The power of grace, according to Jean Valjean

First, a disclaimer.  Although this post discusses details of the movie/musical Les Misérables, there really is nothing about the plot that cannot be found by reading any newspaper or internet review and only the very beginning of the movie is really discussed.  However, if you want to see nothing about the film until you have seen it, don’t read this!

Today I went to see the movie Les Misérables.  Oddly, although I’ve listened to the Broadway Soundtrack many times, and know the basic premise of the story, I really didn’t know or remember much about the details.  And so it was that, in the first few minutes of the film, I was amazed by one of the most powerful exhibitions of grace that I have ever seen in film.  After Jean Valjean has been paroled after serving a 19-year sentence for stealing a loaf of bread for his sister’s dying child, he is understandably bitter and angry, vowing never to forgive the injustice that has been done to him.  After stealing the silver from a convent, he is caught and the Bishop, instead of accusing him and sending him back to prison, tells the authorities to that he has given Valjean the silver and, in fact gives him more.  In a moment that I imagine to be much like Jesus talking to the woman caught in the act of adultery, he says, “Use this silver to make yourself an honest man.”  In the next scene, Valjean is sobbing in front of the altar, completely broken down and overwhelmed by this act of grace, which has given him an opportunity at a new start.  He dedicates his life to the service of God and others, vowing never to forget what has been done on his behalf.

There is so much to say just about that one little bit.  It is key to the rest of the film, another 2+ hours’ worth.  However, it is also key to my life, to my Lenten journey and to my relationship with God.  

In reading reviews and comments about the film, it seems this moment is glossed over as “heartwarming” or an “act of kindness” and somehow, to me, the fullness of its meaning is lost.  The deeper meaning, to me, is that this is exactly how it looks when God redeems us.  This is why the life and death and resurrection of Jesus have such power.  Jean Valjean could be considered a “small time” criminal, a “minor” sinner.  He was treated unjustly, wasn’t he?  He “only” stole a loaf of bread. And surely, because of his sorry circumstances, he could be justified for stealing the silver from the Bishop.  However, the law sees it differently.  He is no different from any other criminal.  He has committed a crime and he must pay the penalty.  But the penalty he has to pay, far beyond the hard labour of prison, is also a life of bitterness and hatred. 

Many of us have found ourselves in this same boat.  We don’t consider ourselves really “that bad” of sinners.  We’re generally honest, hard working and just trying to get along in life.  Meanwhile, we’ve been hurt, often by the Church and by those we love, perhaps our parents or our friends.  We feel justified in living lives underpinned by bitterness and perhaps even revenge.  We seek out churches and therapists who help us to see how we’re not to blame and that we don’t need to be caught up in all that negativity and guilt and shame. 

However, we’re missing out on a big piece of the puzzle if we stay there.  Jean Valjean almost missed it.  But, of course, if he had, Victor Hugo would not have had a story.  The story is that ALL of us, no matter how big or small our offenses, live in a world embittered by sin, by fear, by guilt, despair and revenge.  A literal reading of the Bible attributes this state of sin to Adam and Eve eating the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.  Whether that story is literally true or whether it is a metaphor (or a parable or an allegory, I’m never sure which), it is clear that SOMEHOW, the wonderful and perfect Creation that God intended has gone horribly wrong.  It is still beautiful, to be sure, but horrible things happen, often to really good, nice people.  And, despite our best intentions, we often do horrible things to those we love. 

So, what happens when, in our bitterness and guilt, someone says, “I love you, wholly and completely.  You are beautiful just the way you are, because I MADE YOU THAT WAY.  And I forgive you for all of the wrong you have done, even the wrong that you’ve kept hidden way deep inside.  I see all that. I KNOW you. And you are mine. “  How do I respond to that? How do you respond to that? 

If I really, truly take that all in, the only way I can see to respond to that is the way Jean Valjean responded.  It is so overwhelming to realize that I have been saved from a life of bitterness and fear and regret that really, all I can do is cry and pray and throw myself at the mercy of God and commit my life to following that example of grace and forgiveness.

Of course, the rest of the story, as I’ve repeated over and over on this blog, is that God became one of us and is intimately familiar with every kind of suffering we’ve experienced.  Jesus took it all on and he overcame it.  And that’s why we can trust him when he invites us to lay it all down and follow him. 

There is more to say about this.  The notion of “Cheap Grace” comes to mind.  A discussion of the rest of Jean Valjean’s story and his struggle to stay true to his promise to God to act with integrity and kindness is well worth further exploration.  Those will have to wait for another night.  For now, I’m contemplating this powerful scene in the context of today’s churches.  It’s either “believe in Jesus or you’ll go to Hell because you’re a miserable worm” or “forget all that shame and guilt stuff, God made you good and so you’re good. Period.”  I think it’s neither and it’s both.  I am a miserable worm and destined for Hell.  Whether that is a Hell of my own making, in this life, or a place of eternal suffering in the hereafter is not really as relevant as that fact that without the kind of grace embedded in the life, death and resurrection of Christ I am doomed to hopelessness and despair.  On the other hand, I AM a precious Creation of God and I no longer have to feel guilt and shame for what I’ve done BECAUSE of that grace.  At one extreme, the Gospel is not really “Good News” and at the other, it is pretty much meaningless.

As I contemplate this awesome, powerful grace, I want to leave you with a line from one of the final songs in the film:  “To love another person is to see the face of God.”  May I love others in a way that shows my gratitude to God for this most amazing grace.

Amen. 

