Tag Archives: theology

Waiting, still

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Waiting for a response is not easy. After texting someone I’m usually impatient to get a response from them. Anything. And when they don’t, my blood starts to boil!

This whole notion of texting etiquette is a new one, of course. Back in the days when you had to actually pick up a telephone — one usually attached by a cord to a wall — to reach someone, it was pretty normal to wait an hour or two, or even more, to get a call back. And heaven forbid, you should actually send a letter — through the mail! You could wait weeks, even months, to hear back.

So, why do certain people wait hours to text back? One expert says the answer is pretty obvious: The person at the other end isn’t interested in communicating with you. A slow, or ignored altogether, text response is at root an expression of social rejection, usually excused by the socially acceptable reason: people are too busy. (http://www.inquisitr.com/1412393/text-me-back/)

I’m confronted by the need to learn how to wait. When you don’t have control over the timing of another’s response, your waiting is about letting go and being ok in the present unknowing.

Waiting and not-knowing are valuable, and legitimate, characteristics of leading a faithful, Christian life. Which, at first, might sound counter-intuitive. Like: How can you have faith and also doubt?

Jesus validated Thomas’ doubting the resurrection (John 20:19-31). Jesus did not chastise Thomas for his need for evidence. In fact, he acknowledged Thomas’ demands by inviting him to touch the holes in his hands and side.

The curious thing is that the Scripture does not indicate Thomas actually touching the scars of Jesus’ wounds. He simply confesses his now belief: “My Lord and my God”. Thomas does not need to follow through on his condition for believing, which was putting his finger in the mark of the nails and his hand in his side (v.25).

Jesus then underscores the point about having faith: Blessed are those who have not seen (i.e. have scientific proof) and yet have come to believe (v.29). Having faith is about not needing to have all the information, all the facts, all the evidence at one’s disposal. There’s a quality of faith that defies the rational, cognitive-centred, explanation-driven character of Christianity especially since the Reformation. It’s almost as if we have forgotten that faith is as the author of Hebrews puts it: “… the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (11:1).

The quality of knowing (i.e.) faith that does not need to ‘know’ is reflected in a life of peace. Because as long as we feel we need to fix everything, as long as we believe we have to explain everything, as long as we feel we need have all the information before we can have faith — I am convinced we are not a people at peace with ourselves, with one another, with the world and even at peace with God. Peace is, as the Apostle Paul put it, that “which surpasses all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

After Jesus was raised from the dead, you’d think he would want to shoot straight to heaven to be at the right side of his Father. Why would he even want to bother with humanity – this frail, broken, weak, sin-infested form he shared with us for thirty-three years? His temporary break from blissful eternity was hard enough. Why would he want to relate any more with human beings who, in their own delusion and compulsion, murdered him? Why would he want to re-connect with his ‘friends’ who betrayed, denied and deserted him in his hour of need? He is, after all, the divine Son of God whose rightful place should be at God’s right hand in heaven, no?

The disciples didn’t need to wait long for Jesus to return to them. You could say, he didn’t ignore or put off their message of fear, doubt, longing and sadness. He responded right away, even though he wasn’t in his usual ‘human’ form — after his resurrection he walked through locked doors, appeared and disappeared into thin air and the such. Re-connecting was more important, though. He wanted to re-assure them.

The book of Revelation reveals the expectations of the early church: That Jesus was coming back soon, and very soon. “Look! He is coming with the clouds! … who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty” (Rev. 1:7-8).

Indeed, the early Christians lived with the expectation of the immanent return of Jesus at his second coming. Of course, after two thousand years of waiting, Christians have learned how to live in anticipation when we don’t know exactly when that time is. We may still need to wait for a long time to come.

Nevertheless we have the promise of scripture that Jesus does care for us, and will not hesitate to come to us. So, perhaps God is trying to tell us something here. 

Perhaps the value of our faith is not just about when that time comes, down the road. Perhaps the value of our faith is not just about eternal life in the far-off distant future. 

Perhaps there is value in the waiting, itself. And when we get impatient or perplexed, perhaps there’s something we are not seeing in the here and now.

Perhaps Christ is coming back to us all the time, and we just don’t see it. In the sacrament, in the Body of Christ — the collective unity of the Church, in the relationships we share, in the ordinary events of our lives. What are the glimmers of grace, the rays of hope, the good that you see in others and in the world? Where is Christ present for you, in life, today?

