Jesus Proclaims I AM! to each Forest

I AM the vine. You are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.

The Season of Easter is a time filled with excitement. We have witnessed the disciples, now apostles, preaching and healing; and the Gospels have shared resurrection appearances of Jesus. With resurrection fresh in our minds, we turn back to reflect on Jesus’ final words of wisdom given to the disciples. Jesus’ final words sound different and take on new meaning on this side of Easter. Karoline Lewis, professor at Luther Seminary, St. Paul Minnesota writes, “The Farewell Discourse is Jesus at his pastoral best.” Jesus shared much in his final intimate talk with the disciples, giving them what they would need to grieve, to understand what God had done, and the words to spread the story of Jesus Christ. Through the Gospel of John, Jesus proclaims a variety of I AM statements: I AM the Bread of Life, I AM the Light of the world, I AM the Door, I AM the Resurrection and the Life. I AM the Good Shepherd. I AM the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The final I AM appears in the farewell discourse, “I AM the Vine.” Lewis asks, “What difference does this image make as the last I AM revelation from Jesus?”

 

My initial thought of the image’s meaning is:

I AM the Vine. Rooted. Grounded. Living. Growing. Lifegiving.

But what difference does the image make and why is it revealed last?

 

Recently a beautiful living practice was shared with me that has helped me reflect on the question. It is a living practice that expresses a vine and branches idea. It expands the ‘I AM the vine’ into our context and speaks hope and resurrection to a people living in a world that is experiencing climate crisis. The living practice speaks to the heart and spirit of those trying to live faithfully in a sustainable way and taking seriously the stewardship of creation.  

 

I AM the vine – resurrected in DAISUGI.

Daisugi is an ancient Japanese forestry technique developed in the 14^th century in the Kitayama region of Japan. It is an example of silviculture; the science and art of growing and cultivating forest.

The practice chooses an established old growth tree, usually a variety of Japanese cypress. This mother tree is cropped straight across, removing its top canopy. Cedar shoots are grafted onto the cropped branches of the mother tree. These shoots are pruned every few years to ensure straight and knot free lumber come harvest time.

So the picture is a large tree trunk with strong branches reaching up, from what would be the middle of the tree there is a straight line – from here a whole forest grows on top of the other tree.

The cultivated forest takes 20 years to mature. At harvest time the strong established mother tree remains ready to grow the next forest.

Forests that are nourished from Mother Tree mature quicker and produce more wood than other cedar forests. The wood is more flexile, denser, and stronger than standard cedar. This process has created a sustainable supply of raw material for over 700 years.

 

Revisiting Jesus’ statement, I AM the Vine, during the season of Easter, brings forward the promises Jesus spoke before his death and brings them into the realm of resurrection. This opens a myriad of possibilities for life, for resurrection appearances amid whatever the suffering and crisis of the day.  The All Creation Sings hymnbook concludes one of its creation prayers:

“In the name of the one who from a wounded tree birthed a new creation”—pg 47ACS

Here is the answer to the question, “What difference does this image make as the last I AM revelation of Jesus?” From a wounded tree – from the cross- I AM did not die. I AM rooted in all that was, and is, and is to come, is resurrected – I AM alive!  I AM a vivacious hearty vine with energy and love and wisdom to cultivate a forest of branches to produce abundant fruit.

 

Canadian forest ecologist, Suzanne Simard, in her book “Finding the Mother Tree” discusses the interconnectedness of trees and how -rather than competing for resources- they share nutrients and resources with each other. Mother Trees are relational, with vast underground networks connected over the centuries. They are energy and the source of ancient life.

Jesus saying, “I AM the Vine,” takes us back to Genesis with I AM moving over the waters in creation and the Word creating by speaking “let there be.” In the garden was the Tree of Life, a Mother Tree, connecting all the way through to I AM the Vine; connecting all the way to today.

 

The Tree of Life - Mother Tree, to the tree of the cross, to a rooted vine, to a faithful forest.

