Wednesday, December 15, 2004
It's a Wonderful Life...in 30 seconds!
Thanks to Grace Pages for this. It's a Wonderful Life done in 30 seconds, with bunnies!
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Lego Brand Church
And people thought I had too much time on my hands.
Also, Real Live Preacher has a chapter from his book in the SoMA Review website. Great stuff, as usual. I especially appreciate his rough honesty and earthy wisdom. Don't forget to check out other articles on the SoMA site. Some really good thinking happening there.
Also, Real Live Preacher has a chapter from his book in the SoMA Review website. Great stuff, as usual. I especially appreciate his rough honesty and earthy wisdom. Don't forget to check out other articles on the SoMA site. Some really good thinking happening there.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Rowan Williams' Christmas Message
A wonderful Christmas message from the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Human beings are wrapped up in themselves. Because of that great primitive betrayal that we call the Fall of humanity, we are all afraid of God and the world and our real selves in some degree. We can't cope with the light. As John's gospel says, those who don't want to respond to God fear and run away from the light. But God acts to heal us, to bring us out of our isolation...[Jesus] does what we do; he is born, he grows up, he lives for many years a life that is ordinary and prosaic like ours - he works, he eats, he sleeps. Here is ultimate love, complete holiness, made real in a back street in a small town. And when he begins to do new and shocking things, to proclaim the Kingdom, to heal, to forgive, to die and rise again - well, we shouldn't panic and run away because we have learned that we can trust him. We know he speaks our language, he has responded to our actions and our words, he has echoed to us what we are like.
Christ does not save the world just by his death on the cross; we respond to that death because we know that here is love in human flesh, here is the creator's power and life in a shape like ours. As we read the gospels, we should think of God watching us moment by moment, mirroring back to us our human actions - our fears and our joys and our struggles - until he can at last reach out in the great gestures of the healing ministry and the cross. And at last we let ourselves be touched and changed.
Read the whole message here.
Human beings are wrapped up in themselves. Because of that great primitive betrayal that we call the Fall of humanity, we are all afraid of God and the world and our real selves in some degree. We can't cope with the light. As John's gospel says, those who don't want to respond to God fear and run away from the light. But God acts to heal us, to bring us out of our isolation...[Jesus] does what we do; he is born, he grows up, he lives for many years a life that is ordinary and prosaic like ours - he works, he eats, he sleeps. Here is ultimate love, complete holiness, made real in a back street in a small town. And when he begins to do new and shocking things, to proclaim the Kingdom, to heal, to forgive, to die and rise again - well, we shouldn't panic and run away because we have learned that we can trust him. We know he speaks our language, he has responded to our actions and our words, he has echoed to us what we are like.
Christ does not save the world just by his death on the cross; we respond to that death because we know that here is love in human flesh, here is the creator's power and life in a shape like ours. As we read the gospels, we should think of God watching us moment by moment, mirroring back to us our human actions - our fears and our joys and our struggles - until he can at last reach out in the great gestures of the healing ministry and the cross. And at last we let ourselves be touched and changed.
Read the whole message here.
Saturday, December 11, 2004
The Real Problem With Christmas
David Suzuki on the real problem of Christmas. Great article. Thought provoking.
On a different note, Warren Kinsella has written a piece for the National Post on former PM Jean Chretien. Here's a taste:
It is not "anti-American" to assert Canada sovereignty, and Jean Chrétien also understood this truism better than most (as did his friend Bill Clinton, and as does George W. Bush, with whom Mr. Chrétien enjoyed a long, friendly discussion during the recent Presidential visit). His decision to refuse to participate in the war in Iraq – again, over the objections of many powerful forces within the country and within his own Liberal cabinet – is rightly seen as profoundly courageous, and a decision that preserved Canadian lives and enhanced our reputation in the international community. Similarly, Mr. Chrétien’s success at negotiating delicate trade issues – particularly the Free Trade Agreement and the North American Free Trade Agreement – demonstrated that he was correct when he declared in 1991 that globalization was something to be embraced, and not feared.
Read the rest here.
Living in Southern Alberta I know I take my life into my hands when I say this: I like Chretien. He got things done. He stood up to right wing bullies like Stockwell Day. Yes, he could have done more for health care, education, and the environment. But he governed from the centre, holding social compassion in one hand and fiscal retraint in the other. A true liberal.
