In A Spacious Place

New Blog

2010-04-10T16:08:00.000-07:00

I am now posting at: http://inaspaciousplace.wordpress.com/

Easter Monday

2010-04-05T06:01:00.000-07:00

Today is the day I can choose to live in the flashing dawn of light that has arisen out of death.

Today is the day I can follow the power of love. Today is the day I can begin to trust the triumphant cry of life, “Do not be afraid.”
Today is the day I walk in the new creation that has unwound itself from the wrappings of death. Today is the day I can trust the life-giving rhythm of the universe. Everything holds. The gravity of the earth is love. The fragments have been healed. Today is the day I can live in the fullness of each moment.

Today is the day I no longer need to wrestle against the forces I so often resist. Today is the day I can surrender to the heartbeat of the universe. Today is the day I no longer need to look to myself for strength; I no longer need to avoid facing the realities of my life. Today my habitual stance of bracing against my circumstances unwinds into the willing embrace of life as it arises.

Today I can live without guilt or remorse.

Today is the day I can rest in the victory of truth, purity, and invincible innocence. There is nothing left to prove, no badge of honour left to earn. Today I can live in the deep reality of my heritage as a child of the transforming God.

Today is the day I can share in the force of love that permeates the universe. Today there are no longer any prisoners. The doors and barriers have crumbled. Today is the day I can live in the freedom and spaciousness of my nature. Today is the day I discover my true identity. I am not the bad things I have done, or that have been done to me. I am the light that breaks forth from the divine with the dawn of each new day.

Today is the day of that strength and peace no power on earth can undo. Today is the day that decides the direction of every day that follows. Today is the day I choose to walk in life.

Easter Sunday

2010-04-04T05:40:00.000-07:00

Today is the day when words sound utterly trite.

Today is the day when the explosion of mystery unravels every category of thought. It is impossible to begin even to think about this day. Today is the day that pries open our hearts to something deeper than the mind can conceive. Today is the day that asks of us only the glad surrender of faith.
Today is the day when the axis of the earth shifts back to its original design. Today is the day that sets human history spinning in the direction of life. Today is the day when the cracks that have fractured the human condition, soften toward healing.

Today is the day, against all expectation, when innumerable particles of light pierce the horizon in the distance. Today is the day when, without even the support of our hopes, the light grows brighter, pushing back the darkness that has wrapped the earth.

Today is the day when a woman carries precious impossible news. Today is the day when dead hearts are revived through no conceivable power of their own. Today is the day we see that the heartbeat of the universe is the power of love.

Today is the day when life breaks through stone tombs and wooden doors. Barriers are no longer necessary. Fear fades as the light of this new day begins to dawn. Today is the day we meet without any need for self-constructed safety.

Today is the day that dawns in every newborn infant's cry. Today is the day that surprises the air with the sweet fragrance of spring. Creation breathes again. Life stirs into action.

Today is the day if we stay awake we see that the deep purity at the heart of life is not extinguished. Violent voices do not have the final word. The failure we feared has turned to victory. Shame has shed its filthy mantle. We are newborn from this day. Everything begins afresh.

Today is the day surprising shoots of light escape through the cracks in our hearts. Today is the day we awaken in the dawn that restores the fullness of life to all of creation.

Holy Saturday

2010-04-03T05:50:00.000-07:00

Today is the day of despair. Rumours of light fade into doubt.

Today is the day that the earth stands still. The cosmos holds its breath, not even waiting because there is nothing left for which to wait.
Today is the day when all our uncertainties and confusions come grinding to the surface. Everything is irredeemably broken.

Today is the day of hopelessness. We cannot move backward; the past only reminds us of our shame, punishing us with the guilt we cannot escape.

Today is the day the present has become unbearable. Each breath twists painfully in our chest. It is impossible to imagine putting one foot after another on this broken earth.

We cannot move forward; there is no forward to move toward. It is no longer possible to picture a future better than this barren present.

Today is the day we have no comfort to offer. We share only loss. Space opens around us. But this is not the space of freedom and hope; it is a dark vortex, sucking life into its emptiness.

Today we are paralysed. Our goals are gone; our dreams crumble like cracked earth at our blistered feet.

Today is the day we do not know what to do with ourselves. We do not know which way to turn. All we can see are our failures. All we know are the defeats with which we are too familiar. Today there is no faith, no trust, no confidence that there could be any help.

We cannot believe the sun came up this morning. It is impossible to imagine how our hearts keep beating. Death has had the final word.

Today everything is lost. We do not know how to begin to find our way out of this desperate place.

Today there are no road maps, no instruction manuals.

Today is the day we grope to find our way in the chaos, no longer believing there is any way to be found.

"Good" Friday

2010-04-02T06:31:00.000-07:00

Today is the day of death.

Today is the day of denial, the day of violence, injustice, and shame. Today is the day of darkness and defeat.

Today is the day when everything goes wrong; nothing turns out the way we had hoped. Today is the day when all our expectations, aspirations, and dreams are shattered.
Today is the day when the carefully constructed scaffolding of our lives comes crumbling down. We are left alone, stripped, naked, nothing but our tears for consolation.

Today is the day when everything comes to a dead-end, no escape, no way out. Today is the day of despair. Today is the day we never want to face. Today is the day we spend our lives scheming to avoid.

There is nothing “good” about this Friday. It is the day when all the accumulated bad that has ever afflicted the human condition is heaped upon the shoulders of one man. All the worst of which humans are capable is poured out upon one sad and lonely individual.

And he carries it. He carries it all. He carries all that is broken, all that is tragic, all that is twisted; he carries it to the end of the day. He carries it into the dark abyss of forsakenness where it crushes him. It takes his life and destroys him. The defeat is total. This is the end of the story.

Yet even here, some hidden force unfolds. Life stirs. “The curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised.”

Some mysterious power has been unleashed. An enclave of life has been breached in the forces of death. Defeat has begun to turn. Like a chink in the armour of despair, the lifeless body of this one man has created a crack in the hard shell of death. The “good” could not be contained. The deeper nature of the universe has begun to arise.

But today is the day hope remains a mere rumour; there are rivers of sorrow still to endure.

Maundy Thursday

2010-04-01T05:45:00.000-07:00

Today is the day of betrayal.

Today is the day the bonds of love and loyalty let loose. Today is the day that twists away from truth.

Today is the day that our choices lead inexorably to tragic consequences. Today is the day that the axis of the earth shifts towards violence and anger. Today is the day we betray all that we know to be most beautiful, most holy and most pure.

