Tag Archives: spiritual growth

Bridging the gap

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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.

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How do you let go?

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How long shall we cling?

I am reminded of winter these days as temperatures are falling, and so are the leaves. Well, most of them anyway.

It was wintertime last year while walking when I stopped in my tracks. I heard something I had not heard in months. And it sounded out of place amidst the quiet wintry solitude of frozen rivers, snow-laden trees and crunching snow under foot.

I heard leaves rustling in the winter wind. I looked up into the branches of a giant oak tree most of whose brown, dried leaves did not fall to the ground in October.

These leaves were still hanging on despite the fact they were basically dead. And despite the sub-zero temperatures and the wind-chill factor. They sure were clinging! Talk about stubborn! They had refused to surrender to the natural change of seasons.

I sometimes worry that by moving forward in my life with big, life-changing decisions, I will lose something important to me. And so I hang on to the present circumstance like a crutch. Better the devil you know, right?

The rich man thought he had it in the bag by “following all the rules” of his religion (Mark 10:20). His question — “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Mark 10:17) — was rhetorical. In a manipulative, self-congratulatory way, he approached Jesus — even kneeling before him. He had self-righteously fooled himself into believing he already knew the answer. The gospel writer doesn’t even assign the rich man a name, underscoring the fake, surface nature of the man’s presence.

But Jesus cuts through the crap, skims the fat off the top, and goes to the jugular! Indeed, “the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword” (Hebrews 4:12). Jesus sees through the rich man’s pretense, and uncovers the real, authentic person beneath the surface. There he finds an enslaved heart, and brings to light the truth:

In order for the man to be liberated and set free, he has to surrender what owns him, what captivates and grips his soul: For him — it’s material possessions. For someone else, it might be different. But he has to learn, if he wants to grow, to let go and not hold on to those things that keep him stuck.

It is not in hanging on, but in letting go when faith makes sense. Faith, for Martin Luther, was more an attitude of trust and self-abandonment. He wrote, “Faith does not require information, knowledge and certainty, but a free surrender and a joyful bet on God’s unfelt, untried, and unknown goodness.”

This may seem impossible, even undesirable. We don’t want to let go of those things that have defined us for so long. Whether we are talking about buildings, or investments, or our image, our special collections of treasurers we keep in our homes — how can we do this?

Those leaves that were clinging on to the oak tree through the winter would eventually have to let go. Why? Because the new buds in Spring will push them off, whether or not they like it!

Will we wait until forces beyond our control compel us to let go? When a crisis happens? When we no longer have any choice but to yield to the inevitable?

But have we heard the promise of God, here? Because we’re not letting go of whatever we need to let go of into nothing. Our choice to release our grip isn’t a release into emptiness. In our letting go we are making a certain bet on God’s goodness.

There is comfort and hope here: For, in God’s economy nothing is lost. In some mysterious way, even though I feel like I have lost something dear when I let go, I can trust that someday God will use what I have lost and reconcile it to my life again.

The rich man went away grieving. I hope the story didn’t end there. I hope that after the rich man had some time to think about it, he would have returned to Jesus. That’s all.

That’s all we need to do: Turn to Jesus with an open and honest heart. Why wouldn’t we? You see, when Jesus told him to sell all, the scripture inserts the phrase that “Jesus loved him” (v21). Jesus loves us, first and foremost — and it’s not a fake love, it’s real! 

How is this possible, when obviously this man is missing the mark? How can Jesus love such a sinner?

Yet, when we turn our hearts to Christ, we discover that God accomplishes what we cannot, and what often comes as a surprise to us. I like the Scots Confession (1560) written shortly after Martin Luther’s death (1546): It says, “… God accepts our imperfect obedience as if it were perfect, and covers our works, which are defiled with many stains, with the righteousness of his Son.”

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:15-16).

God will complete the “good work” begun in each of us (Philippians 1:6) — that nothing good in our lives will ever be wasted, but will further the reign of Christ on earth. This means that those who do not have what I have will benefit from my “letting go”. And in so doing, I, too, will receive abundance from others — whatever I need.

All things are possible with God, even sticking a camel through the eye of a needle (Mark 10:25). We can’t conceive of God’s wonders. But it’s not about us. It’s about what God can do.

And God can do anything. Even bring justice and peace where it doesn’t exist now. Even feed the hungry, raise up the poor, humble the proud and mighty. Even overcome the greatest challenges we face.

So, I can be bold and let go even when it’s not easy — but important and necessary. And then watch and wait for the new thing that will sprout in Spring.

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Prayer is a subversive public act

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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

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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.

Healing (Mark 7-8)

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What do the Gospel texts from Mark 7 & 8 teach about healing?

Comparing the texts reveals similarities and significant differences:

Both texts involve healing of men. In both, Jesus employs touching their ears/tongue/eyes with his hands covered with his saliva. In Jesus’ action, he definitely gets his hands dirty. And, both texts conclude with Jesus’ ordering the healed not to tell anyone about what happened.

