Nevertheless…

 

Also available here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y2_yPF1VZOI  

When I was little, we had a black and white television to watch.  I remember being very curious about it, and the moving pictures inside.  There was only CBC in English and French, and CTV with Popcorn Playhouse on Saturdays.  Every year CBC would have Christmas special shows that quickly became family favorites.  First there was the Charlie Brown Christmas which came out in 1965, with Linus and that sad-looking tree transformed into something beautiful by friendship and co-operation.  Then there was the Grinch, who tried to sabotage Christmas by taking all the gifts and food out of Christmas, until his heart grew by three sizes!

It feels like we have a new kind of Grinch trying to steal our Christmas from us.  But we’re not sure what the Grinch looks like this year.  Is the Grinch a round ball with lots of spikes sticking out of it?  Or a politician changing their message?  Or a doctor who gives us scary numbers?  Or someone who wants to dismiss this as a conspiracy?  Unlike the Grinch who stole all the toys and decorations, this Grinch has allowed us to keep the ribbons and bows and everything that comes from a store; but this Grinch took away our ability to stand hand in hand, singing our old carols and songs.

Nevertheless, we still gather to hear an ancient story that has given people courage and inspiration not just for 55 years, like Charlie Brown and the Grinch, but for thousands of years.  Some years our ancestors in the faith gathered in catacombs under the city of Rome in secret.  Some years our ancestors gathered in Jerusalem, rebuilding it after it was destroyed by the Roman army.  Some years they gathered in hospitals they had founded so poor people could get health care.  Some years they gathered on mission boats travelling the coastlines of Canada with good news, healthcare, education, books and more to BC and Newfoundland.  Some years they gathered on battlefields for a night of soccer with their enemies, or in bombed out churches to sing Silent Night in many languages.  They gathered in different places and different ways to hear this story.

A challenging story of people being forced to be counted for the sake of Caesar’s taxes, showing the power the Roman Empire had over poor peasants .  Government sanctioned bullying and injustice dominated the Mediterranean world, where people lacked basic freedoms and rights.  Nevertheless, they hoped – the people of Israel hoped that one day there would be justice and freedom despite all the evidence that said otherwise.  They clung to their stories and sacred writings that said they were not alone, they were part of a community guided and shaped by God.  They hoped because they could do no other than to hope.

This story is of families uprooted, separated from their loved ones, forced to travel where and when they didn’t want to go.  One young couple, alone, isolated because of Government orders.  The wife heavily pregnant and far from her family and community, but also far from the rumors and gossip that talked about her behind her back, about how her husband was not the father of her child.  The husband fearing that he might be press-ganged by soldiers who had the right to take him away and force him to work on their projects, whether his wife was pregnant or not.

Nevertheless, they dreamed of peace – a time when they and their child would be free from the threat of violence from soldiers, a time where they could eat together with their neighbors, or sleep in their own home without having to leave.  Free from being constantly taxed to pay for an Emperor’s army and never seeing any benefits for themselves.  They dreamed of peace because they needed the world to change.

And did things change.  One day they were two homeless people in a big city.  The next they were three.  The change from being husband to father, from wife to mother that would forever shift how they felt about life.

Nevertheless, they experienced great joy as they saw that tiny baby, they laughed when he yawned, or counted his fingers and toes, amazed to see this tiny one take his first breaths, cry at the shock of being out of that cozy warm womb.  They felt joy at new possibilities, at new opportunities, at the wonder of new birth.

But this story wasn’t just about a young family.  It was about the outcasts, the down-trodden, the people who didn’t have good educations or great job skills, who weren’t seen as doing essential work.  The shepherds living lonely lives cut off from their families as they spent months at a time up on the hills for their jobs.  Protecting sheep from wolves and lions and getting precious little recognition for their efforts even though sheep provided food, clothing, milk and cheese for the community.  They were the smelly ones, down on their luck, taking the worst jobs that society had, and being treated like outcasts because they couldn’t come to church regularly like they were supposed to.