He shared a meal with his friends, served with love and compassion. But it wasn’t enough. They wanted more, so much more.

He asked them to sit and watch with him through the dark and lonely hours of night.

Today is the day his friends fell asleep.

We all sleep, lapse into unconsciousness, betray the truth and love we know. We cannot watch just one hour. We want what we want and are restless in the waiting.

Today is the day they are scattered. They cannot bear what they see. Today is the day they flee in fear. They erect a wall to protect themselves, to hide from the horror beginning to dawn.

The more we seek to escape the pain, the more pain we create.

Today is the day we refuse to face our own deep loneliness. Today is the day we fail to acknowledge the scars of our lives that wound those we touch.

Today is the day we fail to follow Jesus to the place of surrender. Today is the day we will not bend to love but will be cracked by hatred. Today is the day darkness creeps across the earth and fear stirs like an enemy of the light.

We kneel to pray this day, hoping that this time, we will choose a different path. But too often the choice we make only deepens the cracks in the cosmos. We etch the crooked lines of our suffering into the hard cracked earth upon which our tears will fall.

Today the crack in the world begins to widen.

Palm Sunday

2010-03-30T16:39:00.000-07:00

The chaos, the joy, and the tragedy of Palm Sunday. See link here

Who Am I?

2010-03-25T05:50:00.000-07:00

This post continues a conversation that began on Facebook. The conversation became too complex for the limitations of that medium when Jaqueline posted the following comment:

I notice talk of the ego a lot in these sort of writings, and for many, reliance on the ego is something that needs to be challenged, but for very many others, especially those brought up in long term trauma or experiencing long term trauma, war torn or otherwise, a very important concern is the lack of ego stability and development. Managed solitude is vital in these cases in order to strengthen a sense of self and boundary because full- on undefined interaction with others can overwhelm and dissipate what fragile sense of self trauma survivors have. Yet for the same reason, the last thing they need is isolation, mainly because their experience has left them terrified of being alone with an inability to anchor/ locate a sense of themselves. Their need is to build up the ego structure in order to be whole, in order to love, to connect with themselves and the world and develop trusting relationships . I sometimes think it is important to be aware that breaking/weakening/crumbling of the ego can also be a result of damage. Mindfulness/ meditation/contemplation in this case does the opposite of crumbling, it helps put our egos back together- it provides an anchor, a second skin in which a sense of who a person is might be restored.

My Response

The use of the term “ego” in spiritual tradition, particularly Christian spiritual tradition, is complex. It is commonly said that you have to have an ego, before you can let go of your ego. This seems to suggest that the human task is to develop a secure, stable sense of self in order that one may then choose to surrender that sense of self.
However, Jesus said to his followers, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” (Matthew 16:24) The evidence of the fearful failure of Jesus’ first followers makes it unlikely that Jesus felt he was giving this instruction to people who were possessed of a strong robust sense ego. Jesus’ first followers were just as insecure, vulnerable, fearful, and wounded as any of us. And yet, Jesus did not qualify his instruction to these broken disciples. He did not say, first go and develop a strong sense of self so you can then choose to deny yourself and follow me. Was this an oversight on Jesus’ part? Was he being insensitive? Or, did Jesus perhaps know something that we tend to forget?

According to the Genesis account of creation, all human beings are created “in the image of God.” This means that something of the nature of God is inherently part of our created being. We are all born with an indomitable reality at the core of our being. We come into this world with a self that shares in the nature of God. This self is radiant, strong, secure, and indestructible.

Tragically and mysteriously, from almost the moment we are born, we begin to doubt the existence of this durable self with which we were all created. We begin to experience ourselves as vulnerable, weak, and insecure. In response, we start to seek ways to protect ourselves and to create an identity we hope will not be at risk. We start to believe that the human task is to manufacture and preserve our own fragile identities. We embark upon an ego-building project, determined to create something within ourselves that will feel secure and strong. We look around for others who will support us in this project and try to avoid people or situations that might threaten our tentatively constructed little ego building.

It is as if we were born with a million dollars in our bank account but we do not know the wealth we possess. Because we are unaware of the incredible resource created within our being, we spend our lives rushing around gathering bottles and cans out of our neighbours’ recycle boxes and cashing them in for the few cents we believe are essential to our survival.

It is true that I cannot give away something I do not know I have. But the important thing is to realize that it is a matter of “knowing” not a matter of reality. I do not have to create my identity or build my ego. I am a child of God, created in the likeness of the God who brought the universe into existence. Nothing can undo this transcendent truth of my being. Nothing that has ever happened to me, no matter how tragic or painful, can ever undo the reality of who I am as a person created in God’s image. Nothing I have ever done can destroy the truth that I am a radiant spark of light that has come from God and is destined to return to God. I do not need to protect this reality or keep this reality safe or secure; I need only to recognize it and live from this truth of my nature.

This is the reality in which Jesus lived and died. On the cross Jesus surrendered everything we normally look to in an attempt to give ourselves a sense of security and safety. Jesus lost his dignity, his power, even his sense of God – “My God, my God why have you forsaken me?” Yet it was through his acceptance of the experience of complete abandonment that resurrection occurred.

Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 19:23). This is not primarily about money. A rich person is anyone unfortunate enough to have become convinced that his or her ego-building project has succeeded. A rich person is one who, by sheer “luck of the draw,” has been gifted with enough talent, or beauty, strength, financial resources, or skills to never feel the need to look more deeply within to find the true source of their real identity as children of God. But, not matter how “rich” we may be, whether we admit it our not, we know that our sense of need is never fully satisfied by our riches. So we create stories to try to hide the need we feel.

We create “success” stories to try to convince ourselves we are “good” because of our great achievements. But our achievements do not make us good. God alone has created goodness within every human being. We build big kingdoms and stand back to admire them, pleased with how well we have done. But then our kingdom begins to shake and suddenly we have to scramble to build a bigger, better, more impressive kingdom to keep the story of our goodness alive.

Our failure stories tell us we are bad, that life is threatening and that we must fight to defend our rights. When we listen to this voice, we create a hungry monster who is never satisfied with any scraps of achievement, or with any warm feelings, or affirmation. It does not matter how many people embrace us and tell us how truly fine we are, the story is never enough; we keep yearning for more. A dark corner of doubt always remains lurking at the edge of our consciousness. As soon as someone comes along who tells us that we are not so fine after all, the story of our failure reemerges with a vengeance.

