Tag Archives: trust

Iceberg lessons

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She said she had driven all the way from Seattle. But it would be another four hour drive from where we were staying to the northernmost tip of Newfoundland. And she wondered whether it was worth it.

Her husband had planted the seed of doubt when she talked to him on the phone earlier that day. “All that way to stand on a mound of dirt, shiver in the brisk air, and look out onto a freezing patch of ice bobbing in the cold water?”

We were told that the last time Newfoundland had seen so many icebergs float into its myriad of bays and inlets was in 1912 — the year the Titanic sank after hitting one of these mammoth patches of ice.

Our itinerary on the Rock didn’t include a visit to Twillingsgate where over fifty icebergs, other tourists told us, crowded the bay there in early summer this year. But we were fairly positive, given the ideal conditions, that we might see some icebergs in the north near St Anthony and L’Anse aux Meadows, where we were headed anyway.

So despite the lack of enthusiasm from our travelling friend from Seattle, we set off up the highway. Four hours later we were rewarded with some incredible views of one of natures most extraordinary displays of beauty, power, size and transformation.

I suppose we could have chosen not to go — like the tourist from Seattle. Some folks, it seems, will not even want to consider the possibility of being transformed. But had we believed her justification for not going, we would have missed this golden opportunity for being enriched, yes, changed by seeing something new, something beautiful, in God’s creation.

Saint Paul uses this term only a couple of times in his letters to the early church. “Be transformed”, he urges the church (2 Corinthians 3:18; Romans 12:2). How are we transformed in Christ Jesus?

Seeing the icebergs taught me some Godly lessons about the journey of our lives, the journey of our transformation. So, what is the transformation that an iceberg undergoes?

First, it’s important to understand how the iceberg gets from point A to point B. The icebergs make their long journey following the North Atlantic Drift circulating the Baffin Basin from Greenland across to Baffin Island, down along the coast of Labrador and finally to Newfoundland. The icebergs we saw this summer were over a year in coming.

So, the first lesson of the iceberg is that whatever the transformation is, the change takes place over a long time. Enduring change in Christ is usually not sudden or immediate. The change addresses the deepest parts of our lives, even those parts wracked by sin — where our anger, our fear, our anxiety reside.

But because of its long-term nature, it’s easy to drop off and abandon the journey. We may feel it’s too hard and pointless a commitment since we see so little change in the short term. We can be discouraged, distracted, dismayed. We may choose, based on what we see in others around us, not to even bother. A.k.a. Seattle tourist.

But while inevitable that the ice will melt eventually and ‘die’ in whatever bay or cove it grounds upon, its purpose will be fulfilled in a unique way. The transformation is part of the bigger plan. In the end, it’s not about our choices; it’s not about us; as individuals we are not at the centre of our lives. It’s about God’s purpose, fulfilled in a unique and beautiful way through our individual selves. Each iceberg completes the journey in a way like no other, presenting unique shapes and sizes, landing on unique shorelines or melting out in the warmer currents of the open water.

The point is, however we change, we are still ourselves. In the transformation we undergo we don’t lose the best parts of ourselves. An iceberg still contains it’s basic elements of H2O. Just because the iceberg eventually dissolves it doesn’t lose the essence of its being. The iceberg’s transformation continues to incorporate its basic composition right to the end.

But — and here’s the rub — the change towards the good doesn’t occur without significant disruption.

One morning we walked down to the local coffee shop right on the rocky shoreline of Hay Cove, near L’Anse Aux Meadows, when we heard a booming ‘crack!’ Our heads turned immediately to the source of the thunderous clap: The iceberg nearest the shore had cracked in half. It had calved — shed part of its bulk and then slowly rolled over. We saw exposed to the air an icy wall that hadn’t likely seen the light of day for thousands if not millions of years. Remember over 80% of an iceberg lies underneath the surface of the water.

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The resurrection happens only because of the cross. There is no easy, short cut on the journey to being transformed in Christ, who modelled for us the pattern — the way — of dying and rising to new life. But this often difficult disruption seeks only to maintain balance and equilibrium; it is a redeemed disruption, so to speak. The iceberg in the water needed to shed part of its bulk so it could find a floating balance once again.

In the Gospel text for today (Matthew 16:13-20), Peter is redeemed. Jesus gives Peter the power and the grace to lead and be the ‘Rock’ upon which the church will be built. What an affirmation of Peter!