Nevertheless, they found they were loved, not just by each other, but by the wonderful mystery that spoke to them one night of awe, of not being afraid, of peace and hope and joy.  They found the love the angels told them about, and it transformed them into love tellers, of hope bearers, and story carriers

This story of love, peace, hope and joy has seen our families and communities through plagues, wars, crusades, and revolutions.  This story has inspired us to collectively work for justice, fair taxes, free education and accessible health care.  It has put kindness as an important part of what it means to be a good citizen.  No more do we judge people based on how good they are with a sword or with words, but with how they change the world for the better.  

Martin Luther never knew that his calm and steady response to the Bubonic Plague would inspire people 500 years later.  Christians taking care of the sick never knew that they would inspire a new movement towards universal healthcare.  Preachers talking about how all humans were loved by God equally never knew that they would help inspire a democratic system and equality under the law. Quakers protesting that all Christians were to be treated justly never knew that one day slavery would be ended.  Methodist missionaries piloting their boats along the shorelines of Canada never knew they were building community.  Nevertheless, they let this story inspire their faith and their actions.

Just as I never knew how much better a color tv would be from black and white or how that there would be more than two channels on tv as I was growing up, I do not know how these times we live in will look 500 years from now.  But this ancient story reminds us that we can and will see changes that will be an inspiration for years to come.  God is with us in these times, through these ancient stories of resiliency and hope.   We are not alone, and nevertheless, God’s peace and love will continue with us and generations to come far into the future.

What brings you Joy?

 

When I was little, my mom used to bring out a little tin tray of colorful squares for my brother and me.  She would give us paint brushes and water in plastic cups and the backs of old cereal boxes.  If we were lucky, we might get some school papers with blank back pages.  We would dip our brushes in the cup and put a drop of water on the little squares.  Almost like magic, the squares would turn from dry dusty bits of desert into vivid wet colors that then transformed the boring beige cardboard into rainbow colored unicorns, big beautiful butterflies and magical talking plants.  To Mom, I’m sure they were unidentifiable blobs of color, but for me, each piece was a vivid story with characters who had grand adventures and deep passions.

I took up painting again when my babies started being born.  We made bathtub paint where I mixed shaving cream with powder paint in an old muffin tin.  Or finger paints made from different flavors of pudding when they were still so little that paints ended up in mouths, not just fingers.

Occasionally I would take a break from the laundry and the cooking and sit down with my little ones and do some finger painting with them.  It’s not easy to do as an adult as we ‘know’ what art is, we go from trusting our own skills to making stereotypical flying birds by drawing two eyebrows joined together.  We lose our confidence because we compare ourselves to Cezanne or Emily Carr or Michelangelo, and we can’t measure up.  It was daunting but as I relaxed, it became fun.

This summer I felt the itch to get out my paints again and painted everything from wooden wells to Adirondack chairs.  Then I tried rocks, turning one into a turtle, and another into a frog.  But the one thing I wanted to paint was something that I saw every where.  Dragonflies!

They are more than pretty insects, they were predators that would devour clouds of mosquitos.  I welt up badly every summer but this year every time I went for a walk, I would find a bodyguard of dragonflies wherever I went.  And I really wanted to paint one on a rock to remind me that God was more present in my life than dragonflies.  They had come to be special after landing on Brittany’s wedding dress last year, but do you think I could find a decent picture in all the nature books I had at the lake?  Nada, zero.  And they refused to sit still long enough for me to take a photo!

Joy can be like that.  We look for joy in all the wrong places, or we try to manufacture joy, just like I tried to manufacture a photo of a dragonfly.  Joy is illusive and hard to define or describe.  I was surprised to learn the other day that on Oct. 2, 2020, the word schadenfreude, meaning joy at someone else’s misfortunes, according to Merriam-Webster, had shot up in popularity more than 30,000 per cent.  People felt joy that a certain politician was sick with a certain disease, but was it real joy, or more like a sense of karmic justice?  I had certainly felt schadenfreude at the time.  But there’s something unsettling in the feeling of satisfaction hearing that someone we dislike is suffering.  When bad things happen to bad people, is that something we should be testifying to or rejoicing in?  Is that really a Christian attitude?  Is that really joy?

