kar0ling: Musings

Don't be afraid

2011-12-22T22:24:00.002-06:00

“Don’t be afraid” (Luke 2:10). The angel of the Lord spoke those words to the marginalized and forgotten of society in occupied territory. Their lives were full of hardship and threats, but unexpected supernatural visitors were something else. When an ordinary winter’s night safeguarding obstinate animals is rent by divine light and a loud voice, there’s good reason to tremble.

Hard after the assurance follows news that drives out fear: “good news of great joy that will be for all people” (Luke 2:10). That this announcement was given directly to the shepherds may have been as exciting as the news itself. When has a herald ever come specifically and exclusively to them? Maybe this baby born in Bethlehem will actually be the Prince of Peace that was promised (Isaiah 9:6). Maybe this really is the coming of the Sovereign Lord who will care for people as tenderly as these men care for the sheep in their flock (Isaiah 40:11). Could it be God’s favour rests on them (Luke 2:14)?

Good news for all
To whom would Jesus’ birth be announced today? Who in our world needs to hear the good news that drives away fear? A multigenerational First Nations family crammed in a tiny house on a northern reserve without plumbing or clean drinking water? An intravenous drug user shooting up at Vancouver’s InSite? Recent immigrants lost in a multicultural sea of humanity in a Toronto low-rent highrise complex? A Middle American family facing job loss and foreclosure on their home? The shepherds of Palestine today – still watching over sheep near Bethlehem, still despised by society – spat on by Jewish settlers and harassed by soldiers?

Jesus’ birth didn’t come at some idyllic point in history, a time when things were easier than they are now. It didn’t come to a people at the top of their game, riding on the coattails of a world superpower. And the message of peace was not something that instantly changed the situation around them. Sure, they were living in a period hailed as Pax Romana, but reality for the subjugated Jewish people was far from rosy, despite Roman propaganda. What followers of the one true God wouldn’t chafe under government by an idolatrous crew who add the emperor himself to their pantheon of worship?

No, this announcement didn’t come at a peaceful time, nor did it usher in a political or social age of peace. The peace proclaimed to all people that night, and forever, is not the peace of our tidy suburban churches with well-dressed and well-educated members, nor the peace of a democratic and fair government.

Steadiness of the soul
The peace proclaimed that night, proclaimed throughout the life and ministry of Christ on earth, and proclaimed through his church in the centuries that followed and the years to come, is peace in the midst of conflict. It’s the steadiness of the soul that can reach out and heal the ear of an attacker (Luke 22:50–51), marshal fellow prisoners to stay in jail during an earthquake (Acts 16:26–27), rescue a pursuer from an icy canal (Anabaptist Dirk Willems), and hold eye clinics in the midst of a war zone (martyred MCCer Glen Lapp). It’s the steadiness of the soul for the mundane: for changing baby’s diaper for the nth time this morning, for creating a monthly budget and sticking to it, and for hosting a holiday family gathering despite the inevitable arguments and interpersonal tension. It’s the steadiness of the soul that weathers theological questions and challenges with faith in God and love for our fellow Christians, despite different perspectives on important issues.

The message of peace is for body and soul. Despite war and suffering, the message of Christmas tells us not to fear, but to have peace both deep in our hearts and flowing out through our fingertips as we perform acts of mercy and love for those around us.

Perhaps we, the church of Christ, need to hear the good news again, and to take those words into the core of our being – don’t be afraid.

**reposted from www.mbherald.com December 2010 **

Broken people...

2011-12-06T20:30:00.000-06:00

After reflecting with one coworker on how often churches in all their forms really mess up and hurt a whole bunch of people in the process -- and how "we gotta do better" -- I stumbled into another conversation with a coworker which highlighted our brokenness, and I suddenly realized what was wrong with my take in the first.

I wanted the church to be better at fixing our mistakes, or better yet, at not making them in the first place. But maybe this "fix-it" attitude is partly the reason we keep blowing it again and again! My friend recollected an experience when a church community was in a terrible place: compounded mistakes, hurts, and frustrations had blown up, spewing pain all over all parties. (I'm sure anyone with a long history in the church can think of one, if not several, such occasions in their past.) A new Christian who observed all these goings on responded in an unexpected way. Instead of "you people are a bunch of screw-ups! How could this possibly be God's people? I'm outta here!" she said, "This is the place for me! Everyone is so broken, I don't need to hide who I really am from these Christians, or feel ashamed about not having it all together."

And I realized our problem is not that we mess up so often, but that we pretend we don't. We don't talk about it. We don't own up when we make mistakes. We don't admit to having hurt or being hurt. We don't allow others to see the two steps backward that preceded every step forward. So we run from cleaning up one mess to another.

Mulling this as I biked, I lit upon the mission statement: "Healthy growing churches reaching their world." At one point, it didn't quite feel right to me; there was something just a bit off there, something incomplete, or over-exaggerated. The suggestions for a new one I have heard so far are similarly unsatisfactory, and I began to regard the old more positively. But after this conversation, I realized why the former seemed too neat, and I have a proposal for a change:

"Broken people, loved by Jesus, extending God's grace."

We want to be healthy, we want to be growing, we want to successfully share the hope we have found with others. However, I wonder if starting with honesty instead of aspiration mightn't stand us in better stead. We are fallen people: no amount of success, health, growth, or even church attendance/tithing/fasting/missionary work/spiritual discipline will manage to change that. Our only hope lies in the bewildering, contradictory, unfathomable fact that the creator of the universe knows all that yet loves us fully -- enough to sacrifice himself for us; enough to ask us to be participants in his work. When we begin to catch hold of that, to explore what this could mean, how then we live our lives, we can then do so with grace.

Leadership Journal editor Skye Jethani exhorted listeners at the 2011 Church Planting Congress to recognize that what the church needs is more grace. We call for more programs, or more worship, more spirituality, more theology, more activism, more social justice, or more prayer. All these things are good and may be wanting in lesser or greater measure in any given assembly of believers, but what will temper it all, and put it all in perspective, guide and shape it all in more healthy -- but still broken -- ways, is more grace. More grace for others' failings; more grace for our own. More grace received from God; more grace extended to others.

Instead of working so hard to get everyone on the same page, I wonder what we would discover about our God, the infinitely creative, diversity-loving Master of the Universe -- and what we would share with others -- if we extended a little bit more grace to all the broken people in our midst, both inside and outside the church, remembering that we are all broken people...loved by God. Might we end up "doing better"?

Remembrance Day

2011-11-12T00:46:00.003-06:00

What's a pacifist to do with Remembrance Day?

I'm not sure.

First, I acknowledge with appreciation the fact that Canada celebrates Remembrance Day (not Veterans Day): putting emphasis on remembering conflict, leaving room for all kinds of remembrance; not only of fallen soldiers, but also of civilian lives affected, even lost in the course of armed conflict. So I deem it important to attend a service each year. It's an unfamiliar world to me, the military is, and one whose raison d'etre is contrary to my beliefs, but because of those two factors, it's necessary that I go to a service to dip a toe in the waters of that world.

From the far corner of the enormous room where I was standing, the crowd was reasonably ethnically diverse and contained a healthy number of children, given that a long serious service is generally not the most fun activity for a child. From the stage, however, as well as the closing march past, one would think Canada were still the solidly Ango-Saxon, British Empire world of the 1940s. If the military has guaranteed the freedoms we hold so dear -- held also very dearly, possibly moreso, by the immigrants who chose to leave often violent and repressive countries to come to Canada -- why, then, we must ask, do so few choose to join the military? Are they too busy getting established in their new country? Do they prefer more lucrative occupations? Or do they, perhaps, not only wish to live in a country without conflict, but also believe from personal experience that armed conflict isn't terribly effective at "guaranteeing freedom" or "stopping oppression" -- certainly not without first causing a great deal of destruction -- and thus not want to take part in that violent institution?

It was fascinating how much religion was embedded in the City of Winnipeg's Remembrance Day event at the convention centre this year -- and last, for that matter. And by "religion," I mean "Christianity." Two hymns (to which no one seemed to sing along, though they didn't sing along to "O Canada" or "God Save the Queen" either -- I guess public singing has gone the way of, I don't know, maybe church attendance?), two Scripture readings (James 4! and something from the Apocryphal book Sirach), prayers, the formal meditation of the program given by a chaplain, and even all of those songs the military band played during the laying of the wreaths were hymns (e.g. The Church's One Foundation; Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus). While part of me was cheered to see these vestiges of faith go unchallenged in public, secular society, part of me is always uncomfortable with invoking God for the killing of other people, however purportedly noble "our" cause may be.

Having participated in the remembrance of war, I then went to the Forks to participate in a demonstration for peace. Frankly, I'm as unconvinced about the merit of our little flashmob singing "Freedom is coming" as I am about the whole Christian war memorial service, but it seemed appropriate to participate in both.

I rounded out the day by viewing a documentary (at Cinematheque) that received acclaimed at Toronto's Hot Docs film festival. I'm not sure if the director of To Hell and Back wanted to do more than show how difficult life at home can be for a war vet of the Afghanistan conflict, but the movie was effective at reinforcing my pacifist beliefs. Those American troops in Afghanistan didn't seem to have clue how negative was their impact on the local Afghans; the soldiers were convinced they had the Afghans best interests in mind, convinced they were helping. Neither the Afghan locals, nor I, was so certain. In one revealing interaction, the soldiers allow local men to return briefly to the village the soldiers are now occupying, using as a base to snipe at the Taliban forces who periodically show up to snipe at them. At one house, they used the owner's sacks of grain to create their sandbag wall. "It's ruined!" The man exclaims. "I already had to buy grain to feed my children yesterday. They having nothing to eat and have diarrhea from camping down by the river." "Yeah, sorry, we'll replace it [eventually]," the soldiers respond, glibly reassuring. "We needed it to shield us from the field" is their justification. "We shot some goats; they were threatening the soldiers. I guess they won't be happy about that," another soldier tells the camera. Hello!? You big strong soldiers are threatened by a couple of goats?!

The hero? or was he merely the "subject" of the documentary? is a foul-mouthed, narrow-minded, uneducated man who proudly declares that he joined the marines with only one desire: to kill people. (And they, according to him, were delighted to have him.) He's obsessed with his pistol, showing his wife how to shoot it so that she can take down any possible intruders. "You can shoot them if they're threatening you," he reassures her. "It's your right. You can even shoot them through the door. Just not in the back." To her credit, the very young wife turns away and refuses to touch the gun. I can accept the military as a group of very in-shape, widely trained men and women who can respond to national disasters, perform search and rescue operations, possibly even do some crowd control and peacekeeping missions (provided they are actually taught how "keep" peace -- to de-escalate violence and mediate between different parties -- not merely given blue berets and given a new name). But this emphasis on killing? It chills me to my bones.