On a different note, Warren Kinsella has written a piece for the National Post on former PM Jean Chretien. Here's a taste:
It is not "anti-American" to assert Canada sovereignty, and Jean Chrétien also understood this truism better than most (as did his friend Bill Clinton, and as does George W. Bush, with whom Mr. Chrétien enjoyed a long, friendly discussion during the recent Presidential visit). His decision to refuse to participate in the war in Iraq – again, over the objections of many powerful forces within the country and within his own Liberal cabinet – is rightly seen as profoundly courageous, and a decision that preserved Canadian lives and enhanced our reputation in the international community. Similarly, Mr. Chrétien’s success at negotiating delicate trade issues – particularly the Free Trade Agreement and the North American Free Trade Agreement – demonstrated that he was correct when he declared in 1991 that globalization was something to be embraced, and not feared.
Read the rest here.
Living in Southern Alberta I know I take my life into my hands when I say this: I like Chretien. He got things done. He stood up to right wing bullies like Stockwell Day. Yes, he could have done more for health care, education, and the environment. But he governed from the centre, holding social compassion in one hand and fiscal retraint in the other. A true liberal.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Gower Street Interviews NT Wright
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Waiting for God
A wonderful article by the late sage Henri Nouwen on the discipline of waiting. Thanks to the Onehouse Blog for directing me to this. It makes me think of how so often we jump right into Christmas on December 1 (or November 1st if you work at the mall). Christmas carols, Christmas parties, Santa hats, all come out as we celebrate the "Christmas season" forgetting (or ignoring) that Christmas begins on December 24.
I'm not just being a grinch (or Scrooge, for you Christmas line jumpers). But when we leap too quickly into the "joy of the season" we rob ourselves of the hunger that comes with waiting. We begin re-telling our salvation story at Advent because we being with a yearning for the Saviour. It's not that we pretend Jesus hasn't come, but Advent reminds us that the world still needs Jesus and his promises of new life and new creation. We enter into the world's pain as well as our own more deeply by hearing the promises of the Saviour, not just their fulfilment. But we also need to remember, Jesus has come, and we still await his return where he will make all things new, and "he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more." That is what we hunger for and for which we will continue to hunger as long we see God's vision of a New Creation unfulfilled among us.
May our hunger be insatiable as we wait with hopeful anticipation for the coming Saviour.
I'm not just being a grinch (or Scrooge, for you Christmas line jumpers). But when we leap too quickly into the "joy of the season" we rob ourselves of the hunger that comes with waiting. We begin re-telling our salvation story at Advent because we being with a yearning for the Saviour. It's not that we pretend Jesus hasn't come, but Advent reminds us that the world still needs Jesus and his promises of new life and new creation. We enter into the world's pain as well as our own more deeply by hearing the promises of the Saviour, not just their fulfilment. But we also need to remember, Jesus has come, and we still await his return where he will make all things new, and "he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more." That is what we hunger for and for which we will continue to hunger as long we see God's vision of a New Creation unfulfilled among us.
May our hunger be insatiable as we wait with hopeful anticipation for the coming Saviour.
Good News for Bald Men
Levititcus 13:40 "If anyone loses the hair from his head, he is bald but he is clean"
Monday, December 06, 2004
Montreal Massacre Remembered
"It must be admitted therefore that if the gospel of peace is no longer convincing on the lips of Christians, it may well be because they have ceased to give a living example of peace, unity and love. True, we have to understand that the Church was never intended to be absolutely perfect on earth, and she is a Church of sinners, laden with imperfection. Christian peace and Christian charity are based indeed on this need to ‘bear one another’s burdens,’ to accept the infirmities that plague one’s own life and the lives of others. Our unity is a struggle with disunity and our peace exists in the midst of conflict."
From Peace in the Post-Christian Era, edited with an Introduction by Patricia A. Burton, Foreword by Jim Forest (Orbis Books, Maryknoll, New York, 2004), P 129
Today is the 15th anniversary of the Montreal Massacre. I remember the day vividly. I was studying music at Humber College and came home late and the terrible news was all over the TV. I felt sick inside as they read the names and ages of the women who were not much older than I was.
For many, it was easy to dismiss this tragedy as the evil actions of one deranged man. In fact, I remember many Christians at Intervarsity Christian Fellowship on the campus of Wilfrid Laurier University tell me that they saw no reason to remember this "one isolated event." And when I was in seminary some of my clasmates complained that were spending too much time reflecting on the violence of December 6 which got in the way of the festival of St. Nicholas (interesting perspective, coming from Lutherans). To me this sounded like mysogony veiled in religious garments. This is a terrible witness to the world. Just like Thomas Merton warned us in the quote above. I think this sort of religious game playing is what the prophet Amos condemned:
I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies, says the Lord. 22 Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. 23 Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. 24 But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
I wonder if this is all by way of relieving ourselves of any culpability in the violence of the world. Yes, one man alone walked into Montreal's l'École Polytechnique and shot 14 women simply because they were woman. But human beings do not act in isolation. We are conditioned by that which is around us. I don't mean to say that we are all evil Marc Lapines, but I wonder if many of us share the same violent impulses, but simply do not act upon them. And that violence reveals itself in other ways.