Frozen by perfection

It's Day 2 of Lent.  Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and I was involved in meetings at the Med School all day so I had no opportunity to go to an Ash Wednesday service.  I did spend a fair bit of time THINKING about the liturgy of Ash Wednesday.  "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return." "Return to the Lord your God for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love."  These phrases have been passing through my mind over and over the last couple of days.

Meanwhile, I haven't for the life of me been able to figure out what to write about.  I can't work out a "perfect" blog post to start off my Lenten journey.   And so I have been frozen into inaction, a sort of "writer's block."  But in my readings and prayers these last few days I have come across this concept of perfection more than once.  Lent isn't about being perfect.  It's about being REAL.  Being naked before God.  Letting God heal us from our imperfection.  Knowing that God has already redeemed us and healed us and accepts us as we are.

Lent isn't about empty piety either.  One of the listed readings for Ash Wednesday is Isaiah 58.  The prophet is talking about fasting as a self-serving exercise so that others and God might take notice.  But, the prophet, notes, these same people are oppressing their workers and stirring up trouble.  Instead, he says,

"Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? 

Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am."

All of my Lenten discipline and striving for perfection is a big waste of time if I'm only doing it to for the sake of perfection or to look good.  If all I'm doing is trying to write a clever blog post to show you all how pious I am then it's all about me.  But Isaiah is saying that the fast that God wants is to break the bonds of oppression and injustice.  What am I doing today for the sake of justice?

That's not to say that I should give up this blog-writing discipline as meaningless. I'm not letting myself off that easily.  But in so many areas of my life I have allowed my own perfectionism (a very egocentric attitude) to get in the way of working for the cause of justice, of simple acts of sharing my bread with the hungry, clothing the naked, sharing what I have with the poor and homeless.  I make the same excuses that we all make.  "My little bit won't make a difference." "They're probably taking me for a ride, how do I know that person is really needy." "I can't afford it." "I don't want to pry into someone else's affairs." The list goes on.  Because I can't do it MY way, because I'm not rich enough or clever enough to come up with the PERFECT solution, I am frozen into inaction.

The opportunites are often subtle and small.  They usually do not involve making a big splash and getting our names out there for all to see.  And that's good.  Once my ego gets involved then I stand in God's way.  If I get in God's way then I frustrate all possibility of perfection as only God CAN make things right and perfect.  Likewise, if I turn my back on the opportunities God puts before me, it's quite possible that God will simply start giving the opportunities to someone else.  These opportunities to serve are opportunities to see Jesus, "God with skin on."  If I miss them, I miss God.  I miss the point of the journey to the cross.

What opportunities might I have today or tomorrow to meet and serve Jesus, to break the bonds of injustice, to feed the hungry and clothe the naked? How might I have to step outside of my comfort zone to do so? And how might my obsession with perfection get in the way of these small acts of service that might present themselves before me?

Almighty God, the Redeemer of all who trust in you; give heed to the cry of your people, deliver us from the bondage of sin that we may serve you in perfect freedom and rejoice in your unfailing love; through Jesus Christ our Saviour. (NZBB p 572)

"Baking the Loaf"

I like to bake bread.  When we came to New Zealand we left behind a lot of cookbooks but I scanned in my favourite pages from my favourite bread cookbook so that I have those recipes and directions on my computer.  I have used them many times, most recently this evening. So when I was listening to my Daily Audio Bible podcast the other day and I heard the story about the “Widow at Zarephath” in 1 Kings 17, it struck a cord with me.  Perhaps what really hit home was the commentary after the reading in which the reader, Brian Hardin, summed up the passage with the directive to “Bake the loaf.”  What does this mean?

Some of you may recall the story.  There is a drought and famine in the land and God sends the prophet Elijah to live by a brook where he is able to drink water and eat bread and meat brought to him by ravens.  Then, the brook dries up and Elijah is told to go to Zarephath, where there is a widow whom “God has directed” to give food to Elijah.  Now, first of all, it is not at all clear from the story just HOW God directs the woman to give Elijah food.  It almost seems as though the first the woman hears of it is from Elijah himself.  Perhaps.  God works outside of our constraints of time and space.  In any case, he goes and finds this woman gathering sticks to make a fire to bake her last little bit of flour and olive oil together to make a meal for herself and her son.  She believes this will be their last meal.  There is no food anywhere in the land and so she is prepared to eat this last little bit of bread with her son and then wait to die.  It’s a heartbreaking story, really.  The woman is hopeless and yet so full of love for her son that she is going to make the effort to make the most of their last tiny meal together.  So, as she is in this frame of mind, along comes this prophet of God who asks her to get him a drink of water and a piece of bread. She tells him her story.  Remarkably, the first thing Elijah says to her is, “Don’t be afraid.”  These are the same words that Jesus uses over and over.  These are words that I have come to understand as “a miracle is coming, wait for it.” Or, to put it another way, “Trust me, and watch how things turn out.  You’ll be amazed.” Elijah proceeds to tell her that IF she trusts him and does as he asks, her flour and oil will not run out until rain comes to the land, signaling the end of the famine.

Now, I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I’d be pretty skeptical.   I realised as I listened to this story and to the commentary afterward, that this is something that is played out in my life in so many ways.  On a very literal level, what is my response when a homeless person or a panhandler asks for money?  What if they “promise” something in return?  I’ve found that more often than not I am tempted and, indeed, often succumb to the temptation to turn away or to offer excuses as to why that person isn’t “worthy” of “my” charity.  And then there are the more metaphorical examples where I may hear a call to do something or to go somewhere and I make excuses for why I can’t do it or why the call may not be a genuine call.  But beyond that, what’s really going on is that I don’t TRUST the outcome.  I don’t believe that whatever it is will turn out the way I want it to.  I can’t imagine how it could ever turn out in my favour or how it could ever “be right.”  And this lack of faith can paralyse me into doing nothing, staying with the status quo. 

