On the Road Again; Fear and Discipleship Collide (Easter 3)

On the road again. Just can’t wait to get on the road again.
This was the ditty that accompanied the CBC show, On the Road Again, hosted for its running time of 20 years by Wayne Rostad. On Saturday mornings following children’s programming- if memory serves me correctly- one could tune into this quirky collection of interviews and documentary segments; gathered along Canadian roads as Wayne met all sorts of interesting people and listened to their stories. Each episode had Rostad forming unique relationships and inviting Canadians to join him on the adventure. One never knew where he would end, and what outrageous kind of tale he would have to tell.

Five years or so after the show began, I set off on an adventure of my own, travelling down the road 140 kms to Wilfrid Laurier University.  In the early 90s, universities were particularly mindful of their female students and their safety.  First year female students in residence were paired with a brother floor for frosh week, and other activities over the year. The idea was that we would have interacted with a group of guys – in various social settings, with and without alcohol- so that we could determine who was ‘safe’ and ‘unsafe.’ The idea was to make a friend or two who could be called to escort us home from late night studying or outings.  The school also had a foot patrol – for any student who wanted the security of two fellow students to walk them home after night class.  The road home from school after night class was dangerous – rapes, thefts, assaults- we walked home with a whistle in one hand and keys in the other pointing out between our fingers, just in case we needed to defend ourselves.

I wonder if the story of the Good Samaritan, would have been different if there was a foot patrol in the time of Jesus?  You remember that story from earlier in Luke’s gospel tale– where a man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho when he was attacked and beaten by robbers, clothes stolen, and left for dead on the side of the road. A Samaritan happened along, who offered first aid, gave him a donkey ride to an inn, paid for his stay, and for his care. Imagine the interview if Wayne Rostad had talked with the Samaritan, the quirky repartee back and forth finding out the motives of the Samaritan’s actions, and the nuances of his personality. On the road that day there was a grievous event and ‘on that road again’ later in the day, there was relationship in action.


This week we were reminded how dangerous roads can be. ... out for a walk, out for a drive.. never to return home.
This week’s Gospel reminds us that it is on roads where relationships form that change us for the good.

Roads are dangerous.  Roads connect us. Roads represent the journey of faith.
It is on the road that fear and discipleship collide.




Anything of consequence happens on the road.  Luke’s gospel has the characters on the move – on the road again: Mary and Joseph are on the road when it is time for Jesus’ birth, the shepherds travel; Jesus goes off-road into the desert; on a certain Sabbath Jesus was walking through a field of ripe grain – which turns into a confrontation with the religious leaders; people came to Jesus on road for healing; Jesus sent out along the roads 70 disciples in pairs to preach and heal – with a warning of course that the way will be hazardous. Today we hear of disciples deep in conversation on the road to Emmaus.

On the road again... they were deep in conversation, going over all the things that happened.

I have a friend with whom I sometimes run. We ran together while my children were teenagers, we ran together while I was writing my doctoral thesis.  It was those runs that helped me reflect and put together all the pieces of life, and all the pieces of data and research and thought to get me to a finished written thesis. On the road – together- deep in conversation led to new ideas, perspectives, growth, and relationship.
I like to picture the disciples walking to Emmaus like my running partner and myself – perhaps starting in questions and angst, getting lost in conversation, creative ideas, playing off one another’s thoughts, posing alternative arguments, and ending at a place of clearer vision and renewed hope.

I struggle with THE ROAD.
It would have been safer for the two people going to Emmaus to have stayed home. I question why it was that they took the risk to talk to a stranger, and to talk to the stranger about a revolutionary that had been put to death?  Did they not fear that they might find themselves on a watch-list, considered followers or sympathizers? I don’t talk to strangers on the road.  I definitely don’t talk about Jesus to random unknown people who cross my path. I don’t stop to offer first-aid, a ride in my car (as I don’t have a donkey), or to pay for someone’s stay at an inn until they recuperate. Admittedly I miss out on relationship – perhaps missing out on deepening discipleship by learning from another, because I am afraid when on the road.

I struggle less with THE ROAD,
when I am with a person I know and trust. I enjoy running with my friend.  I enjoy a road trip and adventures along the way when I am with Tim and mom.  I still hesitate to talk to strangers. I hesitate to offer help – other than perhaps offering directions if someone who looks a little lost. 

I struggle a whole lot less with THE ROAD,
when the road is lined with community.  For instance when I know that all of you are also on the road, asking similar questions, acting in relationship, showing how to set fear aside, being an example of sharing the Easter story; when you challenge me, take new paths, or form relationships.

I read this week: We are all in the same storm, not in the same boat. Meaning that because of our individual experiences, our beliefs, personalities, coping mechanisms, resources, communities to which we belong, and so on; we are all processing COVID and the mass shooting in different ways. We are all on the same map, different roads with different modes of transport. One thing with maps and roads – there are points where roads intersect, where we will pass by each other, collide with each other. 
I invite us to consider that while on the road we – as disciples; followers of Jesus- are each a mixed up mess of fear and anxiety, wanting in our heart of hearts to deepen discipleship and relationships; to live a life that is faithful to the Gospel.

On the road again... Luke’s Gospel continues in the book of Acts.  Once again we are invited to incidents on the road: those who leave Jerusalem after Pentecost to share the story in their own lands; the Ethiopian official who meets Philip on the road – who opens scripture for him such that he asks to be baptized – also along the side of the road; Saul’s experience on the road to Damascus of seeing Jesus and changing from persecuting Jesus’ followers to becoming one himself; story after story has Paul traveling to build relationships and communities of followers – Thessalonica, Corinth, Athens – complete with shipwrecks and imprisonments...
On the road is a place of fear and danger colliding with deepening discipleship and relationship.

The question (well questions) bothering me – and I hope will poke at you – is how will I be on the road? How will we be once we are on the road again?  Will we be fearful and stay home? Will we, despite fear, travel in pairs participating in deep conversation about all that has occurred? Will we, despite fear, talk with strangers on the road, so that our eyes might be opened to parts of God that we as yet do not know? Will we share the good news? Will we embrace relationship with all its demands whether first aid, a car ride, or lodging; scripture sharing, baptism, or healing? How will we be, once we are on the road again?

After having their hearts warmed while on the road talking with the stranger, the couple on the road and the household where they ended up met Jesus -recognized Jesus in the breaking of bread. It was not long before they were up and on their way----- on the road again ---- back to Jerusalem, where they found the eleven disciples and those gathered with them.  The two went over everything that had happened on the road and how they recognized Jesus when Jesus broke bread  in their midst.
This is how we could be --- a focused relational community sharing the good news, opening scripture in deep conversation, and operating in the world through words and deeds--- with fear and a sense of adventure I look forward to being... on the road again.

Easter 2 - A Rolodex for Healing

One of my pastimes is playing in a monthly Scrabble tournament with 30 people whom I have gotten to know over the years. This month’s tournament started just after Easter Sunday. As games have been started, I have wished my competitors, “Happy Easter.” One responded, “Happy belated Easter to you too.” I was taken aback. Belated? It was only three days after Easter Sunday, and fellow competitors know I am a pastor; if anyone knows how long Easter is...right?
Easter is a week of Sundays – that is seven Sundays, to equal 50 days.

For the first time in our lifetimes, our 50 days of Easter is much like that of the disciples and friends who had gathered around Jesus at the time of his death. After the death – and especially after Jesus’ body went missing; while rumours of resurrection sightings were growing – the disciples and friends locked themselves behind closed doors. They took shelter and a time of pause. Someone must have gone out to get groceries, necessities, perhaps Thomas was the household designate to do just that. Everyone else ‘stayed the blazes home,’ for it was deemed unsafe to be out and about.

