Tag Archives: Liturgical

Paying faith forward

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David Wilkerson is known most for writing the story, The Cross and the Switchblade. At a meeting I attended recently, a church leader read for our opening devotions the true story about David Wilkerson when he was involved in an outreach ministry in New York in the 1960s:

When a mortgage payment came due on a youth center in Brooklyn, David needed fifteen thousand dollars. The ministry’s bank account only held fourteen. Fourteen dollars, that is.

The “impossible” mortgage payment was due August 28. As the date drew near, Wilkerson expected God to do something huge and wonderful to save the center. But nothing happened.

The deadline arrived, and they still lacked the money. The bankers were ready to foreclose on the Teen Challenge operation. Wilkerson worried that he had run out of miracles.

But he pushed on, nevertheless. He asked his lawyer to seek an extension from the bank. Which was granted; the new date was September 10th. But that date was final. The lawyer asked David about his plan to raise the money. “I’m going to pray about it,” Wilkerson responded.

Then he decided to call together the staff and all the young people in the center – former drug addicts and gang members – and he told them that the center … had been saved.

Cheering rocked the place. “Let’s go to the chapel and thank God!” he urged. They did, praising the Lord for the money. Someone finally asked him where the money had come from.

Wilkerson shook his head. “Oh, it hasn’t come in yet, but by September 10th it will come. I just thought we ought to thank God ahead of time.” (William Petersen, 100 Amazing Answers to Prayer, Baker Publishing 2009, p.181-184).

To make a long story short – the ministry center did receive enough money to cover the mortgage payment by the due date, in dramatic fashion nonetheless.

But what strikes me in this story was not so much that the exact amount needed was actually delivered at the 11th hour, so to speak, as an answer to prayer. Because rarely does effective prayer result in exactly what we wish for. In prayer, we do not manipulate God.

Rather, what stands out for me in that story was that the celebration and commitment to praise God came before the money was fully realized. In other words they didn’t wait until after they raised all the money to praise and thank God: they offered their thanksgiving, truly, in faith, as an act of unconditional love for God. Their relationship with God was not contingent on things going the way they wanted – on answered prayer, as such. Their positive act of giving thanks to God was expressed like “paying it forward”; that is, paying faith forward.

Such examples of believing in the power of prayer can seem otherworldly and irrational to us. And understandably so.

In the world we normally have to earn our way to glory; we have to prove ourselves before the reward comes. And only if others prove themselves worthy in some way will we return the favor. It was only after my neighbor shoveled my half of the driveway early in the winter season before I was moved to do the same for him since. Tit for tat – even in being gracious.

This kind of ‘conditional culture’ – which operates at so many levels of our relational, economic, political, social and even religious lives – is really based on a negative, self regard. Our media’s emphasis on ‘perfection’ – you know, perfect bodies, beautiful-looking people, the most expensive cars, gadgets, and properties splashed continually on our TV screens and magazine covers – results in a lot of personal let down, if not downright self-rejection and hatred: “I’m not good enough”; “I’m ugly”; “I’m an awful person”; “I’m not worth it”; “I don’t matter to anyone.”

Have you ever listened to your own self-talk? When you are by yourself, what do you say (maybe even out loud) under your breath when something doesn’t work, or you’re stumped, or something breaks? Might be a helpful exercise. Because it would reveal a lot about how you relate to yourself. And how you relate to yourself will translate and project into your relationships with others, and God.

Even though in Luke’s Gospel, his version of Jesus’ baptism is very short (compared to Matthew, Mark, and Johns’ versions of the same story) – only 2 verses – Luke does not hold back the words God the Father has for Jesus: “You are my beloved son with whom I am well pleased” – echoing the words from Isaiah: “You are precious in my sight, and I love you!” Of all the details Luke could have mentioned (in comparison to the other Gospel accounts) about this story, he definitely sounds loudly this theme of God “paying it forward” to Jesus.

Maybe, from the world’s perspective, God should have waited until after Jesus defeated the devil by dying on the cross and rising from the dead … before praising him.

Maybe, from the world’s perspective, God should have waited until Jesus actually accomplished that which he had been called, baptized and ordained to do on earth … before offering him his due accolades.

Maybe, from the world’s perspective, God ought to have waited until Jesus returned to sit at the right hand of God in heavenly glory … before offering him his just deserts. After all, to receive grace and compassion and love and adoration one must first be deserving of it, right?

Not God; God doesn’t wait for anything. God speaks those gracious, affirming, empowering, unconditionally-loving words long before Jesus takes his first step towards Jerusalem and the Cross.

And that’s how God and Jesus are with us. Call it, if you will, shooting first and asking questions later; and God ‘shoots’ with grace not with bullets!

Let me quote John Leith, a Presbyterian professor and theologian, who said that every human life is rooted in the will and intention of God. I quote him: “In baptism the child’s name is called because our faith is that God thought of this child before the child was, that God gave to this child an identity, an individuality, a name, and a dignity that no one should dare abuse. Human existence has its origin not in the accidents of history and biology, but in the will and the intention of the Lord God, creator of heaven and earth” (“An Awareness of Destiny” in Pilgrimage of a Presbyterian, Louisville KY, Geneva Press, 2001, p.126-127)

The truth is, we need to hear this affirmation from one another. We need to hear it from God. And we need to speak it to ourselves. Long before we prove anything. Long before we have all the money. Long before we earn it. These are life-giving words that each person on earth should hear, unconditionally: “You are my child, whom I love and with you I am well pleased!”

When Jesus hears those words, his life changes forever. He is empowered by those words to go forth and do what he must do and be who he is called to be, for the sake of the world.