 

When I heard about the living practice of daisugi I was excited. I am a lover of trees. When I think about growing a whole forest on top of one tree, I am filled with so much hope for the earth’s future and its health. The abundance of this practice is astonishing. And to know that that forest matures faster, stronger, more flexible and durable, because of the sustenance flowing from the Mother Tree – amazing! And to know that the growing of a new forest can be done continually. Wow!

 

When I hear about the living practice of daisugi I am excited. I am a lover of Jesus. When I think about baptism and being grafted into God’s family, I never considered being grafted onto the vine as being that which has roots to the Mother Tree. Because of Jesus rootedness, the disciples matured – strong, durable, flexible- as they shared Jesus’ story with others. The early church grew quickly by their witness.

 

In our context, consider the living practice of daisugi as one to be practiced in the church. Would we be less fretful of what is and more hopeful of what will be, if we understood and experienced rootedness? If we considered our present congregation as one forest, in a line of consecutively cultivated faith forests on the vine, the Mother Tree, I AM? Can we wrap our heads and hearts around the living practice of every 20 years the beautiful straight and knot-free trees bearing fruit? Meaning cut into lumber; fruit is distributed and used, as the next forest begins to grow. It means that every 20 years we let go, in some way we let the church of the day give up its life to be resurrected again; resurrected strong, durable, and flexible.

 

Suzanne Simard wrote: When Mother Trees---the majestic hubs at the center of forest communication, protection, and sentience ---die, they pass their wisdom to their kin, generation after generation, sharing the knowledge of what helps and what harms, who is friend or foe, and how to adapt and survive in an ever-changing landscape. It’s what all parents do.

It is what we do as congregations as faith passes from one generation, or one gathering of people, to the next.

Sometimes we get stuck trying to keep the old forest growing, rather than harvesting the forest, sharing the fruits and letting the next forest grow. We forget that the forest was never meant to be permanent, only the trunk – the Source of Life- which continues rooted and ground and full of life.

The I AM the Vine is spoken as the final I AM because it is Jesus’ proclamation that branches will come, bear fruit, and die, but the Vine remains, as does the life that comes from the Vine – for it has a deep ancient source, the Mother Tree.

As Easter people we bear witness to resurrection appearances. We have witnessed life and death and life.

On this side of Easter, 2000 years later, we bear witness to the millions of forests that have grown from Mother Tree. The forests have embraced, believed, and lived the promises of Jesus brought forward into the resurrection. Jesus proclaims I AM! To each forest, Jesus proclaims I AM the Vine, therefore, YOU ARE!

 

Thanks be God. Amen. 

God’s desire: that Love-Unearthed shepherd human ambition.

 I have been disturbed since the beginning of Easter.

I was running through the courtyard of Dalhousie’s medical school and noticed new banners on the light standards. Printed on the banners is the Med School’s new mission tagline: where infinite ambition meets global impact.

I actually came to a complete stop to ensure that I had read the banner correctly; INFINITE AMBITION

I find the thought deeply disturbing and disconcerting. For weeks, I have wrestled with why it bothers me so much. It is not either word by itself. I have nothing against ambition, in fact I have been known to be ambitious because its how my dreams become reality and how my creative projects come into existence.

I have figured out that it is combining ambition with infinite that is the issue.

Infinite, according to the Oxford dictionary means limitless or endless in space, extent, or size; impossible to measure or calculate.

Add to that the definition from the Cambridge and American dictionaries for ambition -

A strong wish to achieve something; a strong wish to be successful, powerful, rich, etc. (Cambridge)

A strong desire for success, achievement, power, or wealth; (America)

Imagine a limitless and endless desire – quest- for success, power, achievement, wealth.

Imagine success, power, achievement, wealth that is impossible to measure or calculate.

That is disturbing!

When I think about the world – climate change, environmental degradation; war, aggression, civil unrest; displaced persons, and humanitarian crisis- are they not fueled by human ambition? ---An entitled voracious desire for more.

 

It is Good Shepherd Sunday and tomorrow is Earth Day.

