Living Resurrection, Expect Scarring

 

Let me be clear! Revelation is a letter written to the churches of Asia Minor. Just as Paul wrote to early Christian communities, so too did John. The letter is written in a time of Christian persecution at the hand of the Empire of Rome. The letter is subversive – meaning it challenges and goes against the Empire. It is encrypted – meaning it is written in code with plenty of symbols. It is a letter to encourage the church at a time of persecution to remain faithful and to share the Good News of Jesus’ resurrection through action.

Let me be clear, while it is apocalyptic and prophetic, it is not directly written about or to us. In times of trial and persecution apocalyptic literature resonates with the hearer because it reflects lived reality. The prophetic in Revelation is the bookend to creation as told in Genesis. Although the world is currently broken, there will be a time of completion of the covenant promises heard throughout the scriptures; God’s vision will come to be in its fullness.

 

A colleague who writes under the pseudonym ‘The Sour Theologian’ says:

Easter is completely political.

The crucifixion was a very clear political statement by Rome to anyone who might stand up to it, or call into question its power and authority.

Declaring resurrection of someone who was executed in this way is also a very clear political statement that Rome, or any other wannabe empire, does not have the final say.

Christians are not called to follow empire.

Christians are called to follow the crucified and risen one.

Into the political realm.

Because Easter is completely political.

 

On this second Sunday of Easter are you prepared to follow Jesus? On the eve of election day, are you prepared to take Easter with you when you vote?

The Empire crucified Jesus, hoping to bring an end to his work and message, and to thwart and dissipate his followers. The Empire was not about to welcome an alternative kind of rule, a collaboration of authority, or a sharing of power. The Empire was not about to lift the average out of poverty, the sick into wholeness, or the slave into freedom. The Empire was not about to be tolerant of religion, of the customs of the places they occupied, or of groups they deemed anti-establishment. The Empire did not care one iota about the common people or their welfare. The Empire decided who was a citizen and did not take responsibility for anyone else. The Empire daily increased it borders, occupying lands, exploiting and consuming resources. The Empire had an economic system that kept the Empire rich and its populace hungry, overworked, and precariously housed.

 

Jesus was about none of these things. In his teachings, parables, miracles, actions, conversations, and exchanges -repeatedly and continually- an anti-Empire message was presented.

In Revelation, John draws attention to the scars of Empire in his description of Jesus’ coming – the One to come is pierced. This is no accident. This is Good News, for the One who was killed has been resurrected by a power greater than the Empire. The scars remain as a constant reminder of the brutality of Empire juxtaposed to life-giving community in Christ.

 

John’s letter to the seven churches, is a letter addressed to the church plural. The use of a series of plural pronouns speaks to the understanding of the universal and communal nature of God’s church. From the beginning, John’s letter emphasizes community, and that resurrection is a communal affair. Jesus Christ, John writes, made us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God.

Let me be clear! As one reads through Revelation, if not distracted by the encryption symbols lost to us, hearers hear the message that God does not act alone. Resurrection is a communal affair. The introductory words of the letter of Revelation are warning hearers that Christ’s resurrection, resurrection from death at the hand of Empire, is Good News but --- communities can expect scars, even loss of life. Why is it that Revelation scares a lot of readers and hearers? Because the letter pointedly tells the church what living resurrection means.

Revelation is filled with vivid images of blood and fire, the wielding of power, imprisonment and torture, and so on. The Empire is described with a lack of conscious and plenty of violence. The Empire is beyond itself, frantic in chaos, trying to control the springing up of resurrection. Despite the Empire’s fierce tactics to stop it the seven churches are practicing, to greater-and-lesser degrees, following the example of Jesus. John’s letter is to commend the faithful and encourage where faith is weak.

 

This making us to be a kingdom, priests serving his God is about living resurrection. In this letter living resurrection is standing in opposition to Empire. Resurrection is faith community standing up to Empire demanding justice – and yes, Revelation is scary because Easter is scary, in living Easter you will most assuredly acquire scars.

 

 One of my seminary professors, who was an activist to his core, often remarked that the ‘church is not being the church unless it is being persecuted.’ What he meant by this was the church community was failing to follow Jesus and Jesus’ call to address the Empire because the Empire took no notice. Jesus was killed by the Empire because the Empire noticed Jesus. Jesus was under their skin and the community around Jesus was growing in hope, in health, in community mindedness, and was empowered to work for and seek justice. The Empire noticed. Following the resurrection, and the proclamation that ‘Jesus is alive!,’ as thousands of believers were baptized, as many lived in community, as the hungry were fed, as the sick were healed, as widows/orphans/and others were cared for, and slaves were set free - the Empire noticed. The Empire took offense and responded by ferociously persecuting Jesus’ followers.

 

Christians are not called to follow empire. Christians are called to follow the crucified and risen one.

Into the political realm. Because Easter is completely political.

If this statement doesn’t sit well with you, Revelation will not sit well with you either. And that is okay –

There is still time – but as John reminds us, the time is near – to turn from Empire and follow the crucified and risen one. Into the political realm.

