Tag Archives: Pentecost

Working for the public good

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Ever so often in the lectionary a text comes to us, a text that I find particularly relevant for us today in the Christian church. On this Second Sunday after the Epiphany in Year C (Revised Common Lectionary) the first letter of Paul to the Corinthians shines a bright light on the church. And specifically on how we use our ‘gifts’ (1 Corinthians 12:1-11). 

This is the first Sunday in the calendar year that is ‘ordinary’ and liturgically coloured green — as during the long season after Pentecost in the summer when the focus is on the Holy Spirit’s activity in the lives of the faithful. During that time we read and reflect on how believers grow in the Spirit and expand the mission of God across the globe. 

It is fitting, at this start, to read those words of St Paul: “Now there are varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.” (1 Cor 12:4-6)

In George R.R Martin’s epic “A Game of Thrones” story, we witness the power struggles of several families vying for the throne in the fantasy kingdom of Westeros. The Lannister family is by far the current play-maker and leader of the pack. They have placed their caliph on the throne and fight tooth-and-nail to defend his reign.

In a scene early in the story when we first meet the father Lannister, Tywin, he speaks to his son Jaime who killed the former king according to their nefarious plans, and consequently now carries the reputation in the land as the ‘kingslayer’. Jaime has an inflated ego and often brandishes his glorious abilities with the sword and swagger.

But Tywin puts him in his place. The father, not incapable and unwilling himself to acts of betrayal and murder to achieve his ends, places their actions in a much larger context:

He says there were Lannisters that came before us, and there will be Lannisters that come after us. He brings Jaime down a notch or two not to dissuade him from ruthless means, but only to remind him that what they do is not merely to satisfy personal ego needs and compulsions. What they do is not just for the sake of private glory or personal gain. They have to keep the long view in mind to ensure the Lannister name lives on successfully beyond the confines of any individual Lannister’s life span.

This is a grim story that reveals the dark underside of human nature and enterprise. To flip it, however, would be to suggest something for the benefit of any human organization, including — and especially — the church.  

The current Pope Francis is known to have critiqued his own church for being far too ‘self-referential’ in matters of faith and practice. That is to say, the problem exists whenever we rely solely on ourselves; and, whenever we express our gifts, our opinions, our actions and decisions solely from the perspective of our own needs. That is, we act and speak out of our own, limited, life experiences without first thinking of what may exist beyond the boundaries of our own life. We can be so wrapped up in our private lives that we lose the value of the public good. We do things first to meet our own needs, rather than consider the needs of those we don’t yet know.

To a degree, admittedly, being self-referential is impossible to avoid completely. We cannot deny ourselves. Nevertheless, in our individualistic, narcissistic culture that is so rooted in me-first and what’s-in-it-for me economics and social order, we are particularly prone to this disease of the heart.  

Christianity is not a religion of Lone Rangers. Rather than nurturing a purely private ecstasy, the gifts of God are given in order to build up the church — not merely for our own pleasure and use, and for the span of our lives. The gifts of God are intended to be “publicly communicable, publicly shared, and publicly enjoyed” (1)  beyond our individual lives. In other words, we know and believe “the end” is beyond us. 

What would it look like if we started by trying to be ‘other-referential’? If we started by considering the other, first, what the Goal is, and work backwards from there — from the outside-in, from the future-vision to the present reality? 

In the introduction to Paul’s famous credal words from Philippians 2, he writes: “Let each of us look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus …” (4-5)
A pastor in today’s world, I see myself more and more as working for the public good in everything I do. Meaning, I surround whatever ministry activity I do with awareness and prayer for God’s Spirit in and around me and in others in and beyond the walls of the church, and for the sake of God’s mission (not mine own!) on earth. I try to appreciate the diversity of people in the variety of gifts expressed as valuable in some way to this overall, expanding mission of God.

All of us here receive gifts from God, not just an elite few. The Christian life and ministry are not the private, personal property of an exclusive class of spiritual superheroes. The Spirit is part of the life of every person who is in Christ. It is therefore incumbent on us to encourage each other to work together to find out what those gifts are, and how we can use them for the common, public good.

