Warts and All

 Dry bones lie scattered around in a vivid dream God sends Ezekiel one despairing day.  Dry bones in a dead valley. The world is in turmoil, the people have seen their capital city destroyed and their lives disrupted.  They have gone from city dwellers to refugees and slaves overnight.  The whole nation is grief-stricken and devastated.  Hope is dead. 

That is the magnitude of what faced Ezekiel some twenty-six hundred years ago.  This was a time of anxiety, fear and apathy as the people struggled to make sense of what had happened to them.  Not unlike what we are dealing with today. Severna and I struggled to find photos of 2022, and there weren’t a lot.  It’s hard to remember but this time last year we were still wearing masks, still recording who came to church in case of an outbreak, still struggling with health measures and precautions.  Palm Sunday I preached from the Manse as Tim had tested positive.  We didn’t have coffee time after church at all and served communion in the pews with tongs.  Some United Church congregations are still serving communion that way and still enforce masks every Sunday and are not having coffee time yet.  So there weren’t a lot of events to take pictures of.

We still worshiped. We still prayed.  We still had book study and we still met for council and committee meetings. We had an amazing donation of $14,000 gifted to us because of our affirming work.  We still started a youth group and gradually added coffee time.

All these things happened because we worked together.  A church is not one Ezekiel doing everything.  A church is a valley of people coming together, remembering when they were dry bones and rejoicing that they can stand up again, they can move again, they can breathe again.  Why?  Because they heard and felt God’s breath blowing in and through them, God’s spirit clothing their dry bones and reenergizing them, helping them, helping us to remember to thank God for our lives.

These past few years have been hard and have taken their tole on us.  We wonder when the stress of all the change will be done with.  When will things go back to normal?  And the answer is we really don’t know.  How do we adjust to that reality, that uncertainty?

Two images come to mind.  One is from the Pirates of the Caribbean, where Johnny Depp’s pirate ship is being chased down by faster boats and his capture is likely.  Depp takes a huge risk – he throws out his anchor and snags it on a rock. The boat pivots around the anchor, like a yoyo someone spins around their head, and the other ships sail right past him.  But it puts a tremendous strain on the ship, puts it in range of the pursuing ships and almost pulls the bottom off his boat!  The chasing ships can’t turn around in time and he escapes once again.  We could try something drastic like that to adjust to the times we are in.

The other image that comes to mind is when two years ago, I had a bad wart on my foot that wouldn’t go away.  I tried everything I could, even went to the doctor to get it burnt off, which the nurse was not impressed with.  She didn’t want to be burning a wart on a toe when people were struggling with Covid.  So I bit the bullet, and became obsessively diligent on using the Dr. Scholl’s wart freezing stuff to the point where it hurt more than I liked, but that was what the nurse had done.  I never thought I would get to the bottom of that wart, but persistence, consistence and patience made the difference.

What does God call us to do now?  What will breathe new life into our dry bones?  Do we need to resort to drastic methods like a risky toss of an anchor that stresses everything, or smaller methods like a can of freezing wart solution?  I remember when we first went into lockdown three years ago this very month, my motto became “5% better”.  It helped us remember to take small steps every week to improve how we worshipped and how we did church together.  It kept us calm and hopeful.  Now we can ask it again, what would help us as a church to be 5% more faithful, 5% more prayerful, 5% more generous, 5% more courageous?  Now is a time for deep faithful courage and deep love of God and our neighbors.  May we find the courage to work towards a healthier future.  Amen.

A New Song in our Mouths

I don’t know U2 music very well at all.  You ask me a trivia question about an ABBA song, and I’m your gal.  U2 is my brother’s music, something the younger generation listened to.  So, I was floored to learn that U2 took the words of Psalm 40 and put it to music.  Not only that, but they used “40” as their concert grand finale for many years, leaving the stage while the audience sang the chorus of “How Long to Sing this Song” which would go on and on and on.

Almost like the kids songs we used to sing, “This is the Song that Never Ends” or “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”.  They can go on for a long time, much to the annoyance of others who listen to them and don’t want to join in the silliness.

There are times we feel like we can’t sing.  Like we are still caught in the horrible pit, out of the miry clay, or in some translations, the miry bog.  Taxes, kids clothes, food, expenses, sickness, family drama, fender benders, and world events, all kinds of things can contribute to that feeling that our lives are out of control and we are in a sticky situation. Sometimes we cry for help and feel like there is no answer to our dilemma, like no one is listening, like we are alone and abandoned.  And sometimes we feel like there is something listening, that encouragement comes when we least expect it, we get a phone call from someone we haven’t heard from in a while, or something comes together and things make sense.