Nonviolence certainly doesn't always work, but to dismiss it on those grounds is to ignore the many, many, many times violent solutions fail. If we didn't assume war were an option, might we not try harder to prevent the situations which now result in war? If we didn't have war in our toolkit of problem solving, might we not expand our creativity and thinking to many very different options?

"What about Hitler -- how would you have stopped him without war?!" pacifists are often challenged. But Hitler didn't appear out of nowhere in 1939. He took over the Czech Sudetenland in 1938, violated treaties in 1936, took power in 1933; the warnings were there, and the opportunities existed to exert powers other than military might. What if things had been done different, starting in 1914?

I'll continue to observe Remembrance Day with MCC's slogan in mind: to remember is to work for peace. Yes, many young men and women have died doing what they believed was sacrificial noble work to protect freedom, and I would not wish to discount those deaths as anything other than tragic. But with more and more civilians dying in the crossfire of more and more conflicts around the world, and more soldiers returning home from conflicts severely scarred not only physically, but mentally and emotionally, I wonder, isn't it time we start working harder at alternatives to war?

Downtown politics and hope

2011-09-19T22:47:00.000-05:00

To call me a dilettante in politics would be generous. I have opinions in spades, but pay just enough attention to the issues to come off as informed, without ever gaining any depth of understanding of underlying policy.

Nevertheless, I attended a political forum today on downtown issues. What I heard affirmed my belief that I really can't get behind any one party -- perhaps a terrible admission to make when I strongly believe people should be informed and vote when given the opportunity. But, I find, I don't really care whose idea it is; if it's a good one, implement it already and enough with the partisanship!

The politicians, of course, danced around all the questions, slighting each others' record whenever possible, speaking in generalities and platitudes, harping on certain platform issues regardless of their relevance to constituent question. As one of the moderators said at the end of the debate, "Ten years from now, we'll be back here, debating these very same issues." Nobody really had anything new or different to throw at the problems; no one had any truly fresh ideas that might actually produce change.

Oddly, I walked away encouraged. In part, because I heard some of my favourite topics addressed in terms I like (e.g. rapid transit, increased residential downtown). In large part, I think, because the two party leaders present came out as human beings. The one had previously come across to me as a brash, confident-talking, know-it-all. Though I was irritated with his constant jabs at "12 years of the current government" as though his party's previous 12ish years had any better of a track record, overall, I was impressed with his humility and humanity, particularly in his treatment of one very irate woman, who was really there to harangue politicians about a personal grievance, not to ask a question.

The other party leader also stooped to kick dirt on the other parties more often than I'd expect from a political leader who is usually accorded a great deal of respect for being a gentleman. Overall, he seemed true to reputation, and I appreciated him for being the only one, in the discussion on being tough on crime, to bring up the importance of giving people something constructive to do as an alternative.

More than one audience member challenged the tough-on-crime rhetoric, and while the politicians' answers were less than satisfactory, at least the audience support for a different set of glasses was encouraging.

Perhaps politics is a less depressing place for Christians than for others. We appreciate the government's work and the earnest efforts of many dedicated individuals. Though disappointed, we are not surprised at the deception, the lying, the broken promises -- after all, all humans are fallen. Ultimately, at the end of the day, we don't pin our hopes on the political process. Governments can be God's instrument for order, civility, and social security, but they are not where our hope lies. Whether we see the best or the worst of humanity in policies, procedures, and programs, our hope comes from above all that in the love of God and the reconciliation of Jesus. It's a terribly simplistic answer, and an awfully odd place to land up when I started with political jousting over a barren and violent patch of urban real estate, but I truly believe something about it is true.

Subway observation

2011-07-26T23:19:00.000-05:00

It's high time for another post, but the creeping dark says I ought to retire sooner rather than later. Faced with the option of tooting my own horn for a gratuitous post or thowing out a flippant observation, I'll go with the latter.

You know you're in Montreal when...
...the trendy young woman on the subway wearing a shapely dress, beret, and retro schoolteacher heels has a fur stole around her neck -- identifiably mink by its beady eyes and little feet.

It made me smile. Somehow, I can't imagine those little eyes going over well anywhere else in North America, at least, not south of the Arctic Circle, where I suspect the heels might be out of place. It's fascinating how Quebec is so distinctly different from the rest of Canada above and beyond the diversity from one region to the next.

Lost imagination

2011-05-25T00:30:00.002-05:00

Shane Claiborne has not become famous for nothing. He's a great speaker, pulling together the best pithy quotes from MLK Jr., Mother Teresa, Karl Barth, and who knows who else.

He spoke a lot about the Amish tonight at Knox United's ecumenical event. Probably pandering to the crowd, knowing there were many Mennonites there. Whenever I hear a non-Mennonite speak about Anabaptists that way -- with admiration -- I think, boy, we have a lot to learn from ourselves! Which is not to say we don't have plenty to learn from other traditions, because we certainly do, but it seems we've lost as many good things as we've kept.

What captured me most from Shane's talk tonight was his line, "the church has lost its imagination." Referencing Romans 12:2, "Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind," he urged us to recapture imagination, to find new ways of not conforming to the world's ways.

Creativity; a helpful tool -- in nonviolence, in evangelism, and in just plain living as a Christ-follower. Just imagine what we could do if we let our imaginations run. Imagine if we resisted empire with the creativity of children. Imagine if we lived out the Kingdom of God on earth like artists.

This isn't a message of browbeating, or guilt-mongering, hate or hypocrisy, but one of hope. And that is so encouraging, and brings us to the love and reconciliation that is at the heart of Christ's message.

So. Let's release our imaginations to the task of noncomformity!

Suffering

2011-04-11T22:26:00.003-05:00

Contend with my enemies, oh Lord. -- Psalm 35

The good fruit is good, but the bad is so bad, it cannot be eaten. -- Jeremiah 24:3

Why does God still blame us and show his wrath? -- Romans 9

"Who sinned -- this man or his parents -- that he was born blind?" -- John 9:1

There's plenty of Scripture to resonate with those who are suffering; all kinds of invective, lamentation, and anguished questioning for those who need to vent. And the answers aren't always clear. But God is all-powerful, and all-loving, and somehow that must make the pieces fit together, somehow, whether now, or in the final reckoning.

For several much fuller explorations of the subject of God and suffering, check out the feature articles here.

"I will sing of the love of the Lord forever"

2011-04-04T22:11:00.003-05:00

For my two years of study at Providence College, I was part of a vocal ensemble. We did several engagements at local churches throughout the year, and went on several longer extended tours, a week of travelling around Northwestern Ontario one year, a three-week trip to the East Coast another. What this all has to do with the lectionary is Psalm 89. At every engagement, our director, James Fast, sang a song -- which, if I remember correctly, had been written especially for his voice by a friend -- based on the words of Psalm 89.

¹I will sing of the LORD’s great love forever;
with my mouth I will make your faithfulness known
through all generations.
² I will declare that your love stands firm forever,
that you have established your faithfulness in heaven itself.
¹⁵ Blessed are those who have learned to acclaim you,
who walk in the light of your presence, LORD.
¹⁶ They rejoice in your name all day long;
they celebrate your righteousness.
¹⁷ For you are their glory and strength,
and by your favor you exalt our horn.

¹⁹ Once you spoke in a vision,
to your faithful people you said:
“I have bestowed strength on a warrior;
I have raised up a young man from among the people.
²¹ My hand will sustain him;
surely my arm will strengthen him.
²⁶ He will call out to me, ‘You are my Father,
my God, the Rock my Savior.’

A song can't accommodate all the words of such a lengthy song and still be memorable, so much was left out. Here's some highlights:

⁵ The heavens praise your wonders, LORD,
your faithfulness too, in the assembly of the holy ones. ⁶ For who in the skies above can compare with the LORD?
Who is like the LORD among the heavenly beings?⁷ In the council of the holy ones God is greatly feared;
he is more awesome than all who surround him.⁸ Who is like you, LORD God Almighty?
You, LORD, are mighty, and your faithfulness surrounds you.⁹ You rule over the surging sea;
when its waves mount up, you still them.¹¹ The heavens are yours, and yours also the earth;
you founded the world and all that is in it.¹² You created the north and the south;
Tabor and Hermon sing for joy at your name.¹³ Your arm is endowed with power;
your hand is strong, your right hand exalted.¹⁴ Righteousness and justice are the foundation of your throne;
love and faithfulness go before you.

¹⁸ Indeed, our shield belongs to the LORD,
our king to the Holy One of Israel.

²² The enemy will not get the better of him;
the wicked will not oppress him.
²³ I will crush his foes before him
and strike down his adversaries.
²⁴ My faithful love will be with him,
and through my name his horn will be exalted.
²⁵ I will set his hand over the sea,
his right hand over the rivers.

It goes on with some warnings about what happens when God's people don't follow his commands, when they don't forsake his law and reject his chosen one.

Then there's a shift to despair, to a yearning for the justice of God. And thus with a plea for mercy from the Almighty One, it ends again with a note of praise. The love of the Lord is sung.

⁴⁶ How long, LORD? Will you hide yourself forever?
How long will your wrath burn like fire?
⁴⁷ Remember how fleeting is my life.
For what futility you have created all humanity!
⁴⁸ Who can live and not see death,
or who can escape the power of the grave?
⁴⁹ Lord, where is your former great love,
which in your faithfulness you swore to David?
⁵⁰ Remember, Lord, how your servant has been mocked,
how I bear in my heart the taunts of all the nations,
⁵¹ the taunts with which your enemies, LORD, have mocked,
with which they have mocked every step of your anointed one.

⁵² Praise be to the LORD forever!
Amen and Amen.

Walk in obedience

2011-03-29T22:00:00.002-05:00

“‘This is what the LORD Almighty, the God of Israel, says: Go ahead, add your burnt offerings to your other sacrifices and eat the meat yourselves! For when I brought your ancestors out of Egypt and spoke to them, I did not just give them commands about burnt offerings and sacrifices, but I gave them this command: Obey me, and I will be your God and you will be my people. Walk in obedience to all I command you, that it may go well with you.”--Jeremiah 7:21-23

Walk in obedience to all I command you.