(1) Lee C. Barrett in David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. “Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary; Feasting on the Word” Year C Volume 1, WJK Press Kentucky, 2009, p.258

Becoming the new

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I spend a lot of time in the car. With over 30 years of driving experience, I pride myself in being a good driver who is well-prepared and always thinking ahead. 
Especially when it comes to fuelling the car. In fact, I have rarely ever let the gas gauge go much less than half full. Whenever I’ve noticed others pushing their car to the gas pump, I would secretly harbour disdain for them: “Stupid! Why would you even let yourself run out of fuel when you know you are running out of gas?!!! Plan ahead, idiot!” 
Others have loved to road trip with me because I am the one always thinking ahead, anticipating and watching out for where we could stop for cheap gas along the journey — I am the responsible car operator! 
Until this past week.
There are at least two ways to tell how much fuel you have: First, there is the traditional gauge with the little red needle that fluctuates between F for full and E for empty. In the new cars you can also toggle a button on your dash displaying how many kilometres you can still travel on the amount of gas you have. And it was this latter feature — this guidance system — that I chose to depend on in planning my road trip to Waterloo.
I filled up at Costco Monday morning and flipped the switch to show that I could travel 570 kilometres before I needed to refuel. According to Google Maps, the distance between Ottawa and where I was going in Kitchener was 528 kilometres. So, I concluded, I could make that trip on one tank of gas, especially since the gas station I was aiming for in Kitchener had the cheapest gas in the region. Sounds like a good plan, right? I wouldn’t have to stop. I could make better time. I wouldn’t have to pay the exorbitant gas prices along the 401.
As I travelled throughout the day I noticed the red needle make its slow but steady plunge towards the E. By the time I arrived in Cambridge (between Toronto and Kitchener) the trip counter showed I could still go 30 kilometres before I would run out of gas. Okay. But I was embroiled in one of those famous car parks along the 401. Happy to say, it didn’t take too long, even though by now the red needle was sitting on E. As I was flying along Highway 8 in Kitchener a handful of kilometres from the cheap gas station, the indicator still had me for 19 kilometres. My other eye kept looking at the red needle, which hadn’t moved at all still resting on empty.
I stopped at a red light very close to that gas station. I was still good for 19 kilometres. I looked around me and the other cars in the intersection waiting for the light to turn, feeling smug that everything was going smoothly according to my plan. Then, I looked down at the trip-counter, and to my horror it read: “0” kilometres left. How did it go suddenly from 19 to 0? I figured, I still had a few hundred metres to go. I would be running on fumes. And I just made it, without having to push my car to the pump. It was close!

It is vital to know which way of thinking, which guidance system, is informing our behaviour and the decisions we make. My decision to trust the trip counter instead of the fuel gauge made a difference in the way I experienced my journey.
What beliefs, what values, which guidance systems are informing the decisions you are making now in your life — especially in the midst of stress, loss, and increased anxiety? It’s important to step back and uncover this stuff.
What we do is based on beliefs that go deep. Often, like an iceberg, those beliefs are hidden, unacknowledged, under-the-surface — even though they constitute the main part, the main reason, for what we do. For the most part, we deal with what’s above the water line. This is where we operate most of the time. Without going underneath the surface, we end up leading shallow lives, simply reacting to what happens and going in circles.
I’ve quoted Albert Einstein before: “you can’t solve a problem with the same way of thinking that caused the problem in the first place.” 
