less than 4 minutes. His belief that he could succeed contributed to a changed outcome in his life.

What’s even more remarkable, I think, is once Bannister broke the record, the best milers from around the world also began to run the mile in under 4 minutes. But, unlike Bannister, these runners did not substantially change their running patterns and strategies. What had changed were their thoughts; they now believed it was possible to run this fast – and their behavior followed their thinking.

Of course, just knowing it’s possible to run fast does not mean everyone can do it. Thinking is not the same as doing. So how does the Easter story encourage our faith? How does the Easter story encourage our belief in a risen Lord, in a God that is not dead, but alive? How does believing in the risen Lord translate into life lived fully?

What did Jesus first do after he was raised from the dead? Remember, Jesus spent 33 years limited by his human form. Even though he was fully divine, he chose for that amount of time to give up his place in the divine realm, take human form, become a servant, and die a human death (Philippians 2).

What do you think Jesus would want to do when back in his divine form? From a human perspective, you’d think the divine part of Jesus would be thrilled to be finally freed from the burdensome, messy, violent, cruel, painful trappings of his humanity, right?

You’d think the resurrected Jesus would want nothing more to do with the human world. You’d think he’d just want to get outa there and shoot away into the divine realm, where he would be reunited with his Father, right?

But the Gospels are all clear on this: We read that Jesus – in his divine form – appeared to Mary and some other disciples on that first Easter day, right after he is resurrected from the dead. The Gospel stories we read over the next several weeks are about Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances to his disciples — the famous walk to Emmaus, breakfast by the sea, meeting the doubting Thomas. When Jesus first emerged from the dark tomb, the Bible doesn’t say he spent time with the heavenly beings, united with his Father God. But his human friends, on earth!

Now, let’s for a moment consider why on earth Jesus would do this – that is, meet with his earthly friends right away? He obviously wanted to connect with them — to assure them, encourage them, empower them, love them. He was, after all, their friend — forever.

Incredible! Not only did Jesus express an incredible love to us in his death; he also, in his divinity, shows unbelievable love – to reach out to us, today – AFTER his resurrection.

What is the nature of the divine Jesus, the risen Lord, we worship today? He comes to us. He is with us – Emmanuel. As the Psalmist so wonderfully expresses – there is no place on earth we can go now that he is not there! (Psalm 139). Anywhere, everywhere we go, Jesus is there, too.

What the Easter story so profoundly teaches us is that Jesus Christ has not given up on us. He remains committed to us even after his resurrection. Just as he went first to his disciples after being raised from the dead and showed to them his faithfulness, so too Jesus continues to come to us, to show us his faithfulness. He is, as one scholar described, “the hound of heaven” – he will never give up on us.

The living Jesus will keep on waiting for us to answer his gentle, loving knock on the door of our hearts. He waits for us to respond in faith, in believing. He continues to come to us in love and mercy, waiting for us to respond in faith and believe in things we cannot yet see. And the more we believe something is possible, the more likely we are to attempt it, and maybe even realize it.

What if it is possible? Easter invites us to believe in something that is beyond the present circumstance. Easter invites us to believe in someone that is beyond rational explanation and sensate knowing. Easter awakens in each one of us the God-given gifts of faith, hope, and love. Just like laughter does; it opens our hearts.

So, laugh a little today. And imagine what could happen if we all believed in these impossible possibilities!

Invitation to a Holy Place

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If we had interpreted Jesus’ words, “you always have the poor with you but you do not always me” (John 12:8), to mean we should not concern ourselves with social justice and serving the needs of the poor, we fall for the gnostic trap:

Gnosticism in the early centuries was a belief system that, basically, separated the material realm from the spiritual realm. And, in the gnostic worldview deemed heretical by the early church, this material realm is essentially bad and worthless.

But if we look at the broader context of this text, we can gain a richer and deeper understanding of what is going on here. Especially as this text invites us to experience the senses of sight and smell: “The house was filled with fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:3). This story is very much rooted in the material reality of nard, perfume, feet, friends, the poor, homes, impending suffering and meals.