I saw a framed quote on the living room wall of someone I was visiting this past week; and it said: Not every day is a good day, but every day has some good in it.

We are a waiting people, yes. But people who wait have a choice to make: we can either ignore, deny, get down on ourselves and the world; or, we can learn to appreciate, be thankful for, exercise gratitude — all those moments and experiences where, in truth, Jesus comes through the doors of our hearts locked in fear: And tells us, “Peace be with you.”

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

Part B

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I don’t have many bad memories from my youth. But recurring is one from exam time in highschool. This memory brings back desperate feelings of failure, despair, and shame. The exam was for a history or English course. And it was only a one-pager!

I recall sitting down in the large gymnasium at the start of the exam period looking down at the simple Part A question, and thinking to myself: ‘I got this one in the bag!’ Instead of writing my answer down on that page underneath the question, I wrote down about five pages on extra sheets I asked from the exam moderator. Usually, I took the entire allotted time to write my exams. I remember, however, with this one I finished much earlier.

After checking over my in-depth and complete answer, feeling satisfied and even smug with my work, I signed off on it and left the room with a hop in my step. I felt confident that I had performed to my usual high level of competency in a subject matter that I liked.

You might imagine the horror I felt shortly thereafter when I learned from others why it was that I happened to finish so early.

“Martin,” a friend asked me, “What did you write for the Part B question?”

“Part B?!!”

“Yeah, on the second page.” 

Alas! The one-pager was double-sided. I didn’t think to turn the question sheet over to do Part B. I had only completed the first half — Part A — of the exam. I didn’t finish the entire test. I. Was. Doomed.

In the Gospel for today (John 6:51-58), Jesus uses carnal language that borders on the cannabalistic. “Eat my flesh. Drink my blood.” What are we to make of this arresting, vivid, corporeal language?

Well, the Pharisees have an answer. But theirs is the usual mind-tripping, logical finagling. They take everything literally! “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” they ask. This style of intellectual, rational mind-gaming is reminiscent of when earlier Jesus spoke of being born again — and again the Pharisee Nicodemus gets trapped in his head: “How can a man go back a second time into his mother’s womb and be born again?” (John 3:1-4).

The Gospel of John and especially this text (6:51-58) evokes images of ingesting, chewing, and gulping — and relates this to our relationship in Christ Jesus. Language like this pervades the Gospel, right from its inaugural, tone setting words: “The Word became flesh” (John 1:14).

The Word is not just a doctrine or idea. The Word is not just a mental picture that we frame with rational explanations, logical arguments and eloquent words about Jesus. That is only Part A.

There’s a Part B that needs to be completed in order to get at the fullness of truth of Jesus relating to us and the world God creates. When we talk of Christian theology and even Christian discipleship, we must go beyond saying: “Let’s follow Jesus” or merely have conversations about Jesus, or think about Jesus, or construct nice ideas about Jesus. 

We must learn to confess that Jesus not only wants our thoughts, Jesus wants all of me/us — every aspect of our lives including our bodies, our exercise, our diets, our play, our work, our relationships. Jesus wants more than our Sunday mornings. He wants Friday night and Wednesday morning as well. A local church had this message on their front-lawn sign last week: “Jesus doesn’t want weekend visits; he wants full custody.” 

Worship is only Part A. Part B is when we walk out that door when worship is over. If our prayers and songs and statements of faith during worship on Sunday morning — as glorious and uplifting and inspiring as they may be — do not translate into meaningful, concrete action consistent with our faith Monday through Saturday, then our worship is really, in the words of Saint Paul, “a noisy gong or clanging cymbal” (1 Corinthian 13:1). The Psalmist confesses to God: For you have no delight in sacrifice; if I were to give a burnt offering, you would not be pleased. The sacrifice acceptable to God is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise. (Psalm 51:16-17)

“People often daydream, and even share their fantasies, about what they would do if they won the lottery. Still, most people choose to keep their money in their wallet. In response, lotteries south of the border run commercials reminding us, ‘You can’t win if you don’t play.’ In a sense, Jesus is saying something very similar: ‘Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you’ (v.56). In these verses, Jesus demands more than intellectual assent, more than fantasies of eternal life. Jesus asks for high-stakes, all-in participation, here and now.” (Sundays and Seasons, Augsburg Fortress, 2014, p.261) Jesus wants all of me. Part A and Part B.