Admittedly, this is how we normally have done things: we react, we knee-jerk, into similar, surface kinds of responses based on assumptions closer to the surface. We respond to a stupid remark by giving an equally stupid remark. When there is a disagreement, we jump into a relational food-fight to see who can yell louder — as if this is supposed somehow solve the problem. 
When I took history in public school, it was still during the Cold War; my teachers described the problem that the super-powers were caught in by calling it: “Mutually-Assured-Destruction” — the slippery slope to an unsustainable reality. How would it stop, when both sides stockpiled more and more nuclear weapons to show their enemy who was stronger? The anacronym for mutually-assured-destruction is true: It is MAD! It doesn’t lead us anywhere constructive. In fact, it is the path towards the demise of all that is.
Are we aware of the ordinary patterns of our thinking? If so, to begin with, we can give thanks. To a degree, those ways of thinking may have served us well throughout our lives, to a point. Without ditching them altogether, are we at the same time aware of deeper currents and other ways of approaching life’s challenges? I would hope so, because when life happens and we run low on gas, we have decisions to make. The question is: According to which way of thinking?
Paul concludes in the passage we read from his second letter to the Corinthian church: “We regard no one from a human [read, ‘ordinary’] point of view … So, if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (2 Corinthians 5:16-17)
How do we get to the ‘new’? I don’t believe we have to wait until we die, to get to the new. Someone wise once said, “The truth will set you free. But first it will make you miserable.” Whatever good, whatever new life we receive is necessarily preceded by some pain and what some have called: “necessary suffering.”
We resist this, quite naturally, in our personal lives and in the life of the church. And yet, the truth stares us in the face: No pain, no gain. You cannot circumnavigate grief, for example. You cannot trick life by avoiding conflict, another example. You cannot grow and mature without first letting go of something that is holding you back. All this causes some pain, yes. And on the other side of that suffering is the new creation.
This takes courage, resolve and determination to behave according to a different mind-set. “Be transformed by the renewing of your mind,” Paul writes to the Roman church (12:2). Renewing the mind involves taking some risk, responding differently from your usual pattern, stepping out of our comfort zones into places of discomfort. It may even feel like a momentary affliction. I had to experience the unexpected anxiety of trying another way of planning my road trips in order to learn something new, so that I am better equipped to plan for fuel stops along the way, next time I drive to Waterloo.
Talking about the new thing, wanting it will not make it happen. We first need to face the harder truth. Neale Donald Walsch writes: “Yearning for a new way will not produce it. Only ending the old way can do that. You cannot hold onto the old while declaring that you want something new. The old will defy the new; the old will deny the new; the old will decry the new. There is only one way to bring in the new. You must make room for it.” (nealedonaldwalsch.com) 
Making room will not guarantee anything. Making room will not make it happen. An yet, making room creates the space in our lives for grace. I think in the parable today (Mark 4:26-34), we can place ourselves in the role of the ‘someone’ who scatters the seed — the seed being the work we do and the hopes and dreams of our lives. You can call it, our work to surrender ourselves. 
We scatter the seed — our prayer for letting go for the good to come. We have to give it away. The results, the sprouting and growing, are beyond our doing. And then, the miracle happens. Then, the smallest seeds of our hearts become, with God’s work, something wonderful and great where even “the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.”