We cannot spiritualize this text away to mean something other-worldly, heavenly, eternal — basically disconnected from ordinary life. We cannot walk away from encountering this text only saying, “It’s all about sweet Jesus in heavenly glory and I can’t wait to get there!” Because the stuff of earth also matters dearly to our Lord.

To understand a difficult text it is often best to take a step back and see the big picture, what we call literary context. What are some of the contextual points?

First, the Gospel writer places this story at the beginning of Jesus’ final journey to Jerusalem where he will meet with treachery, suffering, torture and brutal death on the cross. Jesus accepts Mary’s extravagant gift of expensive perfume on the basis of his anointing for burial (v.7). Set in the broader context of Jesus’ passion, we begin to understand what Jesus means when he says, “you do not always have me” in verse 8. Because, literally, the time is coming when his friends will no longer see him in human form on earth.

But there is more.

Jesus begins this journey to the cross by coming home. Bethany, in some respect, was the home of his dear friends, Lazarus, Martha and Mary, whom Jesus “loved” (11:5). These are Jesus’ dearest friends. We say home is where the heart is, where we encounter family and friends. Home is a place where we feel safe to be who we are and know that we will be accepted by our loved ones no matter what. Understandably Jesus begins a difficult journey by first touching base in this holy place for him. This text begins with friends gathering around table for a meal.

A holy place, as I have heard from many of you over the past few weeks, is an event, experience or physical place where we have met God and God has met with us. It is, to some degree, a place of comfort, stability and grounding — where we feel revitalized and energized. We want to go there. From this holy place we are able then to re-engage the world refreshed with renewed vigor and commitment.

Holy places are defined by transformative relationships. Even when we are alone, so to speak, in that secret place of our hearts or sanctuary, God is with us. And we are called from that place forward.

The holy place for Jesus is not simply escapism to a Caribbean beach or any other dreamy landscape where we are protected from any discomfort. Our true holy places are not about withdrawal or drugged immunity from challenge and conflict. Otherwise those holy places just keep us addictively stuck; they do not serve to grow us as people of faith.

It gets muddy in those holy places. Judas complains. And the reader knows what he is doing with the common purse: he is a thief, up to no good. We also know that he will betray Jesus in a few days. This is part and parcel of the holy place experience. Holy places in the presence God do not buffer or sanitize us from harsh reality. They keep us on our toes. And they ultimately pull us out of ourselves and challenge us.

Lest we shy away from going to our holy place, be encouraged by the implied promise of this text: From this holy place of Jesus’ emerges a great, extravagant, gracious and valuable gift. And this gift, this treasure, is not discarded and dismissed as wasteful. The gift of Mary out of gratitude to Jesus for raising her brother Lazarus from the dead, the gift about which Judas bitterly complains as ‘wasteful’, this gift is received and accepted by Jesus.

Everything in our lives is valuable to Jesus. Jesus values and deems important those very material concerns of our lives, and the lives of those in need — the poor. When I pray to Jesus for help often the answer may not be what I want. But the affirmations that often come are in the form of material reality. In other words, voices don’t boom from heaven. Lightening doesn’t strike in the moment of prayer. Supernatural responses don’t come so much as does a phone call from the accountant, a letter in the mail, the words of a friend, the seemingly unconnected event — all shed a clear light on the matter of prayer.

Perhaps, if anything, I am called during Lent and by this text to pay attention to the daily, ordinary, earthly matters of my life. Therein Jesus is present, active, and values each ordinary decision I make. Because it’s important to him.

But it’s not just about my material needs. Mary makes a supreme material sacrifice, likely foreshadowing Jesus’ even greater sacrifice of love.

You have the poor with you always. Serve the poor. By focusing on serving others we let go of those distractions and obsessions of life that keep us trapped. You heard the advice given by the new pontiff, Francis, who advised his Argentinian church members not to spend money on attending his installation in Rome but rather to give that money to the poor.

