Massaging the text

Posted on March 15, 2013 by raspberryman

It doesn’t help to get tendonitis in my arm in the middle of a Canadian winter. Especially when you rely on arm power to shovel snow.

It does help a bit if you live next door to a massage therapist who is willing to offer free advice and treatment!

My neighbour held my sore arm with one hand, and then began kneading the palm of my hand with the other. “But that’s not where I hurt,” I protested. “It’s my forearm that’s the problem!” He smiled and continued massaging the palm of my hand.

He went on to explain his strategy: “In order to maintain the nerve sheath’s integrity, I used the sustained pressure of gently squeezing your arm to prevent one layer of muscle from moving. At the same time I rubbed the palm of your hand to restore the relative movement between the muscles of your arm thus revitalizing blood flow and neuro- vascular health.”

I pressed him for a lay person’s translation, which goes as follows: An indirect contact must be located to allow for full restoration of the affected area. In order to heal a distressed part of your body you have to access not only the area directly affected (my forearm) but an area indirectly connected (my palm) as well.

When people engage me in bible study, often what they question or query are the difficult verses in a text. It’s those lines that cause confusion, that appear contradictory, that simply do not make any sense on which we first tend to focus.

It’s not different in our Gospel text for the fifth Sunday in Lent — John 12:1-8 — when Mary pours expensive oil on Jesus’ feet wiping them with her hair. When Judas objects for the perceived waste, Jesus accepts Mary’s extravagance and concludes the passage with a statement that has been often misinterpreted: “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me” (v.8).

This is the verse that tends to get traction in conversations. What does Jesus mean?

Employing the massage treatment methodology here, we have to address both the direct and indirect areas of the text. First, the direct. Let’s simply apply a gentle squeeze on the first part of Jesus’ statement: You always have the poor with me.

Most biblical scholars will suggest Jesus is doing here what he often does throughout the Gospels — quoting the Hebrew scriptures. Someone counted 78 times that Jesus cites verses from what we call the Old Testament. So, it follows that here Jesus is citing Deuteronomy 15:11 — “Since there will never cease to be some in need on the earth, I therefore command you, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbour in your land.'”

Contrary to what sometimes is interpreted as a justification for ignoring the needs of the poor, Jesus’ words are actually an injunction to continue serving the needs of the poor, not to give up this good work:

Open your hand to the poor. Be generous in response to the needs of others. Be generous as Mary was in spilling a year’s wages of expensive perfume on the feet of Jesus.

But how can we continue this work when we know the needs will always be there? How can our spirits be sustained in serving the poor when it seems our efforts will never eradicate poverty, slavery, or any other social illness. Despair is a hairline step away from futility.

Let’s now apply the indirect method of dealing with this challenging text, as we look at the second part of Jesus’ response to Judas — “… you do not always have me.”

Like peripheral vision, in bible study we need to look at the broader context of the passage in question — the before part, and after part. Sometimes by looking to the side, we can see better the area in question. If we look only at the point in question, we might not see it. We must shift our gaze to the side in order to get a clearer vision of what is before us.

To be continued in the next post …

The paralysis of analysis

Posted on March 6, 2013 by raspberryman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a party that will be!

In here and out there

Posted on February 7, 2013 by raspberryman

When I started opening my fortune cookie this past week I realized how eager I was to find out what treasure lay within. What positive words would jump out at my life this time? Not that I take those words all too seriously. But what often piques my interest, especially in sharing with another person, was a yearning for the positive word to me. Positive + Personal + with others = more fun!

I, for one, yearn for a positive, spiritual experience. I count myself among those who seek an encounter with a living and loving God. And that could come in prayer, a holy reading of Scripture, an uplifting experience of worship.

But I know that only to be the half of it. Because when I look beyond myself and my own longings, I see something bigger, something more than my agendas for self-gratification and my self-absorbed navel-gazing.

And, for me, that starts with an honest encounter with Scripture.