That’s what we can look forward to.

Pentecost: A tangled mess

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The tangled mess that is this long, electric cord takes me time whenever I cut the grass. I stand there pulling the ends through loops and ties, slowly unravelling the serpent-like wire until it stretches straight. Each time I cut the grass. Sometimes I am impatient and frustrated. But I do it time and time again. How can I resolve this problem of a tangled cord?
Sometimes our lives may feel tangled. In truth, our youth and those teenage years often may feel quite tangled, as you sort out sometimes messy contradictions and conflicts in your life — figuring out your sexuality, clarifying your vocation, discerning what you want to do “when you grow up”, finding your place in this world, and navigating the often bumpy road of relationships and friendships.
Dear confirmands, you are entering a most complicated, challenging and exciting period of your life. And through it all, your life may sometimes feel, frankly, a tangled mess. How to even begin un-tangling it?
Today, the colours in the church are passionate, powerful, fiery red, because it is Pentecost Sunday — the birthday of the church. It is the day we commemorate the coming of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples gathered in Jerusalem, in dramatic fashion I might add: Tongues of fire alighting upon peoples’ heads, and a sound like the “rush of a violent wind” crashing around them (Acts 2:2-3). Then, when the disciples address the diverse crowd in their native languages, Peter quotes from the prophet Joel describing what is happening in these “last days” — when God will show “signs on the earth below: blood, and fire, and smoky mist. The sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon to blood, before the coming of the Lord’s great and glorious day” (v.19-20). Indeed, we are seeing red!
Living amidst all this drama could feel kinda tangled, messy, chaotic. But, I thought being a Christian was supposed to be all neat and tidy, ordered and predictable, comfortable and nice. The coming of the Holy Spirit into our lives suggests something altogether different! Birthdays are supposed to recall who we are, our identity. How do we even begin un-tangling meaning and purpose of our existence as a church, from this crazy picture?
I purposely did not iron my red chasuble for today’s service to remind myself that following Jesus sometimes feels ‘dis-ordered’. And, I purposely left alone two small holes in this old, Pentecost garment to remind myself of something Saint Paul gets at in the second reading for Pentecost Sunday: “the Spirit helps us in our weakness”; and, that the whole creation, including you and me “groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience” (Romans 8:22-27). 
What I often ‘see’ in my life are a lot of holes — many weaknesses. What I often see in other peoples’ lives are their weaknesses. What I often see is me trying so hard to keep my life untangled, compared to others. What I see is all my toiling and fretting and striving to make things right and straight. But, hope that is seen is not hope. If I pretend how good everything is — or ought to be — all of the time, that’s not hope. That’s just me toiling in vain pretending I will be saved by my own efforts.
You might have heard illustrations of some old cathedrals in Europe especially built with holes in the ceiling. They were built purposely so, in order to provide an ‘imperfect’ entry point for the Spirit of God to descend into the lives of the Body of Christ on earth — the church. The entry point of the Spirit of God is precisely through the imperfections, the tangled messes, of our lives — not through our vainglorious, self-righteous, pull-myself-up-by-the-bootstraps efforts. Remember, the Spirit of God helps us in our weaknesses. At ground zero. When on our knees we fall and confess, “I need help and I cannot do it on my own.”
We don’t find God by doing it right. God finds us by our doing it wrong. That’s not to say we ought to go out and try to sin. It is to say that when we find ourselves — as we all will — in moments of our greatest weakness, that’s when Grace happens, when we provide entry points through the ‘holes’ of our ego, our bravado, our pretences of ‘being right when everyone else is wrong’.
You would think that after fifteen years of home ownership and being the person who cuts the lawn in our household; and after ten years of cutting the lawn with an electric, corded, lawn-mower, I would have already figured this out and just purchased one of those roller-thingies for the cord. The strange thing is, I haven’t and after I am finished cutting, I still just crumple the cord and throw it into the garage on top of the mower.
Maybe that says something about the reality and truth of our lives. No matter how much we may grow, and mature — I would hope — over life, we are still stuck in some ways, and will still get into messes from time to time. Youth is just the beginning!
The scriptures for Pentecost are very clear that the disciples of Jesus did not ‘invoke’ the Spirit or earn God’s coming by saying and doing the right things. The Spirit came to them, freely, surprisingly and despite their weaknesses. And what is more, Saint Paul further specifies how that Spirit comes — when we do not know how to pray as we ought (v.26). Not a very impressive picture of humanity. And yet, God still has faith in us, and comes to us!
On the cross, as Jesus hung dying, he said, “It is accomplished” (John 19:30). The victory is won. In Jesus’ human suffering and death, he says this. Not on Easter Sunday, when we celebrate his resurrection. But the victory is won in the moment of God’s fullest identification with human humility, shame, vulnerability, weaknesses — at the moment of what signifies and is in reality our greatest defeat: death. There, “It is accomplished.”
Jesus, God, identifies with us in our tangled messes. In some ways — although this may not be comforting — being a teenager is the best time of our lives to know God, precisely because it is a time in our lives when we have permission to be most honest about the struggles of our identity and purpose in life. 
Even when you feel most distant from God. Even when you feel your faith is not ‘all there’, and you wonder if you have any faith in God at all. Even when you make a mistake, which you will. Being confirmed today is not a perfect ‘affirmation’ of baptism and faith you are making. And it never will!
These are the ‘holes’ so important that we acknowledge — not deny! — and we see as the entry points of the Spirit of the living God into our hearts. It is exactly at those moments of greatest vulnerability and honest weakness that Jesus walks closest to us: That was the purpose of the Cross, the accomplishment of the Cross. That in human suffering and entanglement, God’s grace and power abound. It is God who saves us. Not our work at being ‘good’ or ‘perfect’.
Traditionally during the liturgy of Pentecost, and specifically right after the reading of the Holy Gospel, the “Paschal” light is extinguished. You will recall that this candle was first lighted at the Great Vigil of Easter fifty days ago. And for each of the subsequent Sundays of Easter it has remained lighted — a sign of Christ’s living, resurrected and eternal presence.
Now it is extinguished. Would anyone suggest, why? Isn’t Jesus still alive? Where is he now? With the coming of the Holy Spirit into the church, and with Jesus ascended into heaven, the presence of God and Christ Jesus through the Holy Spirit alights in our own hearts. Through the ‘holes’ of our ego, in the imperfection of our lives, the flame of God’s Spirit washes over us in patience and in gentleness. The Spirit purifies and clarifies our hearts upon which God’s stamp still rests from our baptism. The Spirit encourages and reminds us of who we are and whose we are, forever, and no matter what.