50 days is a long time to be quarantined with a roommate, or spouse, or a few children, or a parent – imagine 11 disciples and the women who had gone to the tomb all together in one space.
I wonder what the routine looked like?  Did they set aside time to pray together? To share and study scripture? To sing hymns? How much did they spend reflecting privately and discussing robustly the events of Jesus’ life and death, and now rumours of resurrection? Did they contemplate what next?
Traditional Christian practice has been to spend our week of Sundays reflecting on the biblical rumours of resurrection – the stories of resurrection appearances and experiences.  We have the gift of pause, locked behind closed doors, to reflect on Jesus’ life and death, and rumours of resurrection.

At some point, Jesus’ disciples and friends, must have scrolled through the rolodex in their brains to draw on fragments of poems, songs, sayings, scripture, folktales, fables, nursery rhymes; not only to pass the time, but to bring comfort, insight, and hope; as our National Bishop Susan says, words, that “manage anxiety and deepen discipleship.” I wonder if Jesus’ disciples and friends turned to Psalm 16 – a psalm that is suggested may have been a psalm that was a carved inscription – written down- and placed in the Temple where it could be offered over and over again. The repetition of the words was to gain intimacy with the reciter for a time when one might need those very words to live, to cope, and to be healed?
We also have rolodexes – either in the form of magazines that we flip through, or social media feeds that we scroll through. One comes across a funny joke in the Reader’s Digest magazine, or an inspirational quote in ‘O Magazine,’ or we come across memes with a phrase or pic that speaks to us.
When human beings are holed up, there are moments when outside interference, interruption, interjected ideas,  inspiration, interpretation are needed just to cope.

Today, outside influence and illumination come to me through Psalm 16.  When I heard the words they seemed to infiltrate my system.  After hearing them, I felt better than I did before. Come to find out that Peter, Jesus’ disciple, found something in the words as well. Psalm 16 was the basis for his sermon that we heard from Acts – preached in the marketplace in Jerusalem after coming out from behind locked doors. I wonder if this Psalm was recited in their evening prayers.  This Psalm was obviously well known to Peter, memorized in fact, and I assume the other disciples and the people who heard him preach it knew it too.  The words were recognizable, intimate words --- intimate because they were scripture used and recited. Peter appropriates the words from the Psalm and reinterprets them for his time and place.
Acts 2: 28 records Peter saying: You have made known to me the ways of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.
Peter has changed the words – interpreted them to relate to the circumstance in which the disciples find themselves, preaching the good news, telling others that Christ is risen.
I prefer the words as written in Psalm 16: 11,  You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; In your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Sitting behind closed doors, I have taken to a morning routine of sitting in my living room, with the faux fireplace on, a candle lit, a cup of coffee in hand --- reading poetry, that of John Donne, or Elizabeth Barrett-Browning; books I received for Christmas. Just reading the poems --- in the cadence I think most appropriate and I plow ahead despite not getting all the meaning; some of the poems I only ‘get’ by a feeling they leave inside me because the text is like reading Greek.

You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; In your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
I find this Psalm phrase intriguing. It feels like it has substance. It seems to be deeper than the words themselves. I can’t explain the words in one go. The words resonate as a sound – a sound of resurrection. There is an intimacy about them a moving forward, along the path of life for the healing of the world.

We have 50 days behind closed doors to reflect on the Mystery of Easter.  We have 50 days wherein we will need outside input and inspiration. Instead of absently flipping through that magazine or scrolling through your social media stream, take a moment and meander through the Psalms.

Take a close look at the Psalms in your Bible. For many of the Psalms translations include a short descriptive, a superscription, of what the Psalm is, for instance: Psalm 23 says a psalm of David, Psalm 81 has instructions for the musicians-to the leader: according to The Gittith, Psalm 120-134  are marked Songs of Ascent – meaning they were sung by pilgrims on the way up to the Temple in Jerusalem.
The superscription for Psalm 16 is: A Miktam of David.  Psalm 56-60 are also ‘miktams’ of David. These six Psalms are the only time the word ‘miktam’ is used in the Bible.

There is a lot of scholarship and disagreement about the meaning of the word, mitkam. Trying to figure it out, one looks at possible root words that are similar. One considers the time the Psalms were written and what influences the people and their language were under; where the word might be borrowed from.
A plausible meaning for ‘mitkam’ is an epigraph, something that is inscribed, written down in order to be made permanent.  It is connected to roots that mean to remember, to recollect.
It is also connected to an ancient word for gold, and for a thing that covers – perhaps a cover of gold, a precious covering.  Put all this together.  Psalm 16 is a song to inscribe on our hearts and in our minds, words -wisdom- to cover us in a time when we need healing; hope; and resurrection.

You show me the path of life. In your presence there is fullness of joy; In your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
There is something in the words. There is wisdom there.  The Psalmist David knew. Peter knew. There is power in the words of the Psalm.  There is Mystery ready to break from the tomb and move forward for the healing of the world.
Be covered with the words of Psalm 16, reflect on the ones that sit most intimately with you, and once we break from our time behind locked doors, may we -like Peter- have the words to preach the Good News; Easter resurrection; Easter joy.

The THREE DAYS: Easter Sunday - I Love You

EASTER SUNDAY – I love you

 I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
The sermons over ‘the Three Days’ explore the sections of this prayer mantra. The characters in the passion story journey through scenes of repentance, forgiveness, gratitude, and love. Journeying though the passion narrative and the liturgies of the Three Days is a reminder of our broken relationships – with God, humans, and creation.
I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you – are phrases that carry the power to honour meaningful relationships and heal broken relationships.  The Three Days take us into the very heart of relationship -the heart of God.

Not so many years ago, Tim and I visited Atlanta, Georgia, to go to a NASCAR race; an item on my bucket list. I was excited not just for the race, but, for a supper excursion I planned for the evening we arrived. On recommendation from a number of friends we went downtown to ‘Aunt Pittypat’s Porch.’ The restaurant was named after Scarlett’s aunt from the movie, Gone With the Wind; a character with great Southern hospitality for family and visitor alike.  At Aunt Pittypat’s Porch, one is welcomed in to sit in large white-painted wooden rocking chairs. Around a bannister look off one is refreshed with various forms of peach-laden drinks.  Escorted from the porch, one descends to the warmth of a homey Southern kitchen, to enjoy deep fried catfish, potato salad made from sweet potatoes and raisins, pickled watermelon rinds, and ooohhh the biscuits and cornbread. After dinner we stood outside in the warm twilight as the porch lights came on.  In the air floated music from speakers on the lamp posts; the song – Louis Armstrong’s, It’s A Wonderful World.  ... Here I broke into tears as Tim wrapped me in a big embrace.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
In that moment I heard these words – I felt them- in the music.
What you need to know is that this piece of music was the father-daughter dance when Tim and I were married. You also need to know that my dad loved car racing; that our trip was planned, and we were encouraged to go, despite... --- you see, dad had died; the day before we were standing outside Aunt Pittypat’s Porch hearing the words... the colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by.  I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do?  They’re really saying, I love you...
And in that moment, death sunk into the depths of my heart while resurrection stirred the air. Death and life were hand-in-hand.