Revelation is a letter written by John in love for the church in Asia Minor. It is written with love and encouragement for a community in peril. It is written from the depth of belief in Jesus Christ and Christ’s resurrection and that resurrection is a community affair. It is written as words to stoke fire and passion that opposes Empire in all its forms and makes people uncomfortable, scared even, until accepting the call to be a kingdom, priests serving – living resurrection with the expectation of scarring.

 

 

New Testament Professor Anna Bowden at Louisville Presbyterian Theological Seminary sums up the Revelation passage for this morning: “This short passage from Revelation, as it turns out, is packed with the hope of Easter. It reminds God’s faithful that God is in control and that God does not act alone. It beckons us to pay attention and to look for the evil ways of empire in our own imperial context. And it encourages us to serve those who experience violence at the hands of power, rather than the powerful themselves. This is good news indeed!”

The Three Days: Repose, Despair, Respair ( Part 3)

  

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

Respair: A state of fresh hope; a recovery from despair

 

That’s the conclusion of the sentence from Good Friday. Respair.

Most certainly respair. The women have solemnly walked to the tomb, wrapped in cloaks coated with despair. As they reach the grave, it is perplexingly open. Stunned, shoulder-to-shoulder they squish together to poke their heads into the cavern. The musty damp air pulls on them, seeps into their cloaks. And then in an instant -as their eyes adjusted to the dimness, a growing awareness solidified in them: Jesus was not among the dead – the stale air surrounding them was sucked into the void taking with it the despair that had clung to their cloaks.

Resurrection dawns. Patient hope blossoms again, only it is not so patient. This resurrection respair ushers them out into God’s garden, God’s world. If there was ever a time to yell OMG, Oh my God, this is it!

Unbounded, with hope germinating in each step, they rush to tell the disciples and other followers.

Jesus is alive.

 

A week ago, I came across a meme that read: “Both faith and fear demand you to believe in something you cannot see. You choose.”

Both faith and fear demand you to believe in something you cannot see.

 

The women chose faith, faith flourishing in respair. The disciples – still smelling of despair - chose fear. We hear Luke describe the scene as the apostles presuming the women were telling an idle tale, chose not to believe them.

Except for Peter – there was something about the patient hope of the women that wears on Peter, their enthusiasm disturbs his despair, sews something deeper in him. The women’s respair seems to be mending his hurt. He is drawn to go investigate. Jesus is alive!

 

And I wonder  -  the choice of faith or fear? The women were present at the cross side-by-side, patient hope bearing the suffering of Jesus to the very depths of despair, to death and from there to resurrection, to respair, to life.

And Peter, Peter too went with Jesus at a distance to the courtyard, denying Jesus he too sat in the depths of despair. Was it this experience of despair – nudged by the women’s story-  that was the turning point from fear to faith?  With fear and trepidation, and the respair of the women, Peter mends, heals enough to see the bigness of it all. Jesus is alive!

Perhaps the other disciples and followers fled, fled that night in the garden and avoided the plunge into the despairing events that ended in death, and thus, to choose faith was momentarily unavailable for they had avoided despair.

Both faith and fear demand us to believe in something we cannot see.

Jesus performed signs and wonders. Jesus turned water to wine, multiplied loaves and fish, cast our demons, cured the lame, raised the dead. All while preaching a counter-cultural audacious Gospel and the immediate coming of God’s kindom.

On that morning at the empty tomb, whelmed with respair, the women embark into resurrection. Everything in their being changed.

 

It is impossible to explain the internal shift, how the hearing of the words Why do you look for the living among the dead? blew despair from their shoulders and filled their spirits with conviction of resurrection. Jesus is alive!

Even more astonishing was faith that in Jesus’ resurrection God’s kindom came!

And yet, the world remained much the same: the Roman Empire still occupied Jerusalem and Judea, sedition still brought death, poverty was rampant, the sick were still sick, the hungry were hungry, justice was for some and not others.

 

The counter-cultural audacious Gospel preached by Jesus and the immediate coming of God’s kindom, blossomed in the respair of the women. Respair was a new hope, a faith of full resurrection, although living in a reality of continued shadow and suffering; being at peace in the complexity of that. A peace where the kindom was present and yet not fully here. Respair was living resurrection as a work in progress.

 

Consider resurrection moments, those times when respair of generations has ushered into the world change, a movement from fear to faith. Glorious, Alleluia moments … yet still resurrection in progress because the change is in the spirit of those who have been in repose, sat in the depths of despair, and been whelmed by respair --- resurrection blossoms --- and the world is released from bondage, healed in part by the respair of the faithful.

That resurrection, Alleluia moment is healing but not the end of the story-

The glorious alleluia of Emancipation was not an end to slavery.

Black Lives Matter was not an end to racism.

Legislating women’s right to vote was not an end to sexism.

Flying Pride and inclusion flags was not an end to homophobia or transphobia.

#MeToo was not the end to misogyny.

World Inter-faith Harmony Week was not the end to antisemitism, Islamophobia, or anti-Christian sentiment.

The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was not an end to the work of Treaty negotiation and reconciliation.

Brokered ceasefires are not the end to war.

Social assistance is not the end of poverty.

Vaccination and medical advances are not the end of illness or death.

Green energy and recycling are not the end of addressing climate crisis.  

 

Although not yet complete, all are glorious alleluia resurrection moments, sprouting from the ashes of despair, blossoming in respair—humans choosing faith over fear. Resurrection comes in the work towards lasting and abundant justice, the fulfilment of God’s kindom and God’s promises, life and life abundant.