Those words will do the same for us, for our children, our neighbors, our spouses, our church members, and even, as Jesus promised, our enemies. You DO matter. You ARE worth it. You ARE beloved and beautiful. You ARE precious, and God loves you. And I pray you know that kind of unconditional love from others in your life as well.

Because the unconditional affirmation and love of God and of one another is the source of our true identity and purpose in life. And these affirmations are the most enduring joys of the abundant life Jesus wants for each one of us.

No one has seen God

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From his fullness we have all received grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known. (John 1:16-18)

When Seth first started playing soccer, he followed the ball very well. He was even, right from the start, able to anticipate where the ball was going and position himself accordingly.

But he didn’t want to touch the ball. He let someone else do that.

As most 5-year-olds do when they begin playing the sport, all the players tend to surround the ball en mass and follow the ball around on the field like a flock of birds until someone kicks it in any direction, and the flock moves there.

But Seth always remained on the outside of that group. He kept his feet moving to be sure — circling the ball, dancing around it, following it carefully — but never actually touching it.

Eventually, as Seth continued to grow and play soccer season after season, he also grew to love the sport. Over time he learned to be a little bit more assertive with the ball and approach it confidently. He’s evolved into a very good soccer player.

Eventually, he just wanted the ball. Despite the risk. Despite the struggle that would ensue with a competitor. Above all, every good player wants the ball — that goes without saying.

And yet I wonder about how we approach our God. Do we play it too safe? Do we acknowledge our innate desire for God? And if not, why not? Is it because we cannot see God? What are we waiting for?

Admittedly, it is easier to stay on the outside, and just watch. We’ll let others do it for us. Maybe they’ve done a better job figuring out God.

Yet, scripture is clear that no one has seen God. On Mount Sinai when he received the Ten Commandments, even Moses had to turn away in the presence of God (Exodus 33:20-23). No one has all the answers about God. No one has God figured out. As much as we may want there to be, there are no easy answers to life’s tough questions.

Even though we have the Law, it is not enough. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.

The only thing anyone of us can do is to approach the heart of God, to come near. John’s Gospel suggests that the only way we can know God is in relationship with Jesus. Jesus’ reflects the heart of God. Being close to Jesus, then, we are close to God.

The young boy-child Jesus instinctively knew that to know his heavenly Father he had to be close to Him. And the one place in ancient Israel known to contain the holy presence of God – the temple in Jerusalem. One of the first things Jesus does as a growing individual is to desire his Father’s house, the temple.

“Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49)

The best anyone of us can do is come close. Because what is most important in life cannot be measured, quantified, analyzed. God cannot be rationalized away by doctrinal statements, creeds and stated opinion.

God can only be experienced. The boy Jesus had to experience his Father’s house. Be there. Even if it meant disobeying his parents and breaking the law.

Being bold in coming close to Jesus means being bold in approaching our lives. Not being reckless nor irresponsible. But being bold – reaching out to strangers, taking risks of faith, addressing the issues of your life with honesty and truth and action, not giving up.

And when we are close to Jesus – as in the Holy Communion, or in the fellowship of the church, in loving service of the world – we experience and therefore know the heart of God.

And what does a heart signify? A heart signifies the essence of a person, the centre of a person’s very identity. A heart signifies love, compassion.

So while there aren’t any easy answers to the mysteries of life and death – answers for which we strive to seek rational, quantifiable and analytical certainty, often to our folly – one thing is sure: God’s love. God’s compassion for all of creation. Our salvation is found in Jesus whose way is love: This is central. This is vital to who we are.

When we take the risk to ‘touch the ball’ so to speak, when we approach the throne of grace boldly, when we take a risk to reach out in love to another, we can be confident to know that we are approaching the heart of God.

The only thing we can do is come near, come close to God. And the only way we can do that on earth, is to do it together, as a team.

Christmas – to earth below

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In humor columns, parenting blogs and popular print media, much has been made of the adventure – often toil – of getting your children to sleep at night.

For parents this can be the epitome of frustration as children are often reluctant and sometimes fearful about the prospect of falling asleep.

Perhaps no harder a task than the night before Christmas.

I can imagine Martin Luther’s wife, Katherine von Bora, giving bedtime duty to Martin on Christmas Eve in 1535. What should he do to get the children settled down and to sleep?

Well, why not sing a familiar tune – one they would likely have heard around town – to words that tell the Christmas story? And he wouldn’t just sing it once through. After all, it takes time to get the rowdy’s settled down.

For the longest time I had wondered why Luther had to write not three or four verses – the usual for a hymn, right? – but fourteen! Well, now it makes sense to me.

Nothing like a sweet lullaby – fourteen verses long! – to put anyone to sleep, let alone children. And not just at bedtime.

Indeed, falling asleep can be the most difficult thing, and not only for children, in a dark time of year when anxiety levels run high.

Because falling asleep requires trust. You know, to fall asleep one needs to let go into a belief in the sweet goodness of life. You can’t fall asleep whilst fretting about this or that. When the gift of sleep finally comes, there’s a peace that descends on the heart and mind.

How difficult that can be, these days especially, in the heightened fervor over doomsday predictions and mass shootings that have left the soul of our collective identity tarnished if not shattered.

And we ask, how can God preside over this mayhem and downright evil in the world?

Martin Luther’s hymn, From Heaven Above describes a God who does not remain distant nor disconnected from earthly realities. It describes a God who descends and enters our humanity. And not just into the places of power, privilege and prestige — into the glorious aspects of life. But especially God descends into the earth below.