I still passed the course, both because I did well during the term on assignments and such; and, because I passed the exam with a 50% score. Even though I messed up and had my blinders on, even though I did not complete the expectations of the exam, I could count on the grace of the instructor.

You see, I did not get a perfect score on Part A. Close, but not perfect. I should have therefore failed the exam. But the instructor knew me. Knew me well. And she knew I deserved to pass the grade. Despite my mistake, I still got credit for the course.

Where there is suffering in the real world. Where there is blood spilled and bodies broken. Perhaps it did take the Christian movement some centuries to work through their natural repulsion against the unadorned cross — an instrument of torture and death — to finally embrace the Cross as the central symbol of our faith. Because there is an important point to it.

That is where Christ is, in our lives and in the world. And it is there that we must go to find Jesus in the faces of those bloodied by war, by displacement, by injustice and violence — in whatever kind. It is there that we must go to witness by our giving and our own brokeness the truth and hope of the Gospel. It is there that we must go. The life stronger than death that God gives to the world in Jesus Christ always comes to us “in the flesh” and blood sufferings of the present time. It is there we must turn the page, and go.

Part B.
Lord, you have searched me out; O Lord, you have known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You trace my journeys and my resting places, and are acquainted with all my ways. Indeed, there is not a word on my lips but, O Lord, know it altogether. You encompass me, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain to it. Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I climb up to heaven, you are there; if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand will lead me and your right hand hold me fast. (Psalm 139:1-10)

  

Amen.

Step off the gas

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It was -20c and the roadways were covered with snow and ice. And yet, I was feeling pretty proud of myself. Coming into the west-end near Stittsville, the Queensway/417 (the main expressway through the city of Ottawa) was empty. And it was mid-morning on a weekday!

I was powering it through! A little snowfall wasn’t going to impede me. I was going at my regular speed in the passing lane and was wondering why very few were venturing onto the highway. And then I saw a car had spun out, resting perpendicular to me at the side of the 417 in front of the Canadian Tire Centre. It had struck the guardrail. And a little further on I witnessed another car spinning out of control.

I decided to slow down, and tapped the brake. Surely my four-wheel drive will keep me in control. And then I felt the wheels begin to float underneath me. I stepped on the gas to try to get grip. But the fish-tailing was starting to feel like a swan dive! I was losing it!

You drivers out there, what would you do? Thankfully in that moment, I remembered what my drivers-ed teacher taught me thirty years ago: Step off the gas! I think we instinctively associate stepping on the gas with more control — in all circumstances; the more I give, the more I expend, the more I put myself out there — the better it’ll be.

But in this case, the solution was to let go and just keep the steering wheel pointed forward. And as soon as I let off the accelerator, the four wheels found purchase, and I was able to recover. It is a little bit counter-intuitive for us in our get’er done culture to divest ourselves of the belief that doing more about something will save us from whatever predicament we find ourselves in. Sometimes, in tough situations, we just have to let off the gas, a bit.

Isaiah writes to a people in exile. Some six hundred years before Jesus, the people of God were taken to a far away land, in Babylon, where for some generations they made it their home. They had to let go of things precious, people beloved, and a way of life they believed to be sacrosanct.

But Babylon was not home. Jerusalem was. And now, gone was their temple worship. Gone were the symbols, rituals and constant reminders of who they were and who the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob was. Gone was their culture, their social structures, their familiar communities.

And, in its place were foreign languages, foreign gods and strange customs. The Psalmist recalls the tragic sense of their exiled life, where they lamented, and mourned their loss: (Psalm 137:1-6)

By the rivers of Babylon—
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there
we hung up our harps.
For there our captors
asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion!’
How could we sing the Lord’s song
in a foreign land?
If I forget you, O Jerusalem,
let my right hand wither!
Let my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth,
if I do not remember you,
if I do not set Jerusalem
above my highest joy.

To address this despair, Isaiah (40:21-31) offers some strategies for coping. First he holds in beautiful tension a paradox about God — two aspects of God over which theologians over the centuries have sparred: God is BOTH transcendent AND immanent. Not only is God up there “sitting above the circle of the earth (v.22), God also calls each part of creation “by name” (v.26).

Not only is God some far-away all powerful being, God is also personal, and calls to you by your name. God values what happens ‘on the ground’ in our ordinary lives. God’s love for us is revealed not only in the extraordinary, but especially in the ordinary lives of you and me. God cares.