And yet, let us not forget the way Jesus had been with Peter over the years. This is the Peter who will deny knowing The Lord during his hour of greatest need (Matthew 26). This is the Peter who pretends to know all the answers when most often he gets it so wrong (Matthew 16).

Not only does Jesus show enduring faith in him, he lets Peter be Peter. Yes, at one point, Jesus even rebukes Peter (Matthew 16:23). But Jesus nevertheless lets him make his mistakes and do what he feels he needs to do, even though Jesus knows that Peter’s compulsion will more often than not get him into trouble.

Remember, it was Peter’s idea to come out of the boat and walk on the stormy water to Jesus (Matthew 14:28). He wanted to do it; this getting out of the boat and walking on the water was not Jesus’ idea. But Jesus let him do it anyway, even though it would get Peter into trouble. In other words, Jesus shows his love to Peter by accepting all of him — including his faults. This is the nature of God’s love — to love us ‘while we are yet sinners’ (Romans 5:8).

There is nothing symmetrically perfect with icebergs, as much as there is nothing morally perfect with anyone of us — despite the fact that we call ourselves Christians and say we follow Christ in the world today. We will, with time, break and crack. Bishop Michael Pryse attended the Canadian Lutheran-Anglican Youth Gathering in British Columbia last weekend, and he quoted the main speaker who said, “The church is like a glow-stick; it can’t shine until you break it!”

There is something true about this: That we can only fulfill our destiny — like icebergs do — when we accept the fact that we are broken, and will break, along the journey of life. When we come to terms with our brokenness, when we bear our suffering as our own, then the beauty of our lives can shine forth.

Denying our faults, pretending they are not there, or hiding them only leads to expecting those around us not to make any mistakes either. Well, that only leads to even more deception and lies. “Do not think of yourselves more highly than you ought,” Paul reminds us (Romans 12:3), appealing to a sense accepting and understanding our limitations.

Jesus saw the truth about Peter; that despite his brokenness, his pride and compulsion, the church needed someone like him. Jesus sees the truth about us, and values us, despite our faults.

We have to take the good with the bad, in ourselves and in each other. Then, in the honesty of the relationships in this place, the transformation of which Paul speaks takes place. In the sometimes cold and stormy waters of the baptism in which we began our journey, we continue in faith on the currents of God’s love. We can fulfill our mission only because of the faith God has in us.

Twins in the womb story

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Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived. Weeks passed and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy: “Isn’t it great that we were conceived? Isn’t it great to be alive?”

Together the twins explored their world. When they found their mother’s cord that gave them life, they sang for joy! “How great our mother’s love is, that she shares her own life with us!”

As the weeks stretched into months, the twins noticed how much each was changing. “What does this mean?” one asked.

“It means our stay in this world is drawing to an end,” said the other.

“But I don’t want to go,” said one. “I want to stay here always.”

“We have no choice,” said the other. “But maybe there is life after birth.”

“But how can that be?” responded one. “We will shed our life cord and how can life be possible without it? Besides, we have see evidence that others were here before us, and none of them has returned to tell us there is life after birth. No, this is the end. Maybe there is no mother after all.”

“But there has to be,” protested the other. “How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?”

“Have you seen our mother?” said one. “Maybe she only lives in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good.”

So the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear.

Finally, the moment of birth arrived. When the twins had passed from their world, they opened their eyes and cried for joy — for what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams. That is brith … and that is death.

(Anonymous, cited in Kim Nataraja, “Dancing with your Shadow”, Medio-Media 2010, p.163-164).

Breaking the Catch-22

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The concept of “Catch-22” came alive following the Second World War, particularly in the classic American novel of the same title by Joseph Heller. I suspect, if you need a reference point in the popular culture of the day, this book, I think, lay the groundwork for the successful TV sit-com “M.A.S.H.”

“Catch-22”, like “M.A.S.H.”, reads like a parody on war. Being serious in some ways but at the same time using humour, Heller un-masks the pretence of war, exposing the often absurd logic of warfare.

For example, he describes the irrational rut in which pilots got themselves trapped — a classic ‘catch-22’. The rule was that you had to be deemed ‘crazy’ in order to be grounded from flying combat missions, which obviously posed a real and immediate danger to one’s safety.

The ‘catch’ was, as soon as you, as the pilot, asked to be grounded because you believed you were crazy, you proved by doing this that you were indeed not crazy but of sound, rational mind. And therefore, because you were of sound mind to ask to be grounded from flying into extreme danger, you were ordered to return to flying those combat missions. Catch-22.