From heaven above, God comes, to earth below. Into the dark tragedies. Into the fearful realities of life.

When the Word – that is, the full capacity of God’s being – entered human flesh, God was saying something about how God would relate forever more with us.

A great and wonderful and joyful promise was issued from God in the incarnation of God in Jesus: that new life is ours. That out of the deepest, darkest tragedies, from the pit of despair, through the vice grip of fear, out of the fires of anger and from the shame of sin – there is hope.

This is good news: On Christmas Day God proclaims a new beginning for us and for the world. We are offered the power of God to make things right, to reach beyond self-preoccupations to a larger reality governed by God and empowered by God’s love.

This is good news, even though the reality of evil still persists. Perhaps the form and length of Martin Luther’s hymn can suggest one more thing:

There aren’t any easy answers to the difficult questions of life and sometimes senseless, tragic death. Just as there aren’t any simple answers to explain the depth and mystery of the incarnation of God in the baby Jesus, so too we cannot explain away the tragedies of life with simple statements.

Even fourteen verses cannot say it all! Martin Luther tried! Perhaps motivated by a desire to get his kids to sleep, Luther could never describe God as a monster who is out to punish us.

God comes to us a baby from whom and for whom nothing but love, gentleness and compassion entered the darkest night.

Gaudete – a forward-looking joy

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After the doomsday hype of the last couple of days, the heart-wrenching tragedy of the past week in Connecticut, and what for some has been a particularly difficult and challenging year, financially, in 2012 — perhaps we are many in voicing our eagerness to leave the past behind and move forward.

What can inspire us to move on?

I suspect, if you’ve had children, hanging around babies comes close. It’s a good time of year to surround yourself with children. In the presence of new birth my heart and mind usually go in a good direction.

There’s nothing like a pregnancy to inspire the soul. Rather than look backward, waiting for a child to be born turns one’s sights forward in hope and anticipation.

A well-timed baby-kick during pregnancy can kick-start this hope and joy in us. When Mary greets Elizabeth, the baby in Elizabeth’s tummy gives her a good hoof (Luke 1:41) — true to character John the Baptist is!

Sometimes the baby-kick is not a very pleasant experience at all. It can throw you off balance, literally: A pink slip. A relationship break up. A phone call in the middle of the night. Interesting, in retrospect, how a baby-kick can happen serendipitously yet profoundly at the right moment in time.

The recognition of this ‘kick’ demands a response, does it not? Laughter, for some, if appropriate. Preparation, for another: We make plans and get things ready.

When a baby kicks, it means things are happening in us and in the world that turn our attention forward, to what is truly important, to what is hopeful.

Another text read during Advent comes from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. During Advent the theme of joy is heralded by the oft quoted scripture: “Rejoice in the Lord always! Again I tell you, Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4)

What is peculiar about the Greek here, is that the meaning of the word for “Rejoice” can also be translated as “Farewell”.

Being that Paul was in a Roman prison when he wrote this letter to the Philippian church, was Paul encouraging the Philippians to look forward to a future with Christ but without Paul, instead of gaining inspiration and joy simply from what has been accomplished in past events alone?

Isn’t that the way we normally see it, though? We can give thanks and find joy and inspiration based in the past — all the good we see there in our memory. As inspiring and important a spiritual act this is, the Advent message turns us forward, not backward, in our faith. And yes, in our joy, too.

In fact, the joy we celebrate in this season — as in anticipating the birth of a holy child — is not so much about a “pursuit of happiness” defined by the American dream but rather a “longing” for that which we hope.

The German word “Sehnsucht” captures the essence of Christian joy, as proposed by C.S. Lewis. Others have expressed this joy in worship — in African American worship, for example, so often associated with joy.

But African American worship is not about unrestrained frivolity as much as it is better characterized by a deep longing. (Barbara Holmes, Joy Unspeakable: Contemplative Practices of the Black Church, Augsburg Fortress, 2004, p.6). A deep longing, yearning, for that which is promised brings joy to the heart.

In Advent we express joy not because of what has happened. The joy we celebrate this season is not anchored in bright circumstances. Neither does it emerge from a soupy sentimentality, a noxious nostalgia.

Rather, the joy we celebrate is kick-started by the unexpected, surprising gift of divine presence. The Lord is near!

And it brings forth from us an impassioned response for that which we wait. This joy looks forward.

The gift of Jesus turns our attention to others, to God in prayer, and to God’s best things. As such, this joy can withstand the darkest of times. So, fear not!

The joy of the Lord is near!

Who’s feeling the pressure?

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Feeling the pressure lately?

You’d have to live on a different planet if you didn’t notice in the people around you — in the malls, community centers, sports venues, wherever people gather — and perhaps in yourself, too: a heightened intensity, pace and anxiety.

There are people to please, stuff to buy, items to check off the list, more food to digest — and only a couple more weeks till Christmas! Traffic’s snarling, noise is rising, patience wearing thin in crowded places.

Feeling it yet?

But maybe the pressure you feel isn’t associated with the typical distractions of the season. Maybe you’ve simply refused to participate in all the hubbub. Good on you. But maybe the pressure you feel has more to do with a personal challenge you face at this time.

And discordant it can feel — especially when everyone’s supposed to be in a jolly mood. How can you feel happy when your health is failing, or you’re facing bankruptcy, or your marriage is on the rocks, or you’ve just lost your job, or anticipating the first Christmas without a loved one? The pressure to make things right weighs heavily. Maybe you’re not up to it. Maybe you just want to give up.