We have been taught all our lives to listen to the “success” stories and to pay attention to the “failure” stories. But neither story has the power to give us a true, deep, and lasting sense of self. The self that arises in response to these stories always depends upon more stories, more “success,” more affirmation, more strokes, more gold medals, more empathy, more attention, more understanding. And these stories can always be undermined by the arrival of some, even minor, failure or set b back.

The only hope of developing a durable sense of self is born when all our external identity supports let us down. We only begin on the journey towards a true sense of self when we let go of the stories we have looked to in a futile attempt to shore up our identity. We are not the good things we have done; we are not the bad things we have done, nor even the bad things that have been done to us.

When we go into solitude, pray and worship, we allow these stories of “success” and “failure” to fall silent. We no longer look at ourselves in terms of “success” or “failure. We discover a “place” deep within us where we know that God made nothing “bad,” where we know that our security lies in something larger than any ego building we might ever construct. We begin to be able to live beyond “good” and “bad.” We uncover within ourselves a true source of abundance. We no longer live from the abyss of lack or the pit of need.

When we go into our room and “shut the door and pray to our Father who is in secret,” the “Father who sees in secret” will reward us with the strength of our true identity. (Matthew 6:6) We find an inner depth that speaks of God’s presence in our lives; this is all we need. Jesus said, “strive first for the kingdom of God, and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:33) We find our true self, not by seeking a sense of self, but by seeking God. We need to seek out those practices that help us to open to the deep reality of God speaking in our hearts and allow the chattering voices that torment the surface of our lives to fall silent.

It is only when we come to the end of all our little ego projects that we reconnect with our true nature. It is only when we give up trying to create ourselves that we discover that we have indeed already been created. It is only when we stop trying to be secure and feel safe that we find out that we are in fact secure; we are in fact safe and strong. There is nothing that can “separate us from the love of Christ” not “hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword.” (Romans 8:35)

The human journey is to come to that place in life where I discover that in fact I am intact. My ego has ceased being my master holding me hostage to the roller coaster of other peoples’ response to me. My ego now serves the truer deeper self that is my true identity as a being created in the image of God. I discover that I am free of all those external masters that have dominated my life. I am free to live from that true inner strength that is my birthright as a child of God.

My true self is strong and deep because it is a gift given by God. This discovery only comes through grace and grace only becomes active in my life when I stop working for it. My true strength emerges when I stop trying to be strong. Jesus said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” (Matthew 5:3) My true beauty arises when I stop trying to be beautiful. Peter says, “let your adornment be the inner self with the lasting beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit.” (I Peter 3:4) I discover my true security when I no longer struggle to be secure. The prophet Nahum declares, “The Lord is good, a stronghold in a day of trouble; he protects those who take refuge in him, even in a rushing flood” (Nahum 1:7)

Life may seem like an endless series of “rushing floods.” There may be pain, doubt, fear, and uncertainty. But these things do not have the power to define us unless we let them. We are bigger, richer, deeper, more real than all the sad or broken things that have ever entered our lives. There is a security and strength within us that does not depend upon success any more than it is threatened by failure. No person can bring us to this place of true security and strength. We get there only by letting go of all false securities and trusting in God alone to give us a true deep and abiding sense of who we are. When we get there we discover that no one and nothing can shake the indomitable reality of who we know ourselves to be.

"When is it the right thing to do to stop going to church?" (A response to David T. Brown)

2010-03-20T08:37:00.000-07:00

Dear David T. Brown,

Thank you for your comment on my post “Church – A Response to Jaqueline.” Your words touched a deep chord in my heart, hence this rather lengthy response.

I am the last person in the world who should lecture anyone on “When is it the right thing to do to stop going to church.”

I often say that I became a priest because God knew that the only way I would ever keep going to church is if I was ordained. My favourite verse in the Gospels is Luke 5:16, where Luke tells us that Jesus, “would withdraw to deserted places and pray.”

However, it would be less than honest for me not to acknowledge the context in which Luke 5:16 occurs. Jesus has just healed a leper. After the leper is healed Jesus instructs him to “Go and show yourself to the priest, and, as Moses commanded make an offering for your cleansing, for a testimony to them.” I believe this instruction was given in order that the leper might be fully incorporated back into that community that had once shunned him due to his disease. It must have cost this healed leper dearly to return to the very people who had excluded him and seek reentry into their flawed community. But Jesus valued the communal expression of faith even when it involved pain.

So, I cannot walk easily away from the embodiment of faith as it is presented to me in an imperfect vessel.

I believe that some form of Christian community is a necessary part of Christian spiritual practice. We grow by finding our way in difficult, uncomfortable, awkward situations. The writer of Colossians did not say “Bear with one another,” (Cols. 3:13) because he thought community was going to be easy, but because he understood exactly how challenging it is.

We must ask ourselves what it is we are looking for when we go to church. Are we looking for a comfortable, warm feeling? Or are we consciously choosing to enter into spiritual boot-camp where we know there will be friction, frustration, pain, and disillusionment but where we also know we will grow in our ability to embody the humble self-giving sacrificial love of Christ?

You say that “the church that I love should not be a chore.” But surely it is through doing our “chores” that we experience growth and depth in our lives. Surely, the world only functions when we human inhabitants of this world choose to do our “chores,” in faithfulness to God’s call.

What is it that makes it so difficult to be around people who “don’t want to move into the reality of the today as I see it”? Do we need people to see the world as we see the world in order to remain in community with them? If those who profess a common faith in Christ cannot remain together in spite of differences, what hope is there that we might fulfill the ministry of reconciliation to which we are called by Christ?

Again, please do not hear me saying, we must stay in a church community at all costs. Clearly, there are times when a church community has become so abusive and dysfunctional that the only healthy response is to depart. But, I believe this is less often the case than justifies the number of church departures we have experienced in the past few decades.

What might churches look like if they became places where we truly practiced, “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control”? (Gals. 5:25)

Staying in any human community is always difficult. There are many things I find painful about church. But, I wonder if I better serve Christ by leaving or by staying and bearing witness to the reconciling healing power of God that enables me to walk alongside people I often find difficult?

Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23) Perhaps the church is my cross. Perhaps the community of Christ is exactly the place God has given me to learn what it means to “deny” myself and to practice dying. Perhaps it is only along this painful road, that we will together experience the true resurrection of Christ in our lives.

Brian McLaren, in his book A New Kind of Christianitybeautifully articulates the purpose of church when he writes,

The church, then, in Paul's mind, must be above all a school of love. If it's not that, it's nothing. Its goal is not simply to pump knowledge into people, but to train them in the "way of love," so they may do the "work of the Lord," empowered by the Holy Spirit, as the embodiment of Christ.