For me, that was music.  When I was struggling with depression as a twenty-something, I stumbled into church one day and the music and hymns were what helped me feel less alone, less hopeless and helpless.  Songs outside the church also supported and encouraged me.  Music like John Denver’s “Sweet Surrender”.  Many folks found country gospel music like “I Saw the Light” or “I Come to the Garden Alone” sustained them in their dark times. Or Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” or Judy Garland’s “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or Natasha Beddingfield’s “Unwritten” and the list goes on.  Hymns like “Amazing Grace”, “This Little Light of Mine”, “Be Thou my Vision” can pull us out of our negativity we may be stuck in. It also reminds us that we’re not alone. 

But music is not enough to help us when we are really in challenging times.  Like a bandage and a kiss on a boo boo, this may make us temporarily flushed with positive adrenaline, but sometimes a panacea won’t work.  Sure, there is something magical about sitting on Connor’s Hill on an August night singing along to Ian Tyson’s “Four Strong Winds” with a thousand or more other Albertans that leaves us all with lumps in our throats, but what kind of love will end conflict in Ukraine or starvation in the Sudan or political unrest in Peru?

I’ll never forget leaving the old Rexall hockey arena in Edmonton after a Neil Diamond concert where thousands of people had sung about brotherly love together only to discover that the same people were now arguing loudly and heatedly over taxis.  My faith in humanity was shaken hard that night as we stood there wondering how we would get home.

Songs are not enough if they slip out of our lips without thinking.  And if they are only about our pleasures and our concerns.  The words that slipped out of John’s lips in our gospel reading were pointing to something beyond him.  John wasn’t singing “I will Survive” like Gloria Gaynor, he was singing, “B-b-b-baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet” and pointing to Jesus.  “Go, follow that guy!  Go, watch him pull you out of the horrible pit, the miry bog.  Go and learn a new song to sing that will spill out of your mouths and bless everyone who will hear you, to come and see!”

John’s excitement was contagious.  How can we share our excitement to the people around us that are feeling stuck, hopeless and helpless?  We tend to do exactly the opposite of what the scriptures suggested – at the first sign of opposition, we have concealed the signs of God’s steadfast love, and hidden the truth of the difference our faith has made in our lives.  We’ve experienced too many cases of toxic bullying that was used to bring people to church, too many ugly songs that preached shame, guilt, fear and superiority.  We’ve listened to stories of racism, injustice and intolerance that have been done in the name of winning souls to Christianity.

Enough!  Time to sing the truth, the new song!  One of joy and liberation, of new light in our troubled world, of power with rather than power over.  This week I was talking to a young lady about our church and she got very excited when she saw our big rainbow flag in our basement.  “I left my church because they preached hate”, she told me. “I didn’t know churches like yours even existed.”  She needed to hear that new song we are singing, and there are others, so many others that also need to hear words of hope.  People who need a light in their lives, a lamb of God to pull them out of the clay bogs of their lives. How can we do that?

Remember that all John the Baptiser said was “Wow look at him!” and all Jesus said was “Come and See”.  Very simple.  Very straightforward.  “Wow, this has happened, check it out.  Wow, I feel much more hopeful with my life, come and try it out.” It’s okay to hear no, just keep singing anyway.

And we may find that people, hungry for a new song of hope in their lives, will join us as we say “Wow” together every Sunday.  The light is with us, we are not alone, thanks be to God!

Swords and Dishes

Ever been embarrassed in public by a family member?  I will never forget the day someone in my family asked my cousins how to teach me to dress properly.  I’m sure I turned bright red with embarrassment.  I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 8 years old, but that incident stuck in my memory.  

Family gatherings can be like that.  “Can you tell so and so how they should behave?” can sound like an innocent comment but is really an attempt to shame the other person in public.  How embarrassing it is to hear that.  It is also very common.

Which is why the Mary and Martha story is so relatable.  It sounds like a typical argument between two sisters.  I imagine that Martha was the first-born child, used to acting in a parental role, taking charge and making sure everything got done just right.  And Mary was the youngest child who got spoiled by doting parents and was not good at the practical aspects of day-to-day living.