That last thing we want to hear this time of year is a word like the one from Malachi. But at least we can relate to the rhetorical question Malachi poses here in anticipating the coming of the Lord: “Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” (3:2)

It certainly isn’t what we feel we need — a little more sweetness, softly falling snowflakes, quiet, rest, peace. We envy those who claim they ‘feel’ Christmas in the air, and chide ourselves for whatever circumstances sour our mood in any pressure-filled moment.

Indeed, trying to get the right feeling is part of our problem. Getting in the right mood may very well be causing us the undue pressure. Because we have to feel right before we can truly celebrate the Lord’s coming. And if we’re not feeling the right things, then how can we celebrate?

The text of Malachi 3:1-4 appears in one of the signature choral works of this season, Handel’s Messiah. Indeed, the music of the season can affect how we feel. Music can get us all emotional; music stirs the heart’s strings, makes us feel good and lifts us up. It can also — as it does with the Messiah — “sing the Word, and proclaim the good news” (Deborah A. Block and Seth Moland Kovash, Feasting on the Word, Year C Vol.1, p.30-31).

After the first presentation of Messiah in London, England, in 1741, Handel wrote to a friend: “I should be sorry if I only entertained them. I wished to make them better.”

Handel’s confession suggests that the message of the season needs to go beyond feelings, beyond sentimentality. At some level, if we are to make it through (read, ‘survive’) this season so full of pressure, we will need to go beyond feeling good to doing good.

But wait a minute, now! By doing good, aren’t we just adding to the pressure?

Let’s take a closer look at the text from Malachi and see for what purpose we experience the “fullers’ soap” and “refiner’s fire” (v.2) — phrases often associated with God’s judgment.

But why did the people in the post-exilic, second temple period (circa 500 B.C.E) receive this word — this pressure-laden word — to be righteous in the first place? What is the underlying purpose of the pressure to present themselves as “acceptable” or “pleasing” offerings to God (v.4)?

Well, God is coming! And God is coming unexpectedly, “suddenly” (v.1).

Which can only mean God is coming despite us. Whether we perform or not. Whether we do all the right things or not. Whether we get everything done in time or not. Whether we feel like it or not.

You know, God desires to be in our presence. God wants to be with us because God loves us. God created each one of us, an image of God’s divinity in our being.

Whatever we do, then, it is not for our sake, but God’s. Whatever little act of compassion we give to another, whatever singular act of mercy we offer, whatever gift from the heart we render — these are not for our glory or benefit, but God’s glory, God’s purposes, God’s mission.

The purpose of the “refinement” that we endure in this life, is not punishment for any wrongs we have committed, any sins that we will continue to commit. The end game of any burden we carry through this life is restoration with God, union with God and one another.

That’s why we do the work. Because the end of history will be good, no matter what. The promise of Malachi is that our offerings “will be pleasing” to God. The promise of this restoration with God is sure. It will happen, and it will happen under God’s control and in God’s time. The refining is not waiting for us to feel good about it.

So, what do we have to lose in doing the right thing whether or not we feel like it yet, whether or not we feel we’re up to it? As Martin Luther once instructed: “Sin boldly, and trust in God even more.” I don’t think Luther was encouraging any one to sin. But he was emphasizing the need to take a risk for the sake of God. And not to worry about results, reputation or reaction. Just do it!

Although by 1751 Handel was blind, until his death he conducted Messiah as an annual benefit for the Foundling Hospital in London which served mostly widows and orphans of clergy. The intent was not just to entertain and make everyone feel good. Handel’s hope was to make people better and just. His ear was open to the prophetic word: “Present offerings to the Lord in righteousness” (3:3).

Christ is coming. So, let’s prepare the way of the Lord. And do good.

(Hint: And after doing some good it will make us feel good, too!)

Free-falling into Advent

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After the first snow of the winter I joked with my neighbour at the bus stop that finally the snow tires can get their first, real test. He looked at me – a younger-than-me, responsible father of two school-aged children – and said, “The real test happens when you’re sliding sideways down the road.”

He went on to say that, after putting on the snow tires, he normally finds an empty parking lot late at night to do some doughnuts and skidding tests – just to get the feel of the vehicle on the snow. In order to know at what speeds and angle his car points to keep control of the vehicle, he has to practice losing control to a degree.

And then I was reminded of those car commercials where you see a car careening around a course at high speeds, and the implicit warning comes on the screen that these exercises are done by professional drivers.

Indeed, professional drivers know how it feels to – in a sense – lose control. Good drivers have gone there. That’s how one gains confidence in one’s ability. They do that by going to the edge of their perception of being in control. That’s how you learn – with much preparation, practice, guidance, making mistakes and modelling – you go to the boundary of experience.

My palms were sweating when I watched a couple of months ago the video of Austrian Felix Baumgartner break all kinds of records jumping from the edge of space.

An extreme sportsman, he was experienced in jumping and falling. And for this world-record-breaking event he had prepared meticulously. This was not some reckless, un-thought-through, impulsive act. Despite the millions of dollars spent, the months of preparation, the state-of-the-art equipment used, and the hundreds of support staff employed …

It was still quite the risk. He still faced uncertainty as he looked out into the vastness of space from the safety of the tiny capsule some 39 kilometres above the earth’s surface. With only a parachute on his back, he stepped into ‘nothing’. My palms are sweating just imagining that.

He could have died, and almost did. After jumping from the tiny capsule, he soon went into a lateral spin. Because of the minimal oxygen in the air at that high level of the atmosphere, one small errant move falling out of the capsule determined his course. Unless he could come to control it, his lateral spin would render him unconscious. But he couldn’t know exactly how it would play out until experiencing the supersonic free-fall.