 

Faith and fear demand us to believe in something we cannot see. Resurrection, respair, is choosing faith for the healing of the whole world. 

The Three Days: Repose, Despair, Respair (Part 2)

 

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

Despair: A state of utter loss of hope or confidence

 

“Blessing,” station nine of the Stations of the Cross that is currently in the church hall, shows a hand in the pose of blessing. In the upper background, lined side-by-side across the width of the poster are women. The poster says that a great number of people followed him and among them were women.

 

As the Gospel continues, the women are lined side-by-side observing the despairing event of Jesus’ death. Or rather, the women are in repose – patient hope bearing Jesus’ suffering; this shoulder-to-shoulder presence is their responsive action of having love for Jesus and for one another. Sorrow, grief, and patient hope are companion to Jesus’ call of despair, “My God, my God why have you forsaken me.”

The Doctrine of Despair is described as losing one’s belief in God’s capacity to forgive. Medieval tradition called this the ‘sin against the Holy Spirit.’ Despair has been named as the sin against hope. At that moment as the sky turned as night, Jesus’ last breath of air is heavy with despair.  

 

The women present – the world- ache with the weight of Jesus’ sorrow and despair.

 

And yet, there is electricity in the air, between the women shoulder-to-shoulder.

For a moment their patient hope is overwhelmed by sorrow and despair.

 

Psychologist Gretchen Schmelzer describes the moment: Despair is a turning point. In a state of despair you see the bigness of it all – and because of that you are freed from a world of simplistic duality – of there being an easy answer, of it being this-or-that. Despair helps you hold the complexity, which is the only real hope of healing. 

 

In the depths of despair, despair has a seed of redemptive nature. Embraced despair has the miraculous power to set one free – to set humanity, the world, free.

In a few minutes we participate in the Solemn Reproaches, an ancient liturgical pattern that articulates an intentional decent into despair, naming human rebellion along side God’s continued acts of faithfulness.

 

Author Kathleen Norris describes despair, despair is when our lives are on the line and unwelcome changes obliterate our sense of God’s presence. In this despair, the women at the cross, us sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, are once again graced with the redemptive nature of despair, in bearing witness to the bigness of it all we are freed from a world of simplistic duality and of easy answers. We are gifted with a power to embrace and hold complexity – in Jesus’ last breath of despair- the world, humanity was given the only real hope of healing.

 

As we sit shoulder-to-shoulder at the foot of the cross, we welcome despair … that turning point … from death…… to …..

THE THREE DAYS: REPOSE, DESPAIR, RESPAIR (Part 1)

 

The Three Days are ancient in Christian observation. For centuries the rituals and liturgies have cradled believers, opening safe space to relive the emotion fraught passion of Jesus and embrace the counter-cultural audacious Gospel. Immersion in this powerful series of events situates the faithful to be fully present in the world, and amid fear break-open fulfilment of God’s promises. Through these Three Days each sermon reflects on one of three responsive approaches garnered from the Gospel to navigate and care for the world as we know it. The responsive approaches are: repose, despair, and respair. 

 

MAUNDY THURSDAY - REPOSE

 

Repose: A state of resting after exertion or strain.

 

When I was a young adult, I vividly remember encountering a poster with a drawing of the Last Supper. The figures in the sketch were gathered around low tables, facing each other either sitting or partially reclining on cushions. They were laughing and talking. There were various emotions shown on the faces around the food-filled tables. It was obvious it was the Last Supper, prominent were a chalice shaped cup and a loaf of bread by Jesus. With Jesus there were 12 other men. The drawing included a couple of women too, and a child, and a dog. I remember the scene because I was captivated by the joy on the faces of those gathered and the liveliness of the conversations. At the same time the artist captured underlying heavier feelings and the grave importance of this supper. The gathered friends belonged around the table and were relaxed in each other’s presence….and …there was a dog. The depiction on the poster captures for me the idea of repose.

 

Regardless of which Gospel we read, the Last Supper – this celebration of Passover for Jesus and friends – happens in an intimate cocooned setting that is juxtaposed to heightened anxiety and turmoil on the streets of Jerusalem. Honouring tradition Jesus and followers gather for a sacred meal and settle into repose. Not only have disciples been busy acquiring a room and making preparation, but there has been travel to Jerusalem, a dramatic entrance into the city, and Jesus has been pointedly focused on provoking God’s justice aggravating authorities in the process. Needed on this night was a moment of repose. The Passover gathering relaxed into familiar words and designated foods, recalled a great series of miracles, celebrated the emancipation from Egyptian slavery and the making of a people, and reflected on the theme of divine redemption.

 

This moment of repose happened at a critical time. The gathered community were reminded who they were, what they were about, how they were to go about living, and why all of it mattered. Here repose is a gift of belonging, encouragement, trust, and faith-building. Knowing what lies ahead for this group, for Jesus, this moment of repose is important because it fills those gathered with stamina and courage to face soon-to-be inner circle betrayal, hostile authorities, anxious crowds, and despairing events.

 

Around the table, with friends, Jesus expands the Passover celebration adding a washing of their feet, not for the foot-washing itself, but as an act that demonstrates the command to ‘love one another.’ This responsive action grows from a place of repose.