But know this: In that good work, pay attention to the presence of Jesus who is always with us and guiding us and supporting us. We do live in the shadow of the cross. But we also live in the presence of the risen Christ. We may be surprised, in all our work for good.

So here is an invitation to daily companionship with Jesus — at the Table, in extravagant acts of compassion and generosity, in moments of worship in those holy places. (p.145, H. Stephen Shoemaker, Feasting on the Word). Because Jesus will not abandon us.

So, come! Come, eat with us. Come, share this time with us. Commune together with God and with one another. Come, join together with the people of God in holy places defined by relationships of love, to serve those in need and celebrate the great treasure we have and that we offer to the world.

A Prodigal Parable

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A wayward son left home at the age of 17 to make it on his own and get out from under the thumb and control of his Dad. His parents heard from him only at Christmas.

In time, after all the inheritance money the boy received from his Grandpa was spent, and he realized how good he had it at home, he called his Mom and asked if it would be alright if he took a train to come home. He promised her he was off drugs and was done with loose living. She was delighted but he wanted her to check with his Dad to make sure he would accept him back.

The train tracks ran right behind his parents’ property. There was a large oak tree near the trestle he had played on as a child. “Mom, if it is okay with Dad for me to come home, ask him to tie a white flag on that tree and as I come by I will know whether or not to get off at the next stop. The boy was hungry for home.

He was also nervous. Would his Dad forgive him? Could he come home? When the train took the last curve before his home, he could not bear to look.

He hurriedly asked his elderly seat partner to look and see if there was a white flag on the oak tree. The son closed his eyes and prayed.

Then he heard the man excitedly say, “Did you say ONE white flag, son? Why, every branch has a white flag attached to it!”

Read Luke 15:1-3,11b-32. Who are you in the story? Who is God? Who finds healing? And how? What do you imagine happens next?

(All my notes indicated was that this story came from a CSS Publication for preachers. If anyone has the exact bibliography, please let me know. Thanks!)

The paralysis of analysis

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When I was in university some years ago now it seemed to me that if I wanted, it was possible still, at that time, to read everything that had ever been written about any particular topic.

This sounds like good methodology. After all, in order to write a research paper on some subject you must first master the material and know all there is to know about it, right? Before developing your thesis you need first to gather and consume all the data and information out there.

Today, however, that strategy is impossible. With the democratizing effect of the World Wide Web over the last decades, you can no longer pretend to have all the information you need before acting on a plan. Because there’s always something more that someone has written.

A couple of weeks ago I sat around a table of a group of local Lutheran pastors talking about some of the things being planned for the Joint Assembly of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada and the Anglican Church of Canada this summer in Ottawa.

We were considering the suggestion of the national bishops of both churches to act boldly. One afternoon during the Joint Assembly, both church bodies would be invited to walk together peacefully to Parliament Hill and make public witness of our unity and mutual support of some pressing social justice issues of the day; namely, showing our support for First Nations people and for social/affordable housing initiatives — given the growing disparity between rich and poor and the escalation of child poverty rates, even in our city here.

Well, that was interesting. Some raised concern that before we can act on something like this, we need to have all the information: we need to see both sides of the issue, to gather all the opinions and data and perspectives which exist among our diverse membership — to be sure.

This position, I must admit, appealed to me impulsively. You see, I grew up in a family where, in order to do something together, it felt like we all had to agree on the course of action. I mean, each one of us had to agree to it for it to be okay. Our unity of action depended on conformity. Unless we were all like-minded on a position, we held off acting on it.

Now, there are times in the life of a family or community when waiting to act on something is appropriate. Other times, not so much. And when we hesitate, when we look the other way, because we need more information, we may miss out on experiencing something wonderful from God. And that’s tragic.

At root of this paralysis of analysis, I believe, is fear. Fear of the unknown.