I have two young girls at home (10 months and 3 years), and I have to admit, since their births the issue of violence against women have been pressing on my mind. Would they be honoured for their gifts or would they fall into a prescribed gender roles? Would they be free to choose any vocation to which they are called or would they be limited because they are female? If they found themselves in abusive relationships, would they have the strength and courage to escape?
So today, I see an appropriate way of remembering these woman is to commit one's self to peace and reconciliation - doing the kingdom's work, knowing there will be victories and defeats along the way, learning forgiveness for our enemies and love for those who hurt us. But also, remembering that Jesus has already defeated the forces of sin and death and put us on the path that leads to new and everlasting life.
Child of glory, Child of Mary,
born in the stable, King of all,
you came to our wasteland, in our place suffered.
By choosing to be born as a child
you teach us to reverance every human life.
May we never despise, degrade, or destroy it.
Rather, help us sustain and preserve it. Amen
(A Holy Island Prayer Book, p. 53)
From Peace in the Post-Christian Era, edited with an Introduction by Patricia A. Burton, Foreword by Jim Forest (Orbis Books, Maryknoll, New York, 2004), P 129
Today is the 15th anniversary of the Montreal Massacre. I remember the day vividly. I was studying music at Humber College and came home late and the terrible news was all over the TV. I felt sick inside as they read the names and ages of the women who were not much older than I was.
For many, it was easy to dismiss this tragedy as the evil actions of one deranged man. In fact, I remember many Christians at Intervarsity Christian Fellowship on the campus of Wilfrid Laurier University tell me that they saw no reason to remember this "one isolated event." And when I was in seminary some of my clasmates complained that were spending too much time reflecting on the violence of December 6 which got in the way of the festival of St. Nicholas (interesting perspective, coming from Lutherans). To me this sounded like mysogony veiled in religious garments. This is a terrible witness to the world. Just like Thomas Merton warned us in the quote above. I think this sort of religious game playing is what the prophet Amos condemned:
I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies, says the Lord. 22 Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon. 23 Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. 24 But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.
I wonder if this is all by way of relieving ourselves of any culpability in the violence of the world. Yes, one man alone walked into Montreal's l'École Polytechnique and shot 14 women simply because they were woman. But human beings do not act in isolation. We are conditioned by that which is around us. I don't mean to say that we are all evil Marc Lapines, but I wonder if many of us share the same violent impulses, but simply do not act upon them. And that violence reveals itself in other ways.
I have two young girls at home (10 months and 3 years), and I have to admit, since their births the issue of violence against women have been pressing on my mind. Would they be honoured for their gifts or would they fall into a prescribed gender roles? Would they be free to choose any vocation to which they are called or would they be limited because they are female? If they found themselves in abusive relationships, would they have the strength and courage to escape?
So today, I see an appropriate way of remembering these woman is to commit one's self to peace and reconciliation - doing the kingdom's work, knowing there will be victories and defeats along the way, learning forgiveness for our enemies and love for those who hurt us. But also, remembering that Jesus has already defeated the forces of sin and death and put us on the path that leads to new and everlasting life.
Child of glory, Child of Mary,
born in the stable, King of all,
you came to our wasteland, in our place suffered.
By choosing to be born as a child
you teach us to reverance every human life.
May we never despise, degrade, or destroy it.
Rather, help us sustain and preserve it. Amen
(A Holy Island Prayer Book, p. 53)
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Sermon: Advent 2 - Year A
Text: Matthew 3:1-12
“Prepare the way of the Lord!” roars John the Baptist, his camel hair shirt being battered by the wind and his beard dusty from a lifetime spent spitting out sand in the desert. But he speaks from a place outside of his body with an authority that isn’t his. His breath is aflame with words that burn. “Repent! For the kingdom of heaven has come near!”
People had to travel pretty far to hear these words. The Jordan River wasn’t exactly on a main street with good traffic flow. I guess John missed the book that detailed the best strategy for amassing a crowd. Near a McDonalds, on a corner, and there must be a stop sign in front. Not that John needed a plan. The people kept coming. Their ears were hungry for a true word from God. Not the faith of the temple, that came filtered through the official Roman creed of fidelity to Caesar to first. No, they were looking for red meat; something with substance. People put up with the blisters and stubbed their feet on the rocks because they craved access to God to receive the freedom they craved. And John didn’t disappoint.