Given the work I've been doing lately, my first inclination -- to ask, "so, Karla, what does this mean for you; to what tasks and attitudes is the Lord calling you?" -- was quickly superseded with the thought that Scripture was written to and for and delivered to and for people; a group, not merely individuals. (This time I can cite my sources: Tim Geddert, Doug Heidebrecht, and Brad Sumner. See the May 2011 MB Herald.) So while "what does this mean for me?" is a good question, we should not forget to ask "what does this mean for us?

To what tasks, to what attitudes, to what actions, is God calling the church -- locally, nationally, and globally -- in his mission?

Untiring hands

2011-03-28T23:39:00.002-05:00

I cried out to God for help;
I cried out to God to hear me.
When I was in distress, I sought the Lord;
at night I stretched out untiring hands,
and I would not be comforted.--Psalm 77:1-2.

This psalm grabbed me, not because I'm in distress, in a desperate situation needing help, but because of the persistence of the psalmist. Stretching out untiring hands.... My guess is those hands are not untired physically, but the weight of supplication behind them gives them strength to carry on. The weight of faith that in due course, an answer will come, and until then, there is a listening ear for the groans of anguish and despair.

For such faith was Abraham credited with righteousness. For a faith that could be obedient unto sacrificing the most precious thing is granted justification. (Romans 4:1-5)

One does not wish for trouble; in fact, in my pathology, even when it finds me, I avoid it, but there is a sense that true and deep growth is found there. Biding time waiting for an answer with a spirit focused on God, like the psalmist, is an opening to a new level of understanding and love.

Your ways, God, are holy.
What god is as great as our God?
You are the God who performs miracles;
you display your power among the peoples.
With your mighty arm you redeemed your people.--Psalm 77:13-15

Don't be afraid

2011-03-26T23:21:00.002-05:00

How often we hear the message; how rarely we believe. Or is it just me?

This injunction against fear is a thread through today's lectionary passages. Psalm 23 -- the classic psalm of comfort, where "thou preparest a table in the presence of mine enemies." Psalm 27 -- "The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?....Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD. "

Jeremiah, today, tells us to fear the Lord, but that's a whole different kind of fear than the terror of people and situations that holds us back. The fear of the Lord, rather, is what sets us free from the fear of failure, the fear of others' opinions of us, the fear of not being good enough, fear of the unknown, and the list goes on. Similarly, as Romans talks about the law and how it teaches us to be conscious of sin, teaches also that we have nothing to fear because "our righteousness comes through faith in Jesus Christ" (3:22).

And in John, Jesus walks that fine balance between fearlessness and prudence -- keeping out of the way of those who want to kill him, but not letting that stop his ministry.

Thus girded with these reminders, can I say "Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea" (Psalm 46:2)? I need no great calamity to test my resolve; it shall be enough to remember in each tiny moment of worry and doubt that "The LORD is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear?"

The new Jew

2011-03-24T21:25:00.003-05:00

Christians tend to read the New Testament as though we are followers of Jesus, lapping up teaching at his feet then going out to live it fully. All things considered, however, oughtn't we be identifying with the Pharisees and the Jews?

Western evangelicals tend to see ourselves a bit like a chosen people, a bit like the law followers, a bit like we've got it all together. And we sure like to point out how others aren't meeting the mark. (We're unaccountably shocked when those who don't profess a particular commitment to Jesus don't act like "good Christians" [there's so much sex and swearing in Hollywood movies!!]. Yet often we're so busy being self-righteous, we fail to be properly ashamed by the true righteousness lived out by others of those who don't profess the right commitment to Christ.

The following passage from Romans feels uncomfortably accurate if we change "Jew" to "Christian", and "Gentile" to "non-Christian".

Now you, if you call yourself a Jew; if you rely on the law and boast in God; if you know his will and approve of what is superior because you are instructed by the law; if you are convinced that you are a guide for the blind, a light for those who are in the dark, an instructor of the foolish, a teacher of little children, because you have in the law the embodiment of knowledge and truth— you, then, who teach others, do you not teach yourself? You who preach against stealing, do you steal? You who say that people should not commit adultery, do you commit adultery? You who abhor idols, do you rob temples? You who boast in the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? As it is written: “God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.”--Romans 2:17-24

The characters most likely to be concerned with outward appearances, the right personal connections, and proper behaviour is the Pharisees in the Gospels, and the Judaizers in Acts and the epistles. Jesus condemned all that and went straight to the heart. He wasn't afraid to point out bad behaviour in anyone, but he did so redemptively, and on the basis of motivation, not laws. It's not that he preached a gospel of relativity, "if it feels good, do it." The higher standard he calls us to isn't easily codified in a set of rules and regulations. What is it then?

That's a journey of discovery...and I can't claim to be very far along the road yet.

At the margins

2011-03-19T21:21:00.003-05:00

It's not really insightful to point at the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, and say it shows Jesus' compassion and love for the marginalized. I'm sure it's true, but hopefully any serious reader of the Bible has figured that out already. But it bears repeating because we still have a fair bit to learn about the implications for our lives.

Jesus not only gives the time of day to a Samaritan (lower class), not only to a Samaritan woman (lesser human), but to a Samaritan woman who is clearly a social outcast even among her peers, as evidenced by the fact she's fetching water in the heat of the day, rather than at dawn or dusk with the rest of the women.

So when do I bother to talk to the outcasts among us? "I don't know what to say; I'm running late; I'm worried it's dangerous" -- excuses come easy. I wish I could just flip a switch and be able to do hard things. But I don't think guilt, or just trying harder is going to be the ticket. Jesus talked with this woman not because it was the right thing to do, but because he loved her. And that's what it'll take for his followers who want to follow well. Trying to help the less fortunate because we're supposed to will eventually wear us out and make us bitter. Knowing the Saviour's love so deeply and so well that we can't help but want to share with everyone around -- that's what it'll take.

Second chances

2011-03-17T23:04:00.002-05:00

Second chances are perhaps not so evident in today's psalm ("I now arraign you and set my accusations before you." 50:21), but does not the language of trial proceedings point at a process -- a chance, at very least, to explain -- and not to arbitrary punishment and rage? And though the next sentence has some strong threats, they are framed as a warning: “Consider this, you who forget God, or I will tear you to pieces, with no one to rescue you: Those who sacrifice thank offerings honor me, and to the blameless I will show my salvation.” (50:22-23).

In Deuteronomy (9:23-10:5), we see a clear example of second chances, as God turns away from destroying the Israelites, and gives the commandments for a second time. I always wonder about these passages that talk about God changing his mind. Do we believe he really changes in response to human pleading? I'm not sure whether that's an attribute I want in an all-powerful God. In an elected official, a judge, even a parent -- yeah, I can see eventual capitulation in the face of earnest pleading to be a good thing, but does an all-knowing God really need to take instruction from me?

Is it simplistic that I figure this must be the culture and worldview of the writer speaking? Do I lack sophistication if I explain away God's mind-changing as a figure of speech, of sorts? Is there in fact any more comfort in thinking it's a test for the beseecher; that God is using whatever given challenge to teach a lesson? Having observed (but not much experienced) how hardship and challenges often make us stronger, more trusting, more loving people, I don't object (theoretically, anyway) to the idea that Moses' pleading for forty days and forty nights before God was actually for Moses' sake, not God's. That's dedication -- and to lead God's wayward, obstinate, frustrating people to the Promise Land, Moses needed it. Maybe he needed to prove to himself just how committed he was. Maybe these forty days and nights prostrate before God were actually about wrestling with himself over how much he loved the Israelites, and how much he was willing to put himself through for their sake, and in obedience to God.

Whatever the reason for "giving in," God gave Moses and the Israelites a second chance.

In Hebrews 4, we're talking about Sabbath rest -- a dicey subject in our fast-paced culture where we're constantly busy, if not with work, then with leisure. Guilty as charged here. We're just too busy to rest in God. But that's a whole subject for another day. The second chance here? “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts”(vs 7).

And John 3:16 and following. We love the "born again" language we get from the preceding, and John 3:16 is of course such a favourite, but the beautiful words that come after are often forgotten: God didn't send his son into the world to condemn it, but to save it! (vs 17). The message sometimes gets a little lost in some of our hellfire and brimstone preaching. We've condemned ourselves, but Jesus came to save. Light came into the world -- do we walk toward it or away from it? Stemming partly from these verses, I've long believed that hell isn't about punishment so much as it is being completely left to the result of our own choices. It's not that God longs to punish us; it's that at the end of the day, he lets us choose how it's going to be, and if that is a life completely apart from him, he'll respect that. Where the anguish comes in is that being completely apart from God cannot be a good thing.

So I'm not wringing my hands about Rob Bell suggesting maybe hell isn't all we've imagined with flames and torment, and all the heathen suffering for what their sins deserve. I tend to agree with him! God's love, mercy, and grace is what we want to focus on; his second chance for anyone who turns toward the light is good news for everybody, and far be it for me to dictate to whom God can extend himself.

Hermeneutics

2011-03-16T23:14:00.002-05:00

"Who's this Herman Neufeld they keep talking about?"

(A cheesey joke about hermeneutics from Katie Funk Wiebe's humour column in the old Gospel Herald, or some such publication. It always gives me a chuckle.)

I've been reminded recently (sorry, can't cite the source) that the books, letters, etc., that comprise the Bible were generally written to communities, and that we also, as readers of the Bible, should receive God's word in community, asking not "what does the Bible say to me?" but "what does the Bible say to us?"

It fascinates me that Christianity bestows great value on individuals, but demands community. Some religions prize the collective to the extent that the individual does not matter at all; others prize certain individuals, but not others. Jesus died for each human being, and Paul tells us no human-constructed category of person has more value than another. Yet, in his prayer in the garden, Jesus' foremost concern for his followers is that they be united -- not merely a bunch of pious individuals, but a group of people transformed by love and working together with each other. Not merely a bunch of individuals who are periodically present in physical space with one another, but differently gifted people who together operate as a body.

What caused me to ruminate on this point at this particular time is the Psalms. Ah, we love the Psalms: so many quotable lines, such comfort they offer us. I think present-day Western Christians love the psalms so much because they are individual. Not all, of course; many were written for corporate worship, but many others are personal cries of joy or anguish or both. The Psalms are about me -- albeit me and God -- and my feelings.

Not that that's so terrible. But do let's keep it in balance. For Psalms is but one among 66. Let's read together; as we study and apply the Word of God, don't forget to invite Herman Neufeld.

Building houses

2011-03-15T23:22:00.004-05:00

Ah, the proliferation of metaphors! There are "many rooms in my father's house," and "my house will be called a house of prayer," and now Moses is a house. And we're in the house, or we are the house. And Jesus is over the house.