In my life as a pastor I’ve also witnessed families sitting around a dinner table where they argue passionately against each other, expressing with loud words and wildly flying hand gestures their divergent opinions. And yet, each and every one of them around that table could never imagine NOT remaining part of that family. They work it out — together, and openly. They’re not afraid of baring their souls, being vulnerable to one another, laying it on the line — lovingly, firmly, respectfully. They are family no matter their disagreements. And, those disagreements don’t hold family members back from acting on their convictions when those opportunities present themselves.

Notice the action of the father of the Prodigal Son in the Gospel text for today (Luke 15:1-3,11b-32). A younger son leaves home with his inheritance and squanders it. Destitute, he decides to risk going back home hoping he will be received.

You can imagine Jesus’ listeners expecting — as in other parables where rebels are dealt with harshly — that this young son will be severely punished. If the steward who failed to invest was cast into outer darkness (Matthew 25:26-30), how much more will a greedy son suffer!

We may be so familiar with this story that we overlook something that would have surprised its original audience: the father hasn’t even heard his son’s expression of remorse. The father doesn’t first hear what his son had to say for himself. The father doesn’t first demand an apology from the lips of the wayward son. Jesus says that the father was only “moved with compassion” simply upon seeing him. Actions speak louder than words. There’s no analysis going on here.

The father does something wondrous — something that might very well have struck listeners as odd. He runs, undignified, and puts his arm around his son and kisses him -uncalled for. Who could not feel confused by the father’s apparent approval of sin? (thanks to Fr. James Martin, SJ, for this insight). What’s going on here? The father even throws a party for his lost son that has come home.

I find it interesting that the end of the story in Luke’s Gospel does not say how the resentful elder son responded to the father’s invitation to join the family celebration. Perhaps this question mark at the end of the story was intentional – as now each and every one of us is invited to reflect on whether or not we will act.

Will we act, first out of compassion and mercy? Will we join the new thing God is doing in our family in the church? Despite disagreeing on some things, despite feeling miffed or frustrated by something, despite not having gathered all the data and information on something, despite our desire first to feel justified in helping people in need.

But as we must make that decision on our own, remember who is inviting us. And, remember that our Father God desires the healing not just of individuals in our own private worlds. But ultimately, our God desires the healing of the whole family of God. And God promises to welcome each of us around that table, in this world and in the world to come.

What a party that will be!

Unworthy (and worthy!)

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Remember the “tech bubble” that collapsed thirteen years ago? What about the “housing bubble” of 2007 in the United States, and a second “tech bubble” some see looming now; not to mention housing prices in Canada? Is the bubble going to burst? Again?

But what about another bubble that we may be even more apprehensive to talk about – the decline of “establishment Christianity” North America? One congregation at a time, one closed school, one left-behind building, and even many mega-churches that are shattering like the walls of a bubble.

You may react – that I am being overly negative and it’s really not all that bad so long as we can continue to spin our wheels, try to turn the clock back to 1950 and do things the way they used to be done in the past.

Do we consider the institutional church in 2013 a tree that will stand forever, a house built on solid rock, the very apple of God’s eye?

Jesus told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.” (Luke 13.6)

In our individual, personal lives, bubbles burst all the time. Are you one of the very people whose bubbles are now bursting? Broken relationships. Ill-health. Financial ruin. Underemployment. Shattered dreams. Tragedy.

Indeed, the human condition is broken. Ever since the Fall, sin has steeped into the very fabric of our earthly existence.

According the Lutheran belief, even our good intentions and actions are tainted and ineffectual. In our weekly liturgy, we confess “that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves” (“Evangelical Lutheran Worship”, p.95, emphasis mine). There’s nothing we – by ourselves – can do to make things better. Older liturgies are even more hard-hitting: the “Book of Common Prayer” in the Anglican Church has it: “We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table” (p.83). I am sure Lutherans can point to old prayer and liturgy books that basically suggest we are no better than worms crawling in the mud.