He even looked the part. His clothes ragged and his voice hoarse. He ate what he could find out there in the desert and a not drop of wine ever touched his lips. Only water for this prophet. His words were so rough and so true that they cut deep wounds in people’s self-delusions. He spoke truth to power. Clearly, John had no loyalty to anyone other that God and had no other trade other than proclaiming God’s message. John lived the freedom the people craved.
And the people came. Crowds flocked to hear this strange little man shouting hard words of repentance. People who had been kicked out of the temple for failing. Failing at religion. Failing in their job. Failing at life. A lot of these folks weren’t part of what you would call the comfortable middle-class. And to be honest. If you saw one of them walking toward you downtown you’d probably cross the street and walk on the other side.
A week ago one of these introduced himself to us when an intoxicated Aboriginal man banged on the church’s front door during our Saturday morning Stephen Ministry training class. He asked when church service started. I told him it was tomorrow at 8:45 and 11:00 and that he was welcome to come to join in. Then he just stood and stared at me. After a minute or two he asked for something to eat. So I gave him three apples, the only food I had in the fridge. Then he sat down on a chair in our “Welcome Area.”
A woman from the Stephen Ministry class sat down with him to talk. We resumed our class in a nearby room. Suddenly we heard the man yell “Somebody help me!” and myself and a man from the class ran out to the hallway. The woman who was sitting with him was pale.
She whispered to me “He said he is suicidal and asked me for a gun.”
Not knowing exactly what to do I called 911 and explained the situation. They asked if he was drunk and if he was native. I said “yes” on both counts. They said they would send a police car around.
10 minutes later an officer arrived. He obviously knew the man.
“Hi Ron, are you causing trouble around here?” asked the officer.
I said to him, “No, he’s not. We called because he said he was suicidal.”
“When Ron gets drunk he says lots of things he doesn't mean.” The cop replied, dismissing my concern. “Sorry pastor,” the officer continued, “I’ve got no compassion for these people.”
Then the officer parked Ron in the back seat of his cruiser and took him away.
We said a prayer for Ron and the class resumed.
But the class was wondering if we did the right thing by calling the police. My training had taught me that once the person says he or she is suicidal then all pastoral bets are off and I have to notify authorities. But folks raised good questions. Did we “care” for Ron as Jesus would have? Was calling the police the best way to handle the situation? Was it at coincidence that he showed up when we were learning how to be Christian caregiver? Was he an angel who had visited us unawares, as the bible said might happen? What else could we have done? After all, we’re not miracle workers. One visit with us is not going to change this man’s life. No matter how earnest and well-intentioned we are.
I really appreciated the questions the class asked because they recognized that this person was one who is traditionally shut out of respectable religion and was hungering for more than what we gave him. We gave him food. But I wondered if he hungered for the bread of life. Let face it, our churches aren’t populated with aboriginal people, especially ones with substance abuse problems. But I wonder if these were the types that flocked to hear John. I wondered if these were the ones who entered the waters of the Jordan river, the river of freedom, and emerged on the other side a new person. “Ron” was clearly hurting for more than food. He wanted someone to talk to.
Good Shepherd is a remarkably caring community. I've been taught how to be a better disciple by the witness of many people in this congregation. But I'm always wondering were we can grow. And I wonder if the fellow who visited us last Saturday taught us where we can reach deeper in our caring. The discomfort this person brought to us is a holy discomfort. Like John the Baptist, he challenged us to make our embrace reach wider. I know that we want to do more, we want to be more loving, we want to show the world God’s love. We certainly do not want to see hurting people led away from our church in the back seats of police cars. We want to do more. We know we can do more.
For us, when we hear John’s message, I don’t think the judgment we fear is the fires of hell, but the fires of our own consciences.
American preacher Barbara Brown Taylor concedes that “one of the most frightening things about John’s vision of judgment is that unquenchable fire of his. It is not possible to live in the Bible belt without a vivid image of Hell, much more vivid than the clean streets of heaven. But if you read the Bible very much, you have to wonder about that fire. Throughout Holy Scripture, fire is the reliable sign of the presence of God. God speaks to Moses out of the burning bush; a pillar of fire guides the people of Israel through the wilderness after their escape from Egypt; when Moses goes up on Mount Sinai to get the Ten Commandments from God, it looks to those down below as if the mountain itself is being devoured by fire.