When I first read the Gospel story for Transfiguration Sunday (Luke 9:28-43), I found what seemed to me an unnatural disconnect between the first part when the disciples see a vision of Jesus’ glory on the mountaintop, and second part when Jesus heals a boy from a demonic illness.

On the one hand Jesus’ mountaintop experience conveys a sense of privy religion: an ecstasy reserved for an elite few, a holy albeit exclusive event, a private affair that occurs in an ivory tower place not easily accessed — to which anyone who has climbed mountains can likely attest. Me and sweet Jesus!

On the other hand rebuking an unclean spirit sends Jesus into the dirty streets and crossroads of the harsh realities of common life. There’s an obvious rapid descent that occurs in this passage — a drastic scene change: from a select few disciples in Peter, John and James, and biblical greats in Moses and Elijah … to a great crowd that meets Jesus at the foot of the mountain; from mystical communion, wispy clouds and translucent streams of bursting heavenly light … to the putrid smells of decay and disease in the streets, mauling little boys in uncontrollable seizures and epileptic fits. It’s dramatic!

What is going on here? What are we to understand about the glory of God? What constitutes a ‘holy’ experience? I see at least three clues in the text to help us.

First, both the Gospel writers Luke and Matthew follow up the mountaintop experiences by Jesus healing someone. All three — Matthew (17:14), Mark (9:14) and Luke have Jesus encountering the “crowd” right after the transfiguration. So basically, the Gospels clearly attempt to fuse together the contemplative, mystic, holy with the ordinary, embodied and missional elements of our faith. Again — not either/or, but more both/and.

In her memoir, “Breathing Space: A Spiritual Journey in the South Bronx” (Boston: Beacon Press, 2003, p.269), Heidi Neumark reflects on this passage to tell a powerful story of transfiguration. She describes the transformation of the church she served as pastor for almost twenty years. Aptly named Transfiguration Lutheran Church, the community was struggling, barely surviving, for most of that time. Standing amid poverty and the myriad problems that can accompany such a demon — crime, drug abuse, lack of education and opportunity, lack of hope — Transfiguration Church mostly kept its doors shut tight to the world around it.

The work of Jesus rebuking the unclean spirit was example enough for Neumark. “When Peter and the others came down from the mountain,” she writes, “they found a father and a child gasping for life. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And they found transfiguration.

And so it is. When the disciples of this Bronx church unlocked the doors of their private shelter and stepped out into the neighbourhood, they did meet the distress of the community convulsed and mauled by poverty, to be sure. But they also discovered transfiguration as a congregation in connection with others.

As much as I long for those holy, exclusive encounters with God, I have to agree with commentators who suggest that the story of the transfiguration of Jesus loses its power if it does not include that moment when Jesus and the disciples come down from the mountain (Lori Brandt Hale, “Feasting on the Word” Year C Volume 1, p.456).

On Meadowlands Drive in Ottawa, we are not situated in the Bronx. Poverty may not readily stare us in the face quite like for the people of Transfiguration Church. And yet, the question may still need to be asked: Who lives outside these doors? Who are we in relationship with this community in West Ottawa? What is the role and function of our space here? Is it only for our own personal edification, our own private encounter with God in some mystical, religious experience?

Or, can those beautiful encounters with God and with one another in this holy place lead us, as a valid and necessary extension of our faith, somewhere else?

Perhaps places reserved for personal intimate communion with God are meant more as a stopping place, a rest station on the interstate of life, where we recharge our batteries. But that the real deal happens out there in the world. The holy, glorious places, serve as turnabouts in our walk on earth — leading us in, but turning us back around after re-fueling to face what we must face out there.

The second clue in our readings today, is the predominant image of “face”; let me explain: In the first reading from Exodus, Moses did not know that after his encounter with God, “the skin of his face shone” (34:29); and the Gospel writer indicates that while Jesus was praying on the mountain, “the appearance of his face changed” (9:29). Then, after Jesus heals the boy with the demon, Jesus “sets his face to go to Jerusalem” (9:51) to complete his mission on earth.