He made it, despite those first two minutes when he lost control and his life was seriously at risk.

Before he jumped, standing on the threshold of the capsule looking down, he mumbled something – I couldn’t exactly hear all of it – but something that sounded like a creed, a statement of belief that focused his vision in that moment of uncertainty; he said: “I’m coming home now.”

Writer Anne Lamott wrote: “The opposite of faith is not doubt, but certainty.” True. The logic is pure – if we feel certain about the outcome of our actions, well, what is the need for faith? The practice of faith necessitates a degree of uncertainty and ambiguity.

Evident in Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians (chapter 5) is the confusion of the early church about the coming of Christ. Therefore the focus of salvation in this letter is not on a past and accomplished act, but a continuing and future one (Feasting on the Word, Year C Vol. 1, p.16).

This focus adds to the ambiguity of the season. Because when we commit to a forward-vision of life, we cannot know exactly how that future will play out. There is a certain degree of uncertainty with which we must learn to live, and thrive. Such is the character of this season of Advent – waiting, and watching, for the coming of Jesus into our lives. But we know neither the day nor hour (Matthew 24:36).

The fact that the original hearers of the message of Paul were caught in this indecisive understanding of Jesus renders, in Paul’s words, something “lacking” (3:10) in their faith. Maybe they, too, sought a certainty of belief, demanded an unambiguous statement of religious doctrine about when and how exactly Christ would return. As a result, the community there struggled with conflict as different voices offered their own interpretation of how things should be.

But because something is imperfect about someone’s faith does not qualify them for ‘checking out’ from the enormous task at hand. Realizing the perfect scenario for religious life is not a prerequisite for living faithfully. Paul still encouraged the Thessalonians in faith, hope and love.

Just because you don’t think you are good enough for God and God’s church, or have a perfect understanding of the bible, just because you can’t recite scriptures from memory, just because the church is not unified around so many things – does not warrant pressing the pause button until things are perfect again, until you have it right, until all your problems are resolved. Living faithfully is not about standing in the shadows and not doing anything.

How can we make the best of an imperfect, broken situation, a ‘faith lacking’? How do we engage in living faithfully knowing that things in our own life and the life of the church are imperfect and incomplete?

This earliest writing of St Paul that we have in the bible was originally addressed to a group of labourers. Physical labourers. Paul’s message must have resonated among those labouring classes since Paul himself was a tentmaker.

The best way to wait for salvation, for the coming Christ, is to work at something simply, intentionally, faithfully and with discipline.

And so, Paul provides a way forward for a people waiting for the coming of Jesus. As we wait and live in the “already but not yet” in-between time of the ages, as we live in the imperfect times of our lives, we push on. We keep at it. We don’t give up. We remain faithful as best as we can. We do the work.

And the nature of the work is not sensational and complicated and extraordinary. The work is ordinary. The work is doing the little things, faithfully and intentionally.

What is this character of this work, precisely?

“… may the Lord make you increase and abound in love to one another and to all people, as we do to you” (1 Thessalonians 3:12)

The way to restore and complete the faith of Christians is in community. And not just any community – like a club, sporting venture, or social organization – but a community defined by people caring for other people, in the love of Christ Jesus. This is a community of faith that demonstrates mutual interdependence: Where one is weak, another is strong; where friends build each other up, helping one another, working together not apart.

And this kind of work requires preparation, attention, discipline, and commitment.

Paul calls the physical labourers to whom he writes to widen that circle of the faithful. This instruction is not only focused on that particular church in Thessalonica, but even beyond that for all people.

In this inspiring and vital letter Paul expounds the virtues of thanksgiving, boldness, joy and hope … despite evidence in the circumstances of life to the contrary, despite their faith continuing to “lack” in some way, despite living in the in-between time of waiting for the end time.

In truth, what the bible is clear in communicating through the prophets of old, the exemplars of faith, and disciples and apostles of Jesus is that complacency, withdrawal, cowardice, passivity, and despair are not useful nor helpful strategies for coping and growing and living through the present day, no matter what the circumstances of life.

Can we ‘free-fall’ for Christ? Can we do the work of love, be bold in whatever area of our lives needing the grace and healing power of God? Can we step out in faith – not without preparation, not recklessly – but firm in our faith that even though there is ambiguity and uncertainty and sometimes the fright of ‘nothing to hold on to’… ?

God is there. And God’s love knows no bounds. Even in space. Even in the vastness and emptiness of existence. In the poverty yet enormity of the moment when we feel like our life is on the line, the love of God and the love for which we work will surprise us with joy and eternal hope. That is the promise for which we live. And for which we love, and are loved. Forever.

The Grey Cup & Salvation

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The Saskatchewan Roughriders were leading late in the Fourth Quarter by a couple points. The Montreal Allouettes had brought the football all the way down into the Saskatchewan end of the field in the dying seconds.

Time was running out for the Allouettes. The last play of the game would decide it. If their kicker could get the football between the goal posts in the Saskatchewan end zone, three points would win the Grey Cup for Montreal. The kicker missed by a hair in getting the field goal.

But it was not to be Saskatchewan’s day.

As soon as the errant ball was caught, referees’ whistles blew and flags went down. Even though Roughrider players and fans had begun to celebrate their seeming victory, suddenly the mood changed.

Too many men – that was the penalty. During the kick play, too many green sweater players had been on the field than was allowed according to the rule book. The play would have to be redone, this time 10-yards closer for Montreal.

And this time, the Allouette kicker nailed it. Three extra points on the board. Montreal wins the Grey Cup.