Catch-22 describes much of how we do things, but becomes particularly alarming and anxiety-provoking when we realize how we are stuck. When, all of a sudden, we see it for what it is — that what we have been doing for such a long time just isn’t doing any good any more. But, for whatever reason, we feel we need to continue doing it. Indeed, by continuing patterns that no longer are healthy, productive and good, we sow the seeds of our eventual self-destruction. This can be a habit or some compulsive, reactive even addictive behaviour.

But it can also relate to the way organizations function, like the church: We continue to do things today, that may have made a whole lot sense fifty years ago; but no longer serve the purpose for which that action originally was created.

For example, when we assume all our activity in the church is aimed at getting people into our pews; when, all along the purpose of the church from the beginning has been to get those of us in the pews out there in the world where God is. Instead of shifting our attention and action in a different direction, we continue to fret about “what we’ve always done” for ourselves in the church to save face and stay proud. And how is that working for us?

Or, on an individual basis, we continue to be trapped in our addiction because it makes us feel good. When someone suggests we ought stop doing it, we find all manner of reasons to justify continuing to do it. And how is that working for us?

At this point of recognizing our ‘catch-22’ and feel the onrush of anxiety, we have a choice: We can fall back into default-mode. And, I believe, for most of us, that means diving straight on into what some call: ‘action-itis’. That is, the solution to anxiety and fear is get lost in more doing, more talking, more of the same action. “Just do it!” the famous catch-phrase. But is that not merely intensifying the catch-22?

Peter is one of the most sympathetic characters in the New Testament — one of Jesus’ disciples — who embodies this compulsion to act. And act, often without thinking, without contemplation. It’s the unreflected need to ‘just do it’ — anything, in order to avoid the real work.

When Jesus poses a difficult question about death and suffering, he is first to jump up and clear the air, set things right, show that he’s got it all together. “I will not deny you, Lord!” “You will not die!” (Matthew 16:21-23; 26:35). His action and words are often premature, as he thinks he understands what it means to follow Jesus. And then the cock crows, and Peter is humbled to the point of tears when he realizes how he had indeed denied the Lord for the sake of his own self-preservation in the night of Jesus’ arrest. He comes face-to-face with his own failure (Matthew 26:75).

At the conference I attended on the west coast this summer I met many people from around the world. Many of them no longer associate with the church. Perhaps you know someone in your own families who no longer see the point of being part of the church. But they admitted to me they were — being at the mid-point of their lives — searching now for something more meaningful. But wondering how to leave their current troublesome circumstances of life, in order to move forward. They seemed to be stuck in a bit of a catch-22.

For example, I met a 44-year-old mechanical engineer who owns a successful, Italian aerospace company inherited to him from his father who founded it; and, a ‘successful’ 50-year-old Toronto Bay-Street corporate consultant. Because of various, recent life events both were realizing they needed something more in life; all the toiling and achieving and working hard and managing life’s course — all these things were not bringing a deeper satisfaction about life, anymore.

It’s as if both these folks, in the words of the keynote speaker, Richard Rohr, ‘climbed to the top of the ladder of life and suddenly realized they had been climbing the wrong wall’. A catch-22.

It’s a scary place to be, when suddenly we see how stuck we are. We will probably despair at the futility of all the work we’ve done to create the structures of our lives — whether our business, in our families, and even the church. It’s not to say it’s all bad, what we’ve done, to create the patterns of our lives. They served, at one point, an important purpose, to be sure.

But there comes a point, dear friends, where another path needs to be taken. Something deep within us, if we pay attention to it, nudges us forward out of the boat. But we also know that whatever the new thing is, won’t come easily.

In Martin Luther’s German translation of the Beatitudes of Jesus in the New Testament, he conveys the sense of: “Blessed are those who bear their suffering …” It is not a question of whether or not we suffer, or whether or not we can deny or avoid the challenging, difficult work that will come to us all. After all, Jesus himself said, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live …” (John 11:25-26). We all will die. We all will suffer. Whether we are Christian or not. Life will bring that to each one of us in a unique way.

So, the question of faith is: HOW will we bear that suffering? How will we appreciate the experience of this difficult change in our lives, individually and as a church.

How does Peter bear his suffering, in this Gospel text? How does Peter get to that point of ‘being saved’? When he sees the waves surrounding him, when he recognizes that his compulsion to do it by himself has gotten him into trouble — yet again!, when he is honest about his need for help, and calls out … Jesus saves him.