“I do not mean to minimize the danger” she continues. This is not a safe fire; it can still burn and kill. But it is God’s own fire, the fire of God’s presence, fire that wants to speak to us, guide us, instruct us, save us. It is the fire of a potter who wants to make useful vessels out of damp clay. It is fire of the jeweler who wants to refine pure gold from rough ore. It does not have to be the fire of destruction, in other words. It may also be the fire of transformation, a fire that lights us up and changes us, melting us down and reforming us more nearly into the image of God. It is the fire that with which Jesus himself baptizes us, inviting us into a bright, hot relationship with him. Even when the fire seems bent on consuming us, like Meshach , Shadrach, and Abednego, in the fiery furnace we find that we have company, and that even in the hottest regions of our own personal hells we do not sweat.” (BBT, Changed in to Fire)
So the fires that meet us, like small bonfires that keep us warm but alert, or the infernos that threaten to overwhelm us, leaving us scarred and often unrecognizable, are the fires that transform us into what God wants us to be. But also, it is important to remember that we do not start the fire. God strikes the match sticks and hauls out the can of gasoline. Our salvation does not depend on our own goodness but on God’s goodness. I wonder if John’s message would have been a little softer, a touch gentler if he knew that the Messiah, Jesus was much more willing to forgive than to destroy.
But yes, John the Baptist was right. Jesus is our judge. But as one writer puts it, “the chambers from which he presides is the chambers of his compassionate heart.” All he needs is a handful of dust willing to be transformed, willing to be caught on fire, for heaven’s sake,” (BBT, ibid) because he knows that fear and discomfort is the furnace in which faith is forged. In fact, as one preacher says it, “the greater the fear, the more heroic the faith.”
It is my prayer, that in this Advent season, God will disquiet us enough, make us uncomfortable enough, that our embrace will widen, our love for the world will deepen, and our fear will enlarge our vision of your kingdom in our lives and in the world. Maybe for us, repentance means looking to a broader vision of what God wants for us in ministry, keeping us hungering for more of the kingdom alive in our midst. Amen.
“Prepare the way of the Lord!” roars John the Baptist, his camel hair shirt being battered by the wind and his beard dusty from a lifetime spent spitting out sand in the desert. But he speaks from a place outside of his body with an authority that isn’t his. His breath is aflame with words that burn. “Repent! For the kingdom of heaven has come near!”
People had to travel pretty far to hear these words. The Jordan River wasn’t exactly on a main street with good traffic flow. I guess John missed the book that detailed the best strategy for amassing a crowd. Near a McDonalds, on a corner, and there must be a stop sign in front. Not that John needed a plan. The people kept coming. Their ears were hungry for a true word from God. Not the faith of the temple, that came filtered through the official Roman creed of fidelity to Caesar to first. No, they were looking for red meat; something with substance. People put up with the blisters and stubbed their feet on the rocks because they craved access to God to receive the freedom they craved. And John didn’t disappoint.
He even looked the part. His clothes ragged and his voice hoarse. He ate what he could find out there in the desert and a not drop of wine ever touched his lips. Only water for this prophet. His words were so rough and so true that they cut deep wounds in people’s self-delusions. He spoke truth to power. Clearly, John had no loyalty to anyone other that God and had no other trade other than proclaiming God’s message. John lived the freedom the people craved.
And the people came. Crowds flocked to hear this strange little man shouting hard words of repentance. People who had been kicked out of the temple for failing. Failing at religion. Failing in their job. Failing at life. A lot of these folks weren’t part of what you would call the comfortable middle-class. And to be honest. If you saw one of them walking toward you downtown you’d probably cross the street and walk on the other side.
A week ago one of these introduced himself to us when an intoxicated Aboriginal man banged on the church’s front door during our Saturday morning Stephen Ministry training class. He asked when church service started. I told him it was tomorrow at 8:45 and 11:00 and that he was welcome to come to join in. Then he just stood and stared at me. After a minute or two he asked for something to eat. So I gave him three apples, the only food I had in the fridge. Then he sat down on a chair in our “Welcome Area.”
A woman from the Stephen Ministry class sat down with him to talk. We resumed our class in a nearby room. Suddenly we heard the man yell “Somebody help me!” and myself and a man from the class ran out to the hallway. The woman who was sitting with him was pale.
She whispered to me “He said he is suicidal and asked me for a gun.”
Not knowing exactly what to do I called 911 and explained the situation. They asked if he was drunk and if he was native. I said “yes” on both counts. They said they would send a police car around.
10 minutes later an officer arrived. He obviously knew the man.
“Hi Ron, are you causing trouble around here?” asked the officer.
I said to him, “No, he’s not. We called because he said he was suicidal.”
“When Ron gets drunk he says lots of things he doesn't mean.” The cop replied, dismissing my concern. “Sorry pastor,” the officer continued, “I’ve got no compassion for these people.”
Then the officer parked Ron in the back seat of his cruiser and took him away.
We said a prayer for Ron and the class resumed.