Forgive = Love

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To forgive someone, is to love them. We cannot forgive someone who has hurt us, without first being able to love them. So, the question of how we can forgive is deeply connected to the question of the quality of, and our capacity to, love.

In the Gospel chosen for this Pentecost Sunday (John 20:19-23) Jesus meets the disciples to give them the holy breath — the Holy Spirit. His breathing on them gives them the authority to pronounce the forgiveness of sin.

But before he does this, he first says to them, “Peace be with you” — not once, but twice, in this short passage. The repetition of his greeting ought to make us pause, and reflect on what Jesus is doing here by repeating his opening statement to the disciples.

Let’s recall the story leading up to this passage: It is one of the first post-resurrection accounts of Jesus appearing to his disciples. The disciples are hiding behind locked doors, fearing arrest by the same people who had just executed their Lord on the cross. They had just heard an unbelievable account of an empty tomb, and were not sure what to make of it. Judas was gone from the group, and Peter was still reeling from guilt in having denied knowing Jesus.

Many of the twelve must have felt incredible guilt from having abandoned Jesus during his torture and death. And suddenly, now, Jesus comes into their midst through a locked door. Quite probably, their initial reaction would have been of fear — perhaps Jesus was coming back to exact retribution and punishment on his unfaithful, denying and fickle followers. “Where were you when I needed you?” “Shame on you!” you could imagine what the disciples may have expected Jesus to say.

Is this not how we often feel? Our first reaction to any notion of relationship with God is riddled with guilt and fear. Because we are so unfaithful, so weak. We make mistakes, over and over. We fail in our discipleship, and in our relationships. We are not committed and we often do all the wrong sorts of things. No wonder the church is in such a mess! So, if Jesus would appear walking through these very doors this morning, I suspect many of us might start shaking in our boots.

I had to giggle at something someone posted in their Facebook page: It was a picture of a gigantic jelly fish. And we see this jelly fish from underneath the water, looking sideways at this rather ugly, translucent being with long entrails dangling downward from its broad bobble top.

The caption underneath reads: “The fact that jellyfish have survived since the beginning of time, despite not having brains, is great news for stupid people.” Indeed, especially when it comes to following Jesus, we are all sometimes stupid!

Jesus demonstrates God’s true nature by what he has to repeat over and over to try to get through our thick heads. “Peace be with you!” “No, didn’t you hear me? “Peace be with you!” “I come not to condemn you for your sins, but to love you as my precious children.” Jesus demonstrates the love of God. He forgives his numb-skulled disciples because underlying Jesus’ whole approach to them, and us, is an unconditional and expansive love that is not shaken by our messing up all of the time.

That is why God forgives us our sins. And that is why and how we will forgive others as God has forgiven us. Love. Unconditional. When we can retract all our expectations and claims on another person, then we can truly love them. When we stop projecting our expectations and desires upon another person, especially if they have done something to hurt us, then we are able to love them, and therefore forgive them.

I read about a reporter who was covering the conflict in Sarajevo some twenty years ago. The reporter saw a little girl shot by a sniper. He rushed to a man who was holding the child, and helped them both into his car.

As the reporter raced to the hospital the man in the back seat said: “Hurry, my friend, my child is still alive.” A little later he said, “Hurry, my friend, my child is still breathing.” Still, later, he said, “Hurry, my friend, my child is still warm.” Finally, he said, “Hurry, hurry. Oh, God, my child is getting cold.”

When they got to the hospital, the little girl was dead. The man who had been holding the child then said to the reporter, “There lies a terrible task before me now. I must now go and tell her father that his child is dead. He will be heartbroken.”

The reporter was puzzled and responded, “I thought she was your child.” The man looked at him and said, “No. But aren’t they all our children?”

They are all our children. They are all God’s children. Christ sends us forth with the power of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost to love them all. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers. Our capacity to love others — especially those different from us — will often determine our capacity to forgive. The people of the world are God’s loving creation, too. Our practice of showing compassion and care to all people reflects our capacity to love.

Can we do this? Can we bear faithful witness to God’s love and presence in our lives? Maybe not, if left to our own devices. But try we must. Fail, we often will. But don’t give up. Because Jesus will still come into our lives with an unconditional embrace of God’s love for you and for me. We have nothing to lose — certainly not God’s love.

And because of this great gift we have, Jesus will continue to say to us, “As the Father has sent me, so now, I send you.”