As day was dawning, the Mary’s went to the tomb. Amidst the extraordinary events: an earthquake, an angel – I see the women standing in the damp cool darkness of the tomb, surrounded by the smell of death.  Death settles into their bones, into the depths of their hearts while resurrection stirs the air.
 The body is not there. 
As the sun rises, as light grows, do they hear God’s music in the sound of the waking birds in the garden, in the opening petals of the flowers, in the breeze rustling through olive branches, in the glow of the angel, in the after-trembling of the earth? Do they hear God’s whisper... I love you?
In Armstrong’s music, It’s A Wonderful World, I love you! is in trees of green, red roses too/bright sunny skies, dark sacred nights/in babies cry and how they grow... it’s a wonderful world.  In every day life, in death’s depths resurrection stirs the air.  God whispers, “I love you.”
Scripture says, the women leave the tomb in fear and great joy; a moment where death and life walk hand-in-hand. 
Jesus greets the women as they leave the garden. Matthew has Jesus say, “Do not be afraid – go and tell my disciples.” Jesus is saying to the women’s hearts: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.  The women hear it, they feel it, and they go and tell it.

Although not an intentional Easter sermon, one of the best reflections I have read over the Three Days is that Julio Vincent Gambuto, an American writer and director. He speaks to us while we are standing in the damp cool tomb, surrounded by the smell of death. In this time death settles into our bones, into the depths of our hearts. He writes:
Well, the treadmill you’ve been on for decades just stopped. Bam! And that feeling you have right now is the same as if you’d been thrown off your Peloton bike and onto the ground: What the ... just happened?
 I hope you might consider this: what happened is inexplicably incredible.  It is the greatest gift ever unwrapped.  Not the deaths, not the virus, but the Great Pause. Please don’t recoil from the bright light beaming through the window.  I know it hurts your eyes.  It hurts mine too. But the curtain is wide open.  What the crisis has given us is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see ourselves and our country in the plainest of views.  At no other time, ever in our lives, have we gotten the opportunity to see what would happen if the world simply stopped.  Here it is.  We’re in it. 

Death ...while resurrection stirs the air.

As the Three Days have ended and we now celebrate Easter resurrection for 7 weeks, we remain in the Great Pause.  We continue to live the reality of death and life being hand-in-hand.
What I hope is that our journey through Holy Week -from death to life- is as life-changing on a global scale as it has been in our own devotion. I would like nothing more than to recapture the moment on the street in Atlanta, where death sunk into the depths of my heart while resurrection stirred the air.  I would love for us to hear God’s music being whispered-  I am sorry. Please forgive me.  Thank you.  I love you.
By the power of the Great Pause, by resurrection to follow, I would love for death to be conquered: death to hunger and poverty, jealousy and war; competition, consumption, and pollution; exploitation and slavery.
At this moment, death and life are hand-in-hand. God is whispering to all of creation.... I love you.
Do not be afraid to walk out of the damp cool darkness of the tomb, leave the stink of death behind.  Walk into the early dawning of light, soaking in the resurrection in the air. Hear God whispering – I love you – and because of this love embrace new life, a new world.
It’s a wonderful world, when inadequacies are seen and there is a striving for all people to have equal access to health care; when the homeless are sheltered in empty hotel rooms; when financial resources are shared with those who have lost their jobs or fallen between the cracks; when people pay attention to their neighbours, their health, their wellbeing, their needs; when the sky is no longer yellow smog but blue as blue can be; when priorities change from consumption of things to fostering relationships; when gratitude is simplified to matters of life and death; when news is not about war, it is about a struggle uniting the wills of people around the world.
 This new life...this new world is possible...

Resurrection stirs in the air --- God is singing.
Do you hear God’s voice – a voice that has the power to move mountains, split trees, create great sea monsters; heal the blind, and raise the dead ---- a voice that has power to stir in us resurrection, new life, a new world.  Be lost in the power of God’s music and may it change your life for real and for always.
God whispers to you:  I’m sorry.  Please forgive.  Thank you. ... I love you!

The THREE DAYS: Part 2 - I'm Sorry. Please Forgive Me

GOOD FRIDAY – I’m sorry (please forgive me).

I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
The sermons over ‘the Three Days’ explore the sections of this prayer mantra. The characters in the passion story journey through scenes of repentance, forgiveness, gratitude, and love. Journeying though the passion narrative and the liturgies of the Three Days is a reminder of our broken relationships – with God, humans, and creation.
I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you – are phrases that carry the power to honour meaningful relationships and heal broken relationships.  The Three Days take us into the very heart of relationship -the heart of God.

Through history there have been peoples who believed that a person’s errors cause illness. Not so many weeks ago we read the story of the man born blind, whom Jesus healed.  There was no rejoicing that one who was blind could now see, no; there was an intense interrogation and debate about sin – the perceived cause of the blindness.
While I do not believe that the man or his parent’s sin caused his blindness, there are times when I believe we do contribute to making ourselves ill.  Whether ulcers, headaches, anxiety, high blood pressure- all can be contributed to by the emotions and actions within our relationships – the brokenness of relationship. For each of the past 13 days I have sent out a Station of the Cross from a project we did a few years ago. Reflecting on the theme for each Station, including: sorrow, betrayal, condemnation, denial, judgement, bearing, helping, blessing, caring – we realize the intricacies of relationship and that as good as our relationships might be, there are parts in shadow, in brokenness, and with some – or with God- or with creation- we have no relation, or a strained relation, or a forgotten relation.
That is why there is beauty and promise to be found in the texts and liturgy for this morning. Jesus -God- addresses broken relationship, by entering the brokenness – in vulnerability, suffering, and pain – Jesus comes to us. Not to wave a magic wand and make everything right, but to sit with us where we are; to embrace our woundedness in order to make us whole.

There is a story of a miracle worker, Dr. Ihaleakala Hew Len, he is attributed with healing all the patients in a criminally insane ward at a Hawaiian hospital.  In his life he practice the mantra, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.” He would recite these words as he read the files of the patients. The practice changed his perceptions and his heart; his heart requested living into right relationship with himself, with the patients.  One could see on the ward an increase in conflict resolution and reconciliation. Legend says that it did not take long for other workers in the facility to change – in their relationship with him, and then in their relationship with others; everyone started to act and react in new ways with each other – people wanted to come to work to share in new found and focused heart relationship. Within a month patients were no longer sequestered in their rooms, those in restraints were set free, drugs were reduced, and eventually everyone went back into society – changed.  ... all because Hew Len addressed broken relationship, by entering the brokenness.  He began with himself, becoming vulnerable in saying – and living: I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.

God addresses broken relationship – God heals blindness- by entering our brokenness; in vulnerability, suffering, pain, God sits with us embracing our woundedness – and whispers...I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.  In turn these words become our words – and we are healed, made whole.

The THREE DAYS: Part 1 - Thank you

I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you.
The sermons over ‘the Three Days’ explore the sections of this prayer mantra. The characters in the passion story journey through scenes of repentance, forgiveness, gratitude, and love. Journeying though the passion narrative and the liturgies of the Three Days is a reminder of our broken relationships – with God, humans, and creation.
I am sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you – are phrases that carry the power to honour meaningful relationships and heal broken relationships.  The Three Days take us into the very heart of relationship -the heart of God.

MAUNDY THURSDAY -Thank you

I have a colleague whom, if I had a nickel for every time he stated, “all that’s needed for a good death is to say, I’m sorry, please forgive me, thank you, I love you,” I could go and live in a very warm place for a very long time.  Although, I may at times get annoyed by the constant repetition, his pastoral sensibility is correct – I have seen it at work at the bedside of those who are dying – these words are a way to say and share a meaningful goodbye.  The process also allows the family and friends to grieve well.
It is a meaningful goodbye that Jesus shares with his disciples the night of their last meal together.