This theme plays out in other places in the Bible.  There’s Abraham and Isaac, when Abraham actually takes his son to sacrifice him to God, all the while TRUSTING God’s promise that through Isaac he will have a nation full of descendants. (Genesis 22)  The story seems so barbaric and gruesome to us, sometimes to the extent that we miss the point entirely.  Abraham LOVES his son and he KNOWS that God knows how much he loves his son AND he TRUSTS that somehow God will see him through this.  And God does.  [Why God would put someone through a test like that is beyond the scope of this post and, frankly, beyond the scope of my theological imagination to answer at present.]

The other story that comes to mind is the parable of the talents. (Matthew 25 14-30)  In this one, a man gives “talents” (or money) to each of 3 servants.  He goes away and comes back and finds that while he was gone two of them have invested their money and doubled it while the third hid his under the mattress (so to speak).  He is very angry at the third son for his  laziness and obvious lack of shrewdness in investing.  This parable could be (and probably is) used as justification for the “rich getting richer” approach to politics and economics.  However, I see it a bit differently.  I think the reason this parable came to mind when I was hearing the story of the widow is because PERHAPS there is a parallel.  Quite possibly, this parable is about the third servant’s lack of FAITH.  He hangs on tightly to the status quo, to what he’s got, instead of investing it (sharing it, sowing it into a world of great need), and by playing it safe, he helps no one, including himself. 

And so, Brian’s commentary admonishes me to “Bake the loaf,” to give it all to God, to take risks in order to share the God’s grace and mercy and unfailing love with those who need it.  I need to do this EVEN (or especially) when I feel like I might be down to my last cup of flour, my last measure of oil, my last penny, my last nerve, my last bit of compassion. 

These thoughts have been swirling around in my head, mixing it up with the images and reports I’ve received from various friends on Facebook of the events of the Montana Gay Pride event this past weekend.  Montana Pride has a history of being very unlike other Pride celebrations.  The first time I went to one I was fascinated that they held WORKSHOPS.  Most of the Pride events I'd been to  in other places involved a big, flamboyant parade and parties.  Maybe there were outdoor bands and concerts, a dance, a drag show or two, but never workshops.  Last year, I went to a workshop on faith and sexuality and met some amazing people there, including a woman named Michele whose son is bisexual and who shared her journey of coming to accept that.  I’ve gotten to know her a bit more over the past year and she has shared some of her experiences on her blog, Rainbow Icecream. This year, my friend and “little brother” Tom was director of the whole thing and apparently did an amazing job (not surprisingly) and a woman whom I know from GCN (Kathy at CanyonWalker Connections) came to speak and to meet people and to do her amazing work of reconciliation between the Church and the gay community, especially those (most of us) who have been so wounded by the Church.  I believe it took someone like Tom, a passionate Christian gay man, to bring this most unique aspect to a Pride event.  I would imagine this must have been, in a sense, Tom’s “Bake the loaf” moment.  As I described in a previous post, it’s often not popular for gay people to be associated with Christians or Christianity because of how we have been wounded and rejected by many Christians.  Tom and Kathy and Michelle and many others have responded to that call to reach out in faith, knowing that it might (and does) bring abuse and ridicule and rejection from both sides.  It’s humbling, really, to see that kind of courage.  And yet, just like the widow, just like many of the people whose lives Jesus transformed, just like Abraham, many of us have found ourselves at rock bottom with nowhere else to turn and out of that brokenness has come the gift of truly knowing, believing that it really all comes down to GOD. 

I am challenged by the story of the woman who gave her last little bit of food to a man of God, TRUSTING that God would come through for her and her beloved son.  I am challenged by the story of the Apostle Paul who suffered all kinds of abuse for the sake of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and truly believed God when he said, “My GRACE is sufficient for you for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  I am challenged by people who suffer unimaginable hardships to bring that grace and compassion to others.   It all comes down to trust in God to work things according to a plan that I don’t need to, or really even want to know.  Just “Bake the loaf.”

Living near the sea

I love being near the ocean.  I always have.  I grew up near the ocean, and have lived near the ocean for large chunks of my life.  For the past 11 years, I have lived in the land locked state of Montana and have rarely gotten to see the ocean.  I moved there for a relationship, and it was well worth it on that score!  I was told that in Montana, "the sky is the ocean."  Montana has some lovely skies, beautiful mountains and a lot of  beauty in general.  But since being in New Zealand, especially being near the coast, I have realised how much I have missed it.  It's good for my soul.  The vastness, the sounds, the power, the wildlife...it seems it's all just part of my DNA somehow.

So, this post will be devoted to photos of the ocean.  Yesterday, I set out specifically to spend the day at the beach.  I ended up going to Dunedin, where there are some great beaches...a little bit on the commercial side, although nothing the likes of Rehobeth, Delaware or Ocean City, Maryland.  What I found was plenty of sand, waves, seagulls, surfers, runners, dogs, and people just walking up and down the beach enjoying the beautiful autumn day.  I did some running myself, realising how much I miss running on the beach.  I like to imagine what's on the other side of the ocean.  In this case, I guess it would be the southern part of South America.

The rest of this post will mainly be a photo album, basically me indulging my love for the sea.  If my readers enjoy it, all the better!

The first set are taken at St. Claire Beach, Dunedin

Surfer

Waves

I love the juxtaposition of sandy beaches and rocky cliffs

Beautiful blue water

Self-portrait

Some sort of pretty purple flowers

Another self portrait (the day got warmer!)