Come, Holy Spirit, come
Breathe into us the breath of new life,
Come with a mighty wind or on a soft breeze, and
Kindle our hearts on fire to go forth and fulfill your mission on earth.
Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Together, now!

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When we feel, however, that in our lives we are neither on a vacation nor able to fulfill our vocation, what then?

Perhaps we are at a loss for words. Perhaps we are so dis-spirited and dejected that we feel hopeless and without purpose and meaning. Perhaps our spirit can do nothing other than cry to God for help: ‘Abba! Father!’

Saint Paul had something to say about that: When we cry ‘Abba! Father!’ it is that very Spiritbearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God … (Romans 8:16)

The very fact that we turn our selves to face God, the very fact that we think about God – good or bad thoughts! – the very fact that we lift our hearts to God even in pain and suffering, is God’s Spirit touching ours. We are indeed ‘children of God’ before we do anything remarkable, life-changing or effective. We are already given our inheritance before we can earn it or prove somehow we are worthy of it, before we are rid of all that ails us.

One salient fact in the Pentecost story from the Bible stands out – right at the beginning: When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place …(Acts 2:1)

Normally when we read or hear this text, we hurriedly breeze through this first verse to get to the sensational parts of the wind blowing through the place and the tongues of fire appearing on the disciples’ heads. We so readily go to what stimulates and excites us, don’t we?

Yet there is a gentle, subtle truth here, which also reveals the Holy Spirit’s action in our lives: We cannot do it alone.

Sometimes we seek renewal in nature, in solitude, by ourselves, secluded, isolated – in nature, on a vacation. And we feel God’s presence. We say, “the spirit of God is here.” Maybe so.

But Lutherans and Christians in general, I believe, would affirm that the Holy Spirit’s power is not primarily individualistic. The Holy Spirit, based on the biblical witness on the Day of Pentecost, comes to those gathered ‘together in one place.’

The only way we can truly and effectively live out our vocation, is to be with others, engage the world around us, and do it together.

Apart from the ever-expanding community of faith, the Christian Gospel cannot be effectively witnessed and proclaimed. Apart from the community of faith, you and I may do good works and be good citizens. Apart from the community of faith, we may find comfort and solace in distractions and the seductions of our materialistic culture.

But, if you want to see true, spiritual power and healing in your life and those around you – let’s do it together, and watch God’s Spirit change the world!

Even on a vacation, let’s live out our vocation – together!

To be Lutheran, to be ‘both-and’

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What is our vocation? Professor Mary Jane Haemig at Luther Seminary in Minneapolis/St Paul describes it this way: Our vocation was born in us when we were created by God. When we were born, we received our vocation to care for others in creation, to serve a world in need.

Basically, our common vocation as human beings is mutual support and care, which reflects our interdependence with one another and the importance of all our relationships – with creation, with ourselves, with others, and with God.

Professor Haemig goes on to say that at our Baptism, God forgives us our sins of failing to live out our vocation. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, we are forgiven and set free to live for the sake of others. The cross of Christ not only saves us from our sins, it saves us for serving the needs of others.

Reflected here is something that characterizes the Lutheran brand of Christianity. Those of us who undertook the “Lutheran Course Two” this past month – including our new members whom we receive formally this day – discovered this “two-handed” style of thinking that is prevalent not only in Lutheran theology but in our practice of faith. For example, one of Martin Luther’s famous sayings was that we are simultaneously saints and sinners.

Not either/or, this or that, black or white. But both/and.

Rather than pit a vacation apart from vocation, then, we would affirm that vocations can still be lived out during a vacation. Martin Luther was very clear to state that all people in society were members of the ‘spiritual’ class – not only bishops, pastors, and religious people. Even the most mundane of jobs can be living out our God-given vocation. It’s not so much what we do, but how we do it.

With what attitude and attention to others around us do we approach and do our jobs? Can we be on vacation and still exercise our vocation – when we spend time with our family and nurture our friendships and build healthy relationships reflecting the love and truth of God? On the other hand, can our vocations be fun, at times – as are vacations?

Yes, and Yes!

Am I on vacation or living my vocation?

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It’s a church joke that during a religious service whenever something happens that is somewhat serendipitous or unexpected it must be the Holy Spirit!

In my former parish where the church gathered in a hundred year-old building, bats were a problem; I can now laugh at memories of the most poignant moments of funerals, weddings and sermons where a bat would swoop down from the heavens …. The Holy Spirit!