What our face communicates is powerful and influential beyond measure. What do our faces convey to the world out there about the treasure we hold in our hearts? What impression do we give to the public – as Christians, as Lutherans, as members of Faith Church in West Ottawa?

A couple of weeks ago I remember in the middle of my sermon I saw a whole bunch of you burst out in radiant smiles. Your faces were shining! And yet, I hadn’t said anything particularly funny — at least I didn’t think I did. But something else, something I hadn’t noticed, was happening. And it was a holy moment.

A child had been smiling at you. And no words were spoken, even necessary. It was as if you conveyed a sense of the presence of God in your midst with an emotional response to a child’s face. The smiles and glow on all your faces were part of the meaning of God’s felt presence in the worshiping community that day. And it was a gracious, patient, forgiving presence.

It may not often be mentioned by preachers of the Gospel, but did you notice that Jesus at first reacts, rather negatively, to their request for healing the boy. Jesus kind of complains to the people about their lack of faith, insulting them: “You perverse generation!”

I think Jesus realizes that so often people are not getting the reason for his coming to earth. He sees that people really just want something for themselves. They want Jesus to help them, one of their own. Quite understandable. And yet, their self-centered egos get the better of them and is what truly motivates them to come to Jesus. Jesus just shakes his head.

Nevertheless, he still shows them compassion, shows the boy compassion, and heals him. His love and grace trump the people’s misguided motivations and selfish ambitions. Even though they don’t understand that their purpose in life – God’s purpose for them – is for the sake of others, Jesus still exercises divine patience.

How do we face the world outside these doors on a Sunday morning? Do we walk in the way of Jesus? Do people see forgiveness and patience, a radiance that conveys loving acceptance?

Dark coloured hard-wood flooring seems to be the latest thing in model homes. I’ve toured a few of these new homes in Arnprior over the last year. Indeed, the duplex we now rent – a new construction – has this dark hardwood flooring throughout. And yet, as nice and pretty as it looks, it is so unforgiving: every speckle of dust, every bread crumb, stands out. It is unforgiving, unyielding. Other, lighter woods can put up with more dirt, so to speak.

I hope we are not like this hardwood flooring to the world out there. I hope our “face” to the world radiates a patient, compassionate and forgiving stance, one that invites a loving response from those we meet.

Jesus’ face may have been determined as he began his journey to Jerusalem after the transfiguration. But it was not a hard set, impatient, unforgiving, angry face. But one that invited an open heart to respond in faith.

The glory of God is realized in the mission, boots-to-the-ground, exercise of compassion to those in need. Then, others out there will see us as we are and whose we are. The glory of God cannot be fully experienced without reflecting the treasure of love we hold in our hearts, for the world to see outside these doors.

Better than anything we can find in a fortune cookie.

Proclamation and action

Posted on January 22, 2013 by raspberryman

Be the change you want to see. I’ve heard this advice often over the past year. I know I’ve mused about this before. But watching the inauguration of President Barack Obama at the beginning of his second term leads me again to express this desperate need for leaders — for me — to be today: words are not enough.

The president’s effective leadership will be debated for centuries to come, to be sure. But one thing stands out: He will be known for his oration. He can speak. President Obama is a model for any preacher or public speaker. His ability to use words and articulate vision, and bring it from the heart is amazing. His speech writers need to be credited as well!

At the same time, he probably knows that the rubber will hit the road when executive action follows from his words. Proclamation finds its validity in the being and doing of leadership. And then the sparks will fly.

So, who one is and what one does, as a leader, will impress upon the public as much as gifted oration will ever.

Be the change you want to see. Don’t do as I say, do as I do.