Let’s be careful in how we respond to the question of sin. For one thing, in the Gospel text today (Luke 13:1-9), Jesus rejects the kind of thinking that is easy: focusing on the sins of others as explanation, justification, for the bad things that happen. In response to the Pharisees, Jesus turns the question to them. You must repent for your sins.

In the baptismal liturgy of our church, we renounce the devil and all his empty promises – three times. When we declare together that we “renounce” the devil, we are also renouncing “all the forces that defy God” and “the powers of this world that rebel against God” (EvLW, p.229).

Not only is sin active in our individual lives – but in the world around us: in economic, political, social, religious institutions. Sin is not only individual; it is corporate. Sin is something we can do together in an organization, collectively. Admittedly it’s easier to point to a random, individual act. It’s convenient and easier to explain individual behavior gone bad. It’s much more ambiguous, complex and difficult to see sin as something shared in a group.

What do we, as a church, need to confess?

Are we counting on bubbles? Are we riding on the coat tails of previous generations of the faithful? Are we trying to draw closer to God without allowing God closer to us? Do we try to save ourselves through work and possessions? Do we ration our affections, pulling back from a deeply troubled world, staying inside where it is safe, praying when we feel like it, listening as little as possible, singing our songs and not God’s songs, treasuring our kind and not God’s people? (Thank you to Tom Ehrich for this insight and these words – from his blog, “On a Journey – Meditations on God in Daily Life”, Feb 27/2013).

Amidst the doom and gloom there is hope. The passage ends with hope. In the confession there is the realization of God’s mercy. Amidst the urgency to get things done, to do the right thing, to toil in all our striving, we are invited to pause. To stop, for a moment. Why?

Because we are that fig tree. Barren. Failed. Unworthy – or so it would seem (from the world’s perspective). Jesus is the gardener, who sees in us something worthy of grace. Jesus advocates on our behalf, to give us another chance. A holy, second chance. Jesus continues to work at the root of our lives, applying grace upon grace, getting his hands dirty – for us. Jesus will not give up on us.

In this dependence on God for all good things, we have to realize one, very important truth: It is not we who accomplish our growth, our life. All we need to do, is open our hearts, the ground of our being – as roots – to receive the nourishment of God’s grace. All we need to do, is look up to the sunshine, warming our being, inviting us to reach outward.

It is Jesus’ love for us that accomplishes whatever good that may come from our efforts. It is God’s work of love that accomplished our salvation in Jesus. I heard recently a wonderful quote from a teacher of Christian prayer: that God will not judge us according to our sins and failings, but for all the gifts we refused from the gracious hand of God. Our judgment is not based on our sinning – since we all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) – but because we have refused, rejected and turned from the grace and love that God offers us anew, every day. Because God is giving us a second chance. What are we doing about that?

We yearn for more. Polls and studies reveal that people are hungry for God. Maybe it will take a cascade of bursting bubbles for us to see how little fruit we have yielded, how much God desires of us, and how lovingly God will work on our behalf for real life and love for all, not for bubbles.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

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I’ve come to realize that Lent is good for me. And do you know why? Lent is a season for confession. So here’s one of mine: Lent is not exactly my favorite season of the church year.

But that’s precisely why it’s good for me. Because I initially react negatively to it, perhaps there’s something there to which I need to pay attention. It’s the same as saying, the only way for you to overcome some fear, is not to avoid it but to face it. And go there.

I suppose there is some consolation in believing that if we’re never challenged in our faith, if it never means we struggle with it, if it’s always supposed to be sugar-sweet and easy, if the real bad stuff happens out there with other evil people and never within me – well, in all honesty and truth – red flags should be going up all over the place.

Indeed, the kind of sins and temptations are very personal to you and to me. And subtle. And easily missed.