I’m sorry. Please forgive me. Thank you. I love you. --- Investigating this mantra, one will be directed to ancient practices of the South Pacific – to Indigenous practices of Hawaii, Samoa, Polynesia, Tahiti, New Zealand. The practice called, ho’oponopono, means to “make right-right.” It is an active practice of forgiveness and reconciliation.  It is a practice that is believed to clear the mind and clear away the roots of illness. Various traditions, including Christianity, have mirror phrases and rituals illustrating the spiritual component of the mantra, and subscribe to the actions as ways of living.  None though have become a part of us in the same way as ho’oponopono is integral to South Pacific healing and life.
Make right-right: 
This is the meaningful goodbye that Jesus shares with us as we walk through the rituals of this night.
Make right-right -the rituals are simple.

We begin with an anointing of oil as the sign of lavish healing and abundant life.  This healing and life flow when we free our heart from the shackles of  guilt, shame, unforgiveness, grudges, self-doubt, grief, and those things that come from broken relationships; through confession - I’m sorry. Please forgive me.- the laying on of hands and anointing is a balm, a blessing to heal the broken hearted, to set our hearts at one with God; to make right-right.

We follow anointing with the washing of feet. In our times, it is the washing of hands. Recently we have all been reminded of the importance of taking our shoes off at the door, of washing our hands, removing dirt from the outside as we enter our sacred spaces of home. We are reminded of our relationships with others – that they are broken - in that until a crisis there so many we take for granted, so many we fail to protect because we do not wash our hands. This too is a practice of the heart – the washing of feet is a reminder of our distance from each other and our distance from God; who is God that God should wash my feet? Who are you that you should touch me? Remember, Peter was annoyed that Jesus should wash his feet. Jesus responds: You do not know what I am doing but later you will understand. And later we do. Jesus is offering a thank you to his friends and a way for his disciples to share their thanks in the future – once they experience his death and resurrection - the meaning starts to sink in; as thank you to such lavish healing and abundant life, make right-right by loving neighbour, by washing their feet, their hands – my own hands, and say often: thank you, I love you.

Jesus and the disciples eat together.
United Methodist pastor  Alphonetta Wines writes.
“Israel’s bold movement toward freedom and Jesus anguished journey toward the cross are associated with a meal. These meals bear witness to the paradox that no matter how horrific, tragedy inherently holds the promise of something new.  Both meals commemorate unimaginable pain and suffering. Both signal the beginning of something new.  They are turning points in the lives of all who partake.  For the original participants in these meals, life would never be the same.”
Make right-right, ho’oponopono, share a meal. Share a cup of coffee -even if it means via telephone. In rural communities especially, what happens within 10 mins of a tragedy, whether sickness, death, fire, bad news of any kind? Casseroles and baking start appearing at the door of those in crisis. It is an expression of I love you, thank you for who you are to me, I’m sorry. The food represents the hope of lavish healing and abundant life which are currently clouded by circumstance but still active and present just outside one’s periphery. Neighbours are offering a dedicated assurance that suffering and pain, brokenness, are not the end.

Stripping of the altar, is not a ritual mandated by Jesus, yet, it has become Christian practice for the setting of the stage as we move to the crucifixion and the cross. The removal from this sacred space of symbols of faith, of means through which grace comes to us, being stripped down to an altar – that looks like an empty box – illustrates the stripping down of ourselves, our attachments, to see that our relationships are broken, barren, and even empty.
And this is where the journey leaves us this evening – empty-
To go to bed and return in the morning in hope of forgiveness and reconciliation – in the hope of lavish healing and abundant life.

This Holy Week -living through it under different circumstances – has drawn me into the heart of God, the heart of relationship.  It is not the eloquent crafting of words or elaborate ceremonies that bring meaning to the story of the Three Days; rather,  it is simple words and simple rituals that speak volumes and have us experience repentance, forgiveness, gratitude, and love; these four. In end there is nothing more lavish for healing or abundant life than these.

Holy One, tonight I say thank you.
Thank you for anointing me with the oil of forgiveness and lavish healing.
Thank you for washing my feet - my  heart – for making our relationship right-right.
Thank you for sharing with me spiritual food and abundant grace.
Thank you for stripping me bare, bearing open a heart of brokenness, waiting something new.
Thank you for a continued journey wherein there is promised hope of abundant life. Amen.

Lament - A Word to Sustain the Weary (Palm Sunday)

Those who are liturgically inclined will notice that there was no gospel read prior to this sermon.  Following the Hebrew scripture, the Psalm, the Epistle, is to be the Gospel --- the Gospel on Palm Sunday is traditionally a reading of the Passion. At this point there is a dramatic shift in the service, from the Gospel heard at the beginning of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem where we entered with palms and praise; to shift our gaze to the events of Holy Week leading to Jesus’ crucifixion.
This year I decided not to shift into the Passion – not yet- we will do that as the week continues.  You can consider this the beginning of the service, continued 7pm on Thurs, 10am Friday, throughout the day on Saturday, and ending with worship 10am Easter Sunday. This year most of us have been afforded the gift of time.  We have the time to live through the passion story in increments; a gift of slowly letting it sink in.
 I believe we have already started this process and journey through our present daily experiences.

Over the past two weeks I have had a number of video check-ins with the Bishop and colleagues. We have commented on how this has been “the Lent-iest Lent we have ever Lent-ed.” For those of us who have accessed worship on Sunday it is that little piece of Easter each week that gives us the hope to continue our walk through the valley; thus the emphasis on praise this morning.  In each of the sessions with colleagues, there is at least one person who has to pause when speaking because they are overwhelmed with emotion. When the Bishop gives the blessing at the end of each meeting, few eyes are dry. And I suspect that many of you, as you are going through your day, have moments where a wave of emotion washes over you – perhaps you shed a tear or feel like you almost could. 
I believe this is part of the process and journey through our present daily lives – that will help us experience the journey of Holy Week – perhaps for the first time in our lives.

Palm Sunday, Holy Week, Easter Sunday, is a journey through an epic story. It is a story, told in various ways by different Gospel writers; a story that is chalked full of words that ring true.
Notice how I said, ring true...I say this because from year to year preachers, teachers, theologians, and those of us who wrestle with ‘the truth’ in texts, may set aside parts of the story considering them to lack fact and substance; some of us may consider the story simply just a story. ... yet there are words that ring true – there is something about the story and text that resonates with our current situation; the story sifts into our experience and seems to apply even if we can’t explain how or why.
This year there is less parsing of words and meaning when coming to the text; I am not looking for a novel insight to explain why Matthew’s version of the palm parade has a donkey and its colt – this doesn’t seem important.  Humans -us- in new routines and living in a heightened anxiousness have had barriers within us crumble and this manifests in stories being less a head exercise and more a heart experience.
I am excited – and perhaps a little apprehensive – to journey through Holy Week in a fragile, less-in-control-kind-of-way. With our guards down, we have the opportunity to hear the story in a new way – to let emotion rule the day, feeling the Word wash over us – and simply let the Word move through us. The Word washing over us in this week’s continuing epic story will pull and draw us into the very depths of ourselves, where it will ruminate; having grasped a deeper ringing of truth it will germinate to burst forth from the tomb and welcome a new dawn of Easter morning.
Could this be the truth behind the poetry of Isaiah: The Lord has given me the tongue of a teacher, that I may know how to sustain the weary with a word?