Second, the prophet Isaiah encourages the people in exile not to forget their story, not to forget their history, not to forget what God had done for them in the past. Twice in this text the prophet asks the rhetorical questions: “Have you not heard? Have you not known? Has it not been told … ?” (v. 21&28). Of course they’ve heard! Of course they have been told! The problem is, they have forgotten.

A re-membering of their story — of God’s story with them — could strengthen their sense of identity, and bring forward to the present circumstances a hope that would see them through their loss. In other words, remembering for the future is an integral part of having faith in God.

Part of what it means to believe in God, is to believe in your story — and remember it! Remember what brought you to be where you are, today. Recall the most difficult times in your lives, and how God brought you through. Picture in your mind the people who where there, helping you cope and manage — friends, doctors, family, spouses, neighbours — people who came into your life at that lowest point and were like God’s angels to you.

Claim this story as your story of faith in a God who still makes good on God’s promises. The very fact that you are sitting in this room today is testimony enough to say: You survived! And not only did you survive — in many ways you thrived! And will so, again!

Not only do we remember who we are, we must remember who God is. God is in charge and whose thoughts and actions are way beyond our own capabilities (Isaiah 55:8-9). Therefore, our first job, especially when we are down-and-out, is to be patient. “Wait” is the direction from the prophet Isaiah. Just let off the gas a little bit. Saint Augustine wrote that ‘patience is the companion of wisdom’.

You might not need to do anything right now. What you really might need to do is nurture an inner life, an attitude, of watchful presence. Wait upon the Lord! — echoes throughout the poetry of the Hebrew scriptures (eg. from the Psalmist 27:16; 37) to a people yearning to renew their courage and trust. God is God; and we are not.

Waiting pays off for the people. King Cyrus of Persia (Isaiah 45) frees the exiles from Babylonian captivity — and the remnant of Israel finally returns to Jerusalem. Some 70 years they spent in captivity. Not all the people who left Jerusalem at the start of it saw the end of it. Many died in Babylon. But salvation is not individualistic. It is given to a people.

So, finally, Isaiah reminds us that just as it was for the Israelites in exile, our identity is in the larger collective. The narrative of our faith spans centuries. Our identity is corporate. As Christians, we call it “The Body of Christ” of which each of us is a member.

That means, even when we do not, individually, have a faith to stand up to the worst of the worst in life, even when our individual faith wanes from time to time, even when individually “I” have a hard time believing in God, “I” am not lost. There’s still a chance.

One of the downsides of an individualistic spiritual culture in which we live today, is to place unwarranted onus on ‘MY faith’ and ‘YOUR faith’ as the critical condition for ‘MY salvation’ or ‘YOUR salvation’. As if we are independent, autonomous beings. Many a death-bed confession — and this is common — involves anxiety about whether or not ‘my’ faith is strong enough, good enough. In those situations, especially, we need to be reminded that it is not ‘my’ faith or ‘your’ faith alone that will get you through this trial. It is the faith we share.

It is our faith together that helps us through the tough times. It’s not dependent on how good I am, or how strong my faith is. There is a people of God — “a cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1-2) — around me and you. There is a church, a community of faith — whose collective faith gets us through. This is the faith of our fathers and mothers, our predecessors, our forebears, the current saints in light, and the faith of those who will come after we are gone. I don’t think anyone would question that kind of faith. It is the collective, communion of saints in heaven and on earth praying for you, upholding you, during your personal exiles.

And, ultimately, it is the faithfulness of God that gets us through. Throughout the scriptures, salvation is described in this way: It is not we that have loved God, but that God has loved us (1 John 4:7-11). This is an integral, vital, part our story together. Let’s believe in it. And believe that God starts it all, and ends it all, for us.

For those who can’t stand doing nothing, who are frustrated by the notion of being patient and waiting, there may be something for you, in fact, to do: Practice. In all that you do, be mindful, aware and intentional in your prayer life. Because prayer is about letting go in time and space, and listening to God. Prayer is not about me, it’s about God.

I realize that part of what saved me on the highway this past week, was that I had practiced. I recall all those times that whenever I’m in an empty parking lot — even coming during the week into the church parking lot — I’ll have a little fun with it: I’ll spin around a bit — not recklessly doing donuts all over the place. But I’ll just get the car going enough to do a bit of fishtailing. I get the feel of it. So I know what I can do in a crisis.