How is Jesus tempted? You’ll notice the temptations are not bad in and of themselves, really (Luke 4:1-13). The devil doesn’t tempt Jesus to commit murder or genocide, or destroy the lives of good people by duping them into some ponzi scheme, or sell drugs, or do some awful, despicable, unconscionable thing we see continually in our media. At the same time, they are not of the trite, superficial variety we hear about in our so-called Lenten disciplines: the devil is not tempting Jesus with chocolate.

The man has been fasting for forty days. Surely a loaf of bread is okay? Even the most rigid of diets and fasts include some basic, regular consumption.

Then, the world. We know the corruption and evil surrounding the rule of Herod in Jesus’ day and age. A change in government would be a good thing, especially one ruled by Jesus, eh? You would think.

And finally, the temple. What with the priests, Pharisees, Levites and religious leaders of the day missing God’s point so often and corrupting the spiritual and worship life of people by their control and manipulative designs – Jesus taking over by displaying the power of God in the temple would go a long way in cleansing the place, turning it around. Wouldn’t you say? Jesus in charge! Yeah! Good idea!

The temptations address the person. And Jesus is the Son of God, not something contested by the devil, you’ll notice. The temptations are meant merely to distract Jesus, throw him off course.

The temptations are essentially given to undermine Jesus’ trust in God the Father. The temptations don’t deal with who Jesus is so much as what kind of Jesus will emerge from the desert: one that acts on his own timeline, or one that waits and obeys the timing and guidance of God the Father.

Because remember, Jesus does make bread to feed the hungry; Jesus does engage the political realm preaching the coming of God’s kingdom on earth; Jesus does let go and hang on the cross trusting the angels and presence of God the Father right to the end. In the end, Jesus does in essence what the devil tempted him in the desert. But with one huge difference: not according to anyone else’s strength and timeline other than God’s.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

I think we can say the same for ourselves: What is truly dangerous temptation for us has more to do with whatever may distract us from God’s purpose for our lives. Careful discernment is required here. It may not be obvious. In fact, it may first present itself as a good thing in and of itself: Some common sense notions we live by day to day. But are they part of God’s purposes? Is it the right time? Humility is also required in this journey.

We are not Jesus. So much in the popular Christian culture today suggests that we should be like Jesus. “What Would Jesus Do? WWJD” – do you wear the bracelet? Yes, Martin Luther said we are “little christs”. But emphasis on little, please.

Because Luther was very clear to say: We cannot presume to be like Jesus in his moral perfection. Because we aren’t! When we try to be like Jesus we lean on our own strength. When we try to be like Jesus we may easily end up believing we must earn God’s favor by our good works. This is not the Gospel. We are missing the point.

Being faithful Christians we will fail in our efforts, in our striving. Then, when we do fail – what do we do, what happens, what do we believe?

Are we unworthy of God’s love and favor? Will be burn in hell for our mistakes? Will God punish us? Will we give up? Will we say, “This is not for me?” and turn our back on church? Will we despair and continue knocking ourselves down in self-rejection? I think we are familiar with this line of reasoning – and where that spirit of obsessive, fatalistic guilt takes us. And that’s not a good place. Because I don’t think that reasoning leads to a vital, energetic and committed ministry to feed the poor and proclaim the Lord’s favor shouting from the rooftops – “Christ is Lord!”

It is simply in trusting Jesus amidst our weakness and imperfection where the Gospel has powerful witness to the world. All we need to do is to accept Jesus is with us, to help us, to guide us. All we need to do, is trust. And not give up on the path.

An ancient proverb is told of a servant whose duty was to draw water from the river at dawn when it was still mostly dark, and carry a bucket-full up a winding, rocky path to the mansion where his master lived. Alas! His bucket had a crack in it. And each time he brought water up the path he lost most of it.

Curiously, the servant noticed his master standing at the door of the mansion watching him every day carry this water up the path, spilling most of it. And yet, the servant was able to see a broad, loving smile on his master’s face. Daily, the servant would drop to his knees when he reached the top.