As many of you know, I am an avid reader.  I am out of library books, and instead of ordering electronic books have decided to look at my own bookshelves. I have a special shelf with books that I will return to again and again – generally I don’t read things more than once because there are too many other choices and new things to learn and experience – and there is simply not enough time to read everything. Instead of new, I have returned to a book by Betty Smith called, “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” This is an old book, published in 1943. It is a story of a girl named Francie, growing up in hardworking, poor, immigrant neighbourhoods in Brooklyn. There are challenges with work, no work, school, no school, a dad who is good, and other times drunk.  Why I return to this book – and especially at this time – is because of Francie, her attitude and her outlook on life. One of her practices in the summer is to crawl out their apartment window and sit on the rusty fire escape, with ice chips to savour, and a library book to get lost in. The best part of this spot is the scraggly tree that has grown up the fire escape to provide a curtain, a little shade, a lot of life. The quote on the inside flap from the book is this:
  There’s a tree that grows in Brooklyn.  Some people call it the Tree of Heaven.  No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky. It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps.  It grows up out of cellar gratings.  It is the only tree that grows out of cement.  It grows lushly ... survives without sun, water, and seemingly without earth.  It would be considered beautiful except that there are too many of it.
These words ring true for me, as words that sustain the weary.  The words resonate at a deep level – a level to which I am unable to articulate to you, either their value to me or my experience of the words.
I believe this is what happens with church words too. The words – the Word- affects, influences, touches, impresses, and resonates with us – effecting us deeply. Have you said the Creed, heard the blessing, recited the Lord’s Prayer and experienced them differently over the past three weeks?

That I may know how to sustain the weary with a word - This week our journey will be much in keeping with the style of today’s Psalm, a section of Psalm 31. Psalm 31 is a personal lament written by the psalmist in a time of perilous and perhaps life-threatening circumstances. There is a ringing of truth as the psalmist’s words wash over us:
Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress; my eye wastes away from grief, my soul and body also. For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery, and my bones waste away.
Praise the Lord that a lament does to end here – otherwise it might just sound like the nightly news.
A lament is different, - strategic- the words are a journey to be experienced:
A lament includes an invocation, a complaint, a petition, words of trust, and words of praise.
Through Holy Week we will journey through the five elements of lament – more than once.
As invocation we will call to God, we will pray, we will invite God’s presence to be in our midst.
As complaint and lament we will do a lot of confessing, complaining about our humanness; we will come with hearts full of lament, fears, anxieties, and griefs – for ourselves and for the world.
As petitions we will ask for forgiveness; pray for the world, others, and all God’s creation.
We will hear the repetition of words of trust – comfort – the Creed, the blessing, absolution of sin,  peace be with you. We will hear a familiar story that will weave phrases into the deeps of our hearts.
And there will be expressions of praise – today that is in the waving of palms; in singing glory, laud, and honour. Truth ringing in our exclamation:
Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!


God – today we praise you.
This week engage us in the exercise of lament;
To journey with you to the cross.
Wash over us the Word – your epic story- that we experience it in fullness.
As we struggle to reach the sky, grow in the boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps deep within us. Have us grow lushly...

Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest.

Awkwardness Evaporates - Lent 5A

When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed home.
I can’t help but ponder how awkward was this meeting between Martha and Jesus?
Martha comes outside the village and meets Jesus on the road. She knows that Jesus is aware that Lazarus died because word had been sent, days ago. Jesus knows that Lazarus is dead because he waited a few more days before coming. Imagine: what is Martha thinking, feeling; what is Jesus thinking and feeling?

A little over a year ago, my friend- my brother by choice, died after a fight with cancer. In his last weeks my husband and I were apprized of his declining health; he moved from his home hospital bed to a hospice centre – where a daily watch was kept by those who lived closer than three provinces away.  Thank heavens for cell phones and social media: electronically we were kept informed, we shared prayer posts, texted our love, and felt like we were present in spirit. We made plans, so that we would be ready to travel when needed – the time chosen for us because I was asked by my brother to preach at his funeral service.
When our friend died, we set the plan in motion, arrived in Ontario, and prepared to face his family --- our chosen family. The visitation was in a cathedral, one walked up the side aisle, passed the casket at the front, and then greeted the family, before exiting down the other side aisle.
Waiting in the reception line was ... awkward.
One of my best friends had died, his wife – another best friend, my chosen sister, was waiting; our God-daughter and her brother were waiting, our adopted Finish grandmother was waiting... what was I going to say? How was I going to act? Was it okay that I hadn’t been there for the death? How could I be supportive and grieve at the same time? Was I going to fall apart? Did I feel guilty for living so far away, for not making a point to visit more? Had too much happened in the time since we last saw each other, face-to-face, that our connection was no longer strong? Good gracious.... awkward.

John’s Gospel has Martha go out to meet Jesus.  Their meeting is told as a conversation that starts in a hard-hitting kind of way.  It doesn’t start with the small talk of weather or local gossip. Martha starts off accusingly, if you had been here... And with that spoken, out of the way, the conversation turns to deeper thoughts, words to be seeded as hope amidst grief. Martha affirms, I believe you are the Messiah -the Son of God- the one coming into the world. Jesus and Martha contemplate resurrection, life from death – both later and now.  Satisfied with enough bread for the moment -  Martha goes to get Mary. Jesus remains outside the village where Martha had met him and waits for Mary to meet him there.
Mary rushes out to Jesus.  She kneels at his feet and weeps.

As the reception line in the cathedral shortened, as I wondered if my reaction would be a Martha sort or a Mary sort, as I passed the casket –the awkwardness of the moment evaporated-  in an instant I ended up in an embrace with my sister, an embrace without words that didn’t cease to end. In the silence and the time- standing-still of that embrace --- tears, acceptance, love – nothing had changed; but as we drew away from each other, squeezing each other’s hands, we acknowledged that everything had changed.

Jesus, Martha, and Mary are standing in the road outside the village; awkwardness evaporates, nothing has changed. But, as they pull away from each other, to move towards Lazarus’ grave -Jesus weeps, Jesus is disturbed in spirit, Jesus is deeply moved – walking together they acknowledge that everything has changed.

This is an experience to which many of us relate whether: a spouse dies, employment changes, survive cancer, change gender, become divorced or married, win the lottery, suffer addiction, a family member is imprisoned, adopt a child... all of these circumstances, and so many more, change us, change our relationships, and affect our ability to interact with our church family. In these times, people often withdraw from familiar relationships, stop coming to church, because of the awkwardness of the moment.  In the church community it appears that nothing has changed, but collective experience -because we are in relationship- will tell us that everything has changed.

Our current situation is like the story of Lazarus.
Lazarus is raised from the dead – nothing is the same – everything is made new. All of his relationships are affected. Loss does that. Grief does that. Death does that.

Church as we knew it, in a building and sitting in pews, died two weeks ago. From this death came new life – new expressions of church and virtual Christian community. Death forced a fervour of creation, innovation, and potential possibilities. Churches that were occupied with dwindling finances and inward crisis, moved to look outward.  Nothing -as in faith, theology, scripture, worship, ministry, pastoral care, offering- has changed, but we acknowledge that everything has changed. We are living in new life and in an expectation of the fullness of Martha’s affirmation: I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world. As virtual church community this affirmation is at the heart of creativity and innovations, brining the one coming into the world – into not just our building, but, into the world.

A colleague shared with a group of pastors earlier this week, that after a death -meaning any kind of loss that causes one to walk through the valley of grief, a valley of dry bones- changes a person such that when life returns to what is considered normal; it is normal but it is a changed normal. This can lead to a certain sadness, an awkwardness– a reserved celebration that we have come out the other side; a reserved ‘Praise the Lord’ all things are new. The first time one sits in a pew, alone, after a spouse dies; the first time, in a long time, when one can go to church and sit beside a family member newly arrived to Canada; the first conversation over coffee when it seems too much time has passed to have anything to talk about; the first Sunday after being away for a month, when all the children have grown and are unrecognizable, when we have forgotten names, and have new babies and their names to learn --- is sadness and awkwardness mixed with joy.