But the class was wondering if we did the right thing by calling the police. My training had taught me that once the person says he or she is suicidal then all pastoral bets are off and I have to notify authorities. But folks raised good questions. Did we “care” for Ron as Jesus would have? Was calling the police the best way to handle the situation? Was it at coincidence that he showed up when we were learning how to be Christian caregiver? Was he an angel who had visited us unawares, as the bible said might happen? What else could we have done? After all, we’re not miracle workers. One visit with us is not going to change this man’s life. No matter how earnest and well-intentioned we are.
I really appreciated the questions the class asked because they recognized that this person was one who is traditionally shut out of respectable religion and was hungering for more than what we gave him. We gave him food. But I wondered if he hungered for the bread of life. Let face it, our churches aren’t populated with aboriginal people, especially ones with substance abuse problems. But I wonder if these were the types that flocked to hear John. I wondered if these were the ones who entered the waters of the Jordan river, the river of freedom, and emerged on the other side a new person. “Ron” was clearly hurting for more than food. He wanted someone to talk to.
Good Shepherd is a remarkably caring community. I've been taught how to be a better disciple by the witness of many people in this congregation. But I'm always wondering were we can grow. And I wonder if the fellow who visited us last Saturday taught us where we can reach deeper in our caring. The discomfort this person brought to us is a holy discomfort. Like John the Baptist, he challenged us to make our embrace reach wider. I know that we want to do more, we want to be more loving, we want to show the world God’s love. We certainly do not want to see hurting people led away from our church in the back seats of police cars. We want to do more. We know we can do more.
For us, when we hear John’s message, I don’t think the judgment we fear is the fires of hell, but the fires of our own consciences.
American preacher Barbara Brown Taylor concedes that “one of the most frightening things about John’s vision of judgment is that unquenchable fire of his. It is not possible to live in the Bible belt without a vivid image of Hell, much more vivid than the clean streets of heaven. But if you read the Bible very much, you have to wonder about that fire. Throughout Holy Scripture, fire is the reliable sign of the presence of God. God speaks to Moses out of the burning bush; a pillar of fire guides the people of Israel through the wilderness after their escape from Egypt; when Moses goes up on Mount Sinai to get the Ten Commandments from God, it looks to those down below as if the mountain itself is being devoured by fire.
“I do not mean to minimize the danger” she continues. This is not a safe fire; it can still burn and kill. But it is God’s own fire, the fire of God’s presence, fire that wants to speak to us, guide us, instruct us, save us. It is the fire of a potter who wants to make useful vessels out of damp clay. It is fire of the jeweler who wants to refine pure gold from rough ore. It does not have to be the fire of destruction, in other words. It may also be the fire of transformation, a fire that lights us up and changes us, melting us down and reforming us more nearly into the image of God. It is the fire that with which Jesus himself baptizes us, inviting us into a bright, hot relationship with him. Even when the fire seems bent on consuming us, like Meshach , Shadrach, and Abednego, in the fiery furnace we find that we have company, and that even in the hottest regions of our own personal hells we do not sweat.” (BBT, Changed in to Fire)
So the fires that meet us, like small bonfires that keep us warm but alert, or the infernos that threaten to overwhelm us, leaving us scarred and often unrecognizable, are the fires that transform us into what God wants us to be. But also, it is important to remember that we do not start the fire. God strikes the match sticks and hauls out the can of gasoline. Our salvation does not depend on our own goodness but on God’s goodness. I wonder if John’s message would have been a little softer, a touch gentler if he knew that the Messiah, Jesus was much more willing to forgive than to destroy.
But yes, John the Baptist was right. Jesus is our judge. But as one writer puts it, “the chambers from which he presides is the chambers of his compassionate heart.” All he needs is a handful of dust willing to be transformed, willing to be caught on fire, for heaven’s sake,” (BBT, ibid) because he knows that fear and discomfort is the furnace in which faith is forged. In fact, as one preacher says it, “the greater the fear, the more heroic the faith.”
It is my prayer, that in this Advent season, God will disquiet us enough, make us uncomfortable enough, that our embrace will widen, our love for the world will deepen, and our fear will enlarge our vision of your kingdom in our lives and in the world. Maybe for us, repentance means looking to a broader vision of what God wants for us in ministry, keeping us hungering for more of the kingdom alive in our midst. Amen.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
"Religion" not "spirituality"
CBC's Tapesty is airing an intervew with Jeff Sharlet and Peter Manseau who say their writing is for people made anxious by churches, embarrassed to be caught in the spirituality section of the bookstore, people who are hostile, yet drawn to talk of God.
The whole "religion" vs "spirituality" thing has me confused. I know that many folks like "spirituality" because it implies freedom from the rigid structures found in traditional faith.