At his master’s feet the servant would express his remorse at failing to do his job, bringing only half a bucket-full of water each time he climbed the path. The master listened lovingly, invited him inside for breakfast, and encouraged him to try again the next day. Which the servant did, faithfully, for the entire season.

When the river froze over, and the last half-bucket full was brought up the path, and once again the servant expressed his shame, sorrow and regret, the master invited him inside to share in a special feast to mark the end of the season and beginning of a new one. On the table spread with the finest breads, vegetables, cheeses and meats, he found bouquets of flowers of the most wondrous varieties and colors.

The servant gasped at the heavenly sight and asked his master, “From where did you find these beautiful flowers?” “Come, follow me,” the master said, “and see for yourself.” The master led the servant back to the front door just as the sun was rising, illuminating the pathway down to the river. And on both sides of the path the flowers were growing, able to do so because of the water that had daily leaked out from the servant’s cracked bucket.

As we follow the path of our Lenten discipline let’s keep our eyes fixed on our master Jesus. Jesus knows our limitations, our failures, our sins because he walked that path to the Cross and bore all our sins. He knows intimately this rocky, dark path that we tread.

He also sees that nothing is wasted. No effort too small or too great is missed by God’s gracious gaze. Whatever we do, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has eternal implications. And won’t we be surprised when we enter that glorious heavenly feast and see it all!

We made the sign of the cross on our foreheads with ash this past week. Some may think as I once did, “how morbid and negative!”

But the path we tread is not about achieving perfection, but about not giving up. So, continue on the path returning to the Lord day after day this Lenten season, doing what we may. But keeping our vision, our focus, on Jesus even when we fail. And then see what happens.

Hope springs eternal. Surprise!

Driving into the sunrise: an ISS with a view

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Following Canadian Astronaut Commander Chris Hadfield’s twitter feed (@Cmdr_Hadfield), I along with over a quarter million other people are fed with a steady diet of inspiring photography from space.

And these photos, nothing short of amazing, are shots of cities and notable geography on our planet. Maybe it’s the perspective, and the real time nature of the photography.

These weren’t photos taken by a satellite a year ago or more you can find on Google Earth. Chris Hadfield takes these photos, and then moments later posts them on the internet: So, I’ve seen the bush fires in Australia as well as the flooding there as it recently happened.

His perspective from 400 kilometres up flying at 8 km/ second challenges my opinion on the way things are on the ground. For example, I may feel completely inundated and overwhelmed by the depth of winter in which we find ourselves now, in the southern parts of Canada. From my perspective six feet off the ground, the snow banks are high; flurries stream in daily from the heavens; the white stuff piles up and covers so much of my world.

And yet, I get a different feel when I view Chris Hadfield’s photos from space. When he’s posted live photos of Ottawa, Montreal, even Edmonton in January of 2013 — you can tell it’s winter from up there, to be sure.

But the photo isn’t completely white, as I would imagine with all this snow. Depending on the Canadian city, white may not even be the half of it. There are dark patches all over the place — sections of lakes and rivers not frozen, glades of forests, exposed rocks — that have thrown off the blanket of snow.

I watched the interview between Commander Hadfield and CBC’s Peter Mansbridge on TV last week. And I discovered Chris Hadfield to be quite philosophical and eloquent about his incredible experience. A veritable Renaissance Man, he is.

I must confess I have caught the bug of inspiration that he is sharing openly with the whole world. He says that his experience has taught him to think more globally and wonder about his place on the planet in relation to other places. When people respond to his twitter feed about the photos he posts, Hadfield is inspired by comments that suggest these places mean something more for people, places that were up until now for many just words on a page, found in an atlas. Therefore, what motivates him in his work is that because of what he does people’s vision of the world is slightly expanded.