Or, at an emotional high of a sermon, or during the Holy Communion, or at the dramatic climax of a bible reading – the power would go out, a lightning would flash and the clap of thunder would boom, or a gust of wind would rattle the windows and whistle through the eaves ….. The Holy Spirit!

The joke always reveals a slice of truth. When the Holy Spirit comes, we are indeed surprised, rendered speechless and startled, even. We laugh, maybe because the timing couldn’t be better.

But, on Friday when the magnitude 5.1 earthquake struck just kilometers from my home, I wasn’t laughing and I didn’t think the timing was the great.

Because it was my day-off, and I was trying to relax and enjoy a stress-free ‘vacation’, so to speak. When dishware and glasses startled rattling and the floors started heaving, I was pulled out of my dream-like state and escapist reverie into a moment of stark reality.

I was forced to face the reality of life and death. In a split second, I wondered if I should vacate the house and save my skin. And in that second I wondered if our two-story duplex would collapse over me.

When the shaking subsided, I couldn’t help but be brought out of my ‘vacation’ and into an appreciation of my ‘vocation’. I had to be grounded – excuse the pun – and re-orient myself in who I am and my purpose in life. So, I looked outside my window to see if there was any damage on our street and/or distressed neighbors in need. I remembered that, deep down, my calling in life draws me to others and serving their needs.

At this time of year, indeed, being the first long weekend of the unofficial summer season, I’m dreaming of vacations. Maybe you are, too. I look forward to a time to rest, restore, get away from it all and enjoy God’s beautiful creation.

At the same time, I realize yet again that just because we may be on a vacation, we are still living out our vocation. The word, ‘vocation’, comes from the Latin word which means “to call”. Our vocation is what God calls us to be and do. And, we cannot escape that vocation – even though we may try.

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.

How is God Faithful? – Despite Us

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How do you like your water? Do like it rough? Or do you like it calm?

In the Bible one of the most popular images of water is from Psalm 23: “He leads me beside still waters.” We say that still waters run deep; and indeed, it is true. In baptism, we sprinkle a few, tiny drops of water; or, we pour a small, shell-full of lukewarm water on the infant.

And so we sometimes and naturally receive these images and rituals as prescriptive of a rosy, comfortable, and easy existence with God and the Church.

Therefore, we may come to expect and even crave an easy life, saying it is the will of God. Conversely, when bad things happen or life challenges us to the core, is it because God has abandoned us, or is punishing us? Has our faith been lacking?

In reality our lives our often marked by a rushing torrent of roiling, turbulent, frothing white-water. Being faithful to the baptismal life in Christ is often descriptive more of being in a full-blown hurricane on the ocean.

I love the image of Jesus sleeping in the back of the boat while the disciples get anxious and fearful (Mark 4:35-41). To me, Jesus’ response suggests that in all the storms of our lives, Jesus does not diminish in any way the normalcy of the stormy life as part and parcel of faithful living.

The implication of this is counter-intuitive: It is precisely when life gets unnerving that faith makes any sense at all. Faith isn’t faith until it’s all you’re hanging on to, when the storms of life rage close by.

So when everything is calm, enjoy the moment because there will be more white water soon to come (if we are being faithful, that is). Because when we know God to be near, what we think is reliable and safe is shaken up. Whatever we presume is unchanging, constant, safe …. Beware! If Jesus comes close to that, you may be in for a ride! Because in Jesus’ presence we realize we really cannot control or fix those seemingly stable, controllable things on our own. And this is admitedly a scary prospect.

I’m not a white-water kayaker. But I do enjoy paddling in our canoe or kayak on relatively calm waters. Last weekend I got out on the river for the first time this season. And I was reminded again of the “Rules for White-water Rafting” described by Bishop Pryse at the last Synod Assembly in Toronto a couple of years ago.

He had eight rules for white-water. But I just want to highlight a couple. One rule, which is actually a combination of two of them, is: Never stop paddling, even when it seems hopeless, even when the boat doesn’t go where you want it to go. Never stop paddling.

This is so very important! One of the biggest challenges we face today is that of not giving in to cynicism which Martin Luther reminds us should be counted among, “doubt, despair and other shameful sins.” We need to keep paddling. We need to keep believing. We can never give up.

What did the disciples lack? If anything, they didn’t believe Jesus could do anything, that Jesus could actually provide a way through the storm.