Lots of people enjoying the beach

The end of the beach and a tide pool

A sea kayaker

Pretty spot for wedding photos

The next set are taken at Bluff, on the southern tip of the South Island.  It's not quite as far south as New Zealand goes, though.  That would be Stewart Island, about 35 km further south.

That big thing on the righthand side is picture of a Right Whale

Toward sunset

Part of a Maori legend about an anchor and a big fish

 Because it seems appropriate, I am going to end with the "Benedicite Aotearoa", a special version of the "Song of Creation" for New Zealand (NZPB page 63)

O give thanks to our God who is good:  whose love endures forever.
You sun and moon, you starts of the southern sky:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
Sunrise and sunset, night and day:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
All mountains and valleys, grassland and scree, glacier, avalanche, mist and snow:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
You kauri and pine, rata and kowhai, mosses and ferns:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
Dolphins and kawawai, sealion and crab, coral, anemone, pipi and shrimp:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
Rabbits and cattle, moths and dogs, kiwi and sparrow and tui and hawk:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
You Maori and Pakeha, women and men, all who inhabit the long white cloud:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
All you saints and martyrs of the South Pacific:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
All prophets and priests, all cleaners and clerks, professors, shop workers, typist and teachers, job-seekers, invalids, drivers and doctors:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
All sweepers and diplomats, writers and artists, grocers, carpenters, students and stock-agents, seafarers, farmers, bakers and mystics:  give to our God your thanks and praise.
All children and infants, all people who play:  give to our God your thanks and praise.

The Lord is Risen!!

He is risen, INDEED!

I am late posting this, although, really, it's never too late. Plus, liturgically, Easter lasts for another 6 weeks until Pentecost.  I'm suffering from a bit of "OCD" writer's block.  I keep thinking of things I'd like to research and write about, things like early Church history around celebrations of the resurrection, and I'm not finding the time.

So, first, a bit about my celebration of Easter.  I went to Dunedin, to the Great Vigil at All Saints' Anglican Church.  Here's a little information about the Easter Vigil liturgy.  The service started with a bonfire in front of the church.  One of the advantages of being in the Southern Hemisphere this time of year is that it is not only possible, it's EASY to start the Vigil in the dark, as the rubrics in the Book of Common Prayer suggest.  In Montana, after Daylight Saving Time begins, it's still light at 8 PM and since this is typically a long service, it's quite difficult to start it after dark and not lose people due to the late hour.  (Of course, we are all wimps, because this service originated as an actual all-night vigil. Check out the Wikipedia article for more information than you could ever want about that.)

To back up, just a tad, I got a flat tyre (tire) on my way to the service.  It's a long story but to truncate it a bit, I called my boss (I was near his place) and he came and rescued me and took me to church then went back and put my spare on and then drove my car back to me while his wife drove their car so that I could go straight home after the service.  It was probably the most wonderful part of the whole thing!  This man couldn't care less about church.  He's not "anti" church or Christianity, just not interested.  But he exhibited a most Christ-like, genuine care for me and for what he knew was important to me.  And he never showed any degree of annoyance or in any way made me feel like I needed to repay him for his kindness.  As I was waiting in the dark for him to come and rescue me, I was thinking how much I had wanted to go to the Vigil and how I had planned out the day with just that in mind and I was so close to making it and it looked like I was going to miss it.  I had a moment of peace and clarity there--I said a prayer asking God to make a way for me to make it there or to help me to be ok with it if I couldn't make it.  I took a deep breath and let go of my wants and expectations and had a sense that whatever was in store was completely God's will and exactly where I was supposed to be.  That's nothing short of miraculous, frankly, as I'm the world's worst control freak!  And, in the end, the surprise was Branko, coming through to help me with my car AND get me to church!  Who knows what kind of work the spirit might be doing in him, or me?

So, to get back to the vigil, it was a beautiful service, starting with the bonfire and lighting of the Paschal candle.  The first part of the service is in the dark, by candle light with readings from the Hebrew Scriptures which tell the ancient story of God's salvation of his people.  The readings were interspersed with psalms and canticles.  The musicians were amazing, including the 15 year old organist!  After that, the lights come on and everyone joins in the proclamation that "Christ is Risen!"  The remainder of the service is spent in hearing the Gospel, singing songs of praise, and remembering our baptisms and renewing our own baptismal vows.  And afterwards, there's a big party!

It was interesting, because this service, for me, is always the START of Easter!  Although the space of time from Good Friday morning to Saturday night is quite short, it is a long time for me, an impatient person, to sit in that space of grief and pain.  But this year, I celebrated this amazing event in one of the very first time zones in the world!  I couldn't, then, go on Facebook and proclaim the Good News, could I? Not when most of my friends were still in that hard place with Jesus in the tomb.  It seemed sort of inappropriate.  So...I drove home on my spare tire, went to bed, and got up in the morning and did it all again.  Sort of...I did it in an entirely different format at St. Mark's in Balclutha.  I found I can really get into modern praise songs, as long as I've also been able to bathe myself in the rich tradition of the ancietn liturgy.

Because of my tyre, I stayed close to home for the remainder of the holiday weekend.  No fabulous photos to post.  I wasn't able to get the tyre fixed until Tuesday, the day I went back to work.  But that's ok.  It was good for me to take some walks and runs and meditate on the beauty and glory of it all.