It came to a head when Jesus showed up for a visit. Martha was determined to show good hospitality.  That was a core value of her faith.  Stories going back as far as Abraham and Sarah taught about the importance of hospitality.  Without hospitality, being a wanderer in the wilderness could easily lead to starvation and even death.  But Martha was also focused on herself and her tasks.  She mentioned herself several times, “My sister, me, and me.”  The only thing she wanted Jesus to do was join her side and use his authority to correct her sister’s inappropriate behavior.  And she claimed Jesus was being uncaring, hoping to get him to take her side.  This is classic manipulation and triangulation.  Trying to get a third party to do the communication that she would not have with her sister.  Some psychologists would go even further and describe this as bullying behavior.

It's subtle bullying that leaves the target feeling shamed and embarrassed and uncertain how to react.  Mary never said a word in her defense, she might have been as shocked and ashamed as I was at my family gathering.  Words like these can leave us speechless!

We have no idea of why Mary did what she did leading up to Martha’s comments.  Was she rebelling against Martha’s expectations, deliberately sitting down with the men, and daring Martha to complain?  Was she putting Jesus on the spot by acting like an equal to the disciples?  Or was she just mesmerized by what he was saying, forgetting what she should be doing and dropping everything to sit and listen? 

Even today, the Marys and Marthas of the world can experience deep shame around housekeeping and expectations.  If you watched the CBC show “Back in Time for Dinner”, you may remember the mother saying that the 1950’s with its expectations of domestic perfection made it the worst decade for women.  And there is still a lot of shaming around housework.  This week I read, “How to Keep House While Drowning” by KC Davis.  She is a psychologist and a mother of two; the youngest was born during Covid lockdowns.  She struggled with post partum depression with her first, so wanted to prevent that by having a friend help with cleaning, other moms with babysitting swaps and so on.  All that fell apart when Covid struck.  And when she shared how she was doing, she was told that she was lazy because she didn’t get the dishes and laundry done every day.  There was no sympathy for living with depression or mental illness.  So, she wrote a book about housekeeping and talked about the outer messages that fed her inner bully. It lives in our heads and can be louder than real people because it doesn’t stop. It can trigger depression, anxiety, and shame.  That inner bully which sounds a lot like Martha, can leave us vulnerable to mental illness. 

And lest we think this is a problem that only women face, there’s a wonderful book called “Becoming the Kind Father” by Calvin Sandborn.  He also writes about the inner bully who shames men for showing emotion, vulnerability, gentleness, or any number of things our society has decided men shouldn’t be.   That toxic idea is probably what led to the sword attack we heard about in Athabasca this week.  Both Sandborn, Davis and others like Brene Brown write about how destructive the inner bully is. 

Comments like “Tell my son he shouldn’t cry”, or as in today’s scripture, “tell my sister she should be helping me in the kitchen” feed the inner bully until it destroys souls, families, and marriages.

Jesus says to all of us, “You are anxious about many things.   But it’s time to quiet the inner bully and love yourself and your family instead of feeding shame and blame.

We are called as Christians to convert our inner bully to an inner Christ.  A gentle, loving voice that changes shame and blame words into love and support.  It takes time, but it is possible.  We do that when we admit that we are not perfect, that we feel overwhelmed at times by all we feel pressured to be and do.  Martha was called to be hospitable, but not to the point that she forgot the love she had for Mary.  Her sister was called to learn from Jesus, but not to the point that she neglected her sister.  Both were called to listen to Jesus’ message to love each other, pray for each other and not to lose track of their relationship with him.  We too are called to listen to Jesus’ message of love and compassion.  It’s why we say a prayer of confession and hear words of comfort and assurance on Sundays, to calm our inner bullies. When we replace those inner bullies with Christ’s peaceful, loving words and vision, we can heal ourselves and our world.  May it be so for us all.

The Courage to Speak

Rather like going home to a big family reunion and people say, “oh, you’re little Nell, my how you’ve grown up” or they launch into a story of something we did when we were 8 and didn’t know any better.Preaching to the hometown crowd is a daunting task.  I have never preached in the church I grew up in.  There’s something about standing up in front of a congregation who remembers you when you were a little kid in Sunday School that is unnerving.    It would be hard to step into the preaching role in front of babysitters and teachers.