But I wonder if such freedom comes with too high a price. For me, being part of a historic faith rejoices in the continuity of a message that has been passed down through the ages. I feel clothed in history, surrounded by saints, and affirmed by time.
I find that many people who find "spirituality" outside of a historic faith find themselves looking in the mirror calling the reflection "God."
The whole "religion" vs "spirituality" thing has me confused. I know that many folks like "spirituality" because it implies freedom from the rigid structures found in traditional faith.
But I wonder if such freedom comes with too high a price. For me, being part of a historic faith rejoices in the continuity of a message that has been passed down through the ages. I feel clothed in history, surrounded by saints, and affirmed by time.
I find that many people who find "spirituality" outside of a historic faith find themselves looking in the mirror calling the reflection "God."
Thursday, December 02, 2004
Who is John Stott?
This was sent to me from a rabbi in Halifax. Great article on John Stott (rector of All Souls, Langham Place) from the NY Times.
Tim Russert is a great journalist, but he made a mistake last weekend. He included Jerry Falwell and Al Sharpton in a discussion on religion and public life.
Inviting these two bozos onto "Meet the Press" to discuss that issue is like inviting Britney Spears and Larry Flynt to discuss D. H. Lawrence. Naturally, they got into a demeaning food fight that would have lowered the intellectual discourse of your average nursery school.
Read the rest of the article here.
I like John Stott. He represents the best of evangelicalism. His theology emerges from a deep love of God revealed in Jesus Christ and not from a preconceived political agenda. While I wouldn't agree with him on many issues, he is always thoughtful and seeks the compassionate heart of God in dealing with the harder issues. A true Christian leader.
Tim Russert is a great journalist, but he made a mistake last weekend. He included Jerry Falwell and Al Sharpton in a discussion on religion and public life.
Inviting these two bozos onto "Meet the Press" to discuss that issue is like inviting Britney Spears and Larry Flynt to discuss D. H. Lawrence. Naturally, they got into a demeaning food fight that would have lowered the intellectual discourse of your average nursery school.
Read the rest of the article here.
I like John Stott. He represents the best of evangelicalism. His theology emerges from a deep love of God revealed in Jesus Christ and not from a preconceived political agenda. While I wouldn't agree with him on many issues, he is always thoughtful and seeks the compassionate heart of God in dealing with the harder issues. A true Christian leader.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Angels Unawares?
We had two visitors to Good Shepherd this past weekend. And both of them challenged our sense how caring we are.
The first was an intoxicated Aboriginal man. He banged on the church’s front door during our Saturday morning Stephen Ministry training class. He asked when church service started. I told him it was tomorrow at 8:45 and 11:00 and that he was welcome to come to join in. Then he just stood and stared at me. After a minute or two he asked for something to eat. So I gave him three apples, the only food I had in the fridge. Then he sat down on a chair in our “Welcome Area.”
A woman from the Stephen Ministry class sat down with him to talk. We resumed our class in a nearby room. Suddenly we heard the man yell “Somebody help me!” and myself and a man from the class ran out to the hallway. The woman who was sitting with him was pale.
She whispered to me “He said he is suicidal and asked me for a gun.”
Not knowing exactly what to do I called 911 and explained the situation. They asked if he was drunk and if he was native. I said “yes” on both counts. They said they would send a police car around.
10 minutes later a cop arrives. He obviously knew the man.
“Hi Ron, are you causing trouble around here.”
I said to the cop, “No, we called because he said he was suicidal.”
“When Ron gets drunk he says lots of things he doesn't.” The cop replied, dismissing my concern. “Sorry pastor,” the cop continued, “I’ve got no compassion for these people.”
Then the cop parked Ron in the police car and took him away.
We said a prayer for Ron and the class resumed.
But the class was wondering if we did the right thing by calling the cops. My training had taught me that once the person says he/she is suicidal then all pastoral bets are off and I have to notify authorities. But the class raised good questions. Did we “care” for Ron as Jesus would have? Was calling the police, who are known for their racism toward aboriginal people, the best way to handle the situation? Was it at coincidence that he showed up when we were learning how to be Christian caregiver? Was he an angel who had visited us unawares, as the bible said might happen?
The next day, another young man came to our door. He came to Alberta from Newfoundland because he was told he had a job here. But when he arrived, the job evaporated. Then, he learned that both his parents were killed by a drunk driver back home on the Rock. He felt an inner compulsion to come to a Lutheran church.
A group of people sat with him and prayed with him. We invited him downstairs for coffee and cookies. One gentleman offered to buy him a plane ticket home, but the fellow initially declined. But later, after church, said that he, perhaps had refused the kind offer too soon. But by then, the man from the church had gone home. We gave him a ride to the bus station where he was going to by a ticket to Medicine Hat and hitch a ride with one of the truckers at the truck stop.