One of the things I did was listen to a sermon by Jeff Miner about how we can live into the power of the resurrection.  It's nice to say "Christ is Risen" and rejoice that Jesus was raised from the dead.  But what does that really MEAN? And how does it or should it affect my life?  Often, churches are packed on Easter Sunday with people you won't see again until Christmas Eve.  Pastors have a hard job to do, to make the most of their one shot at reaching those people with the Gospel.  People want to see that we're really "walking the walk."  Are we REALLY following Jesus?  Even when it's really hard?  Are we "dying" to our own expectations, our selfish desires, and letting God raise us up to a new life of love, surrender, worship, and service?  If all people see is our "Hallelujahs" and our hand waving and clapping but no substance, no acts of love for the poor, the oppressed, the outcasts, what good is it for us to proclaim that Christ is Risen?  It's something to think about...daily, weekly, not just on Easter Sunday.

In keeping with the rather scattered motif of this post, I want to share something that comes to mind every so often, especially when thinking about death and resurrection.  It's a memory of my car wreck in 2006.  I'm not sure if it's ACTUALLY a memory, but it's become embedded in my narrative of the event to the point that I hold onto it as a memory.  In July of 2006, while driving home from work, I rolled my car off the interstate.  I don't remember why and I may never know why.  I remember only bits and pieces of what happened after that for the next several days, as I was rushed to the Livingston hospital, flown to Billings, operated on and taken care of in the ICU. At some stage, I had this very vivid flash of a memory of what happened as my car was flying through the air.  I remember a feeling of total surrender, knowing that I couldn't possibly survive this.  I didn't "WANT" to die--we had just returned from visiting Kate in Guatemala and I wanted to bring her home!  But in spite of that, I found myself looking straight into the eyes of Jesus, saying, "here I am, Lord, I guess it's time." I felt a sense of absolute peace and love, as I knew that I would be safe in his arms.  And then I heard, "No, not yet.  It's not your time, yet.  Your family needs you.  There's more for you to do."  It was like I'd been hit with a ton of bricks (maybe that was the car landing!) But it was a moment of disappointment because I knew that this was going to hurt...a lot...and that I was going to really have to fight for my life.

What the memory does for me, at Easter, is it drives home to me how I don't have to fear death because Jesus overcame death.  But, on the other hand, it also makes it crystal clear that Jesus' death and resurrection must not be in vain.  My life was spared for some reason.  It's all part of being "Guided by Grace" again.  I'm following in the path that is put in front of me, even though I often have no idea what it means or why I am on it.  It's very simple, and yet, sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world to do.

Christ is Risen Indeed!  Alleluia!!

Watch and Pray

As I write this, it is the afternoon of Good Friday, in New Zealand.  Liturgically, symbolically, Jesus has been betrayed, handed over to an angry mob, beaten, mocked, and crucified and then buried in a tomb.  It is that time of tension, waiting, sad but anticipating the joy of Easter Sunday.  I spent the morning doing a variety of “worship” activities. The first was a contemplative worship service at St. Mark’s Anglican, the church I have tentatively called my “home” while I’m here.  Following that, members of most of the congregations in town gathered outside St. Mark’s for a procession in which a large wooden cross was carried to each church in town, some readings and prayers were offered at each place of worship, and then we ended at the Town Hall, where there was an ecumenical service for Good Friday.  That was much more contemporary and, frankly, a bit jarring.  However, the whole experience was quite powerful for me.  It engaged all of my senses in the process of reliving Jesus’ final journey and act of overwhelming, all-encompassing love and grace.  And I have been left with a feeling of sadness, of emptiness deep down inside.  I think that feeling is meant to be there…when I reach in and examine it; I find that it is a sense of profound loss and grief, of rejection, fear and guilt.  And then I find that all of that is encased in a deeper feeling of hope.  All of that grief and fear and emptiness is being laid to rest in the tomb.  It is what Jesus took upon himself so that I can finally be free of it all. 

That raw feeling of grief must be what Jesus’ mother and the other women who were there with him at the cross felt.  It is likely what the disciples felt before they fled in terror.  It had all come down to this.  They had placed all of their hopes and trust in this man.  Hope fed by the miracles, the acts of mercy and justice, now all broken to bits as their hero, their saviour allowed himself to be unjustly condemned to die a horrible, shameful death.  In their grief, they didn’t know the ending of the story.  They should have, given all the hints Jesus dropped.  They should have been able to trust, to hope, to believe that this could not be the end of it all.  And, as I sit with these feelings, I know what they could only dare to hope for.  I know of what lies on the other side of the cross and the tomb.  I know, but it’s not time to go there yet. 

These spiritual exercises are far more than just memorials or nice things to do.  When I allow myself to turn inward and examine what happens when I take this journey with Jesus to the cross, it becomes real for me.  I think that’s what is meant by a “Sacrament.”  Somehow, the real presence of God comes into my heart and my soul in a real and tangible way.   And I have to sit with it.  I have to stay here and experience what I would be feeling if I were literally there with Jesus at Golgotha.  We live in a “fix it now” world.  We find it almost intolerable to sit with pain, with fear, with uncertainty. And we are not alone in that.  Jesus begged his closest friends to come with him to his darkest hour. “Watch and pray,” he said, and then he found them sleeping.  They couldn’t tolerate the intense loneliness, fear and pain that Jesus was about to endure.  Perhaps they didn't believe he would really go through with it.  Perhaps they were thinking that this time, like all the others, Jesus would pull a well-timed miracle out of his hat or find just the right searing words to say to his persecutors to put them in their places.  Ultimately, of course, Jesus forgives them of their lack of fortitude and their unbelief.  That is indeed good news, but it doesn’t let me off the hook.  In due time, I will get to rejoice in the glorious celebration of the resurrection, when all of the pain and suffering and death is turned upside down.  But if I jump the gun, I miss out on a critically important part of the process.  I miss the point entirely.  Easter means nothing if Jesus was not crucified.  And Jesus’ death means nothing without Easter. 