Yet that’s exactly what Jesus did.  He had the courage to speak to those old family friends, neighbors, matriarchs and patriarchs in the community.  He had courage because he knew his purpose, taken straight from one of the longest and most revered scrolls that are beloved by Jews and Christians alike.  Isaiah 61 became the core focus of his ministry and gave him courage to tell them what his purpose was. Even though he missed a phrase here and there.

Many students going into the ministry have a similar experience, a scripture that grabs them not just logically but also emotionally.  This one happens to be mine.  It was cemented in my head by the Strathdee Song, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because God has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”  In fact, it was around this time in 2007, in the season of Epiphany, when I went up to Rev. Dale Irving and said, “please stop reading these call scriptures and playing all these call hymns because they are making me cry.”  Hymns that have haunting words like, “Here I am Lord, is it I Lord, I have heard you calling in the night” that would have the tears streaming down my face.  Thank goodness wise and gentle Rev. Irving knew what to do with me, like a Hogwarts sorting hat!  But this scripture is not just for folks in ministry; if it was, Jesus would have only read it to his disciples, not the whole congregation in Nazareth.

Which is why we keep reading these scriptures – they are addressed to us all.  But how do we know when the Spirit is with us?  I think it comes through continual questioning and testing.  Jesus was tested in the wilderness.  We constantly are tested in our own wildernesses. And Jesus measured his decisions and actions by Isaiah 61.  We too can measure our decisions and actions by this scripture. 

What kind of testing are we facing right now?  I was struck by what David Staples wrote in the Edmonton Journal on Wednesday, “we all study COVID stats and listen to expert commentary, focusing on numbers and words that conform to our own basic needs and selfish desires.”  Basic needs and selfish desires are tests to our courage and our faith.  It is often hard to tell which is which.  Is a night out at a movie theatre a basic need or a selfish desire?  Is a trip to the pool if I’m not vaccinated a basic need or a selfish desire?

My head chaplain for K Division RCMP put it this way,

[Recently, I] realized the extra stresses that the pandemic has been putting on many... I think it’s the constant changing rules, the length of the pandemic, the insecurities it has brought, the feelings of social isolation and not being able to get away to recoup with family and friends.

The recent cold snap and not even wanting to go outside has also had an effect … These are just some of the things that are creating signs of depression and isolation that all of us are having to face.”

He spoke with courage about what we are all struggling with.  The mental health challenge of knowing where the dividing line between selfishness and need is.  The challenge of forgetting that we are called to respect and serve others.  The spirit was speaking through him just like Jesus. The Spirit was not on Jesus so he could have his best life ever, or to have wealth, influence and power.  The Spirit was on Jesus so he could help others find release from what imprisoned them.  We all want to be released from the imprisonment of Covid, but maybe what we really need is to be released from not questioning the difference between our wants and needs, from the difficulty of choosing what is right instead of what is easy.

Figuring out what is right instead of what is easy can be seen in the discussion of homelessness this week.  What is easy is finding a house people can live in and keep from freezing.  But homelessness is a complex issue that is not fixed by warehousing folks like Timothy Phillips.  What really is imprisoning them?  And how do we set them free from their imprisonment? 

Jesus spoke of truth and healing with courage.  We can do that by speaking our truths in ways that respect other people’s truth. Our views of reality may differ, but speaking our truth from wrestling with our own desires for easy solutions, and learning from the wrestling, is our way to connect to the Spirit.  We can’t free others from their imprisonment until we have freed ourselves.  And the way to do that is to check that we’re following the words that Isaiah gave us, reminding us that we are called to the same core purpose as Jesus, witnessing to the good news that freedom from oppression, fear, anxiety and selfishness is here in this, God’s year to act! May it be so for us all. 

Pointing to Love

 My in-laws have a sturdy little sundial on the deck made out of black wrought iron.  It’s supposed to tell the time by the way the shadow falls. But it doesn’t work unless it is pointing North.  Last summer when I was staying there, I decided to rearrange the deck chairs and the sundial got shifted around.  Since it no longer pointed north, it no longer told the time.

Some days I feel like a sundial that is not pointed in the right direction.  Maybe something unexpected happens, I sprain my ankle, there’s bad news on the radio, a friend’s house burns down, or a photo of a flag with a swastika is spotted in Boyle.  Instead of feeling like a calm grown-up Christian, I feel like a grumpy grouch that doesn’t know how to love her neighbor, especially one with a penchant for flags that are so horrific.