But just as much as we need to keep paddling even when things aren’t going our way, at another level and in other circumstances we also need to be able to let go and stop trying too hard.

I’ve discovered that when docking or pulling away from the dock, all efforts to overcome wind and current by simply trying harder generally do not work. Far better than fighting wind and current is to position myself so that those natural forces will in their own natural way aid rather than frustrate my intent (p.229, Edwin Friedman A Failure of Nerve: Leadership in the Age of the Quick Fix, 2006).

I know this especially to be true when solo-canoeing. Even when heading out onto the river, if I don’t have my canoe aligned at the right angle vis-à-vis the direction of the wind, no amount of paddling on my part will achieve anything except frustration.

Alignment. Positioning. This has everything to do with the relationships in which we find ourselves. When we discover a need to realign ourselves vis-à-vis others, ourselves and God, the first step is to “take off the tires” that need re-alignment. For a complete re-alignment job, all tires have to be detached from the vehicle, rotated and then re-attached and balanced. In other words, letting go of our emotional grip on things is the first step.

Another one of Bishop Pryse’s rules for white-water paddling is: If you go under – which is a normal occurrence when white-water paddling – let go of everything; eventually you will come back up. An essential quality of faith is the willingness to let go of anything that we’re holding onto tightly. What are you holding onto so tightly? Resentment? Impatience? The need to be right? The need to be needed? The need to be in control?

Golfers, table-tennis, baseball and hockey players can attest to the one indicator that they are in a slump – what are they doing? They’re holding onto their club, racket, paddle, stick or bat too tightly.

If you want to get out of your slump, one thing to consider is “loosening up”. This is risky and scary. The stress of doing that can be sharp, but short-lived. Because once you have the courage to let go we discover an amazing truth, one that David I believe experienced on the battle field (1Samuel 17).

David could have gone home. David could have used the armor Saul was intent on giving him to fight Goliath, the giant Philistine. Yet, David did neither “safe” option. He was determined to trust in God by trusting in his own gifts of a sling and pebble – even when the facts appeared to suggest he was doomed.

We already have everything we need. We have enough; we don’t need to toil and strive to be something we are not. God has already given to us what we need. All we need to do is trust that God will not let go of us, and that ‘resurrection’, so to speak, will take care of itself.

For me it puts things in right perspective knowing that, regardless of what happens, we will most certainly come back up when we let go.

It’s interesting Jesus, after stilling the storm and bringing peace and calm to the situation asks his disciples, “Why are you afraid?” (Mark 4: 40-41) His question doesn’t refer to their fear during the storm, but after it was over: Verse 41, where the NRSV translates that the disciples were filled with “great awe”, is literally translated they were “fearful with a great fear” for what Jesus did. Why were the disciples as afraid – if not more afraid – of what Jesus accomplished to bring calm to the water than when the storm was at its peak?

Was it because they knew now there was no longer an excuse for not acting in bold, nervy, trusting, faithful ways DESPITE their fear? Truth be told, sometimes people want to remain stuck, holding on too tightly to that which they know is not good. Better the devil you know, right? The unfortunate result, however, is remaining stuck, cowering in despair and using fear as an excuse not to do the right thing.

But it’s not about us. While Jesus doesn’t diminish the reality of the storm, Jesus also demonstrates an everlasting, unshakable commitment to his disciples. Despite their unbelief and fear, Jesus is faithful. Jesus’ faithfulness is NOT conditional on the strength of our faith. This is good news. Jesus doesn’t abandon us in the storm. Jesus is not punishing us on account of the storm – whatever the storm you face. Jesus believes in us, even when we don’t have the courage to believe in ourselves.

One of the most honest, authentic prayers and confessions in Christianity is from the Gospel of Mark: “Lord, I believe; Help my unbelief” (9:24). And so our prayer today may echo the great prayer of the father whose son was healed by Jesus: “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!” For your homework this week, I invite you to read that 9th chapter of Mark leading up to that father’s statement. And read Martin Luther’s explanation of the Third Article of the Apostle’s Creed in Luther’s Small Catechism, where he writes: “I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ … or come to him ….. but by the Holy Spirit.”

Reflect on those words and examine your capacity to trust and wait for God’s Spirit. And examine your capacity to be decisive; to be decisive with honest awareness of your limitations and despite your fears. And in all that reflection, remember the most important thing – God is faithful!

Amen.