Learning in the school of love is always going to be painful. The school of love will always require tools that are never going to be popular. The practice of church requires patience, forbearance, enormous charity, faithfulness, gentleness, generosity, humility and then more patience. I am not sure where else we are going to learn these skills, if we refuse to stay in the messy, perplexing community, we call "church."

In the end no one can tell anyone else when "is it the right thing to stop going to church." As with any Christian discipline, each of us must listen deeply and personally to God's voice. Any practice can become a form of bondage if it is carried out from a sense of duty and obligation. But, equally, any discipline followed in response to God's call will be a source of new life and freedom.

Church - A Response to Jaqueline #2

2010-03-18T05:44:00.000-07:00

Dear Jaqueline,

Here is the second part of my response to your response to my post “Maybe Churches Do Work.”

You wrote:

what if we are being asked to stay with no reward other than the continuation of an institution? Are we expected to stay with an institution that has forgotten who WE are?

And it is circular; what if because of sticking with an institution we people have forgotten who we are? What if we couldn't be bothered struggling with each other because we have lost vision of WHO the Body is?  

This raises the difficult question of what we are talking about when we use the word “church.” I know I get truly confused and confusing in my own use of this word.

When we use the word “church” do we mean “an institution” or do we mean “the Body”? Are they different? Can we separate “institution” and “body”?

Can there be any “Body” without “an institution”? I worry when I want to dismiss the “institution” that I am being self-serving and dishonest. The problem is that the only way I know the “Body” manifest in the world is as some form of “institution”.

You cannot know me without my body. There is no Christopher without the body that conveys the presence of “Christopher”. My body may let me down; it may cause me pain; but without my body I cease to be in meaningful communion with the physical world. Church as “institution” and church as “body,” cannot be tidily separated labeling “institution” the parts I find distasteful and “body” the parts I find to my liking.

Institutions may indeed forget “who WE are,” but does that matter? Surely, if we know who we are, it doesn’t really matter what the institution knows. We must not give institutions more power in our lives than they actually have.

Obviously there are certain parameters to this. We need to be sensible. There may be times when an institution has become so dehumanized, abusive and dangerous that any sensible human being would know that they must remove themselves from that institution. But my sense is that this is far less often the case with churches than people might like to believe. I am pretty sure lots of people leave churches before those churches have become truly dangerous to the spiritual well-being of their members.

I think people leave churches too often and too easily because they don’t like pain. And when we run from pain, we condemn ourselves to spiritual infancy; we never mature. We make it impossible for the church to become the instrument of reconciliation it is called to be (II Corinthians 5:18)

A ministry of reconciliation always involves pain. Without pain there is no need for reconciliation and no ability to be a reconciler. This is why pain is an essential part of the journey.

I think you say this beautifully when you say,

Perhaps a commitment to relationship-the pain and fruit of it- is a recognition of the fact that each of us is part of Christ? That sticking with each other is an opportunity to show our love for Christ? What if we ourselves become the personification of the Joy set before Christ? 

Church - A Response to Jaqueline #1

2010-03-14T20:10:00.000-07:00

Jaqueline,

As always your questions are so thoughtful and challenging, that they are worth a post all on their own (actually two posts).

struggle with no reward? Is God asking that of us?  

In Matthew 6:6 Jesus is reported to have said, “whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret: and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” - so, no we are not called to struggle with “no reward.” But I think we need to be careful here.

The really important word in this verse is the word “secret;” it occurs twice. In ancient Christian tradition it was understood to mean, “not apprehensible by our normal sensual faculties.” God is “in secret” – ie. we cannot see, smell, taste, touch, or hear God in the way we normally experience things using these faculties.

There are certainly blessings God gives that function on the sensual/physical plane. Creation, art, music, poetry, friendship, love are all blessings given by God and perceptible by our senses. But they are not rewards in the sense that we have earned them or received them by virtue of our effort, hard work, spirituality, or righteousness. These things are gifts, pure gift.

But there is a “reward” God gives; but it is given in secret, that is beyond our normal faculties. The rewards we receive from God function on a level of being that is deeper than the material or sensual dimension. They are not directly apprehensible through our feelings. They function on the level where we just know that we know that God with us, is in us, and sustains us. This is the faith dimension. It is deeper than rational knowing and deeper than emotional feeling. This is where we perceive the “reward” God gives.

The problem with thinking of “rewards” in any other way is that then we start to pursue the reward rather than God. And anything other than God that we pursue will always let us down. If we do church for the reward of warm fellowship, ecstatic worship, or great preaching, the day will come when the fellowship starts to hurt, the worship falls flat, and the preaching is boring. If we do church for the reward, we will not stay long in the same church because it will let us down. We will eventually walk away in search of more tantalizing rewards.

Which brings up your second set of questions (and Rob’s comment) that I will deal with in a later post.

Maybe Churches Do Work

2010-03-13T06:05:00.000-08:00

It is probably not cool to comment on one’s own blog post. But I began thinking after I posted “Why Don’t Churches Work?” that in the end I had concluded that perhaps churches work perfectly.

The problem is not that churches do not do what they are supposed to do; they do exactly what they are supposed to do. The problem is, we do not want churches to do what they are designed to do.

Churches are spiritual training grounds. They exist, like all of life, to give our spirits a rigorous workout. The problem is any “rigorous workout “ I have ever had has always been painful.

Jesus said, “Every branch that bears fruit the Father prunes to make it bear more fruit.” (John 15:2) Nobody likes pruning. Pruning hurts. Pruning feels like loss. We are all inclined to resist pruning. But pruning is essential if the branch is going to “bear more fruit.”

When we fight against pruning, we hinder our ability to “bear more fruit.”

Richard Rohr says, “On the spiritual path the enemy isn’t pain; it’s fear of pain.” Fear of pain causes us to run away from the pruning process. When we run from the pruning process we become a barren branch.

The church community offers a place where we have to choose to stay with the pruning process. We have to choose to stay for no other reason than the fact that this is the place in which we are called to exercise faithfulness, patience, and steadfastness. The problem with every other community is that there is always an extra reason for staying.

We stay with our families because we are blood relations and whatever we do we can never really get away from them. We stay with our jobs because we get paid and perhaps we gain a little status from our employment. We stay with our jogging club because it encourages us in the discipline of running and helps us keep fit.

There is no reason to stay with a church community when it becomes painful. When there is disagreement in the church we can always walk away. When we feel let down by church, we can just stop attending, or go somewhere else where we feel we will be less likely to feel disappointed.