The ancient psalmist wrote of a time of great joy.  It wasn’t because the people of Israel became a nation of painters.  It wasn’t because some tyrant or oppressor got sick.  It wasn’t because they saw a swarm of dragonflies or had celebrated a special event with a big party and lots of food and gifts.  It was because they felt a collective sense of hope in seeing God at work.  Something so unexpected happened to restore their faith in God that even the neighbors were surprised and noticed the astonishing change in their fortunes.  It was like the desert of dryness and tears turned overnight into a tropical paradise.  The rejoicing was spontaneous and surprising and whole-hearted.  The whole country that had faced one long hardship and disappointment after another suddenly could say, “God has done great things for us.”  And a poet turned these feelings into a song that has come down the ages as a witness to God’s commitment to the people.

Just as John was a witness to Jesus, and the psalmist was a witness to future generations, we too are called to be witnesses to God, a God that we believe will turn our tears into thanksgiving, our grief into rejoicing and our hopes into reality.  We are called to witness as best as we can that we are not alone.  We are called to live lives of honesty and authenticity, that shed tears and look into the mirror to recognize when we are not worthy to untie another’s shoelaces, yet we are still led to witness to compassionate living and justice for all.  We are called be powerful witnesses to a faith that transforms tears to joy.

God shows up in mysterious and transformative ways.  Like the day I returned to Athabasca last August and found a dragonfly on my sidewalk.  Now I have a photo and a story to share, not where I expected to find it, and definitely not where I had hoped and planned to find it, but it showed up when I wasn’t looking, as a witness to the mystery of faith, the mystery of joy and the mystery of life.  It reminds me that God is with us, we are not alone, even in times that try nations and are filled with tears.  Our joy will come and our desert times will be transformed.  And what a joyful time that will be!

Searching for Comfort and Peace

Imagine walking into a classroom on a Sunday morning where all the tables have been pushed aside and the chairs are arranged in a circle.  There are smiles and nods, and one fellow speaks up welcoming us to find a seat so they can begin.  There is no cross, no table, no hymn books or bibles to be seen.  We sit in silence for what seems to be forever but is only half an hour.  People share reflections of what came to their minds that they feel called to share.  Someone comments on how they are minded of the call to dress simply, not to adorn themselves with lace and sparkles.  I tuck my feet with my favorite shoes, black ballet flats covered with tiny black beads and sequins, under my chair.  There are no hymns, no bible readings and no sermons other than those reflections spoken into the centre.  It is assumed that the bible readings are a part of the daily practice of individuals at home.  This is the worship service of the Society of Friends in Halifax, whom we call Quakers, and one of the most profoundly peaceful and sacred moments of worship I’ve ever experienced.  The week before we had been to a completely different gathering, a large group with several different musicians and songs by folks like Cat Stevens and Carolyn McDade.  The preacher spoke at length about her pride in being the first atheist to ever graduate from the Atlantic School of Theology and how, in her three years there, she had argued and attacked the primitive ideas of her professors and classmates, some of whom were in their gathering that morning.  They had readings from Maya Angelou and other poets or philosophers. 

My two friends and I felt profoundly uncomfortable after being labled as primitive thinkers and left with much alacrity, not staying for coffee despite the invitation from our classmate.  We retreated to a restaurant, Cora’s, and took turns speaking the longest grace we had ever spoken. 

It was like we had been starved for the Divine and were more hungry for prayer than we were hungry for eggs benny and a mountain of fruit.  That service had filled us with the message that we weren’t good enough, and that everything we thought about was mere superstition and ignorance.  The Quaker service we went to the following week filled us with peace, self-reflection, and a deep sense of the real presence of the sacred.  In a word, we felt comforted.

Comfort oh comfort my people, starts the Isaiah passage and this year more than ever, we need all the comfort we can get.  We’re still not in as dire a situation as the ancient Israelites that Isaiah was writing to, but it’s plenty dire enough.

Whenever I turn, I hear stories of people feeling stressed, whether it’s the customers at grabbing a gingerbread latte from Paddymelons or the news reporter talking to a psychologist on how to help children cope or the loud judgemental voices on Facebook scorning public health officials.  Secret deals to set up emergency hospitals run by soldiers doesn’t help our levels of stress and it’s scary to hear of fist fights in Calgary malls or see photos of exhausted doctors.