The text says, “But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened …” (Matthew 14:30). Often, in the scriptures, the wind is associated with the third person of the Holy Trinity — the Spirit of God. And one of the functions of the Holy Spirit, doctrinally, is to call forth the Truth (John 16:13; see also Luther’s explanation of the 3rd Article of the Apostles’ Creed in the “Small Catechism” where he says that the Holy Spirit leads to the “true faith”).

We can say that when Peter recognized the truth about himself, the truth of his deception of relying solely on his own initiative to accomplish God’s mission, he finally and literally came to his senses and confessed his need for God. You will notice that at first, “the wind was against them [the disciples]” (Matthew 14:24) when they first encountered the storm.

The path towards this personal acknowledgement — in the church we call it ‘confession of sin’ — is often a path that is honest with another person about our fears and our anxieties. It is a path that we may otherwise wish to avoid or blame someone else for. It is a path that makes us vulnerable to others because we are truthful about what really motivates us. It is a path that unmasks us, for who we truly are.

In one of Richard Rohr’s keynote addresses he said that “honesty leads to humility”. You can’t be humble unless you are first absolutely and completely honest. You can’t be humble and still pretend to be in charge and know all the answers. In one frightening, ‘letting-go’ moment on the Sea of Galilee, Peter was honest about himself, and humbled to the core when he cried out, “Lord, [YOU] save me!” Because I, honestly, can’t on my own.

But there is a good and wonderful news in this Gospel text; and here it is: There is a great love, and a better world waiting for us on the other side of our fear. This love does not deny who we are — including all our foibles and compulsions. But it is no accident that the single-most message repeated throughout the bible is: Do not fear/ Be not afraid. We can either shy away from what we need to do, or we can constructively engage our fears, focusing on the promise, and trusting in the bigger truth that is God’s presence and God’s grace.

Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived. Weeks passed and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy: “Isn’t it great that we were conceived? Isn’t it great to be alive?” Together the twins explored their world. When they found their mother’s cord that gave them life, they sang for joy! “How great our mother’s love is, that she shares her own life with us!” As the weeks stretched into months, the twins noticed how much each was changing.

“What does this mean?” one asked.
“It means our stay in this world is drawing to an end,” said the other.
“But I don’t want to go,” said one. “I want to stay here always.”
“We have no choice,” said the other. “But maybe there is life after birth.”
“But how can that be?” responded one. “We will shed our life cord and how can life be possible without it? Besides, we have see evidence that others were here before us, and none of them has returned to tell us there is life after birth. No, this is the end. Maybe there is no mother after all.”
“But there has to be,” protested the other. “How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?”
“Have you seen our mother?” said one. “Maybe she only lives in our minds. Maybe we made her up because the idea made us feel good.”
So the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear. Finally, the moment of birth arrived. When the twins had passed from their world, they opened their eyes and cried for joy — for what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams. That is brith … and that is death (cited from Kim Nataraja, “Dancing with your Shadow”, Medio-Media 2010, p.163-164).

We are a people on a journey. We are a church on a journey. And on a journey, there is no such thing as the ‘status quo’. Things are changing all the time. In truth, and especially when everything seems so uncertain, and fearful, we are in a great and holy time of transition.

But we need not hold back and be dumbstruck like a deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. We can act boldly in faith. Why? Because in the storms and transitions of life, Jesus is there, calling us out of our ‘boats’ of despair and ‘catch-22’ patterns of self-destruction.

And when the storm strikes and we are so distracted by our own agendas and compulsions we fail to fully recognize what has been true all along: The Spirit of God and the presence of Jesus is still active all around us and in the world. And, what is more, Jesus will save us, too!

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)

On the way

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For years now, amid the changing realities facing our lives in the church, I have found comfort and hope in a prayer — popular among Lutherans — from Evening Prayer in the old, ‘green book’ (The Lutheran Book of Worship). It goes goes like this:

Lord God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us, through Christ our Lord. Amen.

It is a beloved prayer. The risen, living Jesus indeed goes with us.

But do we go “by paths as yet untrodden”? Yes, in the sense that each of us experiences the journey uniquely; and yes, we can’t know exactly how we will experience that journey. And yes, frankly, that’s how it sometimes feels — like we’re all alone on this journey.

I think in North America especially, the journey of life here carries with it a “frontier” mentality. We are, after all, pioneers — this is part of our history: clearing bush from the land, forging paths never trodden through the wilderness.

And more often than not we are blazing this new path on our own. It’s up to us. This vision, I believe, has captured our imagination and plays a large role in motivating our work and our identity in the church, even.