There are so many good reasons to leave a church. There is only one reason to stay.

We stay because that is what Jesus did. Jesus stayed all the way to the cross. Jesus stayed when they betrayed him, ridiculed him, beat him, and finally crucified him. And, in Jesus we see that it is by choosing to stay that resurrection happens. It is by bearing the pain of life with no hope of reward, that we are refined and made more fruitful. When we choose to stay against all odds, the space that we call our “heart” grows in its capacity to know God. And, as the little fox says, “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.” All other communities focus on what is visible “to the eye.” Church alone calls us to open our hearts to “what is essential.”

So church, with all of its failures and all of its shortcomings, is in fact the gift God gives to enable us to begin to see what is real and what is true. It is the church’s very failures that provide the opportunity to fall more deeply into the grace and mercy of God. Our faithfulness to the people God has given us as community, enables God’s Spirit to prune us in order that we might bear “more fruit.”

Why Don't Churches Work?

2010-03-11T05:56:00.000-08:00

Churches like any human organization are messy places. We more often get it wrong than we get it right.

It is tempting to wonder why churches don’t work.

I suppose the simple answer would be to say, churches don’t work because they are made up of people with whom we are required to be in relationship. And the fact is, human relationships don’t work very well much of the time.

Human relationships are deeply complex and confusing. We are filled with fears, doubts and insecurities. We build complex barriers around ourselves in an attempt to provide an illusion of safety.

But the barriers we erect only increase our confusion, deepen our doubt and reinforce our fears. We lose trust and it becomes difficult, perhaps impossible, to communicate with any depth or genuine honesty.

So, perhaps “Why Don’t Churches Work?” is the wrong question. Perhaps, a better question would be, “How Do I Respond When Church Doesn’t Work?” For the word “Church” you could substitute any human relationship or community. The important thing is that the focus is not on why doesn’t this human connection function smoothly and easily, but on my response to the reality that it is not working.

I can choose to withdraw into splendid isolation hiding in my safe corner where I feel sheltered from the painful realities of human interaction.

I can attack the perceived source of my pain, beating it into submission so that I never again need to feel threatened.

I can redouble my efforts to get the chaotic forces of life under control doing whatever it takes to fix the situation and alleviate my suffering.

I may choose to be an isolationist but I know the pain of human connection will always find me. I may become the biggest bully on the street; but eventually someone bigger and meaner will come along and upset the safe shelter I have fought so hard to construct. I can be the best manager in the world; but one day something will happen that I simply cannot control.

Isolation, bullying and management only work for so long.

So, is there a fourth option in response to the painful brokenness of human community?

The fourth option is to recognize that the brokenness of the world exists to bring me to the place where my heart breaks open. The frictions I confront in relationship with other people can cause me to soften, to become more gentle, to cling less tightly.

Difficult relationships are God’s gift to pry open my heart. I can resist this work, or cooperate. If I choose cooperation, then every struggle becomes a source of new depth, light and love in my life and in the world. That is the purpose of church.

For The Bible Tells Me So

2010-03-09T05:42:00.000-08:00

We all hear the Bible through the filter of our own personal perceptions.

At the recent Synod of the Diocese of British Columbia the closure of a number of parish churches was on the agenda. Those of us who were hoping for some leniency in Synod's decisions were heartened to discover that the Gospel reading appointed for Synod's closing Eucharist was Luke 13:1-9.

This passage includes Jesus' parable of the fig tree that for three years had failed to bear fruit. The owner of the tree instructs his gardner to "Cut it down!" But the gardener pleads,

Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next yer, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.

Surely, God had spoken. Struggling parishes should be given more time. They should be encouraged to "dig" around, lay down some manure and see if they could produce more fruit.

As soon as the debate on church closures began, a member of Synod went to the microphone, Bible in hand and announced that the Gospel reading appointed for Sunday was Luke 13:1-9. He then pointed out that clearly, unfruitful parishes had been given their year to "dig" around and lay down manure. The owner of the fig tree was instructing this Synod to cut them down for the greater good of the garden as a whole.

Well-meaning, genuine, sincere people approach the same passage in the Bible and come to the opposite conclusion about what God is saying. Hearing "The Word of God" is not an exact science. We need to listen with patience, humility, and grace, not only to the Word of God as it speaks in the pages of the Bible, but also as it communicates through those who may hear the Bible differently.

Sunday March 7 Synod Resolutions

2010-03-08T05:44:00.000-08:00

When we began our work at the 93rd Synod of the Diocese of BC, Sunday morning at 9:00 there were 34 Diocesan Transformation Team motions remaining to debate plus 28 on a no debate list. There were also seven other motions to deal with, not directly related to DTT. Sunday's schedule called for us to finish our work with "Closing Reflections from the Primate" at 2:30. This proved impossible and at 3:30 Bishop Cowan announced that we would be adjourning to a special day long Synod to be held on a Saturday some time before May 2.

Sunday's debates were complex and passionate. We entertained amendments to motions and amendments to amendments. There were many procedural questions and points of order brought to the chair. The substantial changes to the Diocese that take effect at the present emerging from Sunday's work are:

The disestablishment of St. Andrew Cowichan Station; sell or lease; Parishioners encouraged to join new hub church

The disposal of Good Shepherd, South Pender, and sell of property

When we reconvene, we will deal with motions relating to churches in the Malaspina Region, none of which calls for any substantive changes at this time.

We will deal with motions "concerning procedures," including 12.4 - "Develop new 'scorecard' for healthy churches in line with a missional church culture."

Other motions that will be debated at our special one day Synod relate to the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, the funding of Curacies, funding of new initiatives in ministry, Same-Sex Blessings.

Primate's Closing Reflections

2010-03-07T21:02:00.000-08:00

At the end of Synod, the Primate Archbishop Fred Hiltz reflected on his experience of the Diocese of BC Synod.

He said in part:

It's pretty clear to me that your Bishop is a good steward over the household of God. He has chaired this meeting with his usual precision, clarity and charity.

To the folks of Brentwood Chapel, St. Mary's Nanoose, St. Mary's Metchosin, St. Matthias Victoria, who have been affected by developments on the part of the Anglican Network in Canada I want to say, thank you for your loyalty to the Anglican Church of Canada and to everything we try to do in loyalty to Christ.

I want to ask, do we have the courage for the journey. I have seen courage and grace here in this Synod. I have seen your willingness to listen respectfully to one another and to listen for the Spirit.

It seems to me that since the Diocesan Transformation Team Report came out there has been a flurry of activity and there is something good in this. The Report has created conversations in the parishes and throughout the Diocese.

