Rule #6

 

Boy did Jesus ask hard questions!  Who am I?  And he had a new answer for who Simon was, who just two chapters ago, was caught sinking like a stone during a storm.  I suspect that after that event, there may have been some teasing by the other disciples, “Simon, oh he’s great, but whenever he gets in a tight spot, he sinks like a stone!”  Maybe Jesus decided to flip that teasing on its head and give Simon the nickname of The Rock, the cornerstone of the new community of love that Jesus hoped to build.  The new name stuck, and Simon made it a big part of who he was.  As Christians, we too are called to define and redefine who we are, and who Jesus is for us.  We are called to continually renew and explore our faith and our commitment to the teachings of Jesus.  We are to be like the ancient Christ followers who called themselves the People of the Way.  People on a journey.  People learning more and more about their relationship with God and their relationship with their neighbor, which are to be rooted and grounded in love.

One of the first workshops we did as part of the FAB Collab with Fort McMurray, Athabasca, and  Barrhead was where we explored who Jesus was for us.  We looked at a variety of artist’s images of Jesus, traditional ones, new ones, outrageous ones and comforting ones.  We reminded ourselves and each other of what our favorite Jesus story was, that had influenced our lives the most. Just like Jesus prodding his disciples, we were prodded to remember and share how Jesus and his teachings had influenced us.  And we made art to connect us in ever deepening ways to the story of Jesus.  Art about Jesus keeps us getting into ruts.  Humans like ruts.  We like them so much, sometimes I think we decorate them.  But when we get into ruts of who we are, or who we think Jesus is, we can get bogged down into narrow and inflexible ways of thinking.  Our Christianity goes from being a journey of exploration and growth to an institution where the status quo is focusing on maintenance rather than mission.  One person described it this way:

Institutions are driven by sustainability and survivability- neither of which should be a major focus of the church. Churches should not be led by institutional viability but rather inspirational viability. Inspiration means- to be filled with the spirit, always changing, moving, evolving and transforming. Christians are also called to be transforming and renewing constantly discerning what is good, acceptable and perfect.[1]

In other words, we are to keep learning and trying new ways of living our mission to love God and love others.  Easier said than done.  That’s where Rule 6 comes in.  It’s simple, straightforward, and helps us choose intentional love in times of conflict.  What is Rule 6, you might ask?  Benjamin Zander, conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, described Rule 6 this way:

Two prime ministers are sitting in a room discussing affairs of state. Suddenly a man bursts in, apoplectic with fury, shouting and stamping and banging his fist on the desk. The resident prime minister admonishes him: "Peter," he says, "kindly remember Rule Number 6," whereupon Peter is instantly restored to complete calm, apologizes, and withdraws. The politicians return to their conversation, only to be interrupted yet again twenty minutes later by a hysterical woman gesticulating wildly, her hair flying. Again the intruder is greeted with the words: "Marie, please remember Rule Number 6." Complete calm descends once more, and she too withdraws with a bow and an apology. When the scene is repeated for a third time, the visiting prime minister addresses his colleague: "My dear friend, I've seen many things in my life, but never anything as remarkable as this. Would you be willing to share with me the secret of Rule Number 6?" "Very simple," replies the resident prime minister. "Rule Number 6 is 'Don't take yourself so g-damn seriously." "Ah," says his visitor, "that is a fine rule." After a moment of pondering, he inquires, "And what, may I ask, are the other rules?"

"There aren't any."[2]

Of course, as Christians, our first rule is to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.  But Rule 6 reminds us of Paul’s scripture that asks us to stop measuring ourselves against others:  “not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith that God has assigned.” That sounds like Rule 6 in theological language.

What happens when we do that? Great things! Naramata Centre [where Monica was until August 1] found neighbors knocking on their doorstep at midnight August 6.  They suddenly had evacuees, 15 of them, from just across the Okanagan Lake.  The evacuees were from Peachland and Summerland.  The staff didn’t hesitate despite knowing that they would lose all the revenue from the next two weeks, they cancelled all the reservations and became a residence for Evacuee families, finding food, shelter and even activities for kids.  They chose Christian hospitality over budget, no questions.  Naramata Center is one of many United Church Communities which when faced with challenges, have remembered to put love as their main priority.  We do that here too when we provide food for the hungry and comfort for the grieving.  We do that when we open our doors to strangers and feed the hungry.  We do that when we act courageously and renew and explore our faith.  We define and redefine who we are, and who Jesus is for us.  By remembering Rule 6, and following the teachings of Jesus and Paul, we can learn humbly to live lives of action, faith and spirituality.  And Jesus will give us new names too, names like “Beloved, friend, and disciple.  May it be so for us all.