During this time of physical distancing and experiencing the fall-out of COVID-19, each of us has been put in a situation where we are daily confronting our relationship with death. We are living in a valley being scattered with dry bones. We face the possibility of physical death or serious illness. We face death, we face loss, whether in paychecks, lifestyle, pension funds, freedom, a sense of stability, connectedness, physical contact. We are all grieving, parts of life as we know it are dying, and all of us are in the process of being dry bones with new life being breathed around us. When this is over we can expect an awkwardness as we rise in a world where nothing is the same – everything is made new.
The Gospel in today’s scriptures stress that the word of the Lord brings new life to that which was dead; life comes out of death.

I think about this in relation to our virtual worshiping community. For this community we are experiencing a death of sorts – a loss- of eating together each week; sharing the sacrament of the altar. In pastor-world, and in Zoom meetings between Lutheran Bishops and theologians, many conversations have been had over the past two weeks about offering virtual communion; suggesting that if each person watching were to have a piece of bread and a little wine, that the Real Presence, through the words of institution could travel through cyberspace into each home; communion could still happen. Our Bishop has taken a different tact – not that he disputes the ability of the Real Presence to expand beyond our limited understanding of space and time- he suggests that we in a time of Eucharistic Fast. How very Lent.
I’m not sure that any of us who grew up in Canada, except for those who remember rationing during WWII, have been forced to fast.  Human beings are consumptive by nature and when we chose to fast give up something like chocolate or coffee or smoking, or fast a day before medical tests.  This Lent we have been forced into a fast – a fast from creature comforts, whether certain foods or toilet paper; a fast from movement -from going where we want when we want, and doing what we want, when we want; a fast from physical contact and gathering; and now a fast from Eucharist – a fast from the fullness of God’s grace that we experience through this sacrament. Nothing has changed, but, everything has changed.

Whenever Easter happens – that Sunday when we are once again gathered side-by-side in sacred space – in the awkwardness of the moment because we will all come changed because in a variety of forms we have faced death; walked through the valley of dry bones; we arrive at the Eucharistic table together to partake, to eat, to digest,... LIFE –
Some of us will come Martha-like, others Mary-like: there will be accusing thoughts – why did you let this happen?, and deep conversations, and kneeling, and tears; awkwardness will evaporate and in the depths of our loss, through the valley of death and dry bones, we will awake and be filled by the experience of the fullness of God’s grace in bread, wine, and community. LIFE –all will be new!  We will be new! I can’t wait to be resurrected to new life. Until then I hold fast to Martha’s affirmation:

I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.
... in your word is my hope.
... with You is steadfast love... and plenteous redemption.
Out of the depths my soul waits for the Lord.

A Matter of What We Do Not See

Things of which we are most afraid, are things we do not see -things to which the naked eye is blind –
We go about blind - forgetting, pretending, pushing away, ignoring-  hidden things that cause sickness, disruption, pain, suffering, grief, and death.
We do not see the presence of viruses and bacteria, toxins and contaminants, on the surfaces we touch or in the air we breathe or in the water we drink. 
We do not see how the decisions we make today will affect -in a global warming, environment in crisis kind of way-  all of creation.
We do not see the tension or level of threat for terrorism, nuclear strikes, or war.
We walk blind.

In church world much time is spent on things we do not see.
Today’s gospel, for instance, goes on and on about sin – trying to figure out who sinned this man or his parents that he was born blind.
The story weaves back and forth through a theological debate of invisible sin that has manifested itself in physical blindness; giving invisible sin a tangibility in a specific place and thing.
The story does not point to actions of sin – named as murder, stealing, adultery, or idolatry. The conversation is of ‘sin,’ the cause beyond the action. The perception in the story is that sin is now seen – it is real; it has manifested in blindness. Likewise, Jesus personifies sin by breaking the rules and healing on the Sabbath. The Pharisees ask, How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs? And continue, We know that God does not listen to sinners, but does listen to one who worships and obeys God’s will -God’s will as directed in the written Law. In the process of defining sin – containing that which we do not see- the Pharisees get lost in the tidbits of figuring out ‘how’ the man received his sight, and are blind to ‘who’ did the healing -Jesus- who has physically disappeared from the scene. He is not present, not seen, until he comes to the man-born-blind afterward.
After the man who received his sight is thrown out of the synagogue, Jesus asks him, Do you believe in the Son of Man? Jesus reveals that he is the Son of Man and he who was blind sees for a second time that day. And we enter another realm of -things we do not see- things that the church spends much time on;  things like faith and grace.

Life has been different for the world over the past few weeks. Reflecting on the world through the story of the blind man – the seeing man-  in the Gospel, has helped me in articulating what I have seen and what I do not see but feel.
We walk blind.

The CORONA virus is acting a bit like a mud and saliva poultice.
 For a moment blind has turned to sight.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with the earth – within a week of reduced traffic and flights flying across Europe satellites have captured images that actually see European cities from space– the air has cleared; sight is not fogged up by a continual production of smog.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with each other – as we practice social distancing and self-isolation or quarantine, there is a realization how much we take relationships for granted. We forget how interconnected we truly are – from farmers, to delivery people, to service people; how many people we share playground equipment with, restaurant seats, public transit, sidewalks.
Often we walk blind - blind to our relationship with God – until we are reminded of our fragility and return, or come for the first time, seeking something greater than ourselves to cope with a reality greater than our capacity. The last time I experienced a visible rise in church attendance was the first couple of Sunday’s after 9/11. People returned to hear the Word, and to join with a community of people who were experiencing the same thing.

When the going is good we walk blind.  We tend to become lax -in washing our hands, protecting those around us; we forget our interconnectedness; and our priorities are eschewed from building relationship.

As we wash the mud from our eyes, let us turn our attention to the Gospel to be found in ‘a matter of what we do not see.’

We believe in God the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen.  This is an ancient confession of the church. Church world has always lived in the known and unknown, seen and unseen, visible and invisible. As Christians:

Things of which we are most confident – bold;  are things we do not see- things to which the naked eye is blind –
We go about blind – remembering, revealing, welcoming, acknowledging – hidden things that cause healing, connection, comfort, blessing, hopefulness, and life.
We do not see the presence of Mystery – God: the force of creation, the incarnation of redemption, the energy of consciousness.
We do not see the ‘how’ of the workings of prayer, meditation, and worship.
We do not see faith.
Yet in all these things we do not see – we have utmost confidence through Christ.

We go about blind – remembering, revealing, welcoming, acknowledging – hidden things. I say we go about blind because we are about God’s work, a work that is revealed in its fullness in God’s time. We work in God’s creation, God’s mission, God’s vision – without knowing, without seeing the end.  We offer faith, peace, love, hope, compassion, forgiveness, joy – through words and deeds, knowingly and unknowningly, we plant seeds that come from the light of Christ.
God’s work, from time to time, in our midst turns into God’s work revealed. Although we do not see God, all the time God is with us. There have been moments when people within this community (I know because stories are shared with me) when people have experienced miracles, inspiration, inexplicable occurrences; God-sightings. Just for a moment, greater sight is given and the invisibles like faith grow.  Many have expressed moments when they have experienced grace.  These moments happen wherein we catch a glimpse of God’s fullness and can declare:
 One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.