I don't know where I'm going with this -- all these houses just piqued my fancy. Especially since it started out with the high priest.

Let's back up and get these houses straight and see if that helps.

"“Moses was faithful as a servant in all God’s house,” bearing witness to what would be spoken by God in the future. But Christ is faithful as the Son over God’s house. And we are his house, if indeed we hold firmly to our confidence and the hope in which we glory."--Hebrews 3:5-6.

Moses, representing a leader, is in the house, bearing witness. We, the community of God's people, are the house, providing structure, shelter, comfort. And Jesus is over it -- literally and figuratively, I suppose. Maybe he's just sitting on the roof, but I think it's supposed to mean he's master of it all.

It puts him in a different class: not just part of the rabble like us (though serving some purpose), and more than even a great leader. He does more than just serve, he is worthy of honour for who he is.

We might feel unconvinced about what a great house it all is and wonder whether the architect/builder should be getting so much praise, but if we're not putting our faith in the builder, he's telling us we're out of the game.

If we the church are the house, it's kind of like the body metaphor -- we've all got to do our jobs otherwise the whole thing isn't going to work together all that well. It takes commitment to trust that whatever insignificant or uncomfortable job we have now is actually part of something larger than ourselves, something beautiful and functional, something that serves a greater purpose than we could accomplish on our own.

"I said, ‘Their hearts are always going astray,
and they have not known my ways.’
So I declared on oath in my anger,
‘They shall never enter my rest.’ "--Hebrews 3:10-11.

It's not about his anger, I don't think, but about our waywardness not leading to the best path. This isn't a curse for tripping up so much as a promise that when we chose not to work together for his glory, things fall apart. A roofless house can only do so much.

Shared humanity?

2011-03-14T23:42:00.004-05:00

"He too shared in their humanity."--Hebrews 2:14

This is the common thread I seized upon in today's lectionary readings. He too shared in our humanity and can thus understand what it is to be in the simultaneously vulnerable and powerful position that is humanity.

Perhaps it is forced, but this is what jumped out at my from the passages (besides the fact that to this pragmatic Mennonite, the occasional verse in a psalm is beautiful and touching, but most of that content is bewilderingly melodramatic).

Psalm 41 goes off on a strange rant, but starts in a surprising but instructive manner: "Blessed are those who have regard for the weak." It goes on to promise them all kinds of good things, which I suppose also speaks to the human condition. We need to be instructed to look out for those not ourselves and our loved ones...and it helps to promise some kind of reward. Instant blessings, however, are belied by the very next paragraph where the psalmist pleads for mercy, afflicted and scorned, but trusting God in the end.

"Praise be to the God is Israel," it ends. But I keep circling back to the beginning: "blessed are those who have regard for the weak." Not as easy as it sounds, even when you've been there. Thanks for the reminder.

The Deuteronomy passage seems to have some circular logic, but maybe that's a translation problem ("be careful that you do not forget the LORD your God...Otherwise,...you will forget the LORD your God"). Again, I read this thinking however you want to attribute these words (falling directly from the mouth of God or mediated by the culture and perspective of the writer), somebody in this picture knows something of human inclinations. "When you eat and are satisfied, when you build fine houses and settle down, and when your herds and flocks grow large and your silver and gold increase and all you have is multiplied, then your heart will become proud and you will forget the LORD your God" (8:12-14). How quickly we forget our gratefulness when things are going well. How quickly we forget the bitter blessing of needing help from others when it seems possible to do everything on our own. How quickly we forget what it's like to be outside the circle once we've joined the inner ranks. "But remember the LORD your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth" (vs 18).

"For surely it is not angels he helps, but Abraham’s descendants" Hebrews 2:16. Having grown up in a mainly evangelical context, I'm always jarred when New Testament writers make such off-hand, matter-of-fact references to angels. With the exception of our brief period of being enamored with Frank Peretti's Piercing the Darkness, we prefer to pretend angels don't exist. Those "spooky new-age folk" and "peculiar Catholics" who refer to angels are obviously theologically deluded. But these kind of random angel reference remind me though I really don't know enough about some other presentations of angels to judge whether their cherry picking of verses is sufficient to justify them as "biblical," but I do feel comfortable suggesting evangelicals give angels another look.

However, all of that is completely tangential to the passage, which is about Jesus calling us brothers and sisters. Jesus being able to understand our condition, having been there himself. Jesus having not merely demonstrated mastery over death by triumphing over it, but also showing compassion to humans by living out the great crosscultural adage of "walking a mile in our shoes/sandals/moccasins/flipflops/Manolos." Whereas the resurrection inspires awe, gratefulness, and respect, Jesus' earthly life inspires love and the possibility of relationship.

And because he is a person, not a book; a story, not a set of rules, there are all kinds of puzzling pieces to keep us off-guard. What exactly are we supposed to take from the wedding at Cana story? Jesus' mother wheedles him into doing something he doesn't seem to want to do. His actions seem to promote, or at least condone public drunkenness, to say nothing of saving the cheapskate's reputation from the trashcan. What a bizarre "first of the signs through which he revealed his glory" (John 2:11)!

"He too shared in their humanity." There isn't much we can say he couldn't possible understand. What do we do to understand -- and obey -- what he asks of us?

My box is too small

2011-03-12T21:44:00.002-06:00

"But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit,..." Titus 3:4-5.

It's interesting how we zero in on a few verses and build our entire interpretations around them. Just like I'm doing here. But I always find it interesting when I stumble across simple statements about salvation expressed in terms other than the usual chosen by evangelicals. He saved us because of his mercy. I suppose it isn't very revolutionary, because after all, what is not wanting us to be punished if not mercy, but so often that language focuses on the punishment and price-paying, instead of skipping past it all, to place all the focus on mercy. We used to be so full of sin and wrongdoing, but with kindness and love and mercy, he saved us in spite of it all.

And the next sentence: not through shed blood, not through death, or punishment -- not that he didn't undergo those things, but it's not the way the gospel is framed here -- but through washing, rebirth, and renewal; and the actor mentioned is not even Jesus, but the Holy Spirit.

What I marvel at here is not that we've gotten it wrong all this time, but that there are so many ways to talk about how God has saved us. Beyond all the analogies, object lessons, and contemporary images we might come up with, even Paul found myriad ways to talk about God's great love and saving mercy.

My box, even after trading it in for a bigger one, is still too small for God.

A stream of consciousness through the lectionary

2011-03-10T22:00:00.004-06:00

Warning: I rip the lid off a can of words here, and make very little effort to clean up the mess. But somehow, in the midst of it, I think I caught a fish.

There are many and varied passages in the daily lectionary today (as every day), and to be frank, most of it is vaguely disturbing.

In Deuteronomy, we have God's beautiful promise to keep his covenant of love with Israel. But that is held in tension with a) God's having chosen one people to be set apart and loved above others (so it seems), and b) the speedy retribution to be meted out against any who stand against God. That beautiful covenant of love -- does it not pay a large part in Zionist zeal to be the only ones to occupy land in the territory historically possessed by the twelve tribes of Israel? What's a person to do with such a jealous and hot-tempered God?

Then we move to Titus, where Paul effuses graceful words about truth, hope, godliness, salvation, then goes on to not only repeat but affirm slanderous slogans about a national people, and calls them detestable. This after demanding the "circumcision group" be silenced. What was that about grace and peace, Paul?

It's difficult to know how to understand these words. In what context were they spoken? To whom? By whom? Why is the inspired word of God so puzzling, so offensive, so inscrutable?

I don't know. And I'm not going to tackle it here.

Another Lenten confession: I pick and choose. Things I like are to be taken at face value, things I don't must need interpretation. Surely there's a context for Paul's slurs against Cretans; maybe an ironic tone is clearly communicated to his audience but imperceptible to us. Maybe God doesn't really mean it when he says he won't be slow to repay those who hate him. In fact, in my experience, it seems slow to repay is exactly what God is toward those who hate him, which, given how my disobedience and impotence to exercise discipline or do the right thing could be interpreted as hating God, is pretty good news for me.

On that thought -- those who hate God -- Psalm 37 sounded like something to take literally. "Do not fret because of those who are evil or be envious of those who do wrong;...Trust in the LORD and do good;... Take delight in the LORD,...Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him." Those ellipses represent promises of prosperity, which again, I pick and choose, interpreting more as general ideals than iron-clad guarantees.

My 'take-home,' that which provides my framework of understanding this psalm, is this:
"Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when people succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes. Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil."

Do not fret about others; be patient; trust in the Lord and do good. Promises or not, this is what I need to hear -- and to heed. I don't like it because it's easy; I like it because it's right.

For today, that's my fish.

Ash Wednesday

2011-03-09T23:22:00.002-06:00

Since Lent is a time of repentance, I should start with a confession: I'm not giving anything up this year.

Since I began the practice of giving something up for Lent a few years ago, I had the feeling there was probably more to the observance of Lent than petty self-denial, but having been raised in a non-liturgical church where the word Lent was rarely even mentioned, didn't know what it was and didn't have a clear path to find out more. So I didn't. I was just happy to have found a "season" for Easter. Christmas has Advent (practiced with a remarkable degree of ceremony in my decidedly-not-high-church congregation), so it seemed only right that Easter -- the event on which our entire faith hangs -- should be more than one day of celebration.

One year, I heard a suggestion that one might add something during Lent instead of giving something up. I tucked that thought into my small mental file on the season's observance.

This year, I read a simple but helpful article on the practices underlying Lent and why all these evangelicals hopping on the bandwagon should learn a bit more about what they're actually doing.

Somewhere in the middle of all these influences, I decided my Lenten practice this year would be blogging. It sounds counter-intuitive among all the people giving up Facebook, Twitter, and, well, blogging, but before you think I'm crazy, hear me out.

The self-denial? Let's be honest; we tend to choose something that won't be too hard to give up, something we know is good for us to abstain from anyway. And we count down the days till Easter when we can pick up our vices again. It's not without value to give up a guilty pleasure, but, as Renee explains, if all it produces is righteous feelings and/or savings, without being mirrored in some God-inspired response, we're missing the point.

So how does adding blogging to my life possibly fall into the category Lenten discipline? I'm a very inconstant blogger, for one, so it's hardly an obsession I'd be better separated from. In fact, as a wanna-be writer, the discipline of daily output would be quite good for me (rendering this no less noble than giving up chocolate, and losing weight as a result). So where does Jesus come in? Well, very soon I'll stop talking about what I'm planning to do, and begin doing it. My hope and prayer is that schooling myself to blog meditations on a Scripture passage, song, image, or Lenten reflection will contribute to my spiritual formation. And not only that, my intention is that the time this practice takes may steal time from some of my less constructive pursuits.