 

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin wrote: The longer I live, the more I feel that true repose consists in ‘renouncing’ one’s own self, by which I mean making up one’s mind to admit that there is no importance whatever in being ‘happy’ or ‘unhappy’ in the usual meaning of the words. Apt words for reflection on this night. I reflect on the image of the Last Supper from the poster I told you about. There were those who had their heads thrown back in laughter and those with more serious expressions. I have never thought that the disciples gathered with the forethought of being happy or unhappy by participating in the supper. When I come to church, I don’t consider first whether it will make me happy or unhappy. I will admit that in everyday life, there are times and situations, where I do pre-decide if an activity will make me happy, and sometimes I avoid that which I deem will make me unhappy. De Chardin points out that I miss the point. Jesus’ point. Provoking God’s justice. Belonging in a history of God’s redemption. Washing feet. All of this is what matters. The approach to life amid troubles and suffering, is not happiness or unhappiness, it is love one for another. It is repose – resting from strain and exertion – the exertion of my own will, the strain of ego, the striving to succeed, the effort of judging, the strain of perfection or production – and stepping away, turning around, falling into repose within community means inner change so the responsive action is none-other than labours of love.

 

Good Friday’s service begins with a reading from Isaiah, one of four Servant Poems. This one titled, The Suffering Servant. Renowned author Kathleen Norris writes that the prophet Isaiah through the Suffering Servant poem models how God works, writing that the Suffering Servant is describing anyone of God’s faithful who willingly and humbly takes on suffering as the cost of giving witness. She articulates that the Suffering Servant does their work not in arrogant assertion of power but through a patient hope.

Patient hope. We don’t get to such a responsive action without repose.

Norris talks about childbirth and chemotherapy, as examples of patient hope, a suffering or pain that bear evidence that the pain or suffering are worth the struggle; that the joy to come will be greater than the struggle.

This is the question that sits with diners at the Last Supper. Is God’s kindom, are God’s promises, are the words of the prophets, is the work of the Messiah, is bringing God’s justice, … is the struggle to have all this fulfilled worth it? Will the joy to come be greater than the struggle?

 

Tonight, at this opportune time, we have gathered in community seeking reprieve, purpose, belonging, and encouragement. We repose in familiar words and experience rituals that remind us: who we are, what we are about, how we are to go about living, and why all of it matters.

 

Tonight, we set aside our wills and egos, our judgements and expectations, our success and production—we partake in repose that we might be filled with patient hope to bear the suffering of the fulfilment of God’s promises, the struggle of bearing witness to a counter-cultural audacious Gospel, and the responsive action of having love one for another.

You Will Not Always Have Me: Mirror and Magnify Love

 

It was at the house of Simon the Leper in Bethany. No, no, the event happened at the house of Simon the Pharisee in Galilee. I agree that the event was in Bethany, but it happened at the house of Lazarus.

 

Well, there is no question that it was a woman who put ointment on Jesus’ head. You mean a sinful woman anointed Jesus’ feet with ointment and tears.  No, it was costly ointment with nard and no tears, followed by wiping the feet with her hair. Really folks, it was Mary of Bethany.

 

Can we agree that there was objection to the act of anointing. Oh yes, Simon the Pharisee is clear -what righteous man would allow a woman to touch him in that way. No, the objection came from the disciples. No, it was ‘some people’ who stated that the ointment could have been sold for a large sum of money and given to the poor. Mmmm - It was definitely Judas.

 

The story of Jesus being anointed is uniquely told by each Gospel writer. The nuances in the story aren’t there to dissuade us from following Jesus or interpreting the scripture as anything but the Word of God. The nuances of the story allow for a deeper reflection on the pieces and characters in the story. It is a story rich and heavy with feelings, contradictions, and touching themes humans prefer to ignore. Each Gospel illuminates an alternative path of exploration, opening up a wealth of knowing and a variety of applications.

 

The context of this story from John’s Gospel is important to note as we reflect on the story of Mary anointing Jesus. Much of the previous chapter, Chapter 11, is the telling of the death of Lazarus. The story is graphic in the details of death. There is a tomb closed with a stone. There is a dead body inside wrapped in cloth.  And as Martha states when Jesus wants to open the tomb, there is already a stench of death.

Time has passed. Jesus, in chapter 12, returns to Bethany and there is no stench of death. In contrast today’s story tells of the air being rich and heavy with expensive and extravagantly used fragrant ointment.

 

The context of this event at Lazarus’ house is important. This is not just a happy story of Jesus visiting his friends and sharing a meal. The ointment used for anointing was ointment used at burials to prepare the dead body and honour the dead. Imagine being gather in a room with a group of people around a table, shoulder to shoulder. One might think of a cozy Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner with a warm room full of friends and family. If one adds fragrant ointment into the scene, what happens? The smell is strong and it permeates everything! The room would smell like a tomb after the burial preparations with spiced ointment was complete. I wonder if the author realized the image created - this group is in a tomb of sorts.