The things of which I am most afraid are things I do not see.
 The things of which I am most confident and bold, are also things I do not see.
In times like these I purposefully and continually have to redirect my focus to hold onto and uplift the things I do not see in which I am confident – faith, grace, love, Real Presence, God, community, prayer, meditation, worship, relationship -- Living the ‘unseen’ that are reflections of God’s light shining on me relieves anxiety and manages fear. The letter to the Ephesians says it: O blind, awake, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you --- and it is the reflection of this light that plants hidden seeds, resists fear, calms anxiety – allows grace to be directed into a world full of blindness.

This morning the Gospel phrase I will take with me is a statement of faith.  It is a statement made by one who walks blind, and in this past week has been shown the depths of blindness into which I participate.
Thanks to a corrective of sorts, I am no longer blind to my relationship with the earth, blind to my relationship and interconnection with others, blind to my relationship with God and God-community.
One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.

May this statement of faith  reflect in the world through me – through us- consciously practicing the invisibles -that which is not seen-  living into the Mystery that is in all and is all.

In times like these

https://www.facebook.com/lutheranworld/videos/518626525694286/

Your Turning to God - A Blessing for the World

I brought with me this morning my pastoral care book.  This book travels with me to the hospital, providing scripture, prayer, and liturgy for confession, anointing with oil, for circumstances like removing life support systems, transplant surgery, emergency baptisms, and commendation of the dying.  It contains liturgy for house blessings and for presiding at marriages. Most often this book travels with me to the cemetery for burials.
The centre pages of the book are protected by mac-tac, so I can proclaim the Gospel and the hope found therein, without my pages turning to mush in rain, snow, or wind. The service gives options for readings and prayers.  Some prayers and readings are specific, like those used if a child is being buried, otherwise , pastors pick and choose based on the family and their own preferences.
After arriving at the grave, words of comfort are proclaimed to the mourners. 95% of the time this is what I say:
I will lift up my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come?
My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth.
The Lord will not let your foot be moved nor will the one who watches over you fall asleep.
Behold the keeper of Israel will neither slumber nor sleep; the Lord watches over you;
The Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.
The Lord will preserve you from all evil and will keep your life.
The Lord will watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth forevermore.

Of course, this is the psalm we chanted earlier, Psalm 121. At the end of formal responsibilities – the bedside vigil, the service planning, the visiting, the funeral liturgy, the reception- by the time I reach the grave, I need to hear -I need to speak- a word that will heal my grieving heart, warm my troubled spirit, and bolster my expended hope. I receive healing, warmth, and hope in the words of Psalm 121.
The Psalm is simple in its construction.  The person speaking asks a  simple question: “from where is my help to come?” The question is one of seeking, a question that will lead to a journey for an answer. The question is the person opening their heart and turning to a power outside themselves – turning toward God.
The question is followed by a confession, a statement. I wonder if the person states, “my help comes from the Lord,” because that is what they believe, or is it what they desperately want to believe? Is it what they believe sometimes, but, from time to time doubt?  When I recite this Psalm, the statement could be either – it is similar to the creed we say on Sunday morning; a corporate confession of faith that we say to bolster hope, warm the heart – for ourselves, but, perhaps more importantly for the faithful who are finding faith difficult in a particular moment.  I believe in God the father almighty creator of heaven and earth. My help comes from the Lord, the maker of heaven and earth. I acknowledge by speaking these words at a graveside that the Mystery of what is going on is far bigger than I can dream or imagine – the Mystery began in creation, even before creation, there is longevity in this creative force - this gives me hope. 
This Psalm is considered a Song of ascent, meaning it was sung as one journeyed up to the Temple, to give one’s offering, to offer prayers before God. There is some evidence it was sung too, as a spiritual pilgrimage when going to Jerusalem was impractical or impossible. Asking, seeking, -going on a journey outside of oneself- is stated so simply in the Psalm and surprisingly the grace offered is returned a hundredfold. The word of grace given is called in biblical text, a priestly blessing; much like blessing you hear at the end of service, the Lord bless you and keep you, the Lord make his face shine on you, as recorded in Deuteronomy.  Most of the Psalm 121 is a proclaimed blessing – and it grows from a simple question and confession of faith.

Although in a different style of writing, a similar pattern is heard in the text from Genesis.  Abram is invited to go on a journey which is followed by a sevenfold blessing. The text from John’s Gospel is again similar, Nicodemus journeys to Jesus, seeks to understand, with this text portion ending in a blessing that the Son came into the world, “in order that the world might be saved” – a blessing.

A priest is visiting his atheist barber for a trim and shave. The barber engages the priest in conversation and asks, “If there is a loving God, how can God allow poverty, war, and suffering?” At that moment, looking out the window of the barber shop, both saw a disheveled man with wily hair lumber past. The priest said to the barber, “You are a barber and claim to be a good one.  How can you allow that man to go about unkept and unshaved?” The barber snorted, “That man never gave me a chance.” To which the priest replied, “Exactly, people are what they are because they never give God a chance.”

This can not be said of Abram or Nicodemus. 
God comes to Abram – as unknown, unannounced, and as yet, unintroduced. Abram had not previously heard of this God, who has asked him to go on a journey that will take him and his household away from his kinsfolk, his inheritance, the land and the traditional gods of Mesopotamia, the bustling trade of Haran, the riches of this place, the availability of water and food, and the culture he has lived and known for 75 years. Abram is asked to go on a journey and sacrifice everything he has ever known. God invited Abram and Abram says, “yes.”
God came through Jesus, speaking in the streets, performing signs, and confronting the religious leaders – God came unannounced and in an unexpected way.  Nicodemus, watching for the signs that would usher in a Messiah, was unclear as to whether Jesus was the fulfilment of the prophets words that he had been taught all his life. Nicodemus, in his conversation with Jesus, is invited into a spiritual journey wherein what he has believed is being interpreted in a broader way. To entertain such thoughts Nicodemus takes a risk – potentially sacrificing everything he has ever known and believed, along with the possible loss of his job, status, friends, and family. God invited Nicodemus on a journey, Nicodemus says, “yes.” The confirmation of the ‘yes’ comes later in the Gospel story when Nicodemus stands up for Jesus in the Sanhedrin reminding colleagues that the law required that persons to be blamed with heresy are to be heard before a judge; and at the time of Jesus death Nicodemus provides the customary embalming spices and assists Joseph of Arimathea in preparing Jesus’ body for burial.

God comes – unknown, unannounced, unintroduced, unexpected – looking around our troubled world this coming goes unobserved and perhaps unwanted; at the same time, according to biblical stories we hear through the season of Lent, God comes and people respond, ‘yes.’
The crux of the text that confronts me this morning is the seemingly simple way to bring blessing into the world. It is a phrase we hear over and over again, during Lent, “Return to the Lord your God.” In the texts of today turning to God, Nicodemus and the Psalmist do this by asking questions; Abram does it by going on a journey. The journey moves forward with a statement or action of faith --- and then because the participants dare to go on the journey, sacrificing everything they have ever known – blessing is imparted. 

Psalm 121, a Psalm that Nicodemus would have known, would have sung, speaks to me in the simplest form. When asking the question, “from where will my help come?” I think not of journey or sacrifice, it is a cry from the depths of my being --- that bursts into hope and visions of a brighter future by the poetically articulated blessing. At a graveside, when I hear the Word proclaimed, I am so exhausted that the Words sink deep within and they settle.  I believe them by osmosis, by intuiting their truth. And in speaking them aloud, the blessings live into the lives of others who hear them.  

Professor of Old Testament, Rolf Jacobson, at Luther Seminary in St. Paul Minnesota writes that the “genre of blessing is under utilized in our world today.” He states, “I believe that every child of God should give and receive a blessing every day.” We could do that, we could impart spoken blessings to people around us as we walk through our days.  We could also practice the spiritual discipline shown through scripture texts – turn or seek the Lord and proclaim a statement of faith (even if you might doubt the statement at the time of speaking it).  In a troubled world, is our turning to God, the healing balm that becomes a blessing on the whole world?  I would like to believe that it is.