No wonder we fell so isolated and alone when things change in our lives. No wonder we are so afraid.

The first Christians in the time after Jesus rose from the dead were not called “Christian”. In fact, they were called “Followers of the Way” — the way of Jesus. It wasn’t until in Antioch years later that those who identified with the way of Jesus were labelled, “Christians” (Acts 11:26). Those first disciples — like Cleopas and his friend, that we read about in today’s Gospel (Luke 24:13-35) — were associated with a faith that was predominantly about a journey.

I like how the King James Version of this text concludes: “And they told what things were done in the way …” (v.35). The presence of Jesus is experienced together on the journey of life, following in the way of Jesus.

What if we re-claimed our original identity as “followers of the way”? What if we re-considered our image for this journey of faith we are on? What if this way was not so much about “blazing a new path, not so much a “pioneering/frontier” mentality where we create the path?

What if the journey we are on is more of a caravan route, where we follow where another has already trod?

A man dies and goes to heaven. Of course, St Peter meets him at the pearly gates.
St Peter says, “Here’s how it works. You need 100 points to make it into heaven. You tell me all the good things you’ve done, and I give you a certain number of points for each item, depending on how good it was. When you reach 100 points, you get in.”

“Okay,” the man said, “I was married to the same woman for 50 years and never cheated on her, even in my heart.”
“That’s wonderful,” says St Peter, “that’s worth three points!”

“Three points?” he says. “Well, I attended church all my life and supported its ministry with my tithe and service.”
“Terrific!” says St Peter, “that’s certainly worth a point.”

“One point?” Golly. How about this: I started a soup kitchen in my city and worked in a shelter for homeless veterans.”
“Fantastic, that’s good for two more points,” he says.

“TWO POINTS!!” the man cries. “At this rate the only way I get into heaven is by the grace of God!”

“Come on in!”

For a caravan journey to work, it is by the grace of God. It is a pathway through the wilderness, to be sure. As one plods along its winding route, we nevertheless follow the tracks of the carts and wagons and footprints etched on the roadway and left by others who have gone before us.

Jesus beckons us forward, to follow along the path he has made. Jesus is the main focus on the caravan route.

Let’s not forgot who joins the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. Let’s not forget who does most of the talking — the teaching — on the road. Let’s not forget who is the host at the evening meal, and who initiates for the disciples their recognizing the living Lord when Jesus breaks bread. It’s not about us. It’s about Jesus.

There are some characteristics of this caravan journey, of note; to summarize:

First it is not a journey undertaken alone. In fact, on the caravan route it is folly to travel alone. One would do well to travel together with others for mutual support, consolation and protection along the way.

The caravan route is not a journey of isolation, but of ever-expanding community. From these post-resurrection appearances of Jesus to his disciples, the church moves out into the world. From the disciples’ faith emerges a mission “to all nations” (Luke 24:47). It is not a caravan that goes in circles around Jerusalem; rather, the route winds itself around the world. The Greek word for church is “ekklesia” which literally translates — “a people called OUT”. Yes, the momentum of Christianity is centrifugal — the journey is an ever-expanding mission towards the places where Jesus will be.

When asked about his success, Wayne Gretzky once said, “I skate to where the puck is going, not to where it has been.” He explains why: Imagine the fast-paced ebb and flow of the hockey game; Gretzky says, “Skating toward where the puck IS will always guarantee your arrival at a place where the puck HAS BEEN” — and that’s no good.

By following the caravan route, it is possible to discover where the risen Jesus is going in our world and not just keep going back to the empty tomb. As a popular American preacher once wrote, “Vision is not about looking in tombs for a risen Jesus. It is about listening to where he says he is going to meet us and striking out for it.”

Second, the journey’s value does not depend on our doing all the right things. For the seven mile journey to Emmaus, the disciples didn’t even know it was Jesus walking with them. Whether we know it or not, whether we are aware of it or not, even in our sadness or fear, and even when all around us everything points to the contrary of what we believe “should be”, Jesus is with us and walking with us, and talking to us. Are we listening? Are we following?

All the disciples do is practice some basic hospitality and welcome this intriguing stranger into their home. It is our job only to trust in the presence of Jesus when we gather to hear the word of God, listen to it, and break the bread at Holy Communion — and leave the rest to God.

It is our job sometimes to pay attention to however our “hearts burn”, because just maybe, it is of God.