For me, both days are resurrection appearances in a world prone to and comfortable with infinite ambition. Good Shepherd Sunday and Earth Day are intentional days that are grounded in community and rooted in relationship. Repeatedly the Gospels relate stories and parables, where Jesus confronts human ambition and flips-the-script, to reveal God’s aspirations for creation. Easter is the grand unearthing of God’s love – that which died at the hand of human ambition was resurrected by the grace of God.

 

My ambition is to be a sheep – said no one ever!

Sure, at church camp you may have sung:

I just wanna be a sheep: baa, baa, baa, baa/ I just wanna be a sheep, baa, baa, baa, baa/

I pray the Lord my soul to keep/ I just wanna be a sheep, baa, baa, baa, baa.

Don’t wanna be a goat, nope. ... and so on.

But it was sung as a cute ditty. I’m not so sure anyone thought about the actual meaning and how one would live that out. What does it mean to follow the Good Shepherd; to be a sheep in the flock of the Good Shepherd; to be shepherded in/with/and under the ethic of the Shepherd?

With rod and staff, the flock is redirected from human ambition that desires infinite success, power, achievement, and wealth. Sheep individually relinquish thoughts of “my “ ambition – my will, our will-  and graze on God’s will, God’s daily bread where there is green pastures and still waters.

 

National Bishop Susan Johnson and partners wrote for their: In Full Communion Joint statement Earth Day 2024:

“Earth Day is an occasion to call ourselves back to our relationship and responsibilities to this world that we are blessed to live on, and our responsibilities to one another to work toward an equitable sharing of the fruit and resources of God’s creation. A recentering of these relationships is increasingly important as we continue to experience the effects of a worsening climate emergency around the world, and so we join with faith communities, civil society organizations, community leaders and concerned individuals in lifting up our commitment to work for a truly sustainable world for all.”

 

I think I am disturbed by the thought of infinite ambition because in practice I can see it spiraling out of control. It sounds greedy, competitive, and consumeristic. It feels incompatible and contrary to the essence of Easter and the resurrected life to which we are called. The bishops articulate key components of resurrected living: relationship, responsibility, equitable sharing, sustainability, community, and commitment.

God’s aspiration for creation -

consider an idyllic picture of a flock of sheep – grazing peacefully together in a meadow – common wealth of grasses, flowers, air, sunshine, rain; shared experience of the absence or presence of predators; shared protection and care from sheep dog and Shepherd; all creation, human, animal, plant, the seen and unseen harmoniously sharing life abundantly.

 

This whole season of Easter follows Lent and Holy Week, a time focused on letting go, offering to God, laying down our will, standing at the foot of the cross, kneeling with humility, admitting I can not live by my own merit- I am broken, confessing there is that which is greater than myself.

Easter is waking up resurrected; broken-yet-whole. Easter is waking up resurrected and finding not just yourself but others in the flock who have witnessed resurrection appearances too. Do not be afraid. You are not alone. I am with you to the end of the age.

 

For the Earth, it is time for us to confidently and with intent, to let human ambition die and be resurrected into God’s aspiration and desire.  Humbly declaring, I just wanna be a sheep.

Sheep are givers, giving meat, milk, and wool; wool being a sustainable fibre that is durable, renewable, biodegradable. As a flock -when sheep live together in community, grazing together, walking the land together - they reduce the impact of climate change.

Amazingly a flock of sheep sequester carbon deep into soil, create healthier soil, fertilize ground, remove invasive plant species, replace herbicides and lawn mowers, increase biodiversity for pollinators and bird habitat, and support wildfire prevention.

 

Although human, we too can be like a flock of sheep, reducing the impact of climate change. Grounded in faith community, rooted in relationship we can live God’s desire –

 that Love-Unearthed shepherd human ambition.

In Full Communion partners invite member congregations to live resurrection, suggesting that members:

participate in neighbourhood and community Earth Day events and activities, advocate for effective climate policy, discern how a congregation can continue to respond, learn about carbon impact of one’s church building, do a Green house gas inventory; and pray for healing, solidarity and action for the sake of the earth.