I say this because context matters. In chapter 11, after the raising of Lazarus, Jesus’ life is threatened. Verse 54 states that, Jesus therefore no longer walked about openly … In chapter 12: 9-11, while at the intimate inside dinner party, those outside Jesus’ circle came, not only because of Jesus, but also to see Lazarus, … the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well, since it was on account of him that many …  were deserting and were believing in Jesus. This whole story happens amid present danger and imminent threat of death.

 

This context changes how I hear and experience the story. With bounties on the heads of Jesus and Lazarus the whole conversation at the table is nauseatingly trivial; a conversational escapism and avoidance of matters at hand -matters of life and death.

Jesus enters the conversation to shut it down and redirect it to that of grave importance.

Jesus shuts down the conversation saying to Judas -and anyone else who would enter the argument - Leave her alone. Jesus then brings focus back to the point, you do not always have me.

And with that Jesus has articulated the deepest unspoken fear in the room. In that earthly tomb of trying to have a happy dinner party, smiles on faces, enjoying each others’ company, the truth is that they are all scared. Scared of the outsiders just beyond the door. Scared of what happens if -when- Jesus dies. Scared or troubled by the inevitable change brought about through the Messiah and the coming of God’s kindom. Scared to death by seven primal fear: death, rejection, failure, uncertainty, pain, the unknown, and loss of control.  

Jesus courts the conversation, you do not always have me.

 

For the reader of the story -you do not always have me- is most often read as a foreshadowing of Jesus’ death. However, what if it is meant to be more than that? In the Gospel of John the conversation that Jesus puts before his gathered followers is a conversation that doesn’t happen, or if it does it is not record. The story ends with Jesus speaking these words– you do not always have me. What if the conversation is left open because the statement is meant to centre our focus on Jesus who articulates humanities deepest unspoken fears?

Death, rejection, failure, uncertainty, pain, the unknown, and loss of control. All these fears are at work in this mornings Gospel text.

 

The context is import. Amid deep unspoken fears, Jesus is present for the followers gathered in Bethany – and present for us, not physically but in risen form and spirit form unknown to dinner party attendees of the 1^st century. We note that in Jesus’ presence much transpires that is wholesome and healing, life-giving:

Hospitality was given at the house of Lazarus. Martha served. Lazarus acted as host. Mary washed feet.

Judas asked a question. This question asked at any other time seems like the very sort of question the disciples would talk about, Jesus would teach on, or lead to the sharing of a parable.

The side comments, written in the text in brackets, about Judas’ stealing and his later betrayal of Jesus are added here in juxtaposition to the household of Lazarus. Perhaps harsh, for we don’t know why Judas’ stole from the purse. What is not noted in actual words, is that Jesus had Judas as one of the disciples. Whatever Judas did with the money from the common purse was from Jesus’ perspective not worth mentioning or confronting him about. Judas was included. Everyone gathered at the table and ate together.

 

 My takeaway from this reading of the Gospel story is a call to sit with Jesus’ statement, you will not always have me. If I sit with this statement and reflect on it, meaning on humanity’s -well my- deepest fears; rather than on the trivial conversations that occupy head and heart space, maybe then there will be wholeness, healing, and that which is life-giving in my own life and in the lives of others gathered at around the table.

 

Civil rights activist James Baldwin wrote – the longer I live, the more deeply I learn that love – whether we call it friendship or family or romance – is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light. Gentle work. Steadfast work. Life-saving work in those moments when life and shame and sorrow occlude our own light from our view, but there is still a clear-eyed loving person to beam it back. In our best moments, we are that person for another.

 

In that fragrant rich room in the house of Lazarus of Bethany, Jesus states their greatest fear. Jesus sits in the truth that he is to die. The one who earlier in the Gospel states: “I am the Light of the World,” will not longer be light in physical form. Surrounded by death and the smell of ointment and in it being alive, knowing death will come, do not be afraid. God’s glory will soon be seen in Jesus’ radiance – love. Mirror and magnify each other’s light. You will not always have me, but I will be present among you. Watch for me in the face of a clear-eyed person beaming love towards you – for it is God’s love.

Truth Comes to Me at the Fence Post

 

Before I go on a journey, particularly if it involves airplane travel, I take time to find a novel to take along. I try to find a piece of fiction that is engaging and is long enough to last through long waits in airports. It is sometimes read while on the plane. I can read for hours, completely at home in the story. Time passes quickly and is enjoyable.

 

Matt Haig, in his book, Notes on a Nervous Planet, writes:

In a world that can get too much, a world where we are running out of mind space, fictional worlds are essential. They can be an escape from reality, yes, but not an escape from the truth. Quite the opposite. In the “real” world, I used to struggle with fitting in. The codes you had to follow. The lies you had to tell. The laughs you had to fake. Fiction felt not like an escape from truth but a release into it. Even if its was a truth with monsters or talks of bears, there was always some kind of truth there. A truth that could keep you sane, or at least you you.

For me reading was never an antisocial activity. It was deeply social. It was the most profound kind of socializing there was. A deep connection to the imagination of another human being. A way to connect without the many filters society normally demands.

Reading … is important because it gives you room to exist beyond the reality you’re given. It is how humans merge. How minds connect. Dreams. Empathy. Understanding. Escape.

