Living in Extraordinary Times

There is a saying that is attributed to the Chinese, “may you live in interesting times”, and it is not a blessing but a curse.  And we have been living in historic and interesting times.  There will be many books written on 2020, and it was certainly a relief to hear that last Wednesday’s events were undisturbed by violence.  Could we please get back to being bored and uninterested in US politics for at least 10 years?  And could we please get on to dealing with issues closer to home?

History disrupters like toxic politicians and pandemics are unpleasant to endure, but not all history disrupters are a detriment to society.  Our scripture today depicts Jesus as such a history disrupter, calling the disciples to become fishers of people rather than fishers of Lake Galilee.  Peter, James and the Zebedee brothers knew how to entangle the local fish, tilapia, which is currently my favorite to dine on.  They didn’t know much about catching people.  Yet Jesus came along, and in Mark’s version said a few words and totally disrupted their lives.  

What a disruption!  Not only did he convince them to quit their jobs, but he also convinced them to walk away from their family obligations.  He did it even though his mentor and predecessor, John the baptiser, had been arrested and was being held indefinitely without trial in Herod’s dungeon.

They followed, despite their previous loyalties, despite their secure careers and family obligations, and despite being completely untrained and unskilled in the ways of catching people.  Jesus didn’t care about that.  Jesus knew that they would be able to learn what they needed to learn.  Jesus knew that it wouldn’t be a safe occupation for them or him, but it would be a disruption of historic proportions.  Did he know that they would become so transformed by this experience that they would risk anything and go anywhere for the sake of his message?  Did he know that his teachings would be spread far beyond the shores of Galilee?  Did he know that they would end up travelling, from Israel to Rome, India, Greece, Spain and some say even to the British Isles?  His call was to ask them to commit to following him and learning how to gather people in.  All the rest was not in anyone’s intentions.

Paul’s writing is a similar call to holy disruption. To think of time not as interesting or cursed but as extraordinary, as blessed.  It echoes the idea that the kingdom of heaven is among us right now.  It shakes our understanding of time being not just the minutes, hours and days of our lives, what the ancient Greeks call Chronos, but seconds of significance.  The sense of sacred time, Kairos, is one in which we see God’s presence calling us and disrupting us away from interesting to extraordinary.  To see every moment as a sacred challenge.

How do we live into that sacred challenge?  For starters, not as celibates, despite Paul’s wording there.  Sorry Paul, I’m married and I know that it has transformed me in many God-called ways.  But seeing our marriages as sacred calls into extraordinary love, as God loved us, is one way of living into that sacred challenge.  And it’s not a call to a self-centred life either.  So many folks are tied up in despair because all they focus on is themselves.  Others see life as essentially pointless, without meaning or purpose.  Their depression and cynicism can be contagious, leading again to a focus on nothing but themselves.  Many feel angry at how powerless they are, that the world is conspiring to get them, and they must protect themselves at all costs, with Molotov cocktails, pipe bombs, guns and racism.  Still others are convinced that their job is to convert other people to the truth that they alone possess, by any means possible.  

Many folks in their cynicism and despair and anger and fear do not know that they are living in extraordinary times.  All they experience day after day are interesting times.  Jesus called the fishermen in similar circumstances, and Jesus calls us today to fish for humans who are living in pain and isolation.  How do we do that?

I’m reminded of the Seventh Day Adventists who called the church the other day asking if I read the bible.  They told me that they did good works.  “Us too!” I chirped.  They helped the homeless.  “Of course”, I agreed.  They connected with shut-ins, “so do we!”  And they worshipped God together.  “Every week,” I replied.  They even dropped off books to our front door about the end times coming.  “We give away free books too, and food and even clothing.”  “Really?”  They asked.  “You are talking to a church, you know, and I am the minister here.”  Such ways leave people feeling suspicious and 

One commentator remarked that we can remember how fishermen caught that delicious tilapia in Galilee.  They didn’t use fishing rods.  They didn’t cast lines with carefully tied lures.  They didn’t attach spoons or red wigglers or feathers.  All these trick the fish into thinking they are biting on a tasty treat.  Galileans used nets, straightforward rope constructions with no pointy bits.  Nets that are obviously nets and easily seen.  Nets that can pull people from the chaos of their wild lives into new community.  Nets that disrupt mundane existance in ways that will enrich others.  Nets that pull people out of the murky, muddy depths of despair into new ways of seeing, new ways of seeking, and sometimes new ways of self-sacrificing.