By coming here this morning, you turn and seek the Lord, you make a confession of faith; a blessing will be received in the world, a hundredfold, as you go into the world with healing, warmth of spirit, and bolstered hope.

The God of Peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, make you complete in everything good so that you may do God’s will, working in you that which is well-pleasing in God’s sight; through Jesus Christ , to whom be the glory forever and ever. Amen.           
-pg 251, Evangelical Lutheran Worship Pastoral Care, Augsburg Fortress

Forget Fasting; Indulge in Kindness -Lent 1A

Holistic health practitioner, Matt Marchant, has compiled on his business page a group of short parables on love and relationship. After hearing read the story of Eve and Adam from Genesis, I couldn’t resist sharing this modern day parable with you.
 “Mulla Nasrudin was talking with a friend about his love life. “I thought I had found the perfect woman,” Mulla said. “She was beautiful and had the most pleasing features a man could imagine. She was exceptional in every way, except she had no knowledge.”
     “So I traveled farther and met a woman who was both beautiful and intelligent. But, alas, we couldn’t communicate.” “After further travels, I met a lady who had everything: perfect mind, perfect intelligence, and great beauty, all the features I was looking for, but...”
     “What happened?” asked the friend. “Why didn’t you marry her at once?”
     “Ah well,” said Mulla, “as luck would have it, she was looking for the perfect man.””

Genesis chapter 3 is the passage in the Bible that has been used as the basis for the doctrine of original sin. It has been deliberated on through the centuries about whose fault sin was/is, how it happened, what it all means. In the end, Eve, Adam, and serpent are not found to be perfect. The Oxford Annotated NRSV Bible comments: “Though this story is often taken by Christians as an account of ‘original sin,’ the word ‘sin’ never occurs in it.  Instead, it describes how the maturing of humans into civilized life involved damage of connections established [in the creation story] between the Lord God, man, woman, and earth.”

Through Lent we will be asked to enter wonderful and daunting stories from Hebrew scripture. The stories confront themes that so often humans ignore and prefer not to contemplate. We will be asked to contemplate right and wrong, blessings and cursings, life and death. The texts will have us pondering our humanity and what that means for the relationships involved in being human.
In past interpretation today’s story, so often dissolves into argument about sin, missing further learnings to be gathered from the richness of the text.

Much to my pleasure I read a line of commentary that allowed me to ponder the text in a new way. The commentary summed up the story saying: Human beings were formed with great care, to be in relationship with the creator, creation, and one another. The serpent’s promise to the first couple that their eyes would be opened led, ironically, to the discovery only that they were naked. (– Sundays and Seasons 2020, Augsburg.)
Think about that for a moment – Eve and Adam eat fruit from the tree of knowledge- and they only realize that they are naked; that is all. What I find interesting is what happens next, and perhaps this is the first  ‘sin’ as this seems so human to me – Eve and Adam choose to judge the nakedness; and it is judged as bad because they go about sewing themselves coverings to hide being naked. What I also find interesting is and perhaps in competition beside judging to be the first ‘sin,’ that the new knowledge is all about them, all about me; it is applied directly to the self; the information is used in a self-serving way and separates the body, the person, from the intimate experiences they have had of the world around them. This applied knowledge has introduced a visible boundary in relationships; there is a layer of protection between woman and man, between humans and creation, between Creator and creature.
Judging and separation are not the only ‘sins’ in competition for the first sin. Perhaps the story has a variant ending – what if the first couple, eating forbidden fruit, had risked opening their eyes further – was there a possibility of discovering, of knowing, of intuiting, of grasping the ultimate importance and godliness of recognizing the need of the other; of daring to encounter and experience intimate relationships with partners, creation, Creator?  Could the first couple have chosen to not get stuck in the tidbit of being naked, and rather embrace the larger consciousness?  Could they not have been inundated with kindness – a will to be an expression of kindness?

This past week the message in the church sign on Windsor St. changed.  For the season of Lent, the sign’s dictate to the neighbourhood is: forget fasting, indulge in kindness.

This phrase came about one night when I was dreaming about what to put in the sign. I was pondering Lent and Lenten practice, considering what I would find beneficial as a direction for the season.  I figured whatever words I needed to hear, might also be the words someone else needed.  Lent is a season that reflects on sin and temptation – starting this past Wednesday at Ash Wednesday service – we heard that we are dust and to dust we shall return.  We were reminded that we sin – questioning this - take a few moments after worship and read through the confession on page 253 in the front of the hymn book. We have all sinned. The call that comes to sinners in Lent is to turn from sin and return to the Lord our God; to see and hear that Lord is good and God’s steadfast love endures, that God is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love. It is from this pondering that the sign’s phrase made sense to me: forget fasting, indulge in kindness.

I, like Eve and Adam, don’t do so well when asked not to do something. When I think of fasting I think about everything that I am not allowed to eat or drink or do. My mind and my heart become occupied in being perfect in keeping the rule that has been set, and I loss the point of the fast in the first place – to draw closer in relationship with creation the giver of food, to grow in my relationship with farmer the provider of food, to grow in relationship with siblings who have no food – who need my food; to spend more time in prayer and reflection (rather than eating) to increase my relationship with God.
So the dictate to the community – forget fasting, indulge in kindness – is not suggesting one refrain from doing wrong, or try to be perfect, rather, the incentive is for one to concentrate and focus on actively working to be kind.  Shifting the focus from a negation point of view to a view focused on a positive virtue, completely changes my attitude and thus my human willingness to participate. Perhaps it is my years spent in Christian community, I see the practice of indulging in kindness as the counterpoint to original sin; the fullness of kindness lacks the sin of judgement, the sin of separation, the sin of not risking enough by stopping at our own threshold and not being open to the beyond.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness.  In literature from Alcoholics Anonymous, kindness is named as essential for working through the 12 steps of the program. AA material states that to be kind is to be in service of those in need. One can do a kind act for self-serving purposes, but, this is not kindness and is of no help to the person doing the act. If I used one word to describe the 12 steps of anonymous programs I would say the theme is relationship. Kindness is a virtue of the heart, and when applied one sees need; need is found everywhere especially in our relationships.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness. Catholicstrength.com says, Kindness is a virtue which “lifts the spirits” and “touches the hearts” of the people we encounter in our lives. When kindness is amplified by grace theologians call it an infused or supernatural virtue gifted to us in baptism, and when that virtue of kindness becomes part of our very nature – perfecting us in grace – it is a manifestation of the fruit of the Holy Spirit. 

We have been perfected  in grace through the waters of baptism. As we have drowned sin, washed, and risen with Christ, God’s grace continues to flow through us. God works through our very lives, when we chose to stop living first sins. That is to fast from judging and to stop looking at ourselves, our nakedness, our lack of whatever, and rather,  risk opening ourselves to the world around us, to drop barriers that separate us from the  intimate experiences and relationships we were called to in the very beginning in the connections established in the creation story between the Lord, man, woman, and earth.

For the next 40 days, I invite you to join with me and indulge in kindness.
Creator, when tempted to eat forbidden fruit, turn us from sin, infuse us with courage to practice the risky business of opening our hearts to the world around us. Give us the grace to indulge in kindness. Let an abundance of compassion overflow and overwhelm our neighbourhoods. Flood the world with lavish love. May this season of Lent gush with a grace that lift spirits and touch hearts.  Amen.