 

Our commission for Good Shepherd Sunday and Earth Day comes from our Full Communion Bishops:

“This earth Day, may our faith in the promise of the resurrection move us forward in hope to take action together.”

--Chris Harper, National Indigenous Anglican bishop, Susan Johnson National Bishop, Linda Nicolls, Arch Bp/Primate

 

 

Resurrection Appearances: Coffee and Pastry or Tea with Cookies

 

The sermon for this morning begins on pg. 89 in the front of our hymn books.

The art found on this page sets the stage for the Holy Communion liturgies. This piece of art is a plain version of a colourful work created by He Qi (Huh Chee) a contemporary Chinese Christian artist. 

45 Supper-at-Emmaus Artist Proof (heqiart.com)

The work is titled: Supper at Emmaus.

 

What do you notice?

It is the evening, following the day the tomb is open. Time is conflated. In the upper  right corner you see the crosses and the tomb. You witness the women coming to tell the disciples the tomb is empty. You notice the town in Galilee where Jesus says he will meet the disciples. There, outside the door, it appears as if an eternal flame is kindled; the Spirit waiting. And in the foreground, you are invited to the table with the two who encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus. Gathered with a group, Jesus breaks bread and they recognize him. Later, after this evening passes, Jesus will appear among them again and ask for something to eat.

What do you notice? Jesus is holding bread. On the table there is wine and a fish.

There are a couple of resurrection appearances where fish are the bread that is shared.

 

Over the years, I have encountered resurrection appearances…. not in fish dishes, but communion, in coffee and pastry, and in tea and cookies.

 

Dr. Elton Higgs, retired English professor, reflects on the resurrection appearances and the sharing of fish: Jesus made himself “available to them in the most common circumstances of human life, and though he had no need to sustain himself with physical food, he nevertheless shared with them in their ongoing need.” In the breaking of bread and fish, Jesus communes with the disciples.

 

In a field supervision course I taught, the students read Gordon Lathrop’s The Pastor: A Spirituality. Lathrop is a Lutheran and the work explores the sacramentality of a pastor’s life – and a theological perspective of sacrament in daily life. Students found the text difficult as it was a theology new to them and very Lutheran.

 

We begin in what we know. Sacraments -baptism and communion- requires two things: an earthly element and the Word. In baptism, that is water and the Word, in communion it is bread and wine and the Word. Through the Word, God is present -in, with, and under- the earthly element; and through receiving the sacrament one receives God’s grace.

Lathrop’s book explores what happens when the sacrament -God’s grace- is received and then lived out through the lives of those who receive it. This grace is extraordinary because it always comes and is embodied in one who is broken, not perfect. It is the brokenness receiving grace that is a resurrection to a wholeness that is a home for the incarnate Christ. It is a paradox – its sacramental-  to live in brokenness and yet be resurrected to wholeness. This being broken yet whole is the vocation of a pastor, the vocation of the baptized. Through Christ’s death and resurrection, when we gather as a community to receive sacrament, God’s grace settles into our brokenness and makes us whole. And this state of being broken-yet-whole changes how we are in the world; our lives can expand sacrament into sacramental living.

 

There are some who suggest that there is a third item required to make a sacrament: an earthly element, the Word, and community. Other than the account in the Gospel of John where resurrected Jesus meets Mary in the garden, all the resurrection accounts happen in community: the pair on the road to Emmaus who recognize Jesus with others at the breaking of bread; the disciples having breakfast with Jesus at the seashore; the disciples gathered behind closed doors when Jesus appears and says ‘peace be with you.’

Earlier I asked, “What do you notice?” The women were together. Jesus was at the table with two. The art also reminds us that resurrection is experienced in community.

What I have noticed over the years is a human need and desire for communion. What I have experienced is that for many the sacrament of communion is not here in the church, but is rather, through the hands of one who is fed here and goes -living sacramentally- and sharing of themselves in the world.

 

What I have noticed as a pastor is that resurrection appearances happen most frequently over a cup of coffee and pastry; or a cup of tea with cookies.