Reading is love in action. (-pg238-9)

 

Reading is love in action. Haig describes for me what the long readings of the Lent cycle and Holy Week are all about. Jesus is into the telling of parables – stories wherein we are released into truth- we experience a deep connection to the imagination of God; a room beyond our known and experienced reality. A place of possibilities and hope. Love in action. We are surrounded by God’s expansive imagination and truth in the parable of the fig tree. The parable of the prodigal son. The Passion narrative.

 

I don’t know about you, but every time I come to the story of the prodigal son, I fall into it in a different place. I hear and experience new truths, learning much about myself as a human being and where I am in life and my relationships with others. I become aware of where I am stuck in not living God’s covenant fully. The prodigal son parable is like falling into a therapy session. And because I know the story and the characters it feels like a safe place to wander because at the conclusion of the story, I always come away with feeling that the reading is love in action – big love, God love.

 

I have a good friend who explores scripture by imagining themself in the Gospel story. They insert themself in the story as they are in their everyday life. While in the story they talk with the characters, work alongside them, and participate in whatever is going on. When my friend talks about these journeys I am amazed with the deep conversations they have with Jesus. My friend often says, “So, I asked Jesus about that.” Then they tell me about what wisdom they encountered; the truth that was present. They drop themselves into the story with the expectation that their experience with Jesus will change them  - their perspective, their understanding, their capacity; their ability to love and be loved. What a powerful way to enter the Gospel --- God’s story.

 

Haig, in his writing, draws on his experience of mental illness and depression. The reading of fiction is one of the ways he finds healing and wholeness. He writes, “Find a good book. And sit down and read it. There will be times in our life when you’ll feel lost and confused. The way back to yourself is through reading. I want to remember that. The more you read, the more you will know how to find your way through those difficult times.” _pg266

 

We have a good book. In fact, we have many good books, all in one book – the Bible. This year, the focus is on the Book of Luke and Luke’s telling of the Gospel story. Luke is a master storyteller. His characters are everyday people, living everyday lives, with everyday emotions. The stories are understandably human. What appear to be very human stories are waiting for us to fall into them – to read and relax into truth. What we find is that the stories, while being very human, are rich with the presence of God.

 

This year, as I relaxed into the story of the prodigal son, and walked around in it, I rested at the gate of the farm. The prodigal son returns: I saw him coming down the road. The father whoops and hollers loudly when he sees the son. Shortly thereafter there is a whole lot of commotion. Large groups of birds are disturbed and fly in circling masses. Hired hands scurry all over the farm gathering the fixings to host a celebration, a party with food and dancing. People from the neighbouring countryside are issued invitations, as the word spreads people start streaming to the farm. At the gate I see and hear the makings of a party. There is movement and work all over the estate, along with the noise of that work. I smell the food cooking. The dust from the road catches in my throat as it swirls behind carts and wagons. It seems everyone has heard about the party --- except for an oblivious older son, who doesn’t realize until he pretty much stumbles in the door of the farmhouse. It is impossible to believe that he had no idea, that his senses missed it all. How did he miss the excitement and enthusiasm, the commotion and the preparation?

This is when Truth joins me at the fence post and taps me on the shoulder and asks me, “are you oblivious?”

 

I pause because I cast my gaze on the party at hand. I saw the son come home. I felt the joy of the father and the love given to the returning son. I was present in the commotion. I witnessed the daftness of the elder son.

Truth, has not let go of my shoulder, and whispers, “To what are you oblivious? What is God doing? Where is love? Where is there rejoicing? Where is there extravagant hospitality?” Truth whispers it as fact, I am oblivious even though I pride myself on being keenly observant.

Truth turns and stands in front of me and looking me in the eye, looking deep inside and repeats, “what are you missing?”

 In this later half of Lent, Truth asks me to step away from being preoccupied in work and daily tasks, being consumed by world crisis, from being self-absorbed, and to pay attention to a present God who is hosting welcome home parties all over the neighbourhood, inviting me to come, and use my hands to participate with excitement and enthusiasm in the commotion and preparation for the celebrations.

Truth has spoken to me through the Gospel story.

 

This Sunday in Lent we are given a gift of story. I encourage you to return to story of the prodigal son and the rejoicing father, Luke 15 starting at verse 11, place yourself in the story, be released into truth – and find what Truth says to you. Pick up the Gospel of Luke, sit down and read it. As you read, find the way back to yourself, make deep connections in all relationships, be healed by the presence of God, and be inspired by love in action, to be God’s love in action.

 

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Time Flies!

 Time flies!

It certainly feels that way for many of us. Perhaps we have crammed so much into our days that it feels like we have not enough time. Or time seems shorter because as we age it takes longer to complete tasks. Maybe we sense the earth’s drift closer to the sun and note that every few years clock time is readjusted by a few seconds because it takes less time for the earth to circle the sun.

Time flies!

In New Denmark, NB, our Lutheran siblings have a tradition where at the end of the graveside prayers, those in the cemetery sing to the tune of Silent Night, the first verse of this Danish hymn:

Klokken slaar, tiden gaar, evigheden os forestarr…

Loosely translated and continuing: Bells strike, time passes, eternity awaits us. So, let’s use the precious time to serve our Lord with earnest diligence; then we’ll come home, then we’ll come home.

Time flies!

The scripture texts for today remark on how it is that humans spend their time.