Here is a variation of a blessing you may have heard. It is also popular among Followers of the Way today, sometimes requested at wedding ceremonies when two people embark on the journey of married life:

“The Lord go before you, to show you the way. The Lord go beside you, to hold you and protect you. The Lord go behind you, to keep you safe from all harm. The Lord go beneath you, to catch you when you fall, and show you the way up. The Lord be within you, to comfort you when you’re sad. The Lord be above you to give you grace.”

Adventing the New

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Christians observe Advent as a season in which we begin again. We start over. We begin a new church year. We return to the starting line, again.

The four weeks of Advent, leading to Christmas, also occurs at a time when everyone is getting ready to turn the page to a new calendar year. It is a time of drafting New Year resolutions, of wiping the slate clean, of starting some new discipline, of beginning again. These seasons are carried on the backs of hope and promise for something good, something better, and something new for our lives.

Although we feel the initiative rests with us to get the ball rolling on these good things, it’s a new beginning that doesn’t start with us, paradoxically. Our action to pray, to seek justice, to exercise, etc. is a response.

Liturgy acts this way. “The Lord be with you,” says the worship leader. And our response: “And also with you.” The prayer of Advent begins when another speaks a word to us. These scriptures upon which we reflect and those we hear read during worship are not ones worship leaders and preachers choose willy-nilly – our favorite, pocket bible verses.

No, in churches that follow a lectionary, these are assigned readings for the season. They were given to us. Advent prayer is essentially a prayer of response to something already there, already given. Our starting over and our returning to the Lord, happen because God is speaking a word to us.

Some fifteen years ago at the beginning of my parish ministry I remember visiting Mrs. Rose – I’ll call her. Mrs. Rose was well into her 90s when I began monthly visits to her home – she lived alone. She didn’t say much, not one for chit-chat, talking about the weather, no. She knew I came with the Eucharist, the Holy Communion.

So, we got right down to business. I would start the prayers – of confession, absolution, and consecration. And without even looking into the book for the words, she would join right in. This happened each time I visited her.

There were times I brought a prayer in her native language, German. I would start reading the 23rd Psalm in German, start praying the Lord’s Prayer in German, or sing a hymn she learned, and memorized, at her confirmation some 80 years ago. And each time I started into those readings and songs, she needed me only to begin – then she was able to join in and complete the prayer.

She represented for me a life lived in response to the new thing God does every day in our lives.

I sat by her deathbed in hospital some years later. Mrs Rose didn’t say anything anymore. And what she did say didn’t make a whole lot of sense, whenever family came to chat. But she was awake, aware of other people’s presence, listening carefully. And whenever I began those prayers she had learned by heart, especially the German ones, she launched into a near perfect recitation.

What word is God speaking to you this season? And are you willing to trust that word from God, in order to take the first, risky step towards the new thing God is doing? And live your life in response to the good, unexpected thing God is doing and saying?

Like Joseph (Matthew 1:18-25), who was willing to go against convention, and maintain his relationship with Mary — all from a dream he had from God.

Impossible demands Incredible love

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Mark Wahlberg is known for his acting prowess in films like “The Perfect Storm”, “Italian Job”, “The Fighter” and will star in next year’s “Transformers” sequel. He recently gave an interview with CNN’s Piers Morgan about the transformation in his life – from being a brawler and coke addict as a teenager to being a faithful Christian who now starts each day going into a church to pray.

Piers asks Mark Wahlberg, “What do you pray for?” He basically answers by saying he wants to be the best person he can be – responsible, a good neighbor, father, son, and servant to God.

On one level, I appreciate very much when popular, culture icons like Mark Wahlberg give public testimony to the Christian faith. His example gives a positive impression to the power of prayer, especially among younger people. “What do you pray for?” seems to strike a chord, since it is fashionable for skeptics who question God’s loving existence to point to unanswered prayer. Have they considered the very goal of prayer?

In the Gospel of John, one of the first words recorded out of the mouth of Jesus when he meets up with a couple of his disciples are: “What are you looking for?” (John 1:38). Apparently Jesus, too, recognizes the significance of, first off, identifying what it is we want, or expect, from God.

We may feel like the early disciples of Jesus did, then, when they asked Jesus: “Teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1). Jesus responds by instructing them to say what has become known as the “Our Father” or “The Lord’s Prayer” – the paramount prayer of Christianity.

So, what does Jesus tell us to ask for? In Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer (Luke 11:1-4), the first thing we ask for is “Thy Kingdom Come”. Perhaps this can give us a clue to the aim and nature of our Christian prayer.