Enter the scriptures.  Jesus has a penchant for fixating not on the north pole, like a sun dial, but on Love.  Love is the true north that Jesus constantly points to.  Jesus is no sundial, but more like a compass that swings to point to the right direction.  Unlike humans and sundials, Jesus is unwavering in his commitment to be loving.  And not just any kind of loving, but one that is willing to take risks that seem irrational and dangerous.

This is no cheap or over-sentimentalized card or poem, this is a robust, muscular love.  In our society, we use love to describe anything from our enjoyment of flowers and chocolate to our sense of profound deep astonishment when we look into the eyes of a newborn baby.  Talk about sentimentalization!

Sentimentalization is not love.  We think that love is just sweet emotions or gentleness.  But real love leads to action and change.  I heard the story recently of a church who had a new person join it for worship.  One Sunday morning the newcomer had a panic attack because someone wore a red shirt.  It triggered memories of a trauma experience she had at the hands of a bully.  The congregation was concerned.  Should they ban red shirts?  Should they say to the newcomer, “I’m sorry but you don’t belong here if you can’t handle a red shirt or two from time to time”?  How would that help her in her day to day life ?

We have had a similar debate for years that flared up online this week with United Church ministers.  Do we call this service “Mother’s Day Service”, “Christian Family Day Service” or just “Sunday Service”?  For some folks the word ‘Mother’ triggers memories worse than any seen in movies like “Mommy Dearest”.  Others struggle because of fertility issues or because of life circumstances.  Or tragedy strikes when they least expect it, and motherhood becomes a memory rather than a lived reality.

When I was growing up as a child, we didn’t know much about grief.  We didn’t have funeral resources for stillborns, miscarriages and infants.  And we thought that the most loving thing we could do for a person in grief was not to talk about it for fear of upsetting someone.  We pretended the tragedy didn’t happen, or that a pregnancy that didn’t end happily was no big deal as one could always try again.  We didn’t treat single women or couples who didn’t procreate with a lot of respect.  We didn’t make space for the many tiny moments of grief that came into everyone’s life. And we didn’t talk about the ways in which people coped with those stresses, the addictions to cocktails, the risky behaviors, the mental illness, the depression, the abuse or family violence and the anxiety attacks that resulted from trying to live as if pain and grief did not exist.

That was not love.  That was supposed to be love, protecting each other from pain and hurt, but it was not love.  It enabled people to keep stuck, keep the grief suppressed, keep the emotions bottled up, keep the pain at home where it belonged, in private.  It kept people feeling isolated and alone.

Real love says, “I am here with you.  I hear you.  You are not alone.  Your pain may be unique, but others have gotten through what you are going through.”  Real love says, “this is going to hurt but I will hold your hand”.  Real love says, “these are birth pangs and I can’t take them away from you, but I can breathe with you”.  Real love says, “let us weep together a while.  We will one day rejoice together too.”  Real love says, “let us have a memorial service for that stillborn” even if it happened 40 years ago.

Dr. Katharina Manassis, a member of St. Mark’s United Church in Scarborough and both a Child Psychiatrist and University of Toronto Professor Emerita said this about such real love by her congregation:

My introduction to a community of faith didn’t come until middle age, after a traumatic bereavement. The minister on call to the local funeral home listened intently to my distraught, guilt-ridden tale of loss and validated my experience. I was reassured that… my emotional response was not unique… I … became a member of his church. I came to understand that in some circumstances compassionate pastoral care is even more helpful than counseling by a mental health professional, because rather than singling out the person as having a psychological problem, it recognizes suffering as part of the human experience.  Within my faith community, I found supportive friends, inspiring role models, and people who were just good fun. Coffee time, whether in person or over Zoom, is a valuable mental wellness activity for many of us. Knowing there are like-minded people struggling with similar challenges can make a huge difference in well-being, especially when we are feeling alone. 

When we love deeply, compassionately and bravely like this, we transform our world.  Whether it’s getting an ugly flag pulled down in our county, letters written to MLAs about racism in the proposed curriculum, or donating to the Mother’s Day Mission and Service appeal this year, together, when we remember that like sundials we must orient ourselves by the true north of love that Jesus taught, we make a real difference in the world.  May it be so for us all.

No bull for me!

 

Ever wonder if God looks down on us and tears out God’s hair in frustration over the antics of beloved humanity? Ever wonder if God is trying to figure out why we mess up and miss the point so often?