What so many remember about that 2009 Grey Cup Final was how Saskatchewan blew it. How they lost the biggest game in their lives, on a technicality.

You may think that this outcome was justified. The rules were broken. The referees caught the mistake. And justice was done. That’s the way the game is, right? Maybe the game of life, as well?

I often think about that game a few years ago as an example of how one wins in the kingdom of the world. The only way to win in the world is to earn your points, climb the ladder of success, or get lucky – and usually by either defeating others in your path on your own merit or by knowing the right people. Competition and a win-lose mentality under-gird these kingdom values.

When Jesus tells Pilate that if his kingdom was of this world his followers would be fighting to get Jesus out of his predicament and arrest (John 18:36), Jesus is describing how very different his kingdom is not only from the world of Pilate’s day, but ours as well.

So, what is Jesus’ kingdom all about? How can we find out about it?

One way of answering that question is to take the opposite of what the world is about. So, if in the world you lose or win on a technicality, in God’s kingdom you don’t. In fact God’s kingdom can be described as a win-win scenario for all the players – yes, that’s you and me and everyone. In God’s kingdom you don’t enter it based on how many points you have by the end of life, you enter it undeserving so, usually as a vulnerable baby in a baptismal font.

In short, God’s kingdom is about unconditional and undeserving love and grace. It’s about people, following in Jesus’ way, caring for people in mutual compassion, mercy and forgiveness.

There’s no being saved on a technicality here. Our winning salvation is not based on legalism and an appeal to the rule book. “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (John 1:16-17). Because our salvation is not about us. It’s about God – God’s love, God’s grace – it’s what God does.

The good news here is that even though we may think we don’t deserve the big ‘W’, even though our lives may be sordid with sin, even though we might not believe we have anything worthy of God …. surprise!

You are the greatest winner in God’s kingdom. Because Christ is King!

What is truth? Part 1: Coming home to yourself

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The Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke, John) read like a religious manifesto for truth-seekers. Those four books in the bible can be summarized by the question: “What is truth?” which Pilate asks rather dismissively at the conclusion of a spirited conversation when Jesus is brought before him to answer to the charges brought against the purported “King of the Jews” (John 18:38).

More to the point, these stories about Jesus life, death and resurrection describe a process for discovering the truth, in three discernable movements.

First, the gospel stories reveal several encounters between Jesus and various individuals, engagements whose primary effect is to recall those individuals back to themselves.

When I meet someone I don’t know, or who appears powerful, or who for whatever reason emanates presence, it is easy for me to lose sight of myself in the encounter. In the presence of greatness, we can easily lose our groundedness and be motivated to appear that which we are not — maybe out of fear, or out of social pressure, or out of trying to please others, etc.

That clearly was Pilate’s problem. He so desperately wanted to please the religious leaders in order to keep a semblance of political power. He evidently went against his own intuition, his own experience of Jesus (“I find no case against him” he confessed later — v.38) in his desperate effort to stay in control. In that weighty exchange, if anything, Jesus invites Pilate to be transparent, to share how it is with him, to utter the truth of his own life: “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” (v.34)

The first step in discerning truth is to be clear yourself about your motivations — from where you’re coming. When the first two disciples started following Jesus on account of John the Baptist’s public declaration (“Look, here is the Lamb of God!” — John 1:35), Jesus asks them: “What are you looking for?” (v.38). Here, Jesus invites them back into themselves. He doesn’t want them to follow merely, as a parrot would, by repeating what someone else says and do what someone else tells them to. Never mind what other people are saying, what are YOU looking for?

In another encounter of healing, Jesus asks the blind man what he wants (Mark 10:51; Luke 18:41). Why? It goes without saying, right? He wants to see again! But perhaps Jesus asks him this to help him freely name for himself his deepest desires.

In the same way at the beginning of his ministry Jesus confronts the Samaritan woman at the well: While she give him all the ‘right’ answers and doctrinally correct formulations, Jesus goes straight for her heart and invites a true, transparent confession (John 4:1-30).

And when Mary is overcome with grief she does not see Jesus for who he truly is outside the tomb that first Easter morning (John 20:16). She is so distracted by disbelief she thinks he is the gardener. Only when Jesus says her name, “Mary”, does the veil of distraction lift, and she recognizes him and confesses with her own lips the truth of who Jesus is.

We can’t do truth unless we first come home to ourselves. Jesus helps us — even Pilate, in a tense life/death exchange — to articulate for ourselves who we are, what we see, and what we want. It’s so easy to get distracted from ourselves in our noisy, busy world. It’s so easy initially to focus on some external reality upon which to heap blame or praise for all that happens in our lives. Coming home to ourselves is a necessary first step in discovering the truth about God and the world.

Pray for the eyes of your heart to see, hear and know the truth.

Combatting the virus of perfectionism

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I watched the TV news reporter stand on the side of a busy, ice-packed highway last week when Western Canada was getting walloped by the first major snow storm of the season. Behind her all manner of vehicles were exiting off the Alberta highway onto the off-ramp. What caught my eye was a large transport truck identified by its insignia – the company name: SYSCO.

SYSCO is a company in the food-marketing-transportation business operating throughout the country. And immediately who came to my mind was the chair of our council here at Faith Lutheran Church Ottawa who works for SYSCO. And my thoughts then went to wondering how she and her young family were doing that day.

Interesting how branding has such power over us, how seeing the company sign thousands of kilometers away on a transport truck in the middle of a snow storm could lead me to take a moment in my day to send her a short email.