In the interview, Mark Wahlberg says that he would rather give favours than receive favours. It is natural, is it not, to want to believe that our redemption and transformation will happen as a result of our good efforts? Even prayer becomes about telling God what we want and desire, about actualizing our dreams for a better world and life by our energy and efforts and eloquence.

There is much in this Gospel text to suggest that our growth and maturity rests with our initiative: “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened” (v.9-10). We resonate with those words, don’t we? They roll off our tongues easily enough! And we tell ourselves to buck up!

Yet, how many times have we given up on prayer because what we asked for so diligently hasn’t come to pass? We may have prayed and prayed and prayed for release from some kind of bondage or for someone else’s well being. And whatever it is continues to burden our lives. The issue remains unresolved.

This conundrum might be best described with forgiveness. In the Lord’s Prayer we ask God for forgiveness. But this forgiveness, it seems, is conditional upon our ability to forgive ‘everyone’ indebted to us! “Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us.”

That’s a tall order! Yikes! Have I forgiven – truly forgiven – others who have hurt me? And not only the one person that first comes to mind – but everyone who has ever hurt me? If not, will God forgive me?

Right after the Lord’s Prayer Jesus tells a rather weird story about going to a friend in the middle of the night to ask for three loaves of bread. Notwithstanding the awkward position in which you would be putting your friend in the middle of the night, why on earth wouldn’t you have something as basic as bread in your house at any given time?

Why would you be all out of bread in the first place? In a culture devoid of corner stores and open-all-night Seven-Elevens, you would think folks in Jesus’ day would plan ahead and have food stored up. Obviously a subtext of Jesus’ story here is the irresponsibility, laziness, short-sightedness, and sinfulness causing you to go to your friend in the first place.

How many times have I withheld grace or forgiveness from someone because I have felt they haven’t done their part enough to deserve my help?

On one hand I admire the person going shamelessly and boldly to the friend. It takes guts to interrupt someone, especially at night. Perhaps we can learn from this the trust and confidence you have in your friend to help you. Similar to the trust and confidence we are called upon to place in God.

Elsewhere in the New Testament the writer John expresses it this way: “I write the truth to you because you already know the truth” (1 John 2:21). We receive these words of Scripture and the word of God in Jesus Christ not because we don’t know it or don’t have it. We receive the words telling the truth of Jesus today because the truth and presence of Jesus already resides within us – at that deep level, in our hearts. The bible’s message is given to us to remind us, to help us re-member, what is already living within us.

And so with confidence, boldness, and shamelessness, we approach the “throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:13) with our pleas for help – even when those requests are misguided, selfish and born from our own weaknesses.

And this is the point, I believe, of the Gospel. Ultimately it is not about our efforts to make something of prayer and our relationship with God. Rather, it is about a God who will help us, no matter what. Jesus reminds us that God is always willing to offer us the help we need in order to live out the truth of Christ within us for the sake of the world which God so loved (John 3:16). Such is the incredible love of God even in the face of impossible demands.

While God receives all our prayers, however tainted with our ego compulsions, fears and neediness, the power of prayer resides in ‘thy kingdom come’ – which some ancient transcripts translated as “Your Holy Spirit come upon us and cleanse us.” Such a rendition is worth considering, because it is consistent with the last verse (13) of the text: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

I wonder about the positive changes we desire for our lives. I wonder about how we shall pray for the good things we seek for ourselves, those we love, the church, and the world around us. What do you pray for? – the Holy Spirit? – the deep yearning for an experience of God’s love and grace and forgiveness? – that our lives be transformed according to love of God for us and for the world?

Will we pray for, and in, God’s will?

When we pray, “Thy kingdom come” are we willing to let ‘my kingdom’ go? (Richard Rohr).

What do you expect from God?

Good things! Good things, for the sake and love of the world, in Christ Jesus.

Of marking a birthday

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I see not a step before me as I tread on another year.

But I’ve left the past in God’s keeping —

the future in His mercy shall clear;

and what looks dark in the distance may brighten as I draw near.

This poem by American writer of religious poetry, Mary Gardiner Brainard, occupies my reflection these days as I celebrate important birthdays both with families and parishioners. What I appreciate in these words is the acknowledgment of uncertainty about a ‘dark’ future. Even people of faith (can you believe it!) feel the anxiety of impending suffering and death. Especially as we age, in the latter years.

And yet, there is the hope of light beyond the dark. In southern Ontario we have recently experienced severe thunderstorms — even as I write these words! You know when a storm comes by looking at the sky and noticing the dark grey menace approach. It’s hard to believe in that moment of recognition that the sun is still shining somewhere above all that.