We’re supposed to be stewards of the earth but instead we’re users and abusers.  We’re supposed to be taking care of the weak and the powerless but we’re more concerned about seeming weak and powerless.  We’re supposed to be building community but instead we have lost the ability to come together and listen to each other.  We’re supposed to be cultivating values and yet we admire and elect people who are ruthless egotists.  We’re supposed to co-operate with each other and yet we can’t seem to have civil conversations about important matters without resorting to name calling and insults. 

One pundit asked a pertinent question this week:  “is our very culture in North America going through burn-out?”  I think they might be on to something.  Burn out is, according to Psychology today, “a state of emotional, mental, and often physical exhaustion brought on by prolonged or repeated stress. Symptoms include cynicism, depression, and lethargy that most often occur when a person is not in control of how a job is carried out, at work or at home, or is asked to complete tasks that conflict with their sense of self.” This is made worse if people feel like they have no support or help or hope.

I wonder if that’s what was happening with the people waiting for Moses.  40 days and 40 nights is a number that is often used in the Bible to indicate an important length of time.  Noah endured 40 days and nights of rain falling.  Joseph was mourned for 40 days and nights by all the people of Egypt.  Job had 40 days to get the Ninevites to change their behaviours. Jesus spent 40 days and nights fasting in the desert and 40 days after the resurrection before leaving the Apostles again.  So this is a long time both literally and symbolically. 

The people felt abandoned without their leaders.  They were in a state of not knowing what would happen next.  Our translation says that the people turned to Aaron, brother of Moses, looking for leadership, but a more accurate translation might be ‘turned on’ or even ‘turned against’.  Talk about cynicism and depression!  Their culture was at a crossroads.  It doesn’t help that Moses came down with 10 commandments that they were supposed to obey and then went into a pile of details and amendments and blueprints of how to follow those commandments that were far more detailed. Then he disappeared up the mountain, leaving Aaron and the people to struggle with how to make this new constitution work in real life.  Not easy work.  No wonder the people turned!

They didn’t lose Moses, they lost their connection to the Divine, they lost their connection to a future vision, they lost their connection to hope.  They wanted to see and hear and touch and own the connection to the holiness they craved.  They knew they needed to be thankful but they didn’t know how.  So they broke the very first commandment they had been given and once they did that, the other commandments also fell by the wayside.  They partied hard.  They acted the way other cultures acted, they worshipped in the ways other religions worshipped.  And God, wanting a different vision, craving a different relationship, hoping for a different outcome, in this story anyways, reacted with anger and disappointment.

Jesus too was disappointed.  He healed 10 untouchables who had lived with social distancing practices for most of their lives and only one person figured it out.  10% rate is pretty abysmal, and what made it worse, the people he thought would get it, would understand the significance of the healing, his fellow religious community, totally missed the point.  Only the foreigner understood.  Only the foreigner turned back.  Only the foreigner figured it out.

It would be as if an Egyptian charioteer showed up in the middle of the wilderness and said, oh, this is amazing, I love the 10 commandments, I love the ambiguity of not knowing where we’re going, and I love the idea of no longer depending on Pharaoh and the gods of my childhood.  Wouldn’t that have surprised Aaron and the Israelites!

Who are the Samaritans in Athabasca who get it?  Who know the source of their healing and are grateful?  Who can we be learning from that will surprise us? 

I have been working, again it seems, on the homeless situation in our town.  A few weeks ago, Roy Jacobs died at the skatepark down by the riverfront, and a concerned group of citizens are working to help support a mat program for the winter.  The banks are involved as their lobbies were used as warming centres last year.  We even have the mental health professionals involved.  But we don’t have the homeless at the table.  The leper that came back to Jesus to say thank you was told that his faith had made him well.  When we put ourselves in the place of God or Jesus, trying to fix and heal others, we are tempted into building a Golden Calf to our own talents and skills.  Instead, we need to remember that it’s not about us fixing, or saving or advising or correcting others.  That’s what the residential schools really were about.  Us assuming that we have the answers and can heal the problems of the world.  We jump to quick conclusions and judgements and can burn out in our need to solve other people’s problems.  We can become cynical and angry.  Instead, let us turn to the one who is the source of all healing, and turn with openness and curiosity to those around us who are suffering the isolation of modern forms of leprosy.  Let us listen to them as Jesus listened to the foreigner.  It will be by that kind of empowerment of our neighbors that healing, real lasting healing will come about.  And that will be something we can truly be very thankful for!