Please check out Naramata Centre's video of their pivot to support evacuees here: (2) Facebook

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[1] Pulpit Fiction, accessed August 19, 2026

[2] Zander, Benjamin and Rosamund, The Art of Possibility, Penguin Books, 2000, p 79

Great Fear to Great Joy?

"How is everyone doing?"   So often when we are home for the holidays, that’s the question we want to ask and sometimes that’s the question we dread answering.  Sometimes our answer is great, we have lots to celebrate, new job, new home, new friends, new opportunities.  Sometimes the answer is “busy,” lots of tasks and plans and events to check off our schedules.  And sometimes the answer is “doing okay”, and sometimes the answer is “I’m fine”.  Which can often be  shorthand for, “If I didn’t need to be polite and if you were a friend of mine, I’d tell you the real truth which is that I’m freaked out, insecure, neurotic and exhausted.” 

No one likes to admit that they are freaked out, insecure, neurotic and exhausted, and who could blame them?  We live in a society that looks down on people who don’t have their act together.  Obviously, they haven’t worked hard enough, had their priorities straight, or taken responsibility for their mistakes.  And some folks for sure are the makers of their own drama, the creators of their own chaos.

Others, however, find themselves dealing with things they didn’t plan for, or ask for or anticipate.  They never expected the twists and turns life would throw at them, and for many in Canada and around the world, they are one paycheck from bankruptcy, one visit to the foodbank away from starving at Christmas, one pair of socks away from frostbitten toes that will end them up, if they are lucky, in hospital. 

Palestinian Christians, the ones whose ancestors were the first to follow Jesus, are asking for the support of fellow Christians to pressure governments of Middle East countries to put the needs of children first.  Especially the children in Gaza who are being targeted by military from both sides.

It’s not just children in Gaza that we are worried about. At the end of 2023, the United Nations estimated that there were 117 million forcibly displaced people in the world and that 47 million of them—40 percent—were children! In Canada, 1.8 million children go to school hungry because their families can’t make ends meet. Moreover, StatsCan reports that seven in ten children reported being bullied in the past year because of who they are or what they believe.

Far from Canada, a, tradition of the Masai people of Africa. They don’t ask, “how are you” like we do, they ask “Kasserian Ingera,” which means, “And how are the children?” 

The reply is “All the children are well.” Even those without children of their own answer with this assurance, because the well-being of the children is understood as a collective responsibility. If the children are safe, nourished, and thriving, it means that the community is healthy.”

Children don’t care where they are born, what has been planned, what is expected, whether it is an opportune time or not.  Mary and Joseph probably would have wished that the baby would have come in a time and place of their own choosing, but they lived in an occupied country with an army that patrolled the streets looking for troublemakers.  Mary and Joseph may not have had to fear drones overhead or contrails or conspiracy theories or antivaxxers, but they had their own worries.  They had no say in where they had to go for the census, they had no way of knowing if their journey would be interrupted by bandits, and they certainly couldn’t phone ahead to make a reservation.  The extended family in Bethlehem was supposed to take care of them, according to tradition, but for whatever reason, the in-laws and second cousins and great aunts couldn’t make space for a pregnant young mom. How could they neglect her so?

Neglect is easy when we are struggling with bills and taxes.  There’s a lot happening and things get forgotten.  Maybe the letter Joseph sent to his relatives got lost.  Maybe It was his great grandfather’s home, and he hadn’t been there before. Suddenly a baby comes into the world and the only place for it is in the feeding trough.  Poor Mary must have been beside herself in fear and Joseph may have felt embarrassed that this was the best his family could provide.

And yet, despite feeling freaked out, insecure, neurotic and exhausted, there was something special that night.  Maybe it was that first precious meeting between parent and baby. Maybe it was the unexpected visitors, shift workers doing the grubby jobs that were so essential that they were exempt from the census, those smelly shepherds who came to see what the neighbors and family missed.  Maybe it was the sense that there would be a time when corrupt politicians would no longer be able to hide their greed and selfishness from the world.  Maybe it was the idea that even though the worst could happen, a refugee couple with no hope of finding a roof over their heads could still have a warm place to be in their time of trial.

When we are feeling exhausted or lonely or run off our feet, when we feel hopeless or helpless, when we are worried about the children, it’s easy to lose sight of the good news that came to us so many years ago in Bethlehem.  Every year, we remember that what we do matters, how we act matters, and especially how we care for children matters.  Jesus reminds us that all children are gifts, and to be taken care of.  And that even when things seem dark and hopeless, hope comes in the midst of chaos, hope comes when we least expect it, hope comes even when we are freaked out and fearful. The good news is that however we greet each other, whatever language we speak, whether we are fine or good, whether the children are well, God is with us, and keeps gifting us peace, hope joy and love when we least expect it.  Thanks be to God for this wonderful gift!