The most significant difference is, whereas the healing in Mark 7 is immediate the healing in Mark 8 occurs in stages. After the first stage of touching, Jesus asks, “How’s it going?” And the man replies that although he can see, his sight is still blurry — the people look like trees walking around. And so Jesus does it again … finally getting it right? Good question.

Was Jesus not firing on all cylinders in this healing? Did Jesus need to attempt it the second time to get it right? I don’t think so.

I think Jesus was demonstrating a truth about healing: it’s more often than not a process that takes time and is not just about once and for all eliminating the problem.

What is healing? It’s more an approach to living with the problem rather than denying it or fighting against it.

Healing is not about Jesus coming to us in order to rid our lives on earth from any suffering whatsoever. Otherwise he wouldn’t be ordering everyone he healed to be quiet about it. Otherwise he would have cured everyone’s diseases while on earth.

Jesus was more about opening the way for all people to be made whole through the Cross and the empty tomb. Jesus still carried his wounds in his side, hands and feet — even in his resurrected body! This is important!

We are made whole when our wounds no longer define us, defeat us and cause us to harm ourselves and another. We experience healing when our wounds help us to stay humble, patient, honest and more open to trust. “Ephathah” — the beautiful word spoken by Jesus means: “Be opened!” Healing is an openness of heart, regardless of our circumstance of suffering.

And finally, our wounds — when undergoing healing in Christ — develop in us a compassion toward the weaknesses, woundedness and sufferings of others.

When roots show

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Roots are, by nature, unseen. They do their work below the surface. Roots absorb the nutrients and cherished water from deep within the earth. In fact, the deeper the root system the stronger and more enduring the plant, shrub or tree above.

The invisible character of the vital roots of any plant species draws a close parallel to spiritual truth: What exists internally, not easily seen but deep below the surface of things, is important in understanding the whole.

In North America we are often distracted and mesmerized by external, materialistic realities — whether how something or someone looks, or the stuff we own or acquire, even our over-emphasis on action.

When the roots show, however uncommon an occurrence, a deeper truth emerges — a serendipitous reminder to us exhausted, forever-running people.

For roots to show, something counter-intuitive has happened over time:
People have walked the path, stayed true and faithful to a practice of returning to their roots.

This may be a discipline of contemplative prayer. This may be honoring silence and stillness so that not the surface ego compulsions, but rather the true self rooted and sustained in God emerges.

For all to see. And invited to follow down the path forged by others before, and followed in faith that others still will come again.

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Life under re-construction

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The re-construction of Victoria Street began in late June. This average-looking, common-place road in the heart of a small town in Ontario was undergoing a radical change for the better.

Something new was going to be constructed that would mean a better, safer and more reliable roadway, both for what is above and below the surface of the asphalt. In short, something good was going to come out of all the disruption, detours, noise and dirt in my neighborhood.

Perhaps your life reflects times of re-construction. These often disruptive experiences can shake us to the core and may initially feel unwanted, uncomfortable. They can also offer opportunities for growth, maturity and — at the end of it all — realizing a better place in your life.

But how do we get from the rough place to a better one? How can we see the work of re-construction not as a negative but as a positive?

Well, the first thing I observe about what’s happening on Victoria Street is that all the planning and organizing is done with the long view in mind. In other words, re-construction takes time. Though the shovel broke the earth in mid-June, it will likely be late Fall by the time the work of re-construction is completed.

To realize this vision of completion (the biblical definition of “perfection”), the workers need to implement intermediary measures. For example, for several weeks they need to ensure portable generators are in place to pump drainage water through long, large rubber hoses laid along the length of the street. Before any new permanent structures can be installed, time is needed to remove the old and ship in the new.

Life re-construction, if it is to be effective and enduring, requires the long view. It is seasonal, and experiences ups and downs, occasional setbacks, like taking two steps forward and one step backward. It may take some interesting twists and turns before you are done.

In Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus, he exhorts the people that in order to “speak the truth in love” they must “grow up” (Ephesians 4:15). The phrase “grow up” is often directed at misbehaving children. But this is an directive to adults as well. Growing up in Christ is a lifelong process.

When the prophet Nathan called King David out to confess his sins of adultery and murder, King David found himself at a milestone on his life’s journey (2 Samuel 11:26–12:13a). A significant indication of David’s desire to grow in faith and maturity in his relationship with God and others around him was his honesty; he did not deny his sin but confessed it immediately to Nathan. And it would take a lifetime for David to live out the consequences of his sin. His confession was but a step on this journey of healing and growth.

It is natural to be discouraged by setbacks on life’s journey. But stay on the path. Pray for the gifts of persistence, endurance and patience. Take the long view; transformation is a process not a one-time event.

Another aspect I notice in the re-construction of Victoria Street is the very reason the work had to be done in the first place. Yes, the surface of the road was getting full of pot-holes. But it was more the stuff deep below the roadway that needed a complete overhaul.