The extent of consultation on the part of the DTT has received a mixed review - some people were calling for more. But let's not blame the team but let's call for continuing consultation.

My sense is that, in this Synod you have perhaps learned more about each other and your deep desire to work together as one family in Christ. My sense and my hope is that the Spirit in which this Synod has moved will impact the way you pray for each other.

There's no blueprint that fits every situation.

We have to be willing to listen to the story of the church local. We've learned a lot about how diverse we are and the need to be patient with each other as we work things out situation by situation.

Sometimes the church suffers from its own limited vision. We can never lose sight of the fact as Anglicans we belong to a Region, to a Diocese, a National Church, a worldwide Communion. And we are strengthened by being part of a much larger whole.

There are five marks of a healthy church:

1. People know who they are before God
2. They know what they are called to do
3. They have the resources to carry out their calling
4. People are experiencing the gospel
5. The church is making a real difference in individual lives, the community, and the world.

I maintain those five marks apply to the church at every widening circle of expression of church. How does your community measure next to these five marks of the healthy church?

Diocesan Transformation Team Report Resolutions

2010-03-07T06:09:00.000-08:00

There are 48 DTT motions on the debate list. Last night we dealt with 13. Results are listed below.

Motion One which passed with almost no debate states: That the Synod of the Diocese of British Columbia agree in principle with the intention and urgency of the Diocesan Transformation Team Report, encouraging conversion towards a new emphasis on Mission and life-changing growth in the name of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and on developing new ways of being and doing church, while honoring the best of Anglican Tradition.

Motion Two relates to how the funds of disestablished parishes will be handled and, after much debate and revision, was sent back for a rewrite.

Motion Three established a Diocesan fund for establishing new initiatives in ministry.

After these three introductory motions we began moving through each of the remaining motions one by one dealing with them by Region, beginning with:

Selkirk Region

Here, with almost no debate, we voted to disestablish:

St. Paul Esquimalt, St. Saviour Vic West, St. Martin in the Field, St. Columba Strawberry Vale, All Saints View Royal and make St. Paul Esquimalt a hub church for the area to be re-dedicated with a new name.

Tolmie Region

Five motions were presented affecting the Tolmie Region. There was much more debate here. We voted that:

5.1 "St. Philip, Oak Bay: Disestablish; Move to St. Mary,Oak Bay site; Sell or lease St. Philip's site."

Permission was granted to distribute a joint letter from St. Philip and St. Mary expressing the understanding of these two communities regarding six commitments they believe have been received by the Diocese about how this plan might proceed.

There was some debate about the nature of this motion, whether this was an absolute mandate, or a recommendation to continue the conversation between St. Philip and St. Mary to ascertain whether in fact this was a workable plan. It seems that the passing of this motion is a mandate to bring this motion into effect in the absence of insurmountable roadblocks.

The Chancellor also ruled that, between Synods, Diocesan Council acts as Synod and has the power to alter Synod decisions. There is therefore recourse for the two parishes to appeal to Diocesan Council in the event that the plan begins to appear unworkable.

5.2 "St. Mary, Oak Bay: Disestablish; St. Philip's congregation move to St. Mary's site; Re-dedicate church with new name." Passed with no debate.

5.3 "St. Dunstan: Disestablish; Become hub church for area; Re-dedicate with new name." Passed without debate.

Motion 5.4 "St. David, Cordova Bay: Disestablish; Sell or lease; Encourage parishioners to join new hub church." This motion generated considerable debate. It was eventually tabled and Motion 26 was moved.

Motion 26 "And with the support of St. Michael and All Angles, that Synod suspend Motions 5.4 and 5.5 in order to allow appropriate time for continuation of significant discussions between the congregations of St. Peter (Lakehill), St. David by the Sea and St. Michael and All Angels, in consultation with the Bishop and the DTT. The objectives would be: to establish an evangelically-driven initiative of shared ministry between the three congregations; and to confirm the financial viability of the plan for shared ministry. The motion will be revisited in one year (by Diocesan Council) or at a subsequent Synod."

This motion passed, preempting Motion 5.5.

The Fourth Sitting adjourned at 9:00 p.m.

Diocesan Transformation Team Report Introduction

2010-03-07T06:02:00.000-08:00

The DTT Report was introduced with a Power Point presentation presented by Jeanette Muzio. My brief notes follow.

We know that change hurts. Having said that, we must be aware of what is happening in our world.

We live in a post-Christian society in an area where 36% of people claim to be spiritual but not religious.

The thrust of this report is on the call to fulfill the Great Commission of Jesus.

If current trends continue the Anglican Church of Canada will be extinct in 2061.

In the CRD there are 25 Anglican Churches, 17 United Church, 12 Roman Catholic, 11 Baptist.

We tried transactional change (small changes to keep us afloat); it did not work. The status quo will not work. We need transformational change, not just trying to do what we have always done only doing it a little better.

What is transactional change? It is an effort to preserve the core - the best of the past, but discovering new ways of doing church. It means creating "Hub" churches with enough critical mass to do ministry. It means moving from maintenance to mission.

The Report challenges us to steward our resources and to embrace the future, daring to dream, beginning with ourselves.

Bishop's Charge

2010-03-07T05:46:00.000-08:00

The Bishop touched on many topics in his "Charge to the 93rd Synod of the Diocese of British Columbia." Below I list the topics with some of his comments.

Introduction

At the banquet celebrating our Anniversary as a Diocese I said that, “…while we give thanks for our founding and history, I am far more interested in our 151st year and the laying of foundations for a future that will ensure the work and ministry of the Church in these Islands for another 150 years.” I continue to stand by that statement, and believe that this Synod has that potential, depending on the decisions we make in the next few hours of today and tomorrow.

Diocesan Office

Budgetary realities are among the realities which require that we change our way of doing things as a Diocese, this requires like change in the Diocesan Office, and among those who are paid from the Diocesan Budget.

There will have to be a major downsizing and re-alignment of the Diocesan Staff, and to that end I have consulted with the Officers of Synod, seeking their advice about what that downsizing and realignment might look like. The downsizing of Staff will take place regardless of the decisions which will be made during our consideration of the notices of motion which are before us from the Diocesan Transformation Team.

Camp Columbia

In spite of many good efforts to bring about change, the Linked Banking overdraft of the Camp continued to grow. The Camp deficit reached just over half-a-million dollars in September of last year when Diocesan Council made the decision to suspend Camp operation.