We are called out of interesting times into extraordinary times.  We have been caught up by the nets of God into a new reality.  It is our calling, our opportunity, and our privilege to do the same for those that are suffering in this world.  May we hear the call and answer with fortitude, generosity, wisdom, and courage.

When I’m Calling You

When I was in university back in the 80’s, I would walk to class from my Grandma’s house in the McKernan neighborhood.  One day a couple came by and called out, “Lisa! What are you doing back in town? Why didn’t you call us?”  I tried to tell them that I wasn’t Lisa, and they got quite indignant.  They honestly thought I was pulling a prank on them.  I should have asked for their name and try to contact my doppelganger, but I didn’t think of that, and found the whole incident rather disturbing.

Then a few years ago, I got a pile of e-mail resumes sent to me for a daycare down in Texas.  Turns out there are several Monica Rosboroughs on Linked In, one of which is a daycare manager in Marshall, Texas! So someone can look like me and not be me, and someone can look nothing like me yet have my name.  It’s a confusing world out there at times.

Jesus seems to know not just Nathaniel’s name but also his face, and more than that, his character.  He recognized Nathaniel as a faithful and honest man.  In some ways, that is the hardest to understand of all.  We humans struggle with knowing when we can trust someone.  Con artists abound, a testimony to our innate desire to trust people, and we often choose wrong.  We also trust too broadly and when someone loses our trust, we can become very judgemental.  We can even overreact.  If someone like Bill Cosby does what he does, of course he should go to jail.  But if someone is late for a meeting or gets angry at something we do, it doesn’t mean that we should automatically convict them as untrustworthy.  

Don’t trust me to put together a budget on time and accurately, it won’t happen!  But do trust that I will care about how we set priorities and how we worship together.  We all have strengths that we are trustworthy with, and wise is the person who knows what they can be trusted to do and what they can’t.

Also wise is Jesus who can see to the heart of someone and call them into discipleship with such clarity and trust. And of course, God is the source of all wisdom, and calls a diverse group of people into service. Last week we learned about John Wesley and his heart being as he put it, strangely warmed.  That was his personal call story, how he found himself called into ministry.  Today we also hear the story of Samuel, called when he was a child.

Doesn’t Samuel sound like a spoiled kid who won’t go to sleep? Eli was an old man who hadn’t been a great parent for his own sons, but now was stuck raising this kid to be a holy preacher.  Sounds more like a holy terror.  Kid, get to sleep!  Go back to bed! Let me get some shut eye! Eli didn’t trust the boy to know God’s voice, and God shouldn’t have trusted Eli to raise Samuel to be the next religious leader of the people after messing up his sons.  But God gives second chances and calls young and old into new lives and new adventures.  Sometimes it’s with words, sometimes it’s with feelings, sometimes it’s just the logical thing to do.

Everyone is called to different tasks, and everyone’s call is unique.  It doesn’t matter if they look similar to someone else or share someone else’s name, their call is unique to them.  Hearing the call is one thing, understanding it is another.  Many are called but not all answer.  Some folks don’t recognize that tug on their heartstring as a call, some find it too scary to contemplate and they give up.  Some feel crippled by their lack of self-esteem.  Moses almost walked away from the burning bush because he felt so inadequate, Jeremiah almost quit because he felt too young even though he was older than Samuel. I often hear people apologizing for not having the gifts they feel they should have.

“I should know how to knit”, they say “so I could also make prayer shawls”, or “I wish I could speak in front of people” when they really don’t want to do such a thing.  Sometimes God calls us to do things that are hard and take a good deal of fortitude, but more often God calls us to do something which gives us great joy!  And it may be something we already enjoy doing!  One little boy was so inspired by Samuel that he and his grandma collected enough bottles to buy a ghetto blaster for his grandma’s Sunday School class.  That’s hearing the call!

Maybe it’s phoning people who are living alone, maybe it’s being a walking buddy for someone who needs encouragement.  Maybe it’s starting a petition for our parks.  Maybe it’s a letter-writing campaign to a government official.  Maybe it’s going back to school or taking lessons on something that has been haunting you for a while.  Maybe it’s sharing the Zoom link or YouTube video to our church service with a friend who talks to you about faith.  Maybe it’s finally calling a mental health hotline and getting support for yourself in these difficult times.  Test it with the Wesley test – is it logical, does it fit my experience, does it resonate with my faith and does it feel right emotionally?  Share it with a wise friend whose advice you have found to be helpful in the past, then take even a tiny step towards that action. Whatever you are feeling called to do, be it big or small, old or new, scary or joyful, take time to pray about it, then trust that God will guide you and call you into a new and renewed sense of your own discipleship.  May it be so for us all!