Stepping off the gas in a spin out, works. And it takes a bit of practice.

Prayer for Iraqi Christians

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I will give the following prayer on Parliament Hill in Ottawa on Saturday, September 6, 2014 as part of a rally in support of persecuted, religious minorities in Iraq and around the world. The latter part of this prayer was adapted from “The Rhythm of Life: Celtic Daily Prayer” by David Adam (London, 2007), p.91-92

Creator God,
God of justice and truth,

You have heard our voices here today, for the sake of persecuted — not only, but especially now –Christians in Iraq: for the Syriac Church, the Assyrian Church, the Chaldean Church, the Yazidis, and others. Preserve the dignity of every human being. We pray that the world assembly of nations remain attuned and respond constructively to the atrocities and deplorable, evil acts of violence made against these people. Honour their lives, You who created them. And give them peace.

May our passion and focus abroad also reflect our commitment and responsibility to communities within Canada. Within our own borders may our relationships improve with religious minorities, immigrants, and between settler and indigenous people on whose Algonquin land we stand today.

Redeemer of the world, You have already the victory over sin and evil. So,
Let your kingdom come, as it is in heaven.
Let your peace reign in the world.

We pray:
That the barriers that divide people may be broken down.
Lord, have mercy.
That we may live in unity, peace and concord.
Lord, have mercy.
That we may come to mutual understanding and care,
Lord, have mercy.
Upon all who suffer from dissensions and quarrels,
Lord, have mercy.
Upon all who are torn apart by war and by violence,
Lord, have mercy.
Upon all who are divided in their loyalty and love,
Lord, have mercy.
That all who work for unity may be blessed,
Lord, have mercy.
That all who heal divisions may have hope,
Lord, have mercy.
That all who lead nations may seek peace,
Lord, have mercy.

May God enrich us with grace, and further us with heavenly blessing.
May God defend us in adversity, and keep us from all evil;
May God receive our prayers, and graciously bless all that we do, for others.
Let your kingdom come, as it is in heaven.
And give us peace. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Sailing Across

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Imagine standing at the shoreline of a great ocean. Linger on the span of the horizon, the boundary between water and sky. What kind of weather day is it? Is it windy? Are the waves crashing at your feet; is the ocean choppy, cresting with millions of whitecaps as far as the eye can see?

Or, is it a calm sea today? Just a gentle, rhythmic slapping of water on sand at your feet? Is the sun shining in a brilliant blue sky? Or, is it overcast — greys washing away any colour distinctions in your line of sight?

The lectionary brings together some bible readings for this Sunday in the Easter season that make an outrageous claim: God is in us. For, in God “we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). And, in the Gospel reading, Jesus tells his disciples that the Holy Spirit — the Advocate — “will be in you” (John 14:17).

Christian apologists in the last centuries have guarded against modernist, “new age” beliefs. They describe that Christians have always held the distinction between God and creation. Conservatives, especially, have been nervous whenever anyone suggests that a bit of God is in us, because that can easily slip into an unorthodox, pantheistic blending of boundaries. In other words, we humans are not God.

It is an important distinction, to be sure. It echoes Martin Luther’s emphasis during the Reformation on the supremacy of the grace of God. Similar to new-age doctrines whose ultimate meaning is found in the human self, ‘works-righteousness’ — that which Luther fought against in the sale of indulgences — implies the onus rests with us, when it comes to our salvation.

Works-righteousness means that we have to earn favour with God in order to get to heaven. It’s all up to us — what we decide, our good efforts to do the right kinds of things; the result of our works, therefore, determines the course of whether we are made right with God, or not. Luther, of course, argued against this line of thinking and acting.

So, standing at the ocean’s edge, would you venture out using a motorboat or a sail boat? Which kind of boat is a better metaphor to describe a life of faith? If our intention and hope was to land on the distant shore of complete union with God — or however you want to describe heaven — how do we get from here to there? On the one hand, will we ride the ocean of our lives using a motor boat?

A motor boat would certainly be the easiest method. We just aim in a straight line and power up. We would have control over the course; we would decide when to ease up on the throttle, for a break; we would decide when to give it gas, and race. We’d be in charge. Even against the wind and waves, whether in a stiff breeze or on a cloudless, placid sea, our direction is certain.

I suspect this is the preferred methodology, even when it comes to being the church and living our Christian lives. The onus is on us. And it’s up to us to determine the course and be in charge of our destiny.