And then I wondered how this works for Christians. By what visible sign will anyone watching know who we are? By how you and I behave in the daily course of our lives outside of Sunday – even in areas of our lives far removed from our Christian home here in the church – will people take notice and say to themselves: So, there’s a Christian! How will people know we are Christian? And how will they know what our purpose in life is?

If we’re not going about the purpose of our life, then what’s stopping us? Even though we are assured by Scripture that “our hearts are sprinkled clean from evil” (Hebrews 10:22) because of Jesus Christ, why do we hold back our generous and public witness of being a Christian? Even though we read in today’s Epistle that Christ makes perfect what we cannot, do we still delude ourselves into thinking we first have to get it right – get it perfect – before we get to the business of whatever business we’re supposed to be getting to? I sometimes wonder whether we are not, in the church, infected with what Order of Canada recipient Laurence Freeman calls “the virus of perfectionism”.

Christians at this time of year in regular worship services are pondering the “end times”. The end of another church calendar year looms – in just a couple of weeks. And so the bible readings are apocalyptic in nature; that is, they describe the trials and tribulations preceding that ‘end’. Christians are called upon to watch for the unsettling, even painful, signs the end is nigh.

In one of those texts, Jesus describes the events surrounding the destruction of the Jerusalem temple and subsequent wars, earthquakes and famines (Mark 13:1-8). To characterize this foreboding end time, out of the blue he uses the image of “birth pangs”.

Jesus uses the phrase “birth pangs” to offer us so much more than mere doom-and-gloom resignation to some random fate. He is offering his frightened disciples a way through their fear, anger and anxiety. Jesus is giving them hope in a particular vision for life and death.

“Birth pangs” refer, of course, to the labour pains a woman must endure – sometimes lasting days – before the expected baby is born. A woman suffers, prior to the birth of a new life. The product of that suffering is normally something immeasurably wonderful, beautiful and precious: the gift of a child.

Jesus gives that image to us to remind us that our weakness, our imperfection, our broken nature is not really the end, but rather a sign that new life is on the way. Here is something painful that would bring about something better.

If we want to bring something good to birth in our own lives, there will be pain. There is a necessary connection between pain and new life. Sometimes that means the pain of vulnerability. Sometimes that means the pain of losing something that we thought was important. Sometimes that means taking a risk and making a mistake. Sometimes that means the risk of failure.

But this reality in which we live ought not to keep us from putting off something we need to do now – even if it means putting yourself on the line and feeling a bit uncomfortable for a time being.

The time will never be perfect. If we are waiting for the perfect timing, it’ll never happen. In another apocalyptic biblical text, Jesus says that we will never know the exact day or hour when he comes again (Matthew 24:36). Jesus description of the birth pangs should, if anything, illustrate how imperfect from our human perspective time and history play out: lots of wars, mistakes, destruction, missed opportunities etc. It’ll never be perfect!

But that shouldn’t stop us from still doing the right thing, whatever it is: whether it is reaching out graciously to that estranged family member; taking a little extra time with someone; saying the words that need to be said; proposing a plan that may not be the easiest way, but the right way, etc. – you can fill in the blank for your own life of work, family, marriage, whatever.

If you enjoy working with your hands – carpentry, crafts, building something – you might understood the struggle with perfection. When you make something with your own hands, you have to come to terms with what mistakes you will allow and which mistakes mean you have to start over.

I read recently of a tradition faithfully employed by the native Navajo people of the south-western United States (Richard Rohr, On the Threshold of Transformation, p.170):

When the crafters of the community knit their rugs, there is always and intentionally one clear imperfection woven into the pattern of the traditional rug. Not only is this done to remind one another of who they are as a unique community.

But the imperfection in the rugs, it is believed, is precisely where the Spirit moves in and out of the rug! It is through the hole where the Spirit enters and moves. Without the imperfection, the presence of God would be missed. It is the acknowledgement of the imperfection that creates the space for what will be good.

Perfection from a healthy spiritual tradition is not the elimination of imperfection. True perfection is not the denial and exclusion of our failures, mistakes and weaknesses from our life narrative. Divine perfection is, in truth, the ability to recognize, forgive, and include imperfection – just as God does with all of us: By forgiving us. By loving us. By holding us and embracing us, just as we are.

And that calls for a bold response from us!

Those who make the rugs in the Navajo tradition don’t end up keeping it for themselves. They make it for others. They give it out even though those rugs are marked with imperfection. In fact, those rugs out there in the world are signs of God’s presence precisely because they are not perfect.

We are called as Christians to be out there in the world, even on the snowy highways and byways of life, even far away from home. We are called to show, even and especially in the storms of our lives, the love of God for the world. No matter how good or how bad it gets, we take who we are and all that we have, trusting that the outcome of our work and being is not in our hands, but in God’s.

Do you deserve it?

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It’s a natural part of being human to find comfort in someone else’s misfortune. When the guy in front of you spins out on the same stretch of highway covered in black ice, while you follow through safely? When moments before you intended to walk underneath the same dangling sign in a windstorm, it comes crashing down on an unsuspecting woman? When in a fiercely fought game of Survivor your buddy gets voted off instead of you even though you were just as vulnerable?

The Germans, as they often do, have a word for it: Schadenfreude – suggesting that you find some satisfaction behind someone else’s misery. And underneath that sentiment lives a legalism of deserving our ‘just deserts’, so to speak.

Whether we say it out loud or in our hearts, it’s the same sentiment worthy of critique:

If someone struggles with cancer, for example, and they had smoked earlier in their life. In trying to make sense of their unique suffering the thought comes to mind, does it not: well, they had it coming?

If someone suffers great loss, even loss of their life in a car accident caused by impaired driving – texting or alcohol – we say: they had it coming.