I couldn’t help make the connection with the Gospel text (Luke 4:16-22) appointed for the coming Sunday — when Jesus stands up in the synagogue to read from the scroll, the scripture appointed for him to read, from the prophet Isaiah (61). Jesus announces his purpose, his divine mission in the world. Notice the verbs:

“… to proclaim …” appears twice in that short quote from Isaiah. Jesus is called by the Spirit to proclaim release to the captives and the year of the Lord’s favour. Proclamation is part and parcel of, even foundational to, the Chrisitan ministry.

I was raised by two pastors from the Lutheran tradition who taught me that the pastor’s fundamental role was to engage in “proclamation”, in the art of preaching. Homiletics professors in seminary reinforced that mission of the ordained clergy. I’ve always found comfort in that. But why?

Not that comfort is altogether a bad thing. But when the comfort means that I conveniently avoid the other part of the equation, or shy away from it, am I being faithful to that Christian ministry?

Today I notice in younger generations who do not find their heart in the church, they see Christians who talk the talk but don’t walk the talk. I don’t believe they want someone talking to them about what it means to be Christian; they want someone to show them what it means to be Christian. They would, I imagine, be more impressed by Christians and their leaders who behave and act consistently with the proclamation.

For those concerned about effective evangelism, I suspect a church that is led by example more than anything will impress those not normally associated with the church. More so than words, acting in the mission of Jesus towards the poor, the captives, with forgiveness and grace will attract and draw others into that Christian mission and identity.

Not only is Jesus called into a mission of proclamation, the other verbs in that text from Isaiah which he quotes in the Nazarene synagogue at the beginning of his ministry are telling: “…to bring good news…” and “…to let…” These are action words.

What does it mean to bring good news to the poor, and to let the oppressed go free? These compelling verbs bring to life many possibilities in fulfilling, in deed, the proclamation of Jesus Christ in his day, and in our lives together today.

The end in sight? So is the new

Posted on December 11, 2012 by raspberryman

Since December 21st is a mere ten days away, I paid a little more attention recently to public commentary about the end of the world, sparked by notions of the Mayan calendar ending on the winter solstice of this year.

After listening to several commentators (mostly on CBC Radio), a couple themes stand out:

While most of the academics debunk a sudden, doomsday, one-off catastrophic event ending the world as we know it, they do imply that the disaster has already been happening. They state the general sensitivity and respect the Mayan people hold for the earth and who decry the abuse inflicted on the environment by dominant, economic forces.

The catastophe has occurred incrementally and increasingly in the public awareness over the past few decades around environmental disintegration — melting polar ice caps, acidification of global oceans and lakes, the disappearance of vital coral reefs, etc., etc.

The earth suffers under the weight of these significant changes. Something will need to give. Something will need to end, so to turn the tide and restore a balance in creation. And soon. Soon and very soon.

What will end? What is already ending since the financial crisis of 2008, which continues to this day and is forecast to continue well into 2013? Would it be a lifestyle so charged with materialistic progress that we find ourselves in suffocating debt? Will it be an economy which can survive only on the demand of human greed and acquisition? Will it be our identity and self worth based solely on what we own and protect for ourselves to the disregard of those outside our borders, and without?

If this is the end in sight, then there is opportunity here to work towards building hope and joy in a new thing for all people. New ideas to guide our collective being together. New structures and strategies for social and economic cohesion. Bold action for justice, peace and compassion.

At this time of year when endings are contemplated, feared, even celebrated, a new beginning awaits. What may have to end, may have to be. And this won’t be easy, by any stretch, for any one of us — especially the privileged in the world.

And yet, the new thing for which we wait in the season of Advent is the birth of the divine into the world. Advent yields to Christmas by the longed-for infusion of renewal, life-giving promise that the earth will find its way again. This way is cleared by the God who came into it — the God who created it, the God who loved it, the God who gave up life itself for it.

The earth is hopeful. And we, instrumentally, along with it.

1gift4good

Posted on December 5, 2012 by raspberryman

During Advent, we prepare to receive the greatest gift of the season – the gift of Jesus. And the living Jesus guides us today to be generous to others in our gift-giving.