I also suspect we would recoil against the notion that driving the motorboat is just like the kind of heresy the reformers of yesteryear and today rail against. Because ultimately our life, our death, and our salvation is not dependent on our doing, our agency, our efforts, our decisions — as good or as bad as they may be.

A sailboat, on the other hand, calls forth a different kind of skill set. It’s not that a sailor has no work to do. But this work is different: Without the benefit of an engine to drive, regardless of wind speed and direction, the sailor must be able first to pay attention to what is happening on any particular day.

Once wind speed and direction is observed, the riggings and ropes and rudder must be properly aligned in order to make any kind of headway.

At first, you may need to head in the opposite direction. Tacking into the wind is counterintuitive – sometimes you need to move away from your destination in order to move toward it.

Sometimes, tacking with the wind may mean heading right into an unattractive bank of dark, storm clouds. Sometimes relying on the wind means leaning your body in an uncomfortable position to maximize the best weight distribution. In truth, sailing is tough work.

But using this method of crossing the ocean, as inefficient as it might sometimes seem, is better suited to describe Christian discipleship. Even though doing the right thing sometimes may mean an inconvenience, even though following God’s call may be uncomfortable for us, even though being faithful may mean facing our fears and confronting head on that which we would normally avoid. Because we must depend on God. Our work is more in response to what God is already doing, and then trusting in God.

Those scriptures we hear today were given in the general context of Jesus leaving the disciples at his ascension. The Gospel is part of the “Farewell Discourse” that Jesus gives his disciples — words of encouragement and empowerment and promise. Jesus is trying to comfort his disciples who now have to continue doing Jesus’ work on earth.

But they are not alone in this work. It’s not up to them, alone. Jesus assures them they will do even “greater works” (John 14:12) than himself, but not without his presence in them through the Holy Spirit. The Spirit of God blows as it wills, because God is in charge. And because the presence of Christ lives IN us, the promise of God is true. We don’t have to be in control because not even death stands in the way of the promise and truth of God.

We need only pay attention to what is already happening around us, and respond accordingly. Even if at first the way appears inconvenient, counterintuitive, or cause us to be afraid. We can even sail right into the sunset of our lives, knowing that God awaits us on the distant shore.

Let us pray:

“Not as the world gives do you give,
O Lover of Souls,
For what is yours is ours also,
if we belong to you.

“Life is unending because love is undying,
and the boundaries of this life are but an horizon,
and an horizon is but the limit of our vision.

“Lift us up, strong Son of God,
that we may see further.
Strengthen our faith that we may see beyond the horizon.

“And while you prepare a place for us,
as you have promised,
prepare us also for that happy place;
that where you are we may be also,
with those we have loved, forever.

Amen.”

(Bede Jarrett in Flor McCarthy, “Funeral Liturgies” Dominican Publications, Ireland, 1987, p.181)

Not a prize to win but a gift to celebrate

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When the lost sheep is found, and the lost coin is recovered, there is much rejoicing in heaven (Luke 15:1-10). God celebrates. God is pleased. God is honoured. And all are invited to the party.

The shepherd’s friends and neighbours are invited to the celebration. The woman calls her friends over to rejoice together. For what has been found is so precious to the one who finds.

A couple of months after I was married, my wife and I raced to the beach in Goderich Ontario at the end of the workday. Because the bluffs overlooking Lake Huron there are high, you can watch the sunset twice. First at the beach level; then, as soon as the sun sets you run up the stairs some fifty feet to the top of the bluff, turn around and see the sun go down again.

That evening, we arrived too late to watch it twice. The sun was setting from atop the bluff when we got there. But we didn’t drive all the way there not take a short walk along the beach. So, after the sun set, we descended the steps and walked onto the sand as the day’s light quickly dissipated.

Because it was getting dark, we decided not to walk far, but just to sit down on the sand and watch the amazing array of yellows, blues, reds, and orange in the sky. Not only was it getting dark, but the late summer temperatures quickly plummeted. And it was getting cold.

And when our hands get cold, the blood vessels restrict and our fingers narrow somewhat. After about 10 minutes of sky-gazing, we went to get up to go, and with shock and horror I realized my wedding band was no longer on my finger. It had slipped off.

At first we froze in indecision. What do we do? Give up? Accept the loss? After all, to find a ring in a 25 square foot area buried in soft sand full of pebbles and wood chips in the waning light of day seemed impossible. Despair began to creep into my heart.