But what a relief and joy it is, after the storm passes, to glimpse the rays of light bursting through!

Marking a birthday is not just about a mindless party and excuse to indulge in our addictive behavior. But rather, birthdays are an opportunity to affirm faith in the future (despite the storms and uncertainties of life) and faith in the God who makes that glorious future possible.

And, to celebrate all these things with others.

Who are you gonna call?

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The induction, or installation, of a new pastor is a day to celebrate not only leadership in the church, but an occasion to review the role and function of the relationship between pastor, people and God.

Recently I was elected as “Dean” of the Ottawa/St Lawrence Conference. I have spent some time reviewing and reflecting on leadership, as a result. The jokes in comparison to ‘Dean Martin’ are interesting. I may be too young to appreciate the entertainment of ‘King Cool’ — member of the infamous ‘rat pack’. But I am old enough to remember watching the original, iconic Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd film ‘Ghostbusters’.

A nerdy tween in the early 1980s, I easily got hooked on the catchy theme song whose repetitive mantra was: “Who are you gonna call? — Ghostbusters!” The team would respond to complaints and investigate paranormal activity. Then, they would eliminate any potential threats. If ghosts appeared in someone’s house, “Who are you gonna call? — Ghostbusters!”

Every individual, every family, every community, every nation, every church — has ‘ghosts’ in the closet. And I think the ghostbuster culture has influenced the culture of church leadership today. For example, when there’s a change in pastoral leadership often people expect the new guy or gal to exterminate any proverbial ghosts in the church closet. The new pastor will swoop in, identify all the problems and miraculously make things better. “Who are you gonna call? –A new pastor!”

He or she will use the tools of their trade — their exceptional skill sets at conflict resolution, their managerial and organizational abilities around the council table, their charisma and eloquence in the pulpit, their compassion and listening skills by the hospital bed. When congregations — as they all do — bear the emotional weight of past failures, unrealized dreams or struggle with scars of past conflicts or fears about the future … “Who are you gonna call? — A new pastor!”

Here comes Pastor (fill in the blank) in his flowing robes and swagger! Glorious! “Who are you gonna call? — A new pastor!” Save us!

Well, I hate to break it to you… but I think you know: YOU, and anyone else in this room, are not gonna do it. Because alongside our unrealistic expectations and pressures we place on ourselves to be successful and perfect, is the Word of God which states in no uncertain terms that it is God who will bring to completion the good work begun in us (Philippians 1:6). Alongside our fervor and toil is the Sacrament of the Table whose host is Jesus, reminding us that this thing we do in church is not about us but about God, God’s mission and God’s work in us.

The job of pastor and people working in mutual ministry is to pay attention to what God is doing, and respond honestly and with love to God’s call. We are in this together. Who are we gonna call? Let’s call on God!

Covenant: a relationship of truthfulness and fidelity

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In order to learn the faith, many Christians of the first centuries traveled into the desert of North Africa to the monasteries where the solitary monks lived and worked. There, a kind of contract was made between disciple and teacher.

On the disciple’s side, he or she promised to be completely open with the master — trusting to tell the truth about everything going on in her or his life. This wouldn’t always be easy — to make oneself vulnerable, to lay one’s emotional life down on the line, and to confess those secrets harbored deep in the recesses of the heart.

On the other side, the teacher promised to be faithful to the disciple and never abandon them in their journey of learning, discernment and maturity — through all the struggles that journey would bring. There was nothing the student could say about themselves or what they were thinking that would shaken or jeopardize the steadfast faithfulness of the teacher.

This contract between disciple and teacher was one of truthfulness and fidelity. From the early days of Christianity, learning the faith thus represented came to express the relationship Christians have with Jesus. Jesus is our Teacher, our Master, the Lord of all.

Discipleship means to follow Jesus. For us to follow in the Way of Jesus, are we not called upon to be completely truthful and honest to God about who we are? Personal, spiritual growth is enhanced when we are honest and vulnerable with each other and with Jesus in prayer.

Since the Scriptures were written down, the concept of Covenant has been used to describe the relationship between God and God’s people. This ancient, early Christian understanding from the Desert Fathers and Mothers can help us grasp how we relate to God.

A conviction of God’s everlasting, unwavering faithfulness to us opens the door of our hearts to be completely truthful about not only the good and righteous parts of our lives but especially the dark parts we normally wish to hide from others.

Thank you to Laurence Freeman for giving this example about the contract between disciple and teacher in his taped dialogue with the Dalai Lama in January 2013