I think there is a bigger, broader lesson here.  We are often taught that Jesus took all of our guilt and shame and suffering upon himself and did away with it, once and for all.  I believe that is true, to a point.  However, there is more.  See, when Jesus was with his disciples, both before and after his death and resurrection, he didn’t tell them that life was going to be easy for them from then on.  He told them that they were going to be left behind on earth to continue Jesus’ work.  They were promised everything they needed for their work but they were also promised that they would suffer immensely, just as Jesus did, for doing that work.  So what was the point, then?  I think the point is that in walking with Jesus, in taking that journey into Jerusalem, to Gethsemane, to Golgotha, to the tomb and beyond, the disciples and we can see to what lengths God has been willing to go for our sake.  We have seen Jesus take on ALL of that sin, despair, hatred, and fear.  Our lives and our hearts have been split wide open.  Jesus has seen into the deepest, darkest places in our souls and has said, “I forgive you, I love you, I want to be with you forever and I want you to walk with me and continue my work.” In the resurrection, we know that we will never be alone and that we have the strength to go to those hard places, wherever they may be.  


Jesus didn't simply take away all of that grief and pain and suffering.  Instead, he gave us the assurance that we are clothed in God’s grace, we are forgiven, we are PART of Christ’s body and we have been given the strength to bear each other’s burdens, to suffer with the oppressed, and to cry with the broken-hearted.  This is “compassion:” "feeling with."  As we do this, we are healing the wounds of sin and separation from God, in whose image we are ALL created.  But, I believe, we can’t truly do this unless we spend some time with Jesus in that place of emptiness and isolation.  In order to know joy, we must walk through sorrow.  In order to fully appreciate the joy of the resurrection, we must suffer some of the grief and pain of death, knowing that nothing we suffer comes close to what Jesus went through for us. It is through the hope of the resurrection that we are able to endure such suffering and pain.  Like Advent, this is a past, present, and future event.  I must live in the present reality, while at the same time celebrating the past event of Jesus’ death and resurrection and anticipating the future promise of eternal life with Christ in Glory.  Watch and pray.

Conformed? Or Transformed?

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God."Romans 12:1,2 (KJV)

For some reason, my Lenten meditations have led me to this passage.  I decided to quote it here in the King James Version for two reasons: one is that that is how I memorised it as a child.  The other is that it uses the word “beseech” and, well, I just like that word!  Just to clarify, the word “beseech” means to “urge” or “implore.”  It’s a word which gives this passage a sense of importance, that this is something that Christians really MUST do. 

A few weeks ago, I heard a sermon (or, perhaps more accurately, a lecture) on “Christianity Lite” in which this passage was used.  The idea was that many of us “go through the motions.” We go to church, we say some prayers now and then, we perhaps enjoy the fellowship but we don’t really RISK anything.  We haven’t surrendered our lives to the service of Jesus Christ. We haven’t allowed ourselves to be TRANSFORMED by God’s spirit working in our lives. 

Then last weekend, I met with a friend whom I had met through the Gay Christian Network.  He brought me some CDs of various messages that had spoken to him in his faith journey.  One was a keynote address to the 2009 GCN conference by the late Rev.Peter Gomes, who had been a professor at Harvard. Rev. Gomes was an African American gay man who grew up in the 1950s.  He loved Jesus and was devoted to preaching the Gospel, the scandalous and offensive Gospel as preached by Jesus Christ himself while he was here on earth. (An excerpt from that speech can be found at GCN Radio on the 28th August 2009 episode.)

I listened to that CD yesterday while driving around the beautiful New Zealand countryside.  Rev. Gomes pointed to this passage in Romans as a call to action for gay Christians.  Interesting and significant, since it had already been on my mind. 

The thing about being a Christian, while at the same time, understanding oneself to be gay or lesbian or in some way “outside of the heterosexual mainstream” (to quote WendyGritter), is that we are given a lot of grief by both sides.  The Church, in many cases, has been a hostile environment for us.  We have been told that, on the one hand, Jesus loves all of us, BUT, on the other hand, we aren’t welcome in the Church unless we try to change.  Sometimes we are told that it’s ok that we are gay AS LONG AS we are committed to celibacy.  But even if some of us have chosen that path, we are then told (perhaps not in so many words) that we are defined by who we sleep with, so if we are celibate, we are no longer gay.  The implication there, of course, is that we must not TALK about our attractions to those of the same sex.  Those are merely “temptations” that must be avoided and overcome.  The clear messages for many of us have been that, not only are we disordered because of our orientation; we are also “worse” sinners than anyone else.  Why, then, ask our gay friends, do we stay?  Why do we put up with the rejection and abuse in the name of Christ? 

That is a very good question.  For me, it comes down to this:  I have come to realise over the years that my sexual orientation, who I am fundamentally attracted to romantically, sexually, and spiritually, is not a choice. I believe this is the case for most people. I have also come to realise that my faith is also not a choice.  This realisation came later out of some very powerful experiences and spiritual conversations with God in which I came through with a very real sense that God had a hold on my heart and my life and was not going to let go.  At different times in my life I have suppressed, hidden, or denied either my faith or my orientation.  At those times, my spirit has been deeply troubled and I have not been at peace.  When, finally, I was able to reconcile those two aspects of my life, and live them out with integrity, I was able to find peace and joy in my walk with God. 