Mansbridge asked whether what Hadfield is experiencing, given his awe-inspiring perspective of earth, can be described religious or spiritual. In response, Hadfield spoke of the night in which they were flying eastward over Canada in the dark, north of the Great Lakes towards the Maritimes. He was just able to see the lights of Quebec City and then over the Gaspe, and finally screaming at high speeds towards Newfoundland and Labrador. And just as St Johns came into view, the sun burst over the horizon.

Not just the sudden brightness, explosion of colours or heat of the sun, but the profound beauty of it, he said, brings tears to his eyes. He went on to say that “driving into the sunrise” — which happens 16 times a day for him — is a powerful experience because it is “a magnificent way to understand our planet, and to see our country as one place.”

Valentine’s Day is just over a week from now. And the red hearts, balloons and chocolates in the stores remind us of that great theme in life — love. Saint Paul’s famous speech about the greatest gift (1 Corinthians 13) echoes in our minds as we yearn for the warm fuzzies and relational peace amongst ourselves.

This kind of perspective seems almost out of reach on account of the enduring divisions, both within ourselves, and in the world. We may even have considered “love” as something reserved only for our dreams and fantasies, something expressed only in the fictional world of princesses and princes and childhood aspirations.

When Mansbridge asked Hadfield about the response he got from people after posting photos of Syria where there is much trouble and conflict, he responded: “Trouble and conflict is a basic component of the human experience, unfortunately.” He admitted that it’s not going to get solved by space travel.

But he went on to say that he thinks that if people in conflict could see the world from his visual perspective — “to be able to cross Africa in the time it takes to finish this sentence, to be able to see the whole world repeatedly over and over as one succinct, distinct place where we all live — that view would do a lot of people a lot of good.”

He also said that the ISS is visible from the earth. “If you get up early in the morning, or just before you go to bed, and we happen to be flying overhead, we are still in the light while it’s getting dark on the surface of the earth. There’s a visible example of something going on that is truly international, that is cooperative, that is leading edge that is right there overhead — the brightest star in the sky going around and around the world reminding people of what we can do when we do things right and when we do things together. And hopefully that combination will help to influence at least some people: the combination of understanding how we truly all exist together on a planet and the understanding of what we can do when we work together.”

You know what happens after Jesus announces to the people what his purpose in life is, after reading the holy scripture to the people in the Nazarene synagogue (Luke 4: 21-30). You know the response. It is violent. They want to throw their home boy off a cliff!

We may forget that when the church in Corinth first heard Paul’s words about love, those words didn’t spark the warm fuzzies in them. Paul was addressing a church in conflict, with people’s selfish, compulsive egos getting the better of them. Everything Paul says love is not, they are. Everything that Paul says love is, they are not. They reacted. They must have been angry at Paul for his challenge, his offense, his prophetic, cutting-edge preaching.

In short, both the Gospel story and this famous, idyllic passage about love from Paul tells us that Christianity even with its emphasis on love and grace doesn’t mean it’s all nice and easy and comforting.

Love is not just a feeling. It is action. It is risk-taking. It is going beyond our comfort zones in the same sense that Chris Hadfield risks all to propel his body to the edge of space in a tin can. Love ain’t easy. But the benefit, the outcome, is wonderful, inspiring.

Love exercised with determination, and motivated out of a sense of the greater, common good, for the sake of others; Love demonstrated in acts of courage and principled clarity — this is who we are. This is the Gospel character.

How does Jesus escape almost certain death by the mob who wants to kill him? Right at the end of the Gospel passage, we read that he merely “passes right through them”. Biblical scholars suggest this rather cryptic climax to the story points to the resurrection of Jesus.

As Hadfiled admitted, space travel will not solve the human experience of being in conflict and trouble. But the visual reminders will inspire Canadians, indeed all earthlings, to something better, something cutting edge, something more, something possible that we can do together. Just as small acts of true, meaningful, self-giving acts of love between individuals, families, communities, countries, will not solve all human conflict for all time. But they will stand as constant reminders of what God has called us, ultimately into: new life, resurrection, new beginnings.

We are, after all, all driving into the sunrise.