To celebrate our gracious giving both in small and big ways, please submit into the gift box on the altar at Faith Lutheran Church in Ottawa a small piece of paper on which you write your special “one gift” – a random act of kindness you did (e.g., gave an empty parking spot to someone else, gave a cup of coffee to a homeless person, volunteered at the food bank, helped carry parcels for someone, spend time with a loved one, gave money to support an important mission, etc.).

During the Christmas Eve and Day services, some of these “gifts for good” will be read out (anonymously) – all to signify the unconditional character of gift-giving in Jesus’ name.

It’ll be our collective present to Jesus. Thank you!

Do you deserve it?

Posted on November 10, 2012 by raspberryman

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.

Bridging the gap

Posted on October 16, 2012 by raspberryman

Mark 10:35-45

Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink…” (Mark 10:39)

When we first stepped on the bridge spanning the wide, flowing river, our ten year old son stopped short. It was windy. He said he was afraid the strong winds could blow him off. He refused to walk over.

A few weeks later when we were giving a walking tour of our new home-town to visiting friends, the path took us over the bridge. Engrossed in showing all the sites to his friends, our son made it three-quarters of the way across before he realized what he was doing. I could see by his wide-eyed expression that he had, for the most part, forgotten his fear. He was focused on his friends rather than himself.

I often miss the extraordinary promise implied in Jesus’ words to his self-absorbed disciples. They had been walking to Jerusalem listening to Jesus speak about his suffering and death. Understandably, those who followed Jesus were afraid (Mark 10:10). Were James’ questions about finding a seat in heaven next to Jesus simply an attempt to find security amidst the ominous implications of Jesus’ words?

Fear of the world often drives us, above all, to find security. We are afraid of terrorism, so we start preemptive wars. We are afraid of failing, so we act to secure our reputation rather than take bold and necessary steps forward. We are afraid of what we don’t understand in others who are different from us, so we cocoon behind fortress walls with like-minded people rather than build bridges of cooperation and compassion.

When Jesus says, “the cup that I drink you will drink…” he is making his disciples a promise – a promise that one day they, too, will no longer be driven by fear; that one day they will act boldly, motivated not so much by self-preservation but by the Gospel.

This, too, is a promise made to me and to you. It’s not an easy way. But when our focus resolves itself on others, we no longer act according to our fears but according to the way of Christ Jesus.

Prayer is a subversive public act

Posted on September 26, 2012 by raspberryman

When I compare popular notions of prayer today with the original purpose and description of prayer in the Christian tradition, I see a great divide. Popular understandings of prayer suggest it is private, that it is done as a means to cure a disease, and that its public face is often divisive.

Let me clarify some of the basic biblical understandings of prayer. I base my commentary on the letter of James (5:13-16) in the Bible, since it is one of the texts which will be read in many mainline churches this Sunday.

I find that the biblical witness debunks prayer as a private act, prayer for the sole purpose of curing medical diseases, and prayer as a divisive tool in a multiple-voice culture. Practiced as fundamentally a public act whose unifying purpose is wholeness and restored relationships, prayer as such counters popular notions and is therefore a subversive practice.

First, prayer is fundamentally public. Time in prayer is not “my time”. Prayer is not exercised in some other-worldly state that separates one from social reality and relationships. Prayer is not, according to some spiritual mythology, done in some sequestered, secluded and isolationist context. Prayer is not withdrawal from reality in order to satisfy some escapist, narcissistic compulsions so evident in the pathology of our contemporary culture.

In James’ commentary, vivid images of prayer involving the “laying on of hands” and the “anointing of oil” makes prayer a visceral act that invades the space of individuals, one to another. Prayer is inherently relational. It gets down and dirty in the bodily reality of our lives, one with another. It is about touch. Prayer is “our time”, and for the sake of the “other”.