In listening to the testimonies of other gay Christians, I have found that their experiences, while not identical, have within them some version of my own.  We are in a place where we are called to be NOT CONFORMED to what the world thinks of us.  We have been called all kinds of names by the Christian community: promiscuous, idolatrous, God-hating, amoral, rebellious, etc.  By the Gay community, we have been accused of having “Stockholm syndrome,” of identifying with the oppressor, of selling out, of betraying our gay brothers and sisters who have fought so hard for equal rights and freedom from oppression and abuse. 

It’s interesting to note that Jesus was accused of similar things.  The religious establishment of his time accused him of being a glutton, a drunkard, a friend of prostitutes, tax collectors and sinners (as if that were a bad thing), of not having proper respect for the laws and traditions of his faith.  Those who wanted him to be their Messiah were quite disappointed that he took the path of humility and meekness rather than riding into Jerusalem on a white horse, sword drawn, ready to drive out the occupying Romans and save the people of Israel from oppression once and for all.  I’m not at all implying that gay people are analogous to the Messiah.  What I am saying is that, by not conforming to the expectations of the world around us, whether it be the Christian world or the Gay world, or any other sector of the world, we may be closer to walking in the footsteps of Jesus than we ever imagined. 

But there’s more.  We are called to be TRANSFORMED.  I would submit that it is impossible to truly have an encounter with the risen Christ without a transformation occurring.  I am not a Greek scholar, but it is my understanding that the verb tense used is sort of an ongoing one.  The transformation is happening, as our minds are renewed, as our ideas and our beliefs are changed to see each other and ourselves as Jesus saw us.  The remarkable thing about Jesus is that he had a choice.  As God, he created us in God’s image and we went astray. We have chosen our own self-interest over relationship with our Creator.  God could have said, “I’m very disappointed with what I have made, they haven’t turned out as I intended.  Oh well, let them go their own way, I’m done with them.”  But instead, God said, “I love these people I have made SO much; I’m not going to let them go.  I’m going to become one of them, to show them that I know what it’s like to suffer what they suffer, to feel what they feel. Not only am I going to become one of them, I am going to become one of them in the most humble and poor circumstances and I am going to really get to know the outsiders amongst them and bring them back into community with each other and with God. In fact, I’m going to take it the end, to suffer torture and execution as a criminal, though falsely accused.”  Talk about being TRANSFORMED! 

That is the Gospel, the truly good news of Jesus, the Christ.  God wants all of us back in relationship with God.  And to do that, God needs us to continue in the path of Jesus, all the way to the cross and beyond.  God needs us to take the oppression, the pain, and the abuse and transform it into love, repentance and forgiveness.  We are not called to change people’s hearts and minds. That’s the job of God, the Holy Spirit.  We are called to love our enemies and forgive our oppressors.  We are called to set an example of humility and meekness while working for justice and peace for the oppressed.  We are called to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ that ALL are loved and welcomed and forgiven by God and that we can come as we are to the throne of grace and let God change us according to God’s own will and purpose. 

This is truly good news.  And it is the challenge of the journey of Holy Week.  Today’s collect from the New Zealand Prayer Book reads: 

 “Jesus, when you rode into Jerusalem the people waved palms with shouts of acclamation.  Grant that when the shouting dies we may still walk beside you even to a cross.  Amen.”

What does that mean for us?  Will we conform to the image of the world around us?  Or will we stand out as agents of transformation in this broken and finite world?  Jesus overcame the pain and suffering and was resurrected so that we can know that we are forgiven and reconciled to God and so that we can see that this world CAN be transformed to be what God intended.  When we see in others the face of God, in whose image they were created, we must respond with those acts of love and service that Jesus carried out when he touched the untouchables, spoke to the outcasts, forgave those whom everyone else wanted to condemn and write off. 

I beseech you, my sisters and brothers, to not be conformed to the expectations and images of the world around us but to be agents of transformation as we walk with Jesus in love and service to those who oppress us and those who are oppressed by others.  May God bless your Holy Week journey.  

Liturgy in the Southern Hemisphere, Part 1

I promised a post about Lent, and here it is, at least in part.  I've had some difficulty describing what Lent is like for me this year and this evening,  while out on a run, it became crystal clear to me what the problem is.  The Liturgical year, all of it, is totally based on the seasons in the Northern Hemisphere.  I've lived in the Northern Hemisphere all of my life, save for a wee 6 week period in 1995.  That was in the middle of summer/winter and close to the equator so it really didn't make much difference.  Not to mention, I didn't join a Liturgical church until later that year so all of that meaning was lost on me.

For those readers who have no idea what I am talking about, perhaps I can give you the "Reader's Digest" version.

First, the entry in Wiktionary for Liturgy:

Etymology

From Latin liturgia, from Ancient Greek λειτουργία, from λειτ-, from λαός (“people”) + -ουργός, from ἔργον (“work”) (the public work of the people done on behalf of the people).

Noun

liturgy (plural liturgies)

1. A predetermined or prescribed set of rituals that are performed, usually by a religion.
2. An official worship service of the Christian church.

Churches that follow a traditional "liturgy" (eg. Catholic, Anglican, Lutheran, Orthodox, etc) also follow a calendar based on the seasons of the year.  This calendar starts with Advent, which is the period 4 weeks before Christmas.  In the Northern Hemisphere, this is a time of shortening daylight, and Christmas comes very close to Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year.  After Christmas is the season of Epiphany, and then comes Lent.  Lent is a period of about 6 weeks leading up to Easter.  Again, in the Northern Hemisphere, Lent is a period of lengthening daylight and Easter celebrated using Springtime symbols.  After Easter, there is another big celebration at Pentecost and then a LONG period called "Ordinary Time" or the season after Pentecost.  This takes up the summer months and goes into the fall, up until the beginning of Advent.