You see, Victoria Street runs along the bottom of a ravine. And the road is located in town; therefore this street is connected to all the municipal services, including water and sewer. After torrential downpours anyone living along that street would get sewer back-up and flooding in their basements. Why? Because the culverts and buried pipes constructed half a century ago are not adequate enough to deal with any overflows and demands of the present day.

Huge concrete casings, like giant cement vaults, need to be buried underneath that particular roadway to connect and drain sewer and storm runoff — to solve the problem.

No good talking about the piping and drains under streets up on top of the ravine. No use blaming the rain fall! The problems are on Victoria Street! It’s about the infrastructure underneath Victoria that is the source of the problem, and what needs to be exposed to the hard work. No where else.

In life, reconstruction is about YOUR stuff! No one else’s! In the famous Psalm of Confession (51) where David prays fervently to God for forgiveness and healing, he also confesses something I think we sometimes forget in all our confessing: David acknowledges the “truth deep within me” (v.6), a truth that reveals good things too: wisdom, for one. Confession is not just about opening up to the bad within, but acknowledging the good that is there too.

And we can experience the good when we take ownership of our own stuff. Positive change doesn’t happen until you accept the truth about yourself. As soon as you catch yourself blaming someone or something else for your problems, you are likely missing the opportunity for growth, renewal and transformation in your life.

And that is why it is so important to undertake the journey of reconstruction with others. Reconstruction involves a community. Paul follows his exhortation to “grow up” by offering that famous image of the body of Christ. Growing involves the whole body, “joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped …” (verse 16).

I believe what motivates the workers on Victoria Street over the long haul is that they can envision what it’s all going to look like one day. They can see in their minds eye the final result of all their labour. Therefore, hundreds of people are working on Victoria Street — traffic guides, contractors, town officials, engineers, workers — like busy bees all working together, interdependently.

Whether you see it or not, others can see in you a vision of the new thing God is doing in your life.

Life under reconstruction is not a solitary enterprise, even though our instinct may draw us to seclusion and isolation when bad things happen. Privacy and confidentiality are important to respect; nevertheless beware if these modern ideas provide instead an excuse to hide from others under the pretense of invulnerability. Be open and honest, like David was to Nathan for knowing his darkest secrets. Try trusting others. Find a confidant. Open yourself up to God.

God’s grace persists and perseveres. It may take a long time. Digging deep may even hurt. But the grace and the faithfulness of a loving God mediated through co-travelers will, in the end, bring us to that place of wholeness and healing.

It is also in the poetry of the Old Testament where we read over and over words that communicate what stands out in David’s life: God’s anger lasts but a moment; God’s steadfast love endures forever. The same is true for us.

Thanks be to God!

Amen.

Thanksgiving is a Spiritual Discipline

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“Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

Thanksgiving is a choice. Because if we wait until the time is right, if we believe that thanksgiving is only expressed in prosperous times, when enjoying perfect health, budget surpluses, and when peace on earth reigns — I’d guess thanksgiving wouldn’t apply to our practice of faith at all, would it?

Saint Paul encouraged the people of Thessalonica to “give thanks ALWAYS”. He was writing to a fledgling church bowing under the pressures of the culture. Early Christians there were targeted for unpatriotic behavior and often called to testify their loyalty (or not) to Julius Caesar and Emperor Octavian, considered widely as “God” and “son of God” respectively.

Under these oppressive cultural and political circumstances, why would you give thanks? When likely suffering from some form of persecution, for what would those Christians be thankful?

Saint Paul wasn’t naive. But he was wise. Because a heart oriented in faith in Christ, is a heart that instinctively seeks to emphasize the good, the positive, the hopeful, the silver-lining. Otherwise, why have faith? There is bad, to be sure. But there is always also some good. What is the good, even in a bad situation?

A loving phone call. Someone’s smile. A grandchild’s laugh. A note in the mail from a friend. Warm, sunny weather in Fall-time, a restful night, a few pain-free hours, etc., etc., etc.

A heart of thanksgiving does not live in denial of the harsh realities of life. It only holds those harsh realities in the larger perspective of faith. And our very lives are held always in the hands of a loving God. The end of history is the triumphal God the Father, the Son and Holy Spirit. Despite all that is bad in our world, we ARE heading toward that end where the Lord stands victorious!

Thanksgiving is a discipline because we have to be intentional about it. It isn’t always easy. We are called to make the time to remember the blessings of each day, no matter how tough it can get.

In an article written to the “Canada Lutheran” magazine this past summer (Vol.26,No.6,p.31), Bishop Michael Pryse of the Eastern Synod – Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada relates what someone once suggested to him: “Life is not just a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow, what a ride!’ That’s the kind of spirit,” concludes Bishop Pryse, “I’d like to see more of in our churches.”

It’s the spirit of celebration and thanksgiving, despite the circumstances.

Happy Thanksgiving all!

Pastor Martin