Another scripture that will be read alongside James this Sunday is from the Gospel of Mark (9:38-39). Powerful, effective deeds are done “in the name of Jesus”. When we call on the name of the Lord, we are entering a power and reality that is beyond us. Everything we do as Christians is for and about the “other”. Prayer leads us beyond exclusive concern about our own individual lives; it draws us out of ourselves and into the needs and realities facing other people.

We can pray by ourselves, to be sure. But the power of prayer, which is clearly evident in the casting out of demons from the Gospel, is seen most clearly when it is communally, not privately, done, when it is done in the name of Another besides ourselves, when it is done together.

Which leads to the second aspect of prayer, addressing our understanding of healing. And here we have to be honest about our modern approach to illness and its cure. I don’t, for a moment, doubt God’s ability to cure our diseases, especially when offered in a prayer of faith. God is able in God’s freedom to cure anyone. And we’ve all heard, I suspect, of such miraculous healings. Certainly, the Scriptures reveal such astounding events.

And yet, the biblical witness shies away from making this God’s central way of healing. For one thing, after many of such cures that Jesus performs he often instructs those whom he cures to be silent and not tell anyone. And, while affirming that the “weary will be restored” (James 5:15), the kind of healing God is about does not emerge from a modern, Western, understanding of illness and healing. The kind of healing James is talking about is substantially more than merely prescribing antibiotics or applying scientific medical knowledge to a ‘problem’.

The restoration of which James speaks assumes a relationship between sin and sickness. It is a redemption that only God can accomplish incorporating all that we are. This holistic approach to healing involves our social illnesses as much as our internal chemical imbalances; it has as much to do with our spiritual and psychological health as it has our physiological and corporeal brokenness.

In the Mediterranean culture out of which Jesus and the biblical witness came, healing of broken and ailing bodies is not so much about fighting invading microbes, but of restoring community and social relationships so that people could live the good life intended by God. (John Pilch, “Healing in the New Testament”, Fortress Press, 2000).

This means that should one seek healing today, especially within the church, the way of healing must include awareness of and action toward restoring broken relationships — the relationship between the individual and her/himself, the relationship between the individual and others, the relationship between the individual and the earth, and the relationship between the individual and God — to name but a few of some basic relationships.

When appreciated in the context of the whole web of life on earth, prayer is a powerful and effective force in realizing the healing of our lives, diverse as we are. Prayer is mindful action toward bringing together that which has been divided.

Therefore, prayer functions as a unifying force. Often in our society prayer is used as a weapon to take a stand over against other Christians, a secular culture, or another religion. The fights over public school prayers, for example, give prayer a bad name. For one thing, it betrays a misunderstanding of the diverse yet unifying truth about our connection with God and others.

Prayer is not divisive, though it is diverse in form. There are various, legitimate forms of prayer: We offer verbal petitions in our devotions, in liturgical orders of worship, the Eucharist — these are some traditional forms. But meditation, walking prayers, art, music and even social action can also be a prayer. Any activity, for that matter, entered mindful of God’s abiding presence (i.e. done “in the name of Jesus”) are also forms of prayer often overlooked and undervalued.

The Book of James begins with an address to those who are “dispersed” (1:1). James continues his letter to address the divisive consequences of an “unbridled tongue” (3:6ff) and considers the reasons for the “conflicts and disputes” among the people (4). James’ letter is about divisiveness, disconnection and the splintering of our lives.

It is very suiting, and I believe not without purpose and inspired intention, that James ends his letter in chapter 5 with an appeal to prayer. And not only because prayer is the one activity among diverse Christians that we share. But in recognizing the diversity of form prayer takes, we can affirm the unity we share in Christ Jesus, in our prayerful living.

Thus, a book that begins with division ends with blessings promised those who restore another “wandering” sinner within the community of faith (5:20). Some remark that this is a rather abrupt ending to the letter. But with good purpose.