I am disheartened by the deficit, but I am delighted that the Camp will continue its summer programme with children and youth of the Diocese.

Refuge Sponsorship

Diocesan Chapter of Deacons

Sisters of St John the Divine

Companion Diocese Link with six Dioceses of the Church of the Province of Myanmar

Aboriginal Neighbours

Christ Church Cathedral

A 2006/2007 study and evaluation of the East End of the Cathedral determined that the entire skin and roofing of the East End must be replaced at a cost projected to be in the range of 1.5 – 3 million dollars.

The first option is to do nothing… The second option is to accept the recommendations of the East End Study and replace the exterior fabric…

The third option is in open debate, but would include discussion and decision about the place of the Cathedral in the life of the Diocese; completion of the Cathedral as the original architect intended, but with purpose-built inclusions which would enhance and develop the present vision, mission, and growth of the Diocese as a whole. The cost of this option would be substantial – some have suggested that this further development of the Cathedral would cost in the range of 15 million dollars.

Diocesan Transformation Team

I have become utterly convinced that our way forward as a Diocese is through the acceptance of the transformational change offered in this Report.

I am aware of a desire amongst us to bargain. We wish to have one more chance; we wish to find someone or something to blame, and we want to be able to “fix it,” whatever “it” may be; or, we simply wish to be left alone to die in peace… As a Diocese, we responded positively to bargaining in 2006 and again in 2008. Parishes were asked to develop 3-year plans of action, plans which were to respond to the dismal findings expressed in the reports which came to Synod and produce change in the overriding trends. Now, here we are in 2010, facing almost identical recommendations as those in the previous two reports presented to Synod, and we are weaker numerically and financially. The information we require to make the decisions which are before us has been available to us now for several years, and most of us here have participated in the consultation processes which produced the information…

If, in the course of this Synod, we decide to accept and act upon the recommendations of the Diocesan Transformation Team, the deciding to act, while difficult, will be perhaps the easiest of the steps that will be before us. Acting upon our decisions over the next eighteen months will be harder still. But even harder will be what I call the second prong of this process, the continuing transformation of our culture as Church, as we constantly look beyond ourselves, seeking to link into the mission of God in the world, and trying to carry out the Great Commission of Jesus on these Islands, and with people of this Century.

Synod Primatial Address

2010-03-06T05:51:00.000-08:00

The First Sitting of the 93rd Synod of the Diocese of British Columbia began at 8:00 p.m. Friday March 4 with delegates wedged into the Christ Church Cathedral school gym, at long narrow tables.

The first half hour of this opening session of Synod was taken up with the usual necessary procedural matters of any Synod. This was followed by an address to the Synod from Archbishop Fred Hiltz, Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada.

The Primate began his address by asking "What holds us together as Anglicans?" He then listed the usual marks of unity that are commonly cited as maintaining unity within the Anglican Communion - our common faith and tradition, the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lambeth Conference, the Primates' Meetings, the Anglican Consultative Counsel. He suggested that beyond these we are also united in the Eucharist, in our use of the Worldwide Cycle of Prayer and in our Companion Diocese Program.

Then the Primate went on to suggest that our Communion is also held together by the "Marks of Mission" in service of the Gospel. He suggested five "Marks of Mission" which call us:

1. to proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom in the ministry of word and sacrament. This is the first "Mark of Mission." "We have a rich tradition as Anglicans and we are learning to put as much emphasis on sending as on gathering." The Primate urged us to "Think of the potential at the end of every Eucharist if we could see ourselves as food, drink, hope, light for all the world."

2. to teach and baptize new believers. "Baptism is at the heart of our life. It is a major public celebration. Across this church I see a significant shift towards being a ministering community gathered around Christ."

3. to respond to human need by loving service and to seek to transform unjust structures of society. The Primate suggested, "It is time for Anglicans to lead the way. We need a secretariat for government relations."

4. to work for reconciliation and peace.

5. to safeguard creation. "Climate change is a spiritual issue."

"These 'Marks of Mission' are a gift inspired by the Beatitudes, reflecting everything God is calling us to be. We are at a moment when the Lord of the Church is gathering us, calling us to sit down to listen, and to rise up and go in ministry."

Synod Sermon

2010-03-06T05:41:00.000-08:00

The opening Eucharist for the 93rd Synod of the Diocese of British Columbia was held at Christ Church Cathedral here in Victoria last night. The Right Rev. James Cowan celebrated and preached.

Bishop Cowan began his sermon with a story of watching two adult eagles teach their fledgling eagle to fly. He said, "We gather in this Synod with confidence that, even though we might not know what lies ahead, we have the promise 'I have born you on eagle's wings.'"

He went on to remind us of the history of the people of Israel who were called to be a priestly people in God's world, but "when they settled in the Promised Land, forgot what it meant to be a priestly people." He then cited the Book of Jonah in which God calls Israel to "get back to their priestly duty."

"Jesus," he said, "calls people to that priesthood, that going to the world to heal, to minister, to proclaim, to go into the world because the world is like a flock without a shepherd."

He concluded by quoting St. Augustine of Hippo who, after the Eucharistic prayer in the liturgy, would stand at the altar indicating the consecrated elements and declare, "Behold the mystery of yourselves laid out before you; behold what you are; become what you see." He urged us to consider what it might mean to go from the Eucharist out into the world to truly be a holy priesthood serving the world.

Anglican Church Closures

2010-03-03T08:12:00.000-08:00

It has been a long time since I posted anything on this blog. I stopped for a month of holiday and a four month sabbatical last June. I returned in December 2009 to face talk of church closures and Diocesan down-sizing. Some of my reaction can be viewed here: http://www.timescolonist.com/Reports+church+extinction+exaggerated/2624048/story.html

or can be viewed under "Read more"
Reports of church extinction exaggerated

By Christopher Page, Times ColonistFebruary 28, 2010

It is often said that at some time in our lives we will all get our 15 minutes of fame. Mine came this month.

You might have heard me interviewed on CBC or seen my face peering out at you from the Globe and Mail or Times Colonist. You might have caught my appearance on CHEK news or read my words in weekly papers. This surely qualifies me for "celebrity status."

No, I am not an Olympian. My claim to fame is that I have become the poster boy for the extinct church. The pictures have mostly featured me sitting, lonely and slightly depressed-looking in an empty church. The questions I have been fielding from reporters have generally been some version of, "How does it feel to be part of a church that is threatened with extinction?"

My reality is different than the impression you might have received from the media coverage.