 

Perhaps you have experienced one of these resurrection appearances. Consider a time when you were with another person, either as inviter or invitee, and you met for coffee; a time when one of you was experiencing an overwhelming event – the loss of a job, a death, a family crisis, a health diagnosis, troubling news, a search for meaning, or a time of transition. Some circumstance that was difficult to talk about and emotions hard to articulate.

 

What do you notice? I’ve noticed that one never just starts talking. You get your warm drinks and pastry. You sit down together. You hold the warm cup in your hands and let the steam rise to your face. You take a sip or two. … and then and only then, in this communion, the one who is hurting opens up and shares at least some of the brokenness they are experiencing. In the conversation, and in the listening by the other, grace is given. Sacrament is shared as brokenness is met with wholeness.

In these coffee conversations, both people are changed, feeling better than they did when they met. This is the resurrection appearance. Resurrection is movement from death to life. In coffee communion, brokenness moves towards wholeness – a person’s grief heals a little, depression lifts a bit, confusion clears a tad… sacrament becomes part of life; the paradox of being broken-yet-whole.

 

This morning’s Gospel has Jesus eating fish in his resurrection appearance. Jesus has come among the disciples to bear witness to the power of communion, of sharing a meal, bread, wine, fish, …a cup of coffee.

Each of us is broken. Each of us is not perfect. And yet, the promise of Easter is that we through God’s grace have been made whole. The disciples embrace communion early on, when they meet, they meet over food with prayers. It is the practice of the early church. It is a continuation of the resurrection appearances of Jesus.

The Easter season reminds us and calls us to sacramental living – a sharing of communion – here and out there.

As you eat at God’s table and receive God’s grace, be fed and encouraged to be bread for the hungry – meaning commune with your friends, family, and neighbours by sacramentally living; participating in resurrection appearances. Be ministers of the sacrament of coffee and pastry, tea and cookies. Amen.

Resurrection Scars: Liberated from Perfection

 the watercolour/ink paintings in this blog post were painted by John Mueller (my father) and are part of my collection of his work

My dad was an artist who worked in watercolour and ink. A gentleman commissioned my dad to do a painting of his home. This man’s house was picture perfect. Everything that was wood looked freshly painted; the brass door knocker was polished; the gardens around the house were manicured; not even a blade of grass was out of place. Now my dad’s portfolio --- the works not commissioned--- were broken barns, old tractors, rusty iron fences and gates; each painting was full of surprise, beauty, and life.

My dad painted a pretty picture of the gentleman’s house, with every detail as if he was a draftsman. The best part of the pretty picture for my dad was the downspout on the eavestrough… it had a dent, like a lawn mower had run over it. That one section of the painting made the picture real. It was certainly eye catching amidst the perfection of the rest of the just-so-house. When the gentleman took a look at the painting, he asked my father to re-do it with a non-damaged eavestrough. Driving by the house a day later, the downspout had been replaced.

 

This story came to mind this week as I was reminded of the surprise, beauty, and life of Jesus’ resurrection. An article was shared with me that directed peoples’ attention to the particulars of Christ’s resurrected body. What did Jesus’ resurrected body look like? Was it perfect --- perfect in a Greek sculpture with precise musculature, smooth skin, proportionally ideal body kind of way? Was it a body made whole? What does wholeness look like? What is resurrection?

Although we don’t think about it very much because we spend far more time considering Thomas and his doubt and belief --- the description of Jesus’ resurrected body has been right in front of us all along. Perhaps, Jesus’ resurrected body, is the point of the story.

The scripture text from Luke describes the resurrected Jesus as having scars – marks from the nails in his hands and a gash on his side from the jab of a spear. Jesus’ resurrected body had scars. And it was the scars that convinced and comforted the disciples.

 

When reading the story from Luke, focusing on Jesus’ resurrected body, I learn a couple of important things – Easter good news kind of things! It is like looking at one of my dad’s paintings of something broken, old, or rusty and it being full of surprise, beauty, and life.  The proclamation of today’s gospel is that:

Resurrection has freed us from perfection and perfectionism.