Since 1995, this rhythm has become part of me.  My body is very tuned into the change in seasons and in daylight/darkness.  What's happening in the church year (periods of anticipation, celebration, repentance) have become intimately intertwined with my body's experience of the changes in light, color and weather.  Advent means that my world is dark and I'm waiting for the LIGHT, Jesus, the Light of the World to come and dispel the darkness.  Lent and Easter mean the days are getting longer as the period of reflection and repentance drives away the darkness, ultimately resulting in the triumphant victory of Jesus over sin and death, and the celebration of new and eternal life.  Even the season after Pentecost, those "ordinary" Sundays during the Summer have a particular feel, associated with fewer people in church, very long days and eventually a winding down to the fall and harvest season, Thanksgiving, and preparation, again, for Advent.

This year, not long after the start of Lent, I relocated to the Southern Hemisphere.  To put it simply, my mind and my body are CONFUSED.  It is hard to comprehend Lent when the days are getting shorter and the chill in the air is getting crisper.  The leaves on the trees are turning red and brown and falling off.

In order to organise my thoughts around this, I looked up the word "Lent" in the Wikitionary.  Here's what it says:

Etymology

Shortened form of Lenten, from Old English lencten. Related to German Lenz (“springtime”), which is derived from a word related to long, because of the longer days.

Ah ha!!  LENT is a springtime season, and the word is derived from the same word as "long" because the days are getting longer!

So what are we, in the Southern Hemisphere to do?  Apparently, from what I can tell, although the seasons are opposite, the church year and the holidays are exactly the same.  I suppose it would be too confusing, otherwise.  Afterall, Christmas and Easter need to be the same all over the world, don't they?  

I guess what I mean to say, here, is that my "Lenten discipline" this year has had more to do with just trying to reset my body and remember that this IS the season of Lent, of repentance, of reflection and introspection, than it has with any particular thing that I've given up or added into my routine.  An important, though somewhat peripheral, issue is the overwhelming sense of "Northern Dominance".  In my mind, it goes along with European Dominance and Male Dominance.  Some white men decided that it made sense to align the Liturgical calendar with the seasonal calendar.  And, in the Northern Hemisphere, it makes perfect sense!  

But putting aside any conspiratorial overtones, Lent has been a challenge for me this year.  On Ash Wednesday, Father Clark Sherman (St. James Episcopal Church) preached a very brief sermon asking us to imagine standing butt naked in a large room (which I imagined like an old operating "theatre" where people can sit up on balconies surrounding the center of the room).  Imagine, he said, that the room is full of people watching, it is dark, and suddenly the lights go on.  What are you gong to do?  In some ways, it has been the most effective introduction to Lent that I've ever heard.  The point of the question is to consider standing naked, in the light, in front of God and allowing God to see us and take us, just as we are, every wrinkle and flaw and blemish, and enfold us in God's forgiveness and love and healing power.  This is my Lenten discipline:  to be real and genuine, to not shrink back from the light for fear of my weaknesses being exposed.  

In the day to day rhythm of my current transition, I am finding that the only way I can cope IS by being real and honest.  Asking questions, admitting my ignorance, apologising, and asking for help.  And, as I try to incorporate the Daily Devotions from the New Zealand prayer book, I must also acknowledge that I am baffled by how this Liturgy works, here in the Southern Hemisphere.  I've asked a few people, and no one really seems to know.  Of course, if one has grown up here, and the rhythm of the seasons and their relationship to the church year have become incorporated into their bodies and their minds, they wouldn't know any different.  And so, I suppose, my challenge is to keep an open mind and an open body and stay alert to what is going on around me.  It goes back to being guided by Grace.  This is all new and different.  Instead of trying to impose my presuppositions of "the way it should be" onto my current situation, I need to remain open and willing to accept new interpretations and new ways of looking at an ancient framework that was developed to incorporate a totally different seasonal mindset.  What if, for example, I find out that the point of Easter isn't really to focus on the external manifestations of resurrection and new life, but instead to rely fully on the FAITH that Christ IS risen indeed, and it doesn't matter WHAT the calendar, the sun, or my body say about it.  It is the TRUTH!  What if I were to actually LIVE as if it were the truth?  What would that look like?  As I journey through Lent, I must focus on where that journey took Jesus--to incredible darkness and suffering and sacrifice on MY behalf so that I no longer need to be enslaved by the bonds of sin and death and suffering and isolation but can be healed and welcomed and embraced by God in the promise of new and eternal life.  If this year, my sacrifice is the comfort of familiarity that comes with the synergy of the seasons, that is a minuscule price to pay in comparison.  

It is now my bedtime, and I have just read the Devotional for Wednesday evening from the New Zealand Prayer book and I want to leave you with this:

Creator of the universe, infinite and glorious,

you give us laws to save us from our folly;

give us eyes to see your plan unfolding,

your purpose emerging as the world is made;

give us courage to follow the truth,

courage to go wherever you lead;

then we shall know blessings beyond our dreams;

then will your will be done.

Thanks to you, Lord Jesus Christ,

for all the cruel pains and insults you have borne for us;

for all the many blessings you have won for us.

Holy Jesus, most merciful Redeemer, friend and brother,

may we know you more clearly, love you more dearly,

and follow you more nearly, day by day.

God of peace,

be with us through this night which waits for us;

bless us if it brings us sleep;

support us if it brings us pain or anxiety,

till we come once more to the morning light of another day.

Amen.