And here we begin.

"Turn away from sin...
...and be faithful to the Gospel."

Those were the words the servant at the Catholic parish church spoke as she brushed fine ashes on my forehead. A whole sermon in one phrase. It recalled to me Jesus' words to the woman caught in adultery: "Go, and sin no more." Leave behind your pleasurable but destructive activities and serve God.

My spirit rose up and said yes! at this gentle exhortation. Not easy, of course, but so very simple. We're not only instructed to stop sinning, with no new alternatives provided, and we're not told to replace old habits with a set of laws and rules to follow. As the priest tonight said in his sermon, Jesus never said, "Blessed are those who feel guilty." The general attitude in our churches might suggest otherwise!

No, we're to leave behind the things that drag us down, and replace them with a story. A person. Love incarnated. So that a set of rules isn't even good enough anymore; following, faithfulness now means figuring out with each step what it looks like to love those around us.

Wow. I think I fail at that nearly every moment of every day. Thank God for his breathtaking grace; may I extend it regularly to others, and in so doing, begin to learn what love looks like to you/him/her/them/us/me...God.

Psalm 51:3-6, 12-14, 17
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight;
so you are right in your verdict
and justified when you judge.
Surely I was sinful at birth,
sinful from the time my mother conceived me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
so that sinners will turn back to you.
Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God,
you who are God my Savior,
and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.

My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.

Three words for hibiscus

2011-02-28T23:12:00.003-06:00

The flower picture I posted last time was inspired by a lecture at CMU's Refreshing Winds conference, headlined by Brian McLaren. He outlined four "spaces" or stages of development; his own words for them unique, the concept well-explored by others. But it was all worth hearing -- and, I judge, worth reiterating.

One thing Brian brought that was of value was 3 words, 3 "practices" for each stage. Each word was simple but profound, deepening upon further reflection.

The first stage was "simplicity" (I'll grant you, an overused, misused word, shorn of its power through repeated abuse). Words:

Here -- the practice of presence

Thanks -- the practice of gratitude

O! -- the practice of wonder

It was in the oh, that I felt impelled to wonder wordlessly, to look upon the pink hibiscus -- a dreamy vision in the midst of a Manitoba winter -- and say nothing at all.

I live in silence much of the time, but my mind is often filled with torrents of banal inanities and narcissism. I get so busy making observations that I fail to simply stop and observe.

But every so often, something reminds me to stop. To remember. To breathe in and be present -- right here, in this moment, and only here -- to be grateful for this, and to "oh!"

2011-02-03T22:38:00.001-06:00

I choose to worship an ineffable God

2011-01-31T23:59:00.001-06:00

Theologian David Bentley Hart: "We are, first and foremost, heroic and insatiable consumers, and we must not allow the specters of transcendent law or personal guilt render us indecisive. For us, it is choice itself, and not what we choose, that is the first good."

It delights me how often a postmodernish sounding statement is remarkably Christian. This is not to say that postmodernism is necessarily inherently a more Christian school of thought than those that preceded it, only to rebuff those who suggest is categorically less so.

If we truly believe "my God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there's nothing my God cannot do," why are so we eager to constrain his possible works, acts, and intentions to only that which we are able to conceive of in our changeable and constantly learning minds?

I hope to always remember that my God is so big, I will only ever begin to scratch the surface of understanding who and what he truly is. That is a Creator, Redeemer, Saviour, Reconciler before whom we fall in worship and are transformed.

Enough about that innkeeper already!

2010-12-28T12:12:00.003-06:00

As Protestants, we’ve done our share of looking down our noses at apocryphal stories and narrative details not found in the text. We scoff at Veronica, the saint who wiped Christ’s brow on the Via Dolorosa, officially recognized through one of the stations of the cross. Where does that whole mythology even come from?

Maybe the same place as the donkey Mary rode to Bethlehem. Nearly every depiction of the Christmas story I’ve seen includes a donkey but none is ever mentioned in the Gospel accounts.

And then there’s the innkeeper. Granted, the innkeeper is the result of a translation problem, but the mythology grown up around him is quite substantial. Because one verse says “there was no room for them in the inn,” we’ve fabricated this elaborate scheme of the harried couple, arriving in town late at night, on the cusp of giving birth, going from door to door, turned away at every place until one innkeeper finally takes pity and makes room in the stable.

It works very well with the hymn “Have you any room for Jesus?” and can be milked for all kinds of sentiment. But it’s not there in the text.

What kind of lessons might we learn instead if the couple had been in town for days, weeks, even months already? If they were comfortably (but cosily) lodged with family and merely moved down to the stable because the busy communal upper room (alternate translation for “inn”) was a less than ideal place to give birth? Are the shepherds’ visit and the star that brought the wise men less spectacular events if the birth itself were more ordinary?

What questions might we be asking instead of “had I been there, would I have turned him away?”

Living in the last days

2010-11-29T21:42:00.005-06:00

"People were convinced it was the end of the world."

Over and over again, this phrase was repeated in the Lausanne Congress's 30-minute walk through world history, from the first century to the twenty-first. Generation after generation thought things were so bad -- morals so degenerate, or conflict so pervasive and entrenched -- that it could only be the Last Days the Bible speaks about in the prophets and Revelation. Christians thought the world was in such a state, the only possible remedy was the coming of the sovereign Lord.

I tend to think that's how it's supposed to be. Not that things should always seem so bad they couldn't possibly get worse, but that we should always be expecting that Jesus will come back at any time. Not that we should constantly despair for the condition of society, but that we should yearn to our marrow for the suffering servant to turn the world upside-down, thus setting it truly aright. The expectation is meant to keep us on our toes, but more importantly, to anchor our perspective in the one who gives life, rather than uncritically chasing the pleasures of life.

But it seems we've lost that expectation of the King's return -- and by we, I mean the evangelical church in North America. Perhaps also we the Anabaptists, but I am less able to comment on this subject from that part of my faith heritage. (I suspect in other parts of the world where things aren't so rosy for Christians, they have a healthy awareness of God's immanent coming, but I have neither statistics, nor personal experience to support any such statements.) When was the last time you heard a North American evangelical talk about their anticipation of Christ's return? When was the last time we mentioned it at all?

To the extent to which we have stopped making charts mapping out the tribulation, Armageddon, and --heaven forbid -- setting dates, we might be grateful for the change. To the extent to which we've stopped "evangelizing" by getting people sufficiently frightened of "the fires of hell" that they sign up for a "ticket to heaven," we might count this a positive move. To the extent to which we've realized destroying the created world because "it's all going to burn" is foolish and that Christian charity means caring for the body, not only the soul, we have learned something good. But to the extent to which our silence on the coming Day of the Lord is symptomatic of our love of this present world, we have a problem.

We have big multipurpose churches with big budgets and flashy ministries. We've got glitzy marketing -- slick branding, and a vibrant online presence on several different media. We've got schools catering to every program or experience that might interest a prospective student. We've got books on any subject under the sun, and the Christian music industry is finally starting to grow into maturity with at least a few artists/bands making decent, well-rounded music. And speaking of artists, we're even starting to recognize once again that they might have something to contribute to the church.

Frankly, we've got it so good here, why bother with looking for the Lord's return?

One day, those who thought they were living in the last days...will be right. And all the ones who came before, whose hopes went unrealized, did not wait in vain, but tuned their lives to a song of justice and hope that is outside of this world. Wouldn't we rather be one of them, than one who is surprised when the thief comes in the night?

Halloween

2010-10-31T21:37:00.002-05:00

Trick or treat?

Is Halloween a fun, harmless event, providing an excuse for kids to dress up in costumes? Or is it a pernicious celebration of evil spirits?

I was raised to believe that latter; allowed to dress up as something benign, like a nurse, or a pink rabbit, but not allowed to trick or treat. That ritual dates back to pagan appeasement of the spirits in the Middle Ages, we were told.

I haven't swung entirely to the other end of the pendulum -- I find some currents even in a mainstream celebration uncomfortably death-focused -- but I certainly take a different view of things now.

The explanation my pastor gives for why he allowed his children to participate in Halloween (when his wife wouldn't even allow harmless kids' stories about witches in the house) strikes me as thoughtful and Christian. He realized that for that one night of the year, all the parents in the neighbourhood were either out on the street greeting each other, or waiting behind brightly lit front doors to welcome visitors with candy and kind words. Why, he asked himself, should he pass up this opportunity to get to know his neighbours?

Sure, there are complex underlying theological issues, but ultimately, we're supposed to love our neighbours. Doesn't presence in the neighbourhood on such a night do a better job of that than huddling behind darkened doors, fearing fiendish fairies?

I recently read a church bulletin announcement about Halloween practice that came so close, but seemed, in my estimation, to miss the mark. It said the church community wanted to be a light to the neighbourhood on what could potentially be a dark evening. "Yes," I cheered inwardly. "This church gets it! They're going to be friendly, and meet the folks around them, instead of in huddling in the basement for some 'alternative' fun night." But as I read on, I groaned. To accomplish this, they were planning to gather at the brightly lit church building to hand out hot chocolate.

Seriously?! Who's going to go stop at a church on Halloween, especially if the church is merely handing out hot chocolate for chilled parents? And risk, at best, some preaching, at worst, attempted exorcism? No way.

If you really want to be a light to the neighbours on Halloween, I wanted to say, stay home, turn your lights on, and stand by the door, ready with a big bag of treats.

I'm not unsympathetic to those with real concerns about spiritual and occultic powers turned mainstream at Halloween. A friend of mine, having spent much time in a sub-Saharan rainforest African village -- where people say in all seriousness that the witchdoctors drove all the elephants away, and that when hunting, before you return to the village for help, you should always cut off the ear of the wild boar's carcass just in case it transforms back into a human while you're gone -- does not participate in Halloween. I respect her position given her experience. But when anti-Halloween sentiment merely motivates an Oct. 31 costume party at the church, something just doesn't feel right.

In all the historical sketches about the pagans and druids and ghouls that the anti-Halloween folk give us, I've never heard about the role the hope and peace of Christ played, even for our medieval friends. The ever-insightful Steve Bell related in a blog post called "Keeping Christ in Halloween," that on the pagan Samhain, a night when folk were cowering behind their doors in fear of restless roaming spirits, Saint Patrick went knocking on doors, handing out sweet cakes to his neighbours, reminding them Christ has overcome death -- we don't need to fear the dead, though we may wish to honour and celebrate saints who have gone before. Thus the rituals of Halloween became attached to the night before All Saints Day, namely, Oct. 31.