Isaiah pointedly tells listeners that they busy themselves spending time and money on things that do not satisfy and on things that have little value. As prophets do, they berated humans for amassing wealth and failing to care and share with others. The prophet calls humans to repent… to turn away from wasting time and money.

Jesus is swarmed by a group who are spending their time gossiping about Galileans whose blood Pilate mingled with sacrifices and wanting a response from Jesus.  Jesus’ response is a redirection, a turning away from gossip and fear mongering; a call of sorts to repent.

Jesus continues to refocus the conversation by pulling from the news reel of the day. The news of the tower’s collapse and the subsequent deaths was probably the consuming talk of the whole town. Jesus turns people from the news, repent; turn away.

Time flies!

In myself, I have noticed a change in how I experience scripture. As humans turn towards gossip, fear mongering, highlighting death, forgetting to care for neighbour, amassing more for themselves – including power, I hear a growing urgency in the words of Isaiah and Jesus. I sense an urgency within myself. It doesn’t take long for times to change, for that which we thought was stable to fall apart. Repent – turn around.

For Isaiah, turning around is described as: Eat what is good, incline your ear, come to me, so that you might live. Your earthly life, your time as a people is short, get on with living the covenant. For Jesus, turning around is described in the parable of the fig tree where one turns towards patience and loving and tending that which is before them.

Paul’s letter to the Corinthians describes for us a community of faith that is figuring out how to apply and live the words of Isaiah and Jesus. They are discerning repentive action: turning away, turning around, and turning towards.

Paul uses snippets of Hebrew stories to serve as examples, explaining that Hebrew scriptures were written down to instruct us, on whom the end of the ages have come. And reminding the people that No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. The scriptures referred to address fear-filled times, the end of the ages as Paul puts it, and are used to illustrate God’s continued faithfulness regardless of world and human affairs.

 

Reading the letters to the Corinthians, we note that the community is not of one mind. Although having a unity in the figure of Jesus and commonality in the following of Christ, there is a diversity of opinion on how the community goes about being a Christian community that lives in a world of idolatry and terror.

The text is very human. It reveals a proclivity for rules, a human system to determine sin and a way to judge the same. It reads pointing fingers at historical actions leading to destruction, exile, and death. In Paul’s letters there is a repeated focus on naming sin, and communities consumed in judging sin of its members, rather than living with Christ-like concern for others and being guided by this principle. It is like the parable of the fig tree, Jesus turns the focus from what is interpreted as a no-good-tree, to concern and love for the tree.

Paul does get to the point of his argument, that the community is to faithfully be on the lookout for ‘ways God will provide.’ And it might be in the most unexpected ways. The church in Corinth is a young Christian community that is different from the world around them. Most notably it is what the community will eat and not eat; these rules based in Hebrew scripture. It posed real challenges and potential danger for the Christian community, as the society in which they lived, shared and ate food sacrificed to Roman-gods. To not eat that which was offered was offensive and anti-Empire. Some ate, some didn’t, both had a theological reason for choosing the action they did, and both sides judged each other’s religiousity or sinfulness. Paul invites the community to repentive action – turning away from judging and arguing. Paul refocuses the conversation of discernment on how to live as God-followers in the world as a turn towards patience and love. Let love dictate interactions in the world.

I hear Paul’s words as an urgent plea to repent, time is flying, time is short. Repent from spending your time making a hierarchy of sin, of judging each other, and get on with covenant living, get on with loving.

Time flies!

Klokken slaar, tiden gaar, evigheden os forestarr… Bells strike, time passes, eternity awaits us.

 

I appreciated the singing of this Danish verse. To mark the end of earthly life, those gathered are reminded that time passes and eternity awaits us. Simply put, it is reminiscent of Ash Wednesday’s Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return and Jesus’ words from the cross to the thief, Today you will be with me in paradise.

The statement is simple and true.

There is certainly nothing we can do about time passing. There is nothing we can do for those who have died. There is nothing we can do to change the past. The final act of singing this verse allows one to gently be laid to rest, while mourners sing a seed of hope to move them from death to living life in the time they have.

As Isaiah, and Jesus, and Paul invite repentance and a turning towards covenant living--

So let’s use the precious time (we have) to serve our Lord with earnest diligence; then we’ll come home, then we’ll come home.

Time flies!

There is no time like the present to repent – to turn around – to turn towards living each precious moment serving our Lord with earnest diligence and with patience, loving and tending those who are around us.

 

The Mother Hen

 Can chickens fly? …

I’ll come back around to answer this question.

 

While writing this Gospel, Luke may very well have been praying or singing Psalm 91.

You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress; my God in whom I trust.’ For he will deliver you from the snare of the hunter and from the deadly pestilence; he will cover you with his pinions, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and defense. -Ps 91: 1-4

The Psalm describes God’s shelter, or being shelter by God, as being covered by wings. Pinions – that is the outer part of a bird’s wing including the flight feathers. Enfolded in the faithfulness of God’s wings, the persons collected find refuge, fortress, and deliverance; a shield, a defense.