We’ve been asking ourselves if we failed these two men.
It feels as if our ministry is taking a turn and we are going down a road that we didn’t expect. As we think about our new building and what we want to use it for, how do we remain faithful to our calling as a community of disciples of Jesus Christ, the poor man from Nazareth? How do we reach out to most hurting around us from our comfortable perch in the suburbs among the big box stores and half-million dollar houses? Are we merely baptizing people’s affluence or are we offering an alternative vision for the world? God’s vision – the vision of the kingdom of God, where all are welcome, renewed, healed, cleansed, and sent.
Good Shepherd is a remarkably caring community. I've been taught how to be a disciple by the witness of many people in this congregation. But I'm always wondering were we can grow. And those areas walked through our doors last weekend. The discomfort many people feel is a holy discomfort. We want to do more, we want to be more loving, we certainly do not want to see hurting people lead away from our church in the back seats of police cars, or do we want to see grieving people hitching rides from strangers to make it home to bury their parents. We want to do more. We know we can do more.
Maybe this discomfort shows that we are growing more fully into our mission statement that begins “Rooted in the gospel, our caring community…”
The first was an intoxicated Aboriginal man. He banged on the church’s front door during our Saturday morning Stephen Ministry training class. He asked when church service started. I told him it was tomorrow at 8:45 and 11:00 and that he was welcome to come to join in. Then he just stood and stared at me. After a minute or two he asked for something to eat. So I gave him three apples, the only food I had in the fridge. Then he sat down on a chair in our “Welcome Area.”
A woman from the Stephen Ministry class sat down with him to talk. We resumed our class in a nearby room. Suddenly we heard the man yell “Somebody help me!” and myself and a man from the class ran out to the hallway. The woman who was sitting with him was pale.
She whispered to me “He said he is suicidal and asked me for a gun.”
Not knowing exactly what to do I called 911 and explained the situation. They asked if he was drunk and if he was native. I said “yes” on both counts. They said they would send a police car around.
10 minutes later a cop arrives. He obviously knew the man.
“Hi Ron, are you causing trouble around here.”
I said to the cop, “No, we called because he said he was suicidal.”
“When Ron gets drunk he says lots of things he doesn't.” The cop replied, dismissing my concern. “Sorry pastor,” the cop continued, “I’ve got no compassion for these people.”
Then the cop parked Ron in the police car and took him away.
We said a prayer for Ron and the class resumed.
But the class was wondering if we did the right thing by calling the cops. My training had taught me that once the person says he/she is suicidal then all pastoral bets are off and I have to notify authorities. But the class raised good questions. Did we “care” for Ron as Jesus would have? Was calling the police, who are known for their racism toward aboriginal people, the best way to handle the situation? Was it at coincidence that he showed up when we were learning how to be Christian caregiver? Was he an angel who had visited us unawares, as the bible said might happen?
The next day, another young man came to our door. He came to Alberta from Newfoundland because he was told he had a job here. But when he arrived, the job evaporated. Then, he learned that both his parents were killed by a drunk driver back home on the Rock. He felt an inner compulsion to come to a Lutheran church.
A group of people sat with him and prayed with him. We invited him downstairs for coffee and cookies. One gentleman offered to buy him a plane ticket home, but the fellow initially declined. But later, after church, said that he, perhaps had refused the kind offer too soon. But by then, the man from the church had gone home. We gave him a ride to the bus station where he was going to by a ticket to Medicine Hat and hitch a ride with one of the truckers at the truck stop.
We’ve been asking ourselves if we failed these two men.
It feels as if our ministry is taking a turn and we are going down a road that we didn’t expect. As we think about our new building and what we want to use it for, how do we remain faithful to our calling as a community of disciples of Jesus Christ, the poor man from Nazareth? How do we reach out to most hurting around us from our comfortable perch in the suburbs among the big box stores and half-million dollar houses? Are we merely baptizing people’s affluence or are we offering an alternative vision for the world? God’s vision – the vision of the kingdom of God, where all are welcome, renewed, healed, cleansed, and sent.
Good Shepherd is a remarkably caring community. I've been taught how to be a disciple by the witness of many people in this congregation. But I'm always wondering were we can grow. And those areas walked through our doors last weekend. The discomfort many people feel is a holy discomfort. We want to do more, we want to be more loving, we certainly do not want to see hurting people lead away from our church in the back seats of police cars, or do we want to see grieving people hitching rides from strangers to make it home to bury their parents. We want to do more. We know we can do more.
Maybe this discomfort shows that we are growing more fully into our mission statement that begins “Rooted in the gospel, our caring community…”
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