April 26 2020 Pilgrimage Journeys

Putting one foot in front of another can be the hardest thing we can do in times following tragedy.  And yet, often it is the simplest thing or the smallest thing we can do that carries us forward into a new understanding of the world.

I was in a workshop on Thursday for clergy learning to do pastoral care during a tragedy.  Not too many of us studied responses to pandemics in our classes, and the ones who did focused on 9/11 and the 1998 airplane crash just outside Halifax and Peggy’s Cove.  We didn’t have any training in mass social isolation or church lockdowns or internet zoom technology, it didn’t even exist back in 2014.  But one thing I was struck by is that the simple things in life can help us to keep going.  One person who was struggling with depression found that they couldn’t come up with anything they felt they could do until her counsellor asked her if she could brush her teeth.  That was something she could do and would do, and did do, and that became the start of her recovery.

One tiny little thing we can do when we feel numb with fear, paralyzed with grief, shaking with anger, or frozen in depression.  Our words of assurance from the 1 Peter reading today talked about living in reverent fear while we are in exile, and I suspect many of us are living in fear but now is the time to add some reverence.  Some folks have been getting print copies of our worship as they don’t have internet, and I hope they have found some reverence with the little things we tuck in, a rock, a shell, a candle, a doily for them to decorate a space with, a little booklet of prayers to read.  I have an angel and a silver communion chalice and a prayer card on my dresser table that I look at every morning and night before I go to bed.  One little thing we can do might be just lighting the candle we have and praying the Serenity Prayer, the Lord’s Prayer, or just saying, “God I’m scared” or even having a cry.  Sometimes there are no words.  Sometimes there is silence.

N. T. Wright in a Time Magazine on March 30 wrote “In fact, it is part of the Christian vocation not to be able to explain—and to lament instead. As the Spirit laments within us, so we become, even in our self-isolation, small shrines where the presence and healing love of God can dwell. And out of that there can emerge new possibilities, new acts of kindness, new scientific understanding, new hope.”

The disciples walking back home from Jerusalem knew what it was like to have all their hopes dashed.  They could only take one step at a time back to a place where they knew they would be safe.  They plodded, remembering their glorious hopes and dreams, their glimpse of great new possibilities that had all been ended, dashed to smithereens when Jesus had been crucified.  They couldn’t stop rehashing their experience, and when Jesus asked them what they were talking about, I can imagine that their response, “"Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?"  was tinged with a little anger, a little disbelief and even a touch of sarcasm. They didn’t know what to think at the story of the empty tomb even though they too saw it. 

When we face the unimaginable, it’s easy for us to get caught up in what Jungian psychologists call the shadow side of our personalities.  We might be more irritable, more weepy, more apathetic.  We may try to control more in response to being in a situation where we have no control.  We may find our minds full of many words and thoughts that whirl around in our heads especially late at night when we are trying to sleep.  We may say things or do things that we regret, or forget to be kind and gentle.  The hardest person we struggle to be gentle with is ourselves.  But in the first sermon Peter ever preached, he called to the people to repent of those shadow sides.  To turn away from the self-destructive habits and mindsets, to save ourselves from a corrupt generation that thinks only of individual desires.  That is not easy, and not something we can do on our own.  It’s not something the walkers could do on their own either.  They needed Jesus to hear their complaints, their fears, their angers, and then they were able to offer the hospitality that was such a hallmark of what he had taught them.  And it was because of that hospitality that he was able to break bread and feed their souls.  Such a little thing, offering what they had to a stranger, and yet it opened their eyes and their hearts.

So keep on doing the little things, the grace-filled things, the knitting and crocheting, the sewing of masks, and the phone calls.  The delivering of worship services or sharing books, or shopping for a neighbor when you are doing your own errands.  Be as kind to yourself as you know you should be to your neighbor. And don’t be afraid to lament, to cry, to complain to God, because that might just be what God is waiting to hear.  Courage dear ones, and remember, in life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us, we are never alone, thanks be to God!