So much chaos in the media and in our community does not make for peaceful times.  Where do we turn when we want comfort?  Many folks are turning to drugs and alcohol to manage their anxiety levels; some are turning to their worst habits and patterns as we hear in the latest reports from Healthy Family, Healthy Futures.  Irene Fitzsimmons, whom many of you know, is hearing more and more cases of family violence.  Her case numbers are rising as tempers flare and tolerance drops.

We look for quick fixes and perfect heroes, but we don’t know where we can find them.  Where is the comfort we are seeking, the security we are craving, the sense of peace we are praying for? 

I wonder if this year, we’re more able to appreciate the context and the testimony of our ancestors in faith.  Isaiah is writing to a people who have been suffering in exile for a hundred and fifty years.  It’s been generations since Jerusalem had been taken over by the Babylonians and the inhabitants forced into slavery and exile. 

The level of hope and peace must have been almost nonexistent to the generations who had never experienced the freedom to live where they chose or work at what they wanted.

And yet, one person in the quiet and stillness hears a simple invitation from God, “Go and tell my people that their time of alienation and oppression is nearing to an end, that a new time is coming and their God has not abandoned them.”

We need these words of encouragement today more than ever.  We need the reminder that this too shall pass, that humanity will survive this and the world will change again for the better.  We do this through humbleness, turning away and repenting of the quick fix solutions that only mask our anxieties and don’t deal with the root causes of our discomforts.  We do this by following Isaiah into the wilderness to hear God speak into the silence.   We do this by avoiding preaching like the atheist who bragged of her superiority.  We preach like John who says one greater than I is coming who will baptise with power and authority.

Searching for peace is more than superficial.  It is a daily practice, and a willingness to look at ourselves with honesty, stripping off layer after layer like peeling an onion.  To spend time looking at our actions and reactions and ask gentle questions of ourselves, where did that impatience come from, what was that resentment about, why did I react so strongly?  And remember that God says to us, “I come with a strong arm to set things right and a gentleness that gathers us like a flock of sheep and lambs”.  We practice peace with God’s loving presence, and that is good news worth shouting from the mountaintops and sharing with the world.  Thanks be to God that we are not alone in our journey to peace!

What Time is it?

 

This week we start on our Advent journey, looking for hope, peace, joy and love in the most challenging times I have ever known.  I was reflecting on the stories of my family’s challenging times.  My dad told us of how he got measles when he was a young boy and had to lie in bed for weeks without any light in order to protect his eyesight.  How hard it was to stay in bed and not even be allowed to read a book.  He had to rest and wait to get better.  His mom worried about him; there was no treatment except to keep the symptoms of fever down and keep feeding him as healthily as possible.  I was surprised to read that in the 1920’s before he was born, this very infectious disease had a 30% fatality rate due to complications.  Needless to say, there was no doubt in his mind that vaccinations were vital, and from 2000-2017, there’s been an 80% reduction in deaths from measles around the world.  In the 1950’s it was polio, something that my father in law, a phys ed teacher in his mid twenties, almost lost his life to.  His wife would visit him in the polio ward where he was the oldest patient, and it was a long wait before he could see his three sons again.  Again, thanks to vaccines, that is something we have not had to worry about in Canada for a long time.

Now we wait for a vaccine as well as anticipate a time when we will be able to socialize, travel, visit, hug and eat family dinners together.  But as my dad and father in law experienced, now is the time to wait.  Wait in hope not just for a vaccine but for a change in our culture; from the mindset that ‘I am immune’ or ‘I won’t get sick’ or ‘I deserve my rights’ to ‘we are in this together’.  In this time of waiting, let us be inspired by the stories of our families, but also the stories of our faith, stories of people who survive slavery, captivity, war and occupation and find courage and hope and the presence of the Holy as they waited for change to occur.  The story of a courageous young woman pregnant with a culture-changing soul who would challenge our sense of disconnection.  Who would remind us to care for our neighbors.  Who would call us to challenge our preconceptions and biases.  Who would inspire us to call out principalities and powers that take advantage of our fears to promote injustice or self-serving economic policies.  Stories of our faith that proclaim that nothing can separate us from the love of our God, who is with us in life, in death and in life beyond death.  Thanks be to God for this great mystery of our faith!