Resurrection requires that one has been wounded.

And surprise -The proof of resurrection is the remaining scar- and therein is beauty and life.

 

It is like looking at one of my dad’s paintings of a broken barn, in contrast to a pretty picture of a so-called perfect house.

The pretty picture of the so-called perfect house is flat, without personality or character. It feels unlived in, unwelcoming, and devoid of story; a show piece rather than a home. It seems staged and thus cold, without relationships. It lacks heart. For me, although pretty, it lacks life or even the possibility of life because to touch it would be to disturb it.

Give me the broken barn any day. The broken barn tells a story, many stories, and although one may not know the individual stories one has a sense that the barn has history. It is real. It is organic. It has lived a long life. It has served its purpose. It has been connected to animals and people and creation. It is rich in colour and there is beauty in the worn timbers and crooked parapets, and life in the grass growing between the floor boards and the wind whistling through the open haylofts. There is movement in the brokenness. There are surprises to be discovered. There is history and story to think about and imagine. There is life -and beauty- amidst the brokenness.

 

The beauty of Easter -the good news- is that resurrection embodies the wounds of death, incorporating them into that which becomes life. Resurrection can not be separated from the experience of death. Resurrection carries the scars of being wounded. Life comes (resurrection comes) through the healing of the wounds.

Nancy Eiesland wrote in “the Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability“ that, “the foundation of Christian theology is the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Yet seldom is the resurrected Christ recognized as a deity whose hands, feet and side bear the marks of profound physical impairment. In presenting his impaired body to his startled friends the resurrected Jesus is revealed as the disabled God.”

 

That final phrase is hard for many in a Western culture to grasp – in presenting his impaired body to his startled friends the resurrected Jesus is revealed as the disabled God. 

How often have you pretended to be okay or fine, completely put together, that you have everything under control? How often do you present a stiff-upper-lip, run yourself frantic being super-parent, or continually increase your production to be seen as more valuable at work? How often do we suck in our bellies, dye our grey hairs, cover our wrinkles?  

Humans get drawn into the sin of perfectionism, believing in some unattainable ideal of ‘perfect.’ We are held in bondage by striving for perfection as if perfection is the purpose of life. Jesus stands in the midst of the disciples, in our midst, resurrected with an impaired body, revealing a disabled God. Once again, just as Jesus did with the parables about the kindom of God, Jesus throws everything we think we know upside down. Perfection is not the goal, it is not a truth, it is rather an enemy that holds us in bondage, a bondage from which we need to be freed.

 

Wounded and resurrected with visible scars, God is radically identifying with persons who, according to the world’s view, are imperfect, don’t measure up, or are lacking in some way. Jesus’ embodied wounds give life and acknowledges that God experiences human life in what the world sees as weakness.

 

Author Lisa Powell, revisits Nancy Eieland’s book on the ‘disabled God,’ and in that reflection, argues that the able-body does not persist in the world to come; in other words, you will not receive a perfect body in heaven. She considers that wholeness -resurrection- is humanity journeying towards ever more transparency, vulnerability, and interdependency. Transparent, vulnerable, and interdependent -this is the body of Christ - this is a resurrected Jesus.

 

Scars are reminders that we have been transformed, and that wholeness has come through a process. We are who we are because of the deaths -the woundings- that we have suffered or continue to carry as weeping wounds that are in the process of healing to become scars in resurrection. Scars are an essential part of resurrected identity.

This Easter season, I invite us to move away from the perfect pretty picture of what we think church and church community should be, and what a perfect world is, and rather, 

fully embrace the broken, the old, and the rusty.

I invite us to be a community with depth and colour; beauty and life; a community that leads with our scars.

 I invite us on an Easter journey toward ever more transparency, vulnerability, and interdependency, evermore becoming the resurrected body of Christ. 

May this journey minister to and heal the wounds encountered in the community, in the neighbourhood, in the city, in the country, in the world, and in all creation; and may we be surprised on that day when the sun rises to find that wounds have been healed as resurrection has dawned bearing beautiful scars.