Will the real John Wesley please stand up?

Well, it’s been quite the week.  Many of my colleagues were saying to each other, “how do we preach to our people after what has happened on Wednesday?” Some of them had already written their sermons so that they could be recorded for Sunday days ahead of time.  Others decided that they would set the alarm clock for 4:30 am today. 

When such disturbing images flood our news feed, how do we find words, how do we find sense, how do we figure out what’s next after this?

When the world gets chaotic, we can respond in many ways.  The ancient biological responses kick in and we can find ourselves going into fight mode, like an alligator, flight mode, like a deer, or freeze mode like a rabbit.  But let’s face it, our rabbit or deer or alligator brain reactions will only complicate things more. How does our faith help us to come up with a better alternative than fight, flight or freeze?

John the Baptiser knew that ritual makes a huge difference to folks who are feeling embattled or discouraged or depressed.  In the chaotic and dangerous society he lived in, the people didn’t have a lot they could control, but they could enter into a river to show that they were ready to commit to a different way of living in relationship with each other.  A ritual of commitment that was both deeply personal and deeply public. A commitment that was about that most nebulous thing, faith.

When Jesus approached John, he made both a private commitment and a public statement that he was committed to the community and committed to God’s vision of empowering, encouraging and healing.  The ancient Greek translation of that moment suggests that God’s power broke open into the world and came into Jesus and the community at that moment.  A powerful symbol that change was coming, and the world would be turned upside down.

Peter’s writing tells us of the consequences of joining this upside-down community.  Instead of flight, fight or freezing, we instead find ourselves filled with God’s goodness.  Peter called us to take our faith and nurture it so that we add to our faith with goodness, and our goodness with knowledge, and knowledge with self-control, and self-control with endurance, and endurance with godliness, and godliness with mutual affection, and mutual affection with truly unselfish love.

Truly unselfish love then, is something that we grow with God’s grace.  It is both gift and practise, something we have and something we work on.  It is unselfish love that will lead us into a different kind of community and even society.  Selfish love leads to chaos and destruction but love that cares for all others regardless of their appearance, their DNA or their orientation leads to strengthening community and a society that cares for the vulnerable, the grieving, the powerless and the sick.

This scripture encourages us to exercise our faith muscle, and it has had a remarkable impact on our world.  A young man some 300 years ago heard these words and it changed his life.  He was an Oxford student, who became ordained so that he could get a job tutoring undergraduates.  He followed the usual career path, but one day he got a letter asking if he would go to the colonies and start a new church.  He travelled to the newest colony, barely two years old at the time.  He thought he would be spreading Christianity to the indigenous people but instead served the colonists who were building farms there.  At that time, the colony was committed to developing sustainably without any plantations or slave labor, unlike its biggest neighbors, but solely by small-scale agricultural practises, similar to English and Scottish farms back home.  That state was Georgia, surprisingly.  Can you imagine if Georgia had stayed committed to being a slave-free state, what history might have been like?

Anyway, that young man didn’t do too well at his first congregation, and two years later he was on a boat heading back for Oxford.  Many churches wanted him to preach about his experiences in the colony, but became disillusioned with him, banning him from preaching.  He became so discouraged that he decided to give up being a minister, and then he read the 2 Peter passage.  He heard its message of encouragement and empowerment.  With those words, he went to a prayer meeting that evening and found his heart ‘strangely moved’.  He found his resilience deepened, his faith strengthened, his message inspired, and his words heard by simple people hungry for hope.  He got his brother to help him with songs and preaching and before they realized it, their method for teaching the bible, for helping develop faith and deepen commitments had become more popular than the two of them could manage.  They were taunted as ‘Methodists’ because of the methodical way they taught about faith, and eventually these two devout Anglicans laid the groundwork for the Methodist Church, one of the founding denominations of our United Church of Canada, and the inspiration for the construction of this very building I have the honor of preaching in today.

John talked about using all our brains for our faith journey, our passion, our intellect, but also our sense of the historic journey we are on, and our exploration of our sacred heritage.  Some call it the Wesleyan quadrilateral, logic, emotion, tradition and scripture, as a way of discerning where God calls us on our faith journey.  It is a way of making sober, sensible, loving and faithful decisions in difficult times.  Such thoughtful methods are needed now more than ever so that we chose our paths as adopted children of God, not as alligators, deer and rabbits.  Let us remember that we are called to use all our best selves and especially unselfish love as a foundation of how we live our lives, and may our lives be an inspiration to all who follow in our footsteps as we are inspired to follow in the footsteps of Jesus, our Christ.  Amen.