What's your take? Are your lights on or off on Halloween, and why?

Autumn

2010-09-29T00:15:00.003-05:00

Arched passageway of vaulted
ancient arms splashed with yellow,
orange, red, green, fawn, black.
Gold leaf drops to the ground and
heaps in crannies,
pungent with earth,
portending of the coming white death.
The approaching darkness not sadness
but icy isolation and
crystalline beauty -- fragile and elusive.

Thus, in desperation and smitten with a lovehate for fall, I write the poetry I hate to produce a September post.

Music for the masses

2010-08-28T01:05:00.000-05:00

Thoughts about harmonizing to hymns have led me to look at iPods with sadness. Yes, proponents will argue that they have democritized music. Now everyone can have access to a vast musical library, and obscure bands who recorded in their basements can collect fans from around the world.

But isn't something lost when music is something we experience passively as individuals? Sure, listening to performances has always been one way music is experienced. However, there's a dynamic to listening to live musicians play in the company of many listeners which differs greatly from having perfectly tuned, flawlessly played, interference-free music piped directly into one's ears.

What is music? What is its purpose? Isn't a vital component of music its production with, by, and for people? A solo voice of instrument can be hauntingly beautiful, but does it not take a group of musicians, vocalists, and/or listeners to evoke joyful abandon?

This is not to argue against practice and excellence in performance, nor is it a Luddite rant against iPods and such technology. Instead, it's a plea to remember, next time you tuck in your earbuds and prepare to get in the zone, that appreciation is participation.

Tongues of fire

2010-07-16T03:36:00.004-05:00

A reflection on the Canadian Conference's Celebration 2010 gathering. Reposted from MyCelebration2010.ca.

The air conditioning in the room was blasting, but it wasn’t the cold that raised goosebumps on my arms and neck. I’ve long considered Jesus’ declaration from Isaiah 61 beautiful, inspiring, and daunting. But I’d never really claimed it for myself before, as Louise Sinclair-Peters invited us to do tonight.

“The Spirit of the Lord is on me

...me; not some character or hypothetical abstraction, but me...

because he has anointed me

...there it is again, me...

to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

Of course, the original words come from the mouth of the prophet Isaiah, but Jesus’ appropriation of those words turns it into a model for us as we attempt to follow in Christ’s footsteps. He expects this behaviour from me. Lord have mercy.

Then I watched as the evening’s emcee lit a candle, then the candles of the evening’s storytellers, and they spread throughout the room, lighting the tapers of those gathered at a Langley church for the opening session of Gathering 2010. The spreading glow was inspiring – and a sobering illustration of how far we may be from realizing Jesus’ words.

We’d just heard Bruce Enns describe the rich two-way blessings of Forest Grove Community Church’s partnership with Colombian missionaries Einer and Girlesa Zuluaga in Panama; we’d watched videos from Nigel B. and Rachel Twigg-Boyce, both seeking to pray and show hospitality to marginalized people in Canadian urban neighbourhoods; and heard about Leo Chia’s faithful persistence in reaching out to and discipling Mandarin-speakers in the Vancouver area. We were primed to spread the light of Christ.

Yet we sat there waiting while the band provided an appropriately reverent and stimulating soundtrack. As we passed the flame to unlit wicks, most of us chose one an arm’s length away.

We stand on the shoulders of giants, Walter Unger had told us earlier in the evening, and David Wiebe impressed on us the centrality of mission to our MB “DNA.” But for the flame to spread like wildfire, to reach all the corners, we’ll need to get out of our seats.

On second thought, maybe I am feeling a bit chilled.

That's what you call water

2010-07-05T23:28:00.003-05:00

In northern Manitoba this weekend, I was struck by the ubiquity of water in this province compared to the paucity in Israel. As we drove from our campsite to Thompson to get a backcountry camping permit for our planned two-day hike, my friend, looking at a GPS, nonchalantly noted that a lake lay concealed by trees on either side of the highway as we drove. It brought to mind Israelis' and Palestinians' pride at their small but woefully over-fished Sea of Galilee and unique but rapidly disappearing Dead Sea.

We take our water for granted in Manitoba. In our province with an area of 649,950 km, 101,593 km is water surface, according to Travel Manitoba. That means (if my math is right) about 17% of the surface is covered by water. Whereas according to Wikipedia, the area of Israel (not including the Occupied Territories) is 20,770 square kilometres, with 445 square kilometers of water surface -- about 2%. And since the Sea of Galilee is a mere 166 square kilometres, a good portion of that 2% is salt water.

Later, hiking along the wide Grass River, I recalled the sewage-filled creek called the Jordan River. Accustomed to Manitoba-sized rivers like the Red and Assiniboine, I could hardly make out the narrow trickle in the distance as we stood at Bel Voir, overlooking the Jordan Valley.

Water truly was everywhere on this trip to northern Manitoba. While forest fires rage to the northwest near Cranberry Portage, the southern part of the province is flooded -- evidenced even in the Interlake, where ditches were full to overflowing.

I'd never before considered just how much water we have in Manitoba, though this is not the first time I've wished we could pack up excess and send it to a place that needs it. Just think what a boon it would be to the sinking, shrinking Dead Sea were the Jordan to receive the surplus from our waterlogged fields, and how the Manitoba farmers would rejoice to drive on dry land. But God in his wisdom has not chosen that, so it is left to us to be faithful to the gifts he's given in however puzzling a manner. May we treat it as such.

Can these stones live?

2010-06-21T17:58:00.004-05:00

The day of visiting Passion Week sites left me strangely passionless, and I'm not sure why. We saw a lot in one day, but it all followed one after another, so there was no confusion. There were plenty of tourists, to be sure (always an irritation), but fewer than expected (and I could hardly complain, being one of them). At each site, we received both religious and historical accounts -- of which I often found the latter more compelling.

No, I wonder if it comes back to pilgrimage, and my unfamiliarity with it. The moments of transcendence, the moments when my soul was lifted to praise God had more to do with the beauty of the unfamiliar architecture and vibrant tropical foliage I saw than with a connection to standing in the spot where Jesus stood. It occurs to me that I should be excited to stand/take pictures "in the very place where..." because it is a connection with the Jesus of history -- an important part of my belief. For it is not enough that Jesus be fully God; he also must be fully human. That unfathomable truth should be prominent nowhere so well as in the land where he lived.

Perhaps the lack of evidence is, in part, because the while the land testifies to Christ's humanity, it falls short of bearing glorious witness to his divinity. Israel-Palestine's history of violence makes "unholy land" as accurate a moniker as any. And suspicious gatekeeping on the part of various denominations -- such as the infighting between Armenian and Syrian Orthodox that prevents the Syrians from fixing up their woeful little chapel in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher -- does not seem to line up with Jesus' teachings of love for neighbour, nor the expansive, loving, seeking heart of God, found in both the Old and New Testament.

For that, I am grateful for the "living stones" of the tour. If I came close to God on my pilgrimage, it was not through kissing rocks or even praying in place, but through the hopeful testimony of Awad in Bethlehem, and a CPTer's* playful and loving style of disarming soldiers.

*CPT= Christian Peacemaker Teams

What about me?

2010-06-20T23:49:00.000-05:00

Throughout the tour, as I heard over and over again about violence, injustice, and oppression, I wondered, in what areas and to which people are my actions oppressive? Where am I oblivious to the injustice I support? As a first-class member of one of the most privileged societies in the world, I find it unlikely I can claim immunity from having perpetuated violence on anyone.

Unable to see eye to eye

2010-06-19T22:23:00.002-05:00

The irony is that both Jews and Palestinians are the best placed to understand each other's persistence: both cling tenaciously -- irrationally, perhaps -- to their devotion to the land. But at what cost? A constant deadlock in negotiations where either side refused to budge, to make concessions? At the loss of multiple family members? And what about the damage to the land itself? It seems both groups have allowed the land to be degraded simply for the sake of holding on to it.

I appreciated the settler who spoke to our group for his willingness to share his perspective with a folks he surely anticipated may be unsympathetic, if not hostile to it. As the many Palestinians we spoke to put a human face on their story of the conflict, so this settler put a human face on that particular Israeli faction -- the desire for a peaceful and meaningful place to raise a family, the desire to practice one's religion without difficulty. The conversation also offered a glimpse into how through careful semantics and focus on only the mistakes of the "enemy" and the successes of "our side," we can convince ourselves of the rightness of our position.

We had an interesting juxtaposition of perspectives, leaving the settlement to visit Hebron and the Machpela. Our speaker had just mentioned Baruch Goldstein, saying his actions were not condoned by Israeli society. Moments later, on the bus, our tour guide (a Palestinian) said that Jews venerate Goldstein as a hero for his actions. This illustrated for me how both parties speak truth according to their own perspectives -- and call the other liars, because they don't understand how something can be both true and false.

Servant power

2010-06-18T00:56:00.003-05:00

The tour leader directed us to ponder "servant power" in contrast to Herod's imperial might as we visited Herodium, the magnificent palace by the noted first-century builder, Herod the Great, also the chosen site of his mausoleum.

Political might is undeniably a force to be reckoned with, while true servants wielding the awesome power of God are hard to find, and often found in a hard place. But as we gazed upon the excavations of Herod's splendor, buried for more than a thousand years (his tomb only unearthed in the past year or two), and heard how there remains no trace -- on the mount, anyway -- of his architectural garnishes (marble steps, columns), I couldn't help but think of Shelley's "Ozymandias." ("...And on the pedestal these words appear:`My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains...." ) Herod matches his enormous hubris and his vanished empire. Then I consider the King of the Jews whom Herod tried to stamp out nearly before his life on earth began. And I consider the following of that humble king born in Bethlehem. Given enough patience, looks like servant power wins out after all.

That brought me back to the words a pastor in our group prayed over one of our speakers. "May he see a miracle here." How often do we use that language when we talk about the Middle East -- use it, and believe it? We speak of toiling for peace, hoping against hope, growing increasingly frustrated, sad, and desperate (North Americans, anyway. Seems some of the Palestinians have more hope than us, despite seeing more disheartening evidence daily). What if, instead of trying to accomplish peace through our efforts, we prayed for a miracle, prayed that God would move spectacularly, and that Jesus would receive all the glory?