Because the abrupt ending can remind us that though the world today is still full of sin and death and those who wander, Christians, through prayer, continue “to engage the world in hope for a time when what has splintered can be reunited.” (p.114, “Feasting on the Word” Year B Volume 4)

Listen to your children praying

Posted on September 21, 2012 by raspberryman

Some of you have heard my incessant grumbling over the last couple of weeks that, “I need to get my hair cut.” You have given me good advice about the various places in town where I could receive a decent haircut. Even though three weeks ago I could have had it done, I’ve put it off. And off. And off.

And I wonder how commonly and naturally this condition plagues us, in general, on many levels: A project at home we know is good and important but we’re distracted and too busy with our regular routines to get it done; When we put off reaching out to so-and-so but never get around to it; When we put off sending that “thank you” card or making that phone call; When we put off engaging a new and healthy discipline — prayer, exercise, a regular visit to volunteer at the local shelter or food bank; etc. Whatever it is, procrastinating seems to be a universal problem.

What is the result? Well, I’ve found one of my initial emotional reactions is guilt. I beat myself up over the delay. And should I recommit myself to the task, often fear is the motivation. Because I remind myself of the consequences — and I don’t want to go there.

Just consider for a moment the weighty topic of the end times or the final judgment. There’s nothing like striking fear in our hearts to push us to try harder, right? Indeed, this is the final characteristic of the cycle: First guilt, with underlying fear, motivating us to try even harder.

But where does that leave us? Back at the beginning, because do we ever get done all that we want to get done? Do we ever achieve the goals of the perfect kind of world we are trying so hard to create for ourselves and for others? Someone once admonished me for my over-zealousness: “Remember, Martin, your inbox will still be full on the day you die.” Is just “try harder” the solution?

What to do, then, when we find ourselves mired in the mud, stuck in the rut, of despair and disillusionment?

I heard the story this week of an Anglican priest’s young child who declared that he didn’t want anymore to be a sheep in the church’s Christmas pageant. Even though the Sunday School teacher had slotted him to be a sheep, he protested.

“Why don’t you want to be a sheep, little darling?” the teacher asked. “The shepherd will take care of the sheep, and we are all like sheep.”

“I want to be a shepherd,” declared the young boy. Adamant.

“Why is that?”

“Because the shepherds were the only ones who heard the angels sing.”

What that child exposed was truth and wisdom that I hope the Sunday School teacher heard. The shepherds were indeed the only ones who heard the angels sing. And they were the first evangelists in Christianity — those lowly shepherds. They got it right.

Do we hear the angels sing? Do we listen to our children? Do we pay attention to the lowly in our society? Maybe we should. They often get it right.

In ancient times — out of which the bible was written, and famous passages of Jesus welcoming the children into his arms were told — adults considered children no more than chattel. They were economic units, bred and raised and tolerated only so they could become useful when they grew up.

Stoic philosophers, who influenced the thinking of many in Jesus’ day, taught that in children under seven years of age, reason was not active. So, you could treat them like young animals to be trained, rather than like human beings to be guided in a learning process.

Consequently, adults would not listen to or learn from children. Animal trainers do not look for significant insights from those they train. They give commands, observe behaviour, and hand out rewards or punishment (see pages 21ff in Catherine Stonehouse & Scottie May, “Listening to Children on the Spiritual Journey”, Baker Academic, Michigan, 2010).

Notice in the Gospel reading today how even from the original Greek ‘the child’ is translated into an inhumane “it”, not once but twice in verse 36 (Mark 9): “Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms…” In the ancient world you gained social capital as you got older. Kids weren’t even cute; they were a drain on the family budget.

Jesus begins his ministry by declaring that the Reign of Christ has come (Mark 1:15; Matthew 4:17). And then he astonishes everyone when he says that to enter God’s kingdom we need to become as children.

Talk about turning the tables on society and cultural norms! Suddenly the poor and weak and the vulnerable have something to say. And the rich and powerful need to listen to the poor! To the children! Because children are not marginal members of the kingdom of God, just tagging along with their parents, waiting to grow up and become real members. No, children are models in the kingdom of God, showing adults how to enter.