Spare Change?

I saw some amazing sculptures the other day called Open Mind by an artist named Johnson Tsang.  They show people’s heads with a variety of expressions from happiness to confusion, and hands coming from inside the head making openings of different sizes and shapes. 

(https://johnsontsang.wordpress.com/2017/01/09/open-mind-series/ )

 It reminds me of how difficult it can be to change.  I have spent the last two weeks changing where I work, sometimes from home, sometimes from the office, doing my best to respect the law, and as some of you have found, working from home calls for a lot of adaptation.  The fridge is an easy commute, and family is always there to chat with.  But it’s just one more change in a year that has seen more than our fair share of changes.

It would be nice to think that 2021 would be a year where we can get back to normal, and where we can undo all the changes that have been made from necessity.  There is something deeply unsettling about change that comes from outside ourselves, that we have little choice over.  It’s one thing to make a new year’s resolution to get up half an hour earlier, it’s another thing to have someone else or something else force change on us.  Even change that’s necessary is still hard to endure.

The magi had a reason to change, they chose to leave their families, their way of life and journey into an unknown land.  They were scholars and dignitaries who didn’t know what they were getting themselves into.  And we have no way of knowing whether this is history or myth story, but I wonder just how wise they were.  They obviously didn’t realize that they were blundering into the court of one of the most corrupt, power-hungry and paranoid kings of the land.  

They could have benefitted with checking into their embassy if they had one, before showing up at the King’s fortress asking embarrassing questions.  You know, questions like, ‘where’s your successor? We hear he’s going to be amazing, and so blessed that even the stars are predicting his birth!’

Herod was more than a little paranoid about losing power.  According to the historians of his day, he murdered so many of his family including wives and sons that Augustus reportedly said that it was better to be Herod’s pig than Herod’s son because at least Herod, as a Jew, would not eat his pig.  He had his heir killed only a few days before he himself died.  Not a nice man!

And here the Magi blunder in, asking politically uncomfortable questions that no one wanted to answer.  Not so wise after all.  And it turned out they were off by 9 km! They had to make some changes for themselves.  Stop looking in the palace for a king, stop looking in the capital of the nation for a king, but travel to where the poorest of the poor were living on the outskirts.  Stop eating at a king’s table and visit a family who may not know where their next meal is coming.  Stop visiting with people who know the proper protocol for dealing with foreign dignitaries and go to a place where they may not be treated with the reverence and respect they were used to.  And stop trusting the ruler who has all the answers and all the advisors; instead turn to a nebulous way of making a decision.  They chose to follow an inspiration and avoided returning to Herod.

We can no more return to the so-called glory days of pre-Covid life than the Magi could return to Herod.  We have learned too much and experienced too much to do so.  People in heavily populated countries have seen the stars at night, free from the smog that was their constant experience.  Why would they want to return?  We have seen the inherent injustices of people struggling with inadequate health care, unfair labor practices and inadequate employment.  

We have seen the heartbreaking impact on immigrants working two or three jobs, struggling to get home or to stay healthy.  

We have learned of the systemic racism that permeates every aspect of North American Society.  We have struggled to retain our parks from loosing their protected status in a province that values profit over preservation.  We have discovered how fragile our economy is and how important our connections to other people are, who really is essential.  And we have discovered how our faith has strengthened us to adapt to change, to care for our neighbors and to fight against injustice. 

We cannot and must not go back to Herod.  That means more change will happen.  More people will continue to work from home and drive less.  More people will recognize the power of community.  More people will discover the joy of living with respect in creation.  More people will chose a different lifestyle than the frantic and frenetic ways of the past.

2021 will not be the same as 2020, nor will it be the same as 2019.  Change will happen.  But as children of God, adopted as God’s heirs, we are free to live in glorious holy ways that benefit everyone and not just ourselves.  We are inspired to live with courage and hope as we face each new day.  We are called to live with generosity, to share what we can of our time, our talents and our abundance with those who are struggling.  We are strengthened by our faith to live with fortitude, especially in times such as these.  And we are gifted with wisdom that helps us make wise choices for a future where justice and love prevail. Our sacred story points the way for everyone whether they live in palaces or hovels.  And our God who loves us so much that we are adopted into grace-filled community, will guide and sustain us as we follow the Magi into 2021.  May it be so for us all!

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!