This must be held in balance, of course, with the realization that we are Jesus' hands and feet. That when we pray, "your kingdom come, your will be done here on earth as it is in heaven," we are asking God to inspire us, challenge us, strengthen us, and above all, use us, to bring about his will. He cannot work without our obedience to his command. Yet what if we stopped expecting that we would accomplish the purposes of God? What if we just did our work with joyfulness and hope, leaving the results up to him? I dare say we would learn to trust, and learn to recognize God's hand in a whole new way.

Tell the story

2010-06-17T00:15:00.004-05:00

My post on May 2, "Some stories from the city of David," and this entry spring from the same set of experiences. I'd just heard Bishara Awad speak about how the worldwide church needs to stand with Palestinian Christians and I felt convicted to use my platform to speak to the MB church in Canada. Is it overly grandiose, I asked myself, feeling the answer was likely yes -- and no -- to believe that I might be on the study tour, one last application slipped in after the closing date, "for such a time as this"? How can I not do my part in showing concern and solidarity with Palestinian brothers and sisters in Christ by taking their struggle to my captive audience?

In the time that has passed, I have actually done so, with much procrastination, trepidation, and early morning writing (you'll find my "Viewpoint" in the July Herald). But Awad's presentation raised other questions that weren't so inspiring. To what degree should the West take responsibility for luring the best and brightest from the rest of the world to strengthen our own endeavours? The top universities, major companies, and Western-headed NGOs attract the brightest minds and greatest talents from all over the world, mostly to the benefit of ourselves in North America and Europe -- then we turn around and tsk-tsk the "poor African countries" for their poor leadership and their failed or struggling institutions. Is this all just "the way the cookie crumbles" or does the West have something to answer to? The positive side of the equation is the training schools that have sprung up to provide training locally, so those eager and inquiring minds don't have to leave, risking permanent exile, whether self-imposed or otherwise. To the extent that some of the latter would not be accomplished without the former, the pressure is good.

Awad, of course, has done exactly that. He started Bethlehem Bible College to stem the tide of Palestinian Christians who were leaving the West Bank to study, and never returning. He spoke with evangelistic fervour and a heart to dialogue with Muslims. As with everyone we had met so far on the tour, I was humbled by the lack of rancour or bitterness these gracious and positive people displayed, despite very intractable opinions against their very existence in their ancestral home.

As long as I naively believed that Israelis didn't want to see Palestinians eradicated, only prevented from threatening their (Israeli) safety, I had sympathy (and some cautious reservations) about the erection of the wall and other such "defensive" actions. But when every story I heard and every sight I saw pointed to an intentional program of humiliation, demoralization, and apathy -- even malice -- toward Palestinian lives, that willingness to offer the state government the benefit of the doubt became illusive.

With that growing sympathy, it was a blessing to share communion with the Lutheran congregation in Bethlehem. Communion is a ritual for which I have developed an inexplicable dread, so I initially greeted with a sinking heart the realization that the Lord's supper would most certainly be celebrated at this 150th anniversary service at a liturgical church. I quickly realized, however, that this was a way to show solidarity with the Christians in Bethlehem, and found joy and a spirit of worship to celebrate the sacred ordinance with them.

That's gotten quite far from the intellectual sheep-stealing with which this post began, but it does all converge in the sharing of common humanity. Surprising, isn't it, that a brief glimpse of such a tragically conflict-ridden area of the world and the heartache and human suffering on all sides of the story within should leave me such an optimist!

World religion

2010-06-03T22:30:00.002-05:00

Very early on in the tour, I was struck by the international variety of the tour groups we encountered as we visited the sites significant to Christians. I was ashamed to find myself surprised that on many days none of the other groups we encountered were English-speaking. What made me think North Americans are the only ones to take a "pilgrimage" to the region? Did I subconsciously think we are the only Christians in the world?

I was truly delighted to mark the diversity of nationality among the pilgrims at every stop along the journey. There were French-speaking groups, Indians, Nederlanders, groups from African countries, Italians, Spanish-speaking groups, Russians, groups from South-East Asian countries -- the list goes on. There, in the "Holy Land," was a small picture of heaven.

Hold on to ho[p/m]e

2010-06-02T22:46:00.007-05:00

"I'm surprised there aren't more suicide bombers."

I acknowledge that our tour was heavily biased in favour of a moderate Palestinian perspective; nevertheless, what I saw and heard in a short period of time was a people in a perpetually frustrated and hopeless existence. I was astonished by the capacity of each person who addressed our group to continue, if not always to forgive, at least to seek ways to live peaceably with their Jewish neighbours; by their persistent absorption of discrimination and violence without retaliation. Thus the shocking statement above came to me over and over as we listened. After a day of stories from several people from different demographics and walks of life, I better understood why one would choose to stand in front of a bulldozer. After hearing such litany of indignities, I itched to put my body in the way of continuing the separation wall.

To come to the land, to hear the stories and share the pain, to offer our pathetic tourist dollars, seems such a feeble, ineffectual response to the pervasive, longstanding injustice. Is there nothing more we can do? Or have they such low standards of us that they ask so little? Unless -- faint hope -- I underestimate my own field by denying the power of words to raise awareness, and hopefully broaden perspectives. If my portion is to write, then I begin here, praying for courage, eloquence, passion, and for gracious words.

Perhaps we've earned that poor opinion with 63 years of indifference to refugees. We're confounded by this devotion to the land (even as we venerate its sites and call it Holy). The Jews' claim divine dispensation, so we shrug and say okay. The Palestinians claim 2,000 years of careful tillage, water husbandry, and harvest; rooting their spirits as solidly in the soil as the ageless olive tree -- and we say can't you just move away?

Home is where we hang our hat, North Americans assert; our green pastures are scented with money. Why toil to build a refugee city you refuse to call home? Why choose an identity-less and impermanent existence generation on end, when you could move some few miles to neighbours who literally speak your language and don't regard your religion as foreign? Why cling to keys without doors in villages without walls, marked only by a living fence of cactus to protect from assault?

Blood boils to mingle with the dust of the land. In a flash of light, or by many small deaths of dignity in hopes of a more peaceful reunion. What is this love that drives despair or denial?

Where I came from, and the present lay of the land

2010-06-01T23:27:00.006-05:00

Initially, my bias on the Israel-Palestine situation was influenced by an overly optimistic story of the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. When the accounts I heard as I began to listen to current news from the region led me to conclude that the State was treating its original inhabitants badly, I assumed it was an aberration, a failure to live up to the good intentions of the founders to live at peace and in equality with their neighbours. To a degree, I blamed Palestinians for the harsh treatment they received at the hands of the State -- after all, one can hardly blame a nation for retaliating against terrorist acts. Yet at the same time, I held the Israel to a higher standard. As a people, having suffered so much, how could they turn around and cause another group to suffer similarly, incited by the same nebulous yet polarizing excuse (race/ethnicity/religion)? If anyone should have a sense of mercy and justice, I thought, oughtn't it be this people who have been so consistently blighted by persecution earned merely for their very existence?

In more recent years, my thinking has been informed by the work of MCC, an organization which has chosen to respond to injustice, conflict, and poverty in the region -- a modus operandi which has often results in their working mostly with Palestinians. I found myself wondering why, outside MCC, so few of the church people who opine on the situation seemed to be rethinking the State's strategy of ramped-up retaliation when its effect was the creation of a people so despairing they see killing themselves to take down a random sampling of their "enemy" as the most reasonable and honourable option. I did wonder, though, why the Jewish people could not just have this small piece of land as their own, why the Palestinians couldn't simply make a home for themselves in any of the many surrounding Arab countries, so close in culture and practice to their own.

But with each page I turned in Sandy Tolan's The Lemon Tree and Elias Chacour's Blood Brothers, my heart sank, for here was a story I had not yet heard, a story that belied all my optimism about original intentions and the benefit of doubt. My first view of the separation wall supported that story. Massive watchtowers atop the forbidding barrier -- it seemed so much overkill, and the beautifully landscaped checkstop complete with roses and geraniums made me sick over its permanence and cheerful acceptance of such a hideous affront to human dignity. Are we devolving, rather than evolving from Hammurabi, who suggested but a single eye was appropriate retaliation for the loss of one? Do we suppose conflicts will be solved by upping the ante on every affront until only one is left standing?

So why not just leave? My Mennonite ancestors, though they worked the soil with an industry and skill that made them desirable colonists, did not send deep roots into any particular plot of land. Our thinking is perhaps like the Bedouins -- allegiance not unconditionally tied to a particular nation, but drawn to the best deal for being left to our own way. Chacour, however speaks of a connection to place that would rather die than leave. It seems to me a great irony that the people best positioned to understand each side's deep, visceral attachment to the land called "Holy" is the people they have framed as their enemy.

Locality for perpetuity

2010-05-31T23:41:00.003-05:00

Pilgrimage.

Is that what I did in Israel-Palestine? It was an easy answer for the border and customs officials asking the know purpose of my visit, accustomed as they are to the ranks of religious in that part of the world. My evangelical-Mennonite soul felt uncomfortable with the word, though.

And in all honesty, my main aim in going was not to "walk where Jesus walked," but to see a country that has long fascinated me, and not just because it provides the setting for many of the events of the Bible. Were the tour entitled "See the Holy Land," "In the footsteps of Jesus," or "The land of the Patriarchs," it would hold little appeal for me. But "Ancient Stones, Living Stones"? That caught my attention. I wanted to interact with this convergence of ancient history and current affairs; with the juxtaposition of religious thrill-seekers and present political feuders.

And perhaps that's half of what true pilgrimage is -- not only seeking God in a place, but also finding in that place and experience a profound sense of the Almighty as both transcendent and mundane. That a locus of pilgrimage for 3 major religions should be a desert land wracked with violence (not an idyllic garden state) is perhaps appropriate to what faith actually looks like here on earth. Stepping away from a literal mountaintop of religious experience into a war zone -- that's a picture of the active Christian life, isn't it? If we're living disciples of Christ, not merely "good" people, complacently clutching a ticket to heaven, conflict and struggle should look awfully familiar.

So, I was a indeed tourist, but not only a tourist. Tom Wright's book The Way of The Lord gave me some words and motivations for the journey before I left, equipping me to aspire to that lofty title, pilgrim: appreciate the place, learn from locality, and meet God. Ironically, at the sites, on the spots where I met God very intentionally in a place, the communion was not only for that moment, but for the rest of my life.

Pilgrim? Yes, perhaps I am.

Some stories from the city of David

2010-05-02T15:12:00.005-05:00

Do I believe that words have power?

Yes.

Do I believe that information can solve a conflict?