 

I wonder if Luke was experiencing a sense of instability in the world around him. I wonder if he had anxiety. The world at his time was filled with political posturing, Roman aggression, economic troubles, increased taxes, religious disputes, escalating violence, and growing discontent. When I read the Gospel of Luke, I wonder if some of what I feel today – or the how ‘we’ feel – was what Luke felt. Did he feel troubled by the chaos in the world around him? Remember in this Gospel one of his favourite phrases is ‘Do not be afraid.’ Often writers write as much to themselves as for their audience. Today’s text speaks to me as if Luke took great comfort from an image he knew from the Psalms and wanted to share that comfort with others. God will cover you will his pinions and under his wings you will find refuge.

 

Yet here, Luke understands that taking refuge under God’s wings does not mean that the struggles encountered in the world, or the turbulence in society disappears, rather it changes him and his ability to live in that world. Luke, in his telling of the gospel, describes a lost society where because people were ensnared – to their own will or to the will of others, there were ever more who were forgotten by the same. The forgotten were marginalized whether poor, widowed, orphaned, hungry, sick, or demon possessed. A significant group from the general population had turned away from seeking refuge in God. God’s vision of creation was far from being created and lived. We hear this in Luke’s story in the words of a frustrated – grieving, lamenting- Jesus, how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!

 

Luke takes great comfort under God’s pinions and refuge in God’s wings. It is from that faithfulness and strength of God’s, that he can write truth about power. It is no mistake that Luke calls Herod a fox; a shrewd choice of language. The Pharisees would agree. Herod was a fox. In an act of resistance, the pharisees approach Jesus, as a mother hen – offering a warning to protect that which they know too also be in opposition to, or counter to, the way of the fox. Luke begins this story with the Pharisees coming to warn Jesus of Herod’s intent to kill him. Unlike the Sadducees who were in cahoots with the authorities, the Pharisees separated themselves from Rome and its culture, recognizing the dangers of Roman Empire and its rulers who continually incited chaos and used violence towards the occupied territory and its people. This is represented in calling Herod a fox, there is no gospel in this statement. However, the gospel is found in the completion of the metaphor, Jesus as a hen gathering her brood under her wings -Lk 13: 34

 

The next two weeks Luke continues sharing the Gospel with stories told to the disciples and other followers, Jesus speaking to a brood of chicks. Under the wings of a mother hen, the chicks stay warm, growing together until they are big enough and feathered enough to fend for themselves. While in Jesus’ care the disciples hear parables – we will hear parables- that reflect God’s patience, God’s forgiveness, God’s grace, and God’s unconditional love. It is important for this mother hen time.

 

I feel this sanctuary on a Sunday morning as God’s pinions wrapped around us. We gather, together, to stay warm, to grow big enough and feathered enough to fend for ourselves. While here, I also feel like a mother hen gathering us and having specific stories to share to protect and strengthen us to face the foxes.  

This time is important. It is important to take refuge over the next few weeks because in our journey through Lent we know that a shadow is cast over the earth, over the human story, over the Incarnate One.

We are going to need the shield and refuge of stories reflecting God’s patience, forgiveness, grace, and unconditional love. We do not want to get caught being chickens running around with our heads cut off – a people without hope, wandering aimlessly, forgetting who we are, marginalizing others. These are serious times. We know…

Time is coming when the fox does kill mother hen and the chicks scatter. The hen is dead and buried.

Time is coming when from a sealed tomb, the rock is cracked open, and new life will emerge. The hen will rise.

Time is coming when the chicks will seek refuge in a locked upper room, mother hen returns with open wings ‘peace be with you.’

 

Can chickens fly? Technically yes. They can fly 10-12 metres and a little higher than an average human can reach. For all intents and purposes, the answer is no. Chickens are not really gifted with the ability to fly.

But a bird that can’t fly has much to teach us about the strength of being present. This inability to fly grounds the hen. Farmyards are not full of chickens all in a tizzy trying to fly. Chickens are content staying close to mother earth and to their chicks. A mother hen’s wings can collect and protect approximately 12 chicks – although there are instances where full sized hens have taken on twice that. There wings give protection and warmth. If there is no safe place to take refuge when a fox appears, a mother hen will gather the chicks under her wings and hunker down. The hen will not move, giving her life in protection of the chicks if necessary.

 

Jesus did not fly away from the fox. Jesus did not leave the disciples.  

God did not fly away from humankind. God chose to become and remain Incarnate. Present.

 

Bonhoeffer wrote in Discipleship –

And in the Incarnation the whole human race recovers the dignity of the image of God. Henceforth, any attack even on the least ... is an attack on Christ, who took the form of man, and in his own Person restored the image of God in all that bears a human form. Through fellowship and communion with the incarnate Lord, we recover our true humanity, and at the same time we are delivered from that individualism which is the consequence of sin, and retrieve our solidarity with the whole human race. By being partakers of Christ incarnate, we are partakers in the whole humanity which he bore. We know that we have been taken up and borne in the humanity of Jesus, and therefore that new nature we now enjoy means that we too must bear the sins and sorrows of others. The incarnate Lord makes his followers the siblings of all humankind.

Can chickens fly? More pointedly do you fly? When times get tough or too much do you (and your will) fly away, or do you ground yourself and taking refuge under God’s wings remain present. Partaking in Christ incarnate do you open your wings, gathering the chicks around you and bearing the sins and sorrows of others. Protecting, warming, with patience, forgiveness, grace, unconditional love, to death and beyond.

 

As Luke ends this story may it be true of us - blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.