We said to each other that rather than just give up, we should at least try. So with a stick we drew a square in the sand, and on our hands and knees raked with our fingers every square inch of that boxed area.

It was nearing pitch black as we approached the last corner of our ‘fenced’ area. Suddenly the tips of my fingers felt something cold and metallic. I scooped up my ring and we darted up those steps feeling giddy and light on our feet. The joy, the relief! All was not lost!

In Luke 15, Jesus responds to the Pharisees with stories whose climax is a party, a rejoicing, a celebration. The upshot of the these parables is an invitation to all people, including the sinners and the tax collectors to join together in the celebration of God’s kingdom.

But what about the Pharisees? Are they included, too? I wonder about the 99 sheep left behind.

I wonder what the 99 sheep must have felt, when the shepherd leaves them alone to go after the one who has broken all the rules? What is the shepherd thinking? A crazy risk, wouldn’t you say? 99% of the shepherd’s assets are left unprotected, vulnerable. And, for what? One, lost, misguided, rebellious lamb?

I see a similar dynamic here to the elder son in the story of the Prodigal Son which immediately follows these ones in Luke 15. The elder son who has faithfully remained and worked on his father’s land resents his brother who is shown so much love and attention. And, for what? For running away, squandering his father’s inheritance, shaming the family only to return to the biggest party ever thrown? For him? How fair is that?

We see here that God’s economy is not based on merit, but on mercy. God’s economy is upside down. While our culture is built on merit, God’s kingdom is built on grace. For, God is merciful, gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love (Psalm 103:8).

What Jesus is saying to the Pharisees is that the sheepfold – the family of God – exists primarily for those who are not yet members of it – especially those we would consider ‘lost’.

Here we see some values that emerge from a focus on God’s character, values that we would do well to consider in the church.

Let’s say we are the sheepfold, the flock whose Savior is Jesus, the great Shepherd. Where do you think Jesus will be found? Based on this scripture, I’m thinking the attention of our Lord is focused, relentlessly, on those who are not yet here.

By implication then, whatever we decide to do in the church, we would do well to ask this question: Whose purposes does a certain action serve? Ourselves? Whom are we serving, in all our work in the church? Do we make decisions on programs and worship practices that serve our needs? Or, do we see things from the perspective of those who are not here every Sunday? — who are on the fringes of the community, who are somehow distant? What would benefit them?

Because that’s where Jesus is. He’s out there. Looking. Searching. And we know the end of the story: He invites everyone to the table for a celebration. Even the religious types.

When Jesus leaves the 99 in order to search out the one, when you think about it, the shepherd must be putting a whole lot of trust and faith in those 99. He wouldn’t leave them for a while without believing in his flock, believing they had the ability and the resources to do what they had to do during his absence.

God has faith in us all. God believes in each one of us. And God will have faith in anyone who returns home to live in loving relationship with Jesus – whether the sinners, the tax collectors, the Pharisees …. [complete the list]

Because it is a gathering for everyone to celebrate not a prize won, but a gift given by an all-inclusive God whose sights are set beyond the pen, beyond the borders of safety, beyond the walls of any church.

Window panes

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A retired pastor gave a group I was with last week some sage advice from a professor telling seminary graduates how to be ‘out there’ in parish land. Afterward I thought this may be helpful food-for-thought not only for public church leaders, but for anyone on the path to wholeness and health in their lives.

He said, “Be like a window. But not just any window; there are three basic windows you can be like.

“First, you can be like a stained glass window. People can first notice your beauty. What people see is the intricacy, the colour, the ‘picture’ you show — and the glass is perfectly constructed, wonderfully arranged; folks admire and gaze upon your image for hours at a time.

“Or, you can be like a cracked, dirty window pane. What people see and what you show are your wounds, your brokenness, your pain. When people see you they want either to ignore you and pretend you are not there. Or they might instinctively want to ‘fix’ you.

“Finally, you can be a clear window — transparent. You have nothing, really, to hide. You are who you are. In all your humanity you are not ashamed to reflect the truth in you that is Christ Jesus. The divine presence who created you to be who you are shines through you and illumines the world.”

What kind of ‘window’ describes you in your life now?

Thank you to Rev Orlan Lapp who is currently serving St Johns Lutheran Church, Germanicus in the Upper Ottawa Valley, Ontario, for this illuminating illustration.