Between the Lines

Ever wonder what happened to Mark’s story telling?  He leaves out so many details! He’s like that teenager we try to have a conversation with at the supper table.  “How was your day, dear?”  “Fine” “How was school?” “The usual”.  “How are your friends doing?” “Okay. Can I go now?” And we hear them clomp upstairs to their room then call their friends and have a two-hour conversation about how their day really went, who said what to whom, who talked to the wrong person, or did the funny thing that got the teacher mad or wore the oddest outfit to school.  The conversation that doesn’t really happen with us but happens with others.

Mark takes 6 verses to tell a simple story of the first days of the ministry of Jesus.  Contrast that to Matthew’s 18 verses and Luke’s 15 verses.  John stretched Mark’s five verses on the baptism of Jesus into 8 verses and skipped the temptation altogether.  John had a very lofty idea of Jesus, what professors and theologians call a ‘high Christology’, so high that Jesus would never have struggled with things like power or fame.

So, Mark did the Coles notes version of the start of the mission of Jesus, fast and short so he could get to the good stuff.  His was also the earliest gospel written, 12 to 14 years after Paul started his letters. Matthew and Luke didn’t write their gospels for another ten or twenty years later.  It could very well be that Mark was writing things down so briefly more to jog people’s memories.  “Remember that time when Jesus went and got baptised, then wandered into the wilderness?  Peter, remind us of what he told us happened?  James, what can you add?”  It may have been his way of encouraging people to share the memories that they had.

These stories, some of which were collected into the later Gospels, were stories of great transformation.  They were stories of great courage.  They were also stories of small transformations, the fever healed, the kindness shown women and children.  Sometimes the transformation was fast, like Jesus getting baptised and whoosh God shows up and does a happy dance worthy of a Super Bowl touchdown.  Sometimes the transformation was slow, like 40 days of wilderness wandering where there were no human witnesses to the temptations Jesus faced.

We tend to glorify the fast, the big, the showy transformations, the big turning points in a human being’s life, or in a political movement.  One fellow I talked to said that he didn’t like Black History Month because all we hear about are Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandala, and Rosa Parks and that is it.  We don’t hear about the nameless people who take a stand for change, who want to make a difference in the world, and who have to let go of their fears of failure, or even more insidiously, their fears of success, to make a stand for a principle they believe in. 

A good example of this is a little-known gem of a movie starring Sissy Spacek and Whoopie Goldberg.  It was made in the 1990’s and unlike the Color Purple, Ghost, Jumping Jack Flash, or the many guest appearances Whoopie did as Guinan on Star Trek the Next Generation, this movie was not a comedy hit for her.  It did not win Oscar nominations or huge profits.  It is a movie that falls between the lines.

It's also a movie about ordinary women living ordinary lives according to the norms of the1950’s Alabama society they lived in.  An ordinary housewife married to a successful city leader and her ordinary housekeeper who took care of the children, cooked the food and cleaned the house.  Until the housekeeper started showing up late for work, soaked from the rain, and one day, so footsore that the blood soaked through her shoes.  Many of us know about Rosa Parks, who became famous for refusing to move to the back of the bus.  We don’t know about the quiet folks like Whoopie’s character who boycotted the busses after Rosa’s resistance.  Many people chose to walk to work from the poorer areas of town to the richer parts where their jobs were.  They organized carpools and rode horses or bicycles to work.  Other communities rallied to support the boycotters by sending financial aid or pairs of shoes to replace the  worn out shoes of the boycotters.  This frustrated many townsfolks, from bus drivers driving empty buses, to politicians and business people.  Vigilante acts of violence tried to intimidate folks into once again riding the buses, but people had enough of the disrespect, the racism, the discrimination and the hardship imposed by segregation.  They boycotted the busses for a whole year until the segregation stopped.  A whole year!

They risked everything because they had a clear vision.  They risked losing their jobs because they wanted a better world for their children and grandchildren.  They risked being attacked because they had nothing to lose.  They risked because they realized that they had strength in numbers and deserved to be treated with dignity.  They risked because they knew that if they didn’t, nothing would change for the better.

Sometimes the risk can be small.  A school teacher named Harriet Glickman wrote a letter to a comic strip artist shortly after Martin Luther King was assassinated.  And because of that letter, Charlie Brown gained a new friend named Franklin, changing the world of budding young artists and children everywhere.  Because of one letter she risked writing!

Jesus risked everything for the sake of his vision and because he loved people.  He knew that the discrimination, poverty and oppression they were experiencing was not what God wanted for the world.  Our province is also struggling with poverty and discrimination.  Trans people are targeted, people are living in tents, friends are dying because they can’t get medical care quickly enough.  Can we risk speaking out, writing letters, making calls, signing petitions?  Just like the housewives and housekeepers, it’s those little risks we take together that can change the world.  When we work together with deep spirituality, bold discipleship and daring justice, we can help God change the world once again.  May we have the courage to take risks to stand with all who need to know God loves them.  Amen.