In a famous hymn we sing, “Lord, listen to your children praying.” Perhaps the Lord will listen when we — the privileged and mighty, by the world’s standards — start listening to the children ourselves.

I also heard this week about the plight of child labourers. We pride ourselves, you know, in saying that our modern society has advanced and evolved to the point where we don’t treat our children like animals anymore. Look again.

You know all those balls we buy in our stores — footballs, soccer balls? Well the majority of those balls today are still stitched by young children in developing countries. They get paid only 33 cents a day in Pakistan, for example, and work twelve hours a day there. They are forced into this labour by parents who so desperately need the money.

But as a result, they don’t go to school to learn how to read and write. And because their bodies are developing so rapidly at that young age, many of their hands become crippled from the repetative stitching by the time they are in their late teens. Consequently they are unable to secure gainful employment when they are older on account of their mal-formed hands and lack of education. So, they resort to prostitution, drugs and social violence.

Is there work to be done here? Darn right! When we talk about the evils of this world — what about the children and their plight caused by powerful global, economic and social systems that enable this injustice? What are we going to do about that?

And yet, after we express our moral indignation, is this another ‘good deed’ we’ll put on the shelf of good intention? About which we end up procrastinating, feeling guilty, and finding refuge in getting ourselves busy because we are scared about judgment?

Not that doing little things won’t help. Not that becoming socially active for some worthy cause won’t do some good. It will.

But do the children have anything to teach us? How do we prepare for the work that will bear fruit, in the end?

I began this sermon by describing a negative cycle with which we are familiar, even and perhaps especially, in North American Christianity. We read passages from the Bible like we sung today — Psalm 1 — and instinctively we zero in on the images of destruction of the unrighteous. With fear and trepidation we secretly hope we are not one of “those” people (you can fill in the blanks from the news this past week); and then we berate ourselves with guilt into “trying harder”.

And often we spin our wheels in anxious activity, ending in disillusionment and despair.

There is another way — a biblical way, by the way.

In the lectionary study this past week we talked about the image of the tree planted by streams of water bearing fruit in its season. But the tree didn’t choose to be by the river. The tree didn’t pick itself up, carry itself to where a river was flowing and plant its roots by it.

This image is not prescriptive, it’s descriptive. It describes the life of those who are, before they do anything, aware of where their true life is sourced, despite their circumstance. And, moreover, aware of the seasonal aspect of their activity. It’s not always, round the clock, 24-7, about doing good and being busy. There are some seasons of life during which dormancy, quiet, stillness, are not only a good idea and desirable. But necessary.

My mother told me a theological and living truth this week when we were discussing judgment day and the end times: For those who live in Christ, judgment day will be a wonderful experience. Judgment day will not be scary and frightening for those who are in Christ. She cited that well-known saying from Martin Luther: “If I knew judgment day was coming tomorrow, I’d go out today to plant an apple tree.”

Listen to the words of the biblical writer, Paul: “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (Romans 8:1-2).

We don’t need to try hard to become like children. Because what’s one characteristic of children? — They don’t try to be anything or anyone other then themselves.

Our good deeds and good intentions will bear fruit in due season when we approach the end with joy not driven compulsion, with ease not by trying harder, with hope not guilt, with trust not fear, with gratitude not demands.

Amber (age eleven) explained: “God is my special person because I can talk to him anywhere. I can just speak to him in my mind … in the middle of class … on a race … sitting right here, just thinking, ’cause he can read my mind … So I don’t actually have to say a prayer out loud … sit down, close my eyes, and fold my hands. I can pray right now as I’m talking, and that’s one way he’s my special person.”

Although in her school public prayer was not allowed, Amber discovered that no one could deprive her of talking to her special person.

Lord, listen to your children praying. Lord let us listen to your children praying.

Amen.