Words spoken in Truth, Love and Wisdom

It’s good to be back from vacation and it’s good to be doing all kinds of things getting ready for the fall.  One of the things I got to do this week is to witness the power of words spoken from the heart, out at Amber Valley yesterday.  I asked a group of people if they would support two young people as they made vows to love and honor and support each other.  The folks that were there to witness these vows almost thundered their response of I Will to the question of “Will you honor the commitments these two young people make today.  It was really touching, the power of these words on the two young people.  Loud words spoken in truth and love and wisdom, but also with pride and deep conviction.

I think that those words were spoken in the true sense of the good news that Jesus and James were trying to share.  Sounds like these two men were on the same page when they thought about what people say out loud.  Which shouldn’t be too surprising since James was Jesus’ younger brother.  How often did they hear angry words? And how often have we too been on the brunt end of angry words or lies or slander and envy? Probably more that we’d like to admit.  But James also asks us to examine our own words and actions, not just dwelling on what we hear others say.

This week I heard others say things ranging from insensitive to angry to downright insulting.  Sometimes it was about someone not in the room, sometimes it was to someone’s face.  Sometimes it was on the news and caused international discussions, sometimes it was right here in Athabasca.  And sometimes it was so subtle that one had to really think about what the person had said before it came home how hurtful the intention was.  Sometimes it tried to hide behind humor, and sometimes it even came out of my own heart and I didn’t realize it until it was out of my mouth.  Whoops!  And Yikes!

Sometimes it was the words that did not get said that hurt, like how for many folks, Pope Francis did not say enough.  Sometimes it was the words said to a person so hurting that they over reacted.  Sometimes it was words that brought up memories of other words that hurt.

No wonder Jesus talked about the heart, the interior emotions causing what he called uncleanliness.  Koino-ew, in Greek, meaning dirty, common, and unholy. He and the religious scholars of the day were all concerned about anything that would separate them from God, but they were divided as to what that separation was caused by. What builds walls between us and God?  The Pharisees thought it was made by what people did or how they did, but Jesus and James thought it was caused by our interior states.  That sometimes we are not 100% logical, and that sometimes our words are clear symptoms of the state of our interior selves.  As one psychologist put it,

“Bad news, friend: you are not a rational person. Turns out most of your opinions and decisions are made up of an unsavory soup of prejudice, first impressions, old hurts, snap judgements, and fantasy, with some actual fact and reasoned thought thrown in for spice. In case it makes you feel better: same here. Same everywhere. We tend to think of humans as highly rational, but it just isn't so. Google "are humans rational?" or "do facts change minds?" Dig one layer down past the fluff pieces and listicles and see what science actually has to say about our minds—not that I expect any of the information there to change yours, if you're like the rest of us.”

That can be a pretty bleak way of looking at ourselves, and it would be easy to give up.  We are full of what Steven Covey called the 5 cancerous ways to talk to others – complain, criticise, compare, compete and contend.  All five of these tend to tear down community, to tear down peoples souls, to destroy hope, to undermine love, and to sabotage faith.  They are addictive and habit-forming and can grow out of control, hurting everyone who hears them.

But James and Jesus both paint a picture of better things.  Of words spoken that can build each other up, that can strengthen communities, that can help our faith grow.

Words like “I do” and “We will” spoken with passion, conviction and hope.  Words spoken out loud where other people will hear and witness what has been said.  Such is the power of the Serenity Prayer, which has been used in many different versions for over 80 years to help folks with wounded hearts.  Folks that some people would label as unclean or unable to change.  Simple words that have helped people look into that mirror and truly see themselves for whom they are.  Flawed humans struggling to deal with the cards life has handed them, and who humbly and gently rebuild themselves with words from the inside out. 

God Grant me the Serenity to accept the things I can change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference.

When I get down and discouraged from hearing complaining and criticizing words, or thinking that I can’t change the world I live in, I am going to do my best to remember yesterday.  Because that noisy crowd of folks wearing plaid shirts, cowboy hats and john deer baseball caps, with hip flasks, cowboy boots and running shoes, looking like the reddest of red neck Albertans, whooped and hollered and cheered and vowed to support the two lovely brides as they exchanged kisses in front of all their guests.  What a gift to that young couple that said I do, that their families and friends supported them regardless of their gender.  So when I think or we think that what we do or say in this country, this province and this town doesn’t matter, know that Jesus and James would be proud of how our witness to love is building a safer world for all kinds of people that were once thought as unclean.  God wants us to live in hope and love and truth, not anger or fear, and when our hearts are centered in hope, love, truth and wisdom, it is contagious, we do make a difference in this world.