Searching and knowing

There is a t-shirt that used to be in bible stores with a caption of “Moses was a murderer, Noah was a drunk, Jacob was a con man, Isaiah preached in his birthday suit, Job went bankrupt, Rahab was a prostitute, Martha was bossy, Mary Magdalene was mentally ill and Mary, Jesus’ mom was an unwed pregnant teen who became a refugee.  If God called them, how do we know that God isn’t calling us?

It's a great t-shirt.  We often may struggle with the idea that God is calling us.  How can God call me when I am not whatever I think God really needs?  Surely someone else, anyone else is better than me.  And we put off answering that still small voice, that nagging sense of being lured into a bigger vision, a bolder idea, a stronger stance.  “No, not me! I’m not called to run for town council, join the library board, speak up about racism, knit mitts for homeless people, buy Tylenol for Ukrainians, attend a rally in support of school boards, fill out a survey about pensions, put solar paneling on my roof, drive an alcoholic home, sit next to a hurting person, sign a petition about the environment or get out and vote on a contentious bylaw.  Somebody else is being called to do that.  Not me.  And yet every day people here in this space do exactly this.  They buy that cup of soup on a cold day for some stranger they just met, they buy granola bars for folks who have no homes to go to, they jumpstart stalled cars or push them out of snowbanks.  Ordinary people called to do what seems like something insignificant, yet what may be insignificant to us may be huge to those who see it or experience it.

How do we know we are called?  How do we know what we are called to?  Knowing is complicated, and when we hear the claim that God knows us can be both a gift and a challenge. 

If you have ever tried to study a foreign language, the word “to know” can be tricky. In French, they have two different words for knowing, connais and sais – connais is more about relationships with people and places, and sais is more about facts and skills, knowledge.  Hebrew is the same way, there is “Yada” which is know, and “Bantah” which is understand. So if you hear someone saying "yada, yada, yada", it means, "I know, I know, I know".

It’s one thing to know someone or something, it’s another thing to understand them. When we read Psalm 139, it is both yada and bantah.  God knows of me and God knows me.  In detail.  In depth.  Right down to the dna level and right up to how I will respond to anything that happens.  The thought of God knowing me both Yada and Bantah is, well, quite honestly, more than a little unnerving.  There’s a limit to how much I want anyone to know me.  Even spouses don’t know each other at that level.  Parents find their children to be mysteries, and siblings who have known each other all their lives can be surprised by choices and thoughts.  No one we know are in our lives from sunup to sun down.  No one we know have been in our lives since we were conceived.  It’s an extraordinary claim for an extraordinary faith in an extraordinary God.

That much transparency is uncomfortable.  We humans have been hiding from being known like that as long as we’ve been telling stories.  Some rabbis say that the day God wandered into Eden looking for Adam and Eve and realized that they were hiding from him, trying to cover their nakedness from him and each other, that’s the day God cried.  We even hide from ourselves.  M. Scott Peck wrote a book about people who lied so much they started to believe themselves!  He said that those kinds of people are really hard to help because they are so committed to their own lies.

That’s very different than Nathanael, the one Jesus praised for his honesty and transparency.  Nathanael had no guile in him, which means he was not sneaky or underhanded or manipulative.  He was honest to the point of rudeness when he said, “can anything good come out of Nazareth?”  Nathanael was described by Jesus as a model citizen, the kind of person we would think deserved to be called to some kind of holy ministry.  He’s special, he’s honest, he’s transparent.  And yet, he’s not mentioned again other than that he was in a group that saw the resurrected Jesus.  He didn’t write any books, he didn’t found any churches, he didn’t go on any missions, he didn’t have any hymns written by him or about him.  This perfect paragon of an Israeli disappeared from the bible completely.

Instead, Peter with his wishy washy faith, the big stinky fisherman who denied Jesus before he died, and Paul who hunted Jesus followers down in order to lock them up and torture them, these are the people that were called to turn the world upside down with.  Once again, the perfect people, the beautiful people, the people who had in their yearbook “most likely to succeed” were not the ones God turned to.  God called the ones who didn’t know their own potential, ones with self-doubt and insecurity.

God called, in other words, people like you and me.  Flawed, imperfect, impatient humans.  God still calls us because God knows us and wants to be in relation with us just as God once had a relationship with Adam and Eve.  God sees us just as we are, as beautiful creatures that can share love and hope and joy to everyone we meet.  God calls us to share our light of hope in daily acts of random kindness, to stranger and family alike.  God calls us to tiny acts and large acts alike.  May we have the courage and the faith to trust that God calls us because God sees us as we really are!