If a wealthy business person loses everything in an ill-advised investment we say: they deserve it.

If someone makes a bad decision in a relationship and it falls apart we say: they deserve it.

If someone is poor because of some character flaw we conveniently label them and say: they deserve it.

And on and on. Our popular mythologies support this: We speak of ‘making your bed and sleeping in it’. Even biblical images are interpreted that way: ‘You will reap what you sow’ (see Matthew 25:26, Luke 19:21, John 4:38). We seem to have constructed a social and economic world whose basic rule of existence is comeuppance. And then we smugly go on our merry ways. And nothing changes.

Except when someone suffers and dies because they didn’t deserve it. That gets our attention and sparks outrage, disbelief and even in some cases inspires wonder and awe: The millions of soldiers who sacrificed their life in war to preserve our freedoms. But what about the millions of children who die regularly because of hunger and poverty? Or, what about the innocent victims of violence and abuse? What about the misfortune that befalls someone, beyond their control?

The morality of the world drives according to this rule of those who deserve it, and those who don’t. And yet, we know it isn’t right: No one deserves any kind of suffering.

Enter Jesus. In the Gospel today (Mark 12:38-44), Mark records the last scene in Jesus’ public ministry. From here all that remains in Mark’s telling is the temple discourse and the passion narrative (Lamar Williamson Jr., Mark, Interpretation Series, Atlanta: John Knox Press, 1983, p.234).

So, this scene about the widow giving her all is an important glimpse into what Jesus is all about. Because Jesus is on the way to giving “the whole of his life”. But for what?

In this scene, the people coming to the temple lined up to give their offerings to support the temple treasury. Which means the money given here would go to the upkeep of the religious institution. Jesus’ critique of the scribes was basically an indictment against any religious enterprise that exists for its own sake.

The days are numbered for religious institutions that exist merely for their own well-being. True a couple thousand years ago. True today. So, it follows that in the next chapter of Mark (13) Jesus promises that he will destroy the temple, because it has not been a house of prayer for all people but has become a den of robbers (Mark 11:17).Therefore, the temple deserves destruction.

And yet, Jesus holds up this widow who gives her whole life to something that is corrupt and condemned. Why is that? Is there value in the giving, even though the object of that giving is corrupt, condemned and undeserving?

As I said, Jesus is on the way to giving “the whole of his life” on the cross dying … for what? For whom? A corrupted church? Broken individuals? A sinful generation?

Why, yes! For us! For all of humanity! For the whole world! For us who are condemned for our sins. For us who are corrupted by our misguided, broken ways. For us who misinterpret Jesus to justify our dog-eat-dog world of just deserts. This flies in the face of all our conditioning.

So, we have to practice: Should we give anything, will we give only to an institution that deserves our offering? Or, will we give because it is as broken and corrupted as we are?

Should we give of ourselves to those in need, will we give only if those whom we are serving have proven themselves worthy, or demonstrated some ‘perfect’ image of our own deepest longings?

What about ‘giving’ to others only because Christ loves us “while we were yet sinners” (Romans 5:8)? What about loving and serving others only because Jesus redeemed us imperfect, corrupted people? What about giving because we have something precious in our lives – two, simple, copper coins?

Notice in the story, those coins just ‘are’. As a character in the scene they fly under the radar even though they are a critical symbol to the meaning of the story. In the Gospel the two copper coins represent a basic possession – something all people have. We already have these gifts, not because we have earned them. Not because we deserved them. They are simple and in plain sight of our lives.

We give of ourselves when we value these simple gifts. And still we offer them to that corrupted world – in our precious time, our imperfect talents and our meager treasures.

We give of ourselves freely because Jesus already paved the way and redeemed all of who are – even the most seemingly irrelevant aspects of our lives.

I think we are challenged in giving of our whole selves not so much by the difficulty of the task, because we already have what it takes. What strikes fear into our hearts is the prospect of vulnerability at unmasking all our pretenses in the “enormity of the moment” (Michael Harvey, Unlocking the Growth, Monarch Books, Grand Rapids 2012, p.89). Let me give you an example from my own life some thirty years ago:

Frankly, I didn’t know what to do about the start of another year of youth group, meeting every Tuesday night at the church. I remember feeling a little anxious, socially. My father, the pastor, quietly indicated to me that youth group might be a good idea.

But, as a teenager, I wasn’t in a space to act on his recommendation alone, although I suspect people presumed it would be the most natural ‘line of communication’.

Everything changed for me after the youth group leader came up to me one Sunday after worship, and asked: “Would you like to come to youth group on Tuesday evening? I think you might enjoy it.” It was an awkward moment for both of us — for him because I could tell he was a bit nervous; for me, because I wasn’t honestly sure whether I wanted to go and what I should say in response.

I felt the enormity of that moment like we were both, in our vulnerability, putting our whole selves on the line.

In the end, I went. Maybe because I knew some of the youth that were going — and I thought they were pretty cool, people to whom I was drawn to spend some time.

Let me just say how grateful I am for that youth leader – his quiet courage, his guts, his boldness despite his nervousness. That simple, yet supremely valuable, gift of invitation made a huge difference in my life.

The gift of invitation, given out of love. Not because I earned it by anything I did; I certainly wasn’t the most popular kid on the block. Not because that particular youth group was perfect. Not because the kids who went were saints – anything but!

Thanks be to Jesus, who though the temple is destroyed, builds it up again! Thanks be to Jesus, who gives his whole life for that which in the eyes of the world is undeserving, worthless, corrupt and pointless. Thanks be to Jesus, the God we worship this day, who makes all things new.