It can certainly help.

Can I then stay silent about what I am hearing, and the people I am meeting?

Rather than spewing my own emotion and opinion, let me open a window for you, to the people I have met and the stories I have heard.

A shopkeeper tells me that he made no money from his shop for four years after the first Intifada. He is proud of the beautiful country in which he lives, where there is desert, snow, mountains, plains, beaches, and great biodiversity. For 17 years, however, he has not been able to travel much beyond his immediate environs -- has has not most of the above. He has no hope for himself. Yet he is not bitter. There is no rancour in his talk, though he cannot speak of hope, and the faith of his childhood has departed. But how does he describe a politician whose inequitable policies have greatly damaged his and his family's ability to make a livelihood?

"He is a bad man, but he is not my enemy."

A professor was forced out of his family home as a child, and denied re-entry to his place of refuge after leaving it to study abroad. Nevertheless, he found a way to return to the near prison-like atmosphere of the place his family lives, and has begun a school which tends to both the spiritual and physical needs of the community. He works to build bridges with those who would call him enemy. He has hope. But he also has one great sadness: His people is largely forgotten by the church in the rest of the world.

Another man dedicates himself to helping others resolve conflicts, and to teaching children, youth, and women to solve conflicts nonviolently. On top of violence, instability, and demoralization inflicted by the ruling state, his people are bleeding their youth, intelligence, and financial assets to places with opportunity and freedom. Yet he has hope. And when asked what we as North American Christians could do to help, he asked most of all for solidarity. "Come visit us; see where we live, hear our stories."

Solutions are complicated and far away, but as we try to work toward them, let's become familiar with the faces involved -- not the politicians and power-brokers, but the every-day people who live with the policies inflicted on them. Maybe we don't have enemies, only people who don't understand or who don't understand us.

Build a bridge to understanding.

Take hope.

The transcendence of hymns

2010-03-15T21:41:00.002-05:00

When I was in the Netherlands, every time our group of Mennonite trainees were together at a church service, we were called upon to sing; for, in the words of one Dutch pastor, "a group of Nederlanders just make noise, but a group of North American Mennonites is an instant choir."

North Carolinian Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, a lead thinker in the growing new monasticism movement, knew to attribute improvised harmonies to Mennonites in the audience, when he invited those gathered to hear him speak in Winnipeg to join in an impromptu song.

This past weekend, at a conference attended by mostly middle-aged male Mennonite pastors, mostly of "Mennonite ethnicity," we sang grace -- Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow -- and the harmony was rich and strong in confident male voices.

I love being a part of a tradition which can pull off a spontaneous rendition of the complicated interwoven harmonies of "Old 606" or "Friedensfurst" -- or at least, used to be able to.

The thought that effortless four-part harmony is becoming a thing of the past in Mennonite churches saddens me. Until recently, I've been as guilty as the next person because, using my vocal range as an excuse, I always sang the melody line. However, recognizing the value of this rich tradition of part-singing, I seek to be the change by pulling out the hymnal and trying to figure out the intervals in the alto line.

Retaining our hymn tradition is more than just nostalgic clinging to old ways. A woman who grew up Catholic but now worships at a Mennonite church spoke of the power four-part singing holds for her as a call to worship in an otherwise fairly ascetic tradition.

"One of the strongest pull factors into Mennonite community for me — and this may seem shallow, but oh well — was the singing.... I’ll never forget that moment ... hearing my colleagues break into song before a meal. I was stunned. The singing was breathtaking to me.... I had never heard people spontaneously engage in four-part singing before, particularly not in church.... While my Mennos are sadly lacking in transcendent visual aids ... Mennonite singing is wonderfully transcendent."
(read full article here)

What more need be said in defense of harmony? That our music should be a beautiful expression of the community we seek to embody as a church -- that is an answer to a prayer we have not yet spoken.

Still basking in the glow

2010-03-01T23:35:00.003-06:00

For three and a half years out of four, I care nothing about hockey. But then the Olympics comes.

And suddenly, I care deeply that we (Canada) win.

When the "Own the Podium" battle cry was beginning to feel embarrassingly underachieved, I consoled myself, and anyone who needed to hear it, that we were pretty much assured gold in women's hockey, we had darn well better medal in mens' hockey, and we'd likely medal in both mens' and women's curling. And those predictions did materialize to almost the best possible outcome.

Scott Russell of CBC suggested out that Own the Podium was misinterpreted to mean things it wasn't intending. In an article entitled "Own the Podium: Lost in Translation," Russell argues that OtP was mean to encourage the very ideals the Olmpics are supposed to represent -- the struggle to do one's best, and the participation in competition together -- as envisioned by the modern Games' founder, Pierre de Coubertin. It was not a slogan for jingoistic grasping.

In any case, harsh judgement of the initiative in that first week was unfair. I confess I'm guilty of cynically repeating what at times has seemed to embody our efforts on the world stage: "we stand for mediocrity." (Another admission: I'm no less average than the next Canadian, myself.)

But as Rex Murphy mused on Crosscountry Checkup at the midway point of the Olympics, when the difference between taking first and coming in fifth is a couple hundredths of a second, can we really look down on those who didn't reach the podium? Furthermore, can we even express disappointment at our athletes who may have come in 10 or 25th? How many of us can claim to be 10th best at anything in our own cities, much less on the world stage? There's a reason we're inspired by Olympic athletes and their stories, whether they're Cindy Klassen in Turin, taking home an unprecedented medal haul with grace and humility, or Cindy in Vancouver, coming back from double knee surgery just happy to make the team at all and not getting near the podium -- but still gracious and humble.

In the end, all the handwringing was for naught, and my own cynicism was disproved. Often, our place closer to the top than the bottom of the medal charts is reserved by our list of barely grasped bronze medals; this time we actually led the world with gold (14), and even our silvers (7) outweighed our bronze (5).

Which brings us back to hockey. The number of facebook status updates that contained references to the men's hockey game in the hours that followed was quite amazing. Even international friends were caught in the euphoria of the Canadian win in the men's game. The pride and excitement of what we accomplished, not only on the ice, the slopes, and the track, but in hospitality and spirit continues to burn in the chests of Canadians even after the hordes of visitors have vacated the delta region. Strange how this display of athlete prowess and cutting edge technology from the most elite athletes has such an uplifting effect.

But, perhaps, I wonder a bit less at those who fear the potential idolatry of sports. Alongside amusement at receiving updates on the score of the semi-final mens' hockey game at a church business meeting last week, there is uneasiness at the celebration of national pride in a place of worship. My ancestors would have been horrified, and I can't dismiss their concern as utterly unfounded. Amid the excitement and triumph of this one moment in history, how does a citizen of another kingdom reserve true glory and worship for the One who most deserves it?

Youth Day in Cameroon

2010-02-11T08:28:00.001-06:00

Feb. 11 is Youth Day in Cameroon. Apparently, it was originally set aside as a holiday called Plebiscite Day, but I guess someone realized that was very unexciting, and they changed it to something with more promise.

See "the leaders of tomorrow" marching through Bekondo below.

A false dichotomy

2010-01-26T22:18:00.004-06:00

"Everything in our culture has a meta-narrative of good guys vs bad guys," says Vern Neufeld Redekop of St Paul University, Ottawa.

He was speaking about reconciliation and economics, and why it's often hard to get to the point of choosing the communal good above personal gain. What really got me thinking was when he mentioned the amount of this rhetoric in George W. Bush's speech.

It is unacceptable for someone who calls him or herself a follower of Christ to accept such false dichotomies in their thinking. We are to be agents of reconciliation in the world (2 Corinthians 5:18&19), and most of the rhetoric of reconciliation and healing begins with really listening to and seeking to understand the "other". This does not leave room for enemies, or "bad guys". Neither do the teachings of Jesus, who instructed us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44).

It's not from malicious intent that Christians have often been guilty of accepting the idea of good guys-bad guys. We've focused -- perhaps overmuch -- on that moment of "becoming saved", and thus divided the world into saints and sinners, saved and unsaved, instead of focusing on living out that salvation through the long, winding road of discipleship, on which, I suspect, we discover that few fellow travellers fit comfortably into the neat categories we've laid out.

Let's endeavour to triumph above the insidious dualistic meta-narrative of society, and chose to see people as God sees them. Not as good guys and bad guys, as friends and enemies, as us and them, but as people with stories to be discovered. As people who can teach us something.

It's not easy, and I know it must start with me, with something so little as remembering that each SUV driver -- who honks at me, then speeds past in annoyance as I labour on icy streets by bike -- is not my enemy, but a person with their own story.

From garage to shallow pool to the road

2010-01-20T19:58:00.006-06:00

Biking down Wellington Avenue today, as I passed palatial garages, I was struck by the fact that these people's cars have nicer houses than many people in the world.

Before you think I'm picking on the rich, please hear that I then considered that any North American with a decent garage provides their cars with more substantial shelter than many people in the world sleep under. And while I thought it highly appropriate for this discrepancy to give us pause, this is not a call for guilt.

Is it injust that some should have so much while others have so little? Certainly. Should we be aware of the imbalance, and our place on the overprivileged side of the scale? Absolutely. Should we feel guilty? I'm not convinced.

Guilt is often not a helpful emotion. Unless guilt motivates us toward repentance, to turning away from those patterns that caused us to feel guilty, or to take action of some sort, it quickly turns into a swirling, sucking drain. How often have you heard or said, "I felt guilty, but did it anyway," for which, in turn, we feel guilty, but -- having realized guilt can be sidelined -- we enter this vicious cycle of feeling guilty for doing wrong, which generally leads us to indulgence to assuage/forget the guilt, but rarely modifying behaviour or making right choices.

Guilt's tendency toward wallowing is perhaps the key to what makes me so uncomfortable with an adamant, single-minded insistence on the penal satisfaction model of the atonement. With its emphasis on guilt and the substitutionary payment of penalty by Jesus, penal satisfaction does not urge the guilty one to respond with a life of discipleship. It simply demands you recognize your guilt, and once you've recognized that, and been overwhelmed by your unworthiness before a holy God, assures you, "it's okay. You're forgiven; your punishment was taken by someone else." Thus inducing more guilt.

Reconciliation, discipleship, hard work, and faithful obedience aren't really part of the picture -- which I find profoundly incomplete. Not wrong, per se, just shallow.

So what about that garage, and the car sitting in it? Don't feel guilty; there's enough of that going around. Instead, creatively seek to reconcile your affluence in the face of need.

In pursuit of that simple yet elusive law of love, I'll keep pedalling, thinking, and writing.