My reality includes a group of children at the church where I work gathering for a Pro-D Day camp to learn about respect for people who live and play in different parts of the world. It includes a group of children in Sunday's service teaching a song about the gift of love that grows when shared and a massive collection of felt and towelling in the entranceway of our church to be used for sewing bibs for children with disabilities in an underdeveloped country.

For me, the reality of church includes a gaggle of toddlers wobbling around the downstairs hall in the midst of a chaos of toys while their parents encourage one another in a parents and tots support group every Tuesday.

It includes the daily gentleness of silent meditation, challenging explorations of the Bible in small groups meeting in homes and church and lively music encouraging hearts to open to the possibility of a deeper dimension of life.

My reality includes support for work among marginalized people living on the streets of our city and years of contributing to relief work in Haiti. It includes work among HIV/AIDS-affected children in Manila and money accumulating in our church bank account to enable a refugee to join us in this privileged country in which we live.

It includes contributions to a food program preparing meals for people struggling with economic hardship in Victoria, and years of support for international relief work through the national church of which my community is a part.

What you don't see in the news reports is the deep commitment of people who offer love and compassion in an unimaginable variety of ways.

And this is true in communities of faith that gather all over this city. Until my 15 minutes of fame, I always thought we were completely invisible. I thought no one noticed. But now that rumours of Anglican extinction are being spread, everyone seems to be paying attention.

Institutional religion has run into hard times in our comfortable and privileged culture. We have been hurt by scandals, rocked by controversy and justly condemned for our often arrogant and exclusive attitude toward people whose views differ from ours.

But we in the church are not entirely the authors of our own decline.

The church's once sacrosanct Sunday spot for sacred worship is now crowded with sports, charity runs, shopping malls and coffee shops. Even I am preparing to join the throng who absent themselves from church when I heed the seductive lure of the Times Colonist 10K run on a Sunday morning.

The spirituality market, once exclusively the domain of the privileged "mainline" denominational churches, is now crowded with a smorgasbord of options. We face a competitive market in our attempts to sell the Anglican way of spending Sunday morning.

But Sunday morning churchgoers are far from extinct, even of the Anglican variety. On any Sunday of the year in Victoria, you could find at least a thousand Anglicans worshipping in churches around the city, gathered to support each other in learning to live with wonder and compassion for the world.

We choose to spend Sunday mornings in church because we long to explore what it might mean to live with our hearts open to the invisible presence of God that we believe permeates all of creation.

We gather each Sunday and throughout the week to affirm that there is more to life than the bottom line or the next purchase crammed onto a maxed-out credit card. We meet to open our hearts to the reality of love and to encourage each other to live by the transcendent values our sacred text holds before us -- qualities of "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control."

To some people these may seem old-fashioned ideas and values that perhaps ought to be extinct. To us they are the light and truth that fill our hearts as we meet together and go forth into the world to find that light wherever we go.

Christopher Page (the Venerable) is rector of St. Philip Anglican Church in Oak Bay and Archdeacon of Tolmie in the Diocese of B.C.

© Copyright (c) The Victoria Times Colonist

Read more: http://www.timescolonist.com/Reports+church+extinction+exaggerated/2624048/story.html#ixzz0h8COYWwE

A Unifying Vision

2009-06-05T04:22:00.000-07:00

On Thursday June 4, 2009 in a speech at Cairo University, Barak Obama articulated a shining vision for the human community.

It is a vision in which all people are free to speak their opinions honestly, openly, and without fear of reprisals. It is a vision in which people approach one another with mutual respect and openness, willing to put aside petty differences in the interests of the greater good.

I am convinced that in order to move forward, we must say openly the things we hold in our hearts, and that too often are said only behind closed doors. There must be a sustained effort to listen to each other; to learn from each other; to respect one another; and to seek common ground.

Obama calls us to focus on those things that unite rather than those things that divide.

the interests we share as human beings are far more powerful than the forces that drive us apart.

I want to particularly say this to young people of every faith, in every country – you, more than anyone, have the ability to remake this world. All of us share this world for but a brief moment in time. The question is whether we spend that time focused on what pushes us apart, or whether we commit ourselves to an effort – a sustained effort – to find common ground, to focus on the future we seek for our children, and to respect the dignity of all human beings.
In the complex, uncertain and dangerous world in which we live, we can no longer afford the arrogant rhetoric of division. We must be willing to hear those who disagree with us. We must be willing to learn from those who view the world from a different perspective. We must be willing to acknowledge that our way of expressing truth may not be the only way.

The first tool for bringing about Obama’s unifying vision is the willingness to listen to the other. It is more important that I hear you than that I convince you of the truth of my position. I can only learn from you if I am willing to hear you. As long as my ears are closed, I cannot receive the wisdom you have to share. And I will only win the right to be heard, when I have first listened deeply and sensitively to your voice.

The church should be the one place Mr. Obama might point to demonstrate the possibility that such a unifying vision could be a reality in the world community.

Tragically, the lessons Obama seeks to teach are lessons the church seems least able to embody. Increasingly factions within the church seek to divide the community of faith into smaller and smaller special interest groups. At a time when the world needs to see a vision of the uniting power of love, we offer a fractious vision of litigation, squabbling, and inability to move beyond minor differences.

A church that fails to heed Obama’s unifying vision will be judged for the division and violence it sows.

A Non-Anxious Presence

2009-06-04T05:07:00.000-07:00

We live in anxious, confusing times. Old and trusted patterns no longer hold. Everything seems to be up for grabs. Familiar roles collapse. Institutions are no longer reliable. It is hard to know what to expect next. There are days when it seems that nothing really works.

It is easy to feel anxious. Fear lurks around every corner. The only thing we can be sure of is that we cannot be sure of anything. We scan the horizon for a vision but it seems impossible to discern a clear way forward.

What might leadership look like in such tumultuous times?

I recently heard leadership defined as “being a non-anxious presence.” I do not know the origin of the definition; google leads me to believe it is neither original nor new. But it is new to me and it strikes me as a powerful vision for leadership in the deeply unsettled context of human institutions today.

When the way forward is unclear it is tempting to panic. Anxious leadership casts around desperately saying, “We must do something.” Someone finally comes up with something; anxious leadership declares, “This is something, let’s do it.” It does not seem to matter what the “something” is; it only matters that we do something. The tension of being still and holding the doubt and confusion is just too painful to bear. So we rush to whatever plan seems to present itself at the moment and pursue our plan with tenacity until finally we have to admit our plan has failed.

Richard Rohr says that a priest in the church has only one job. The priest’s job is to tell people, “It’s okay.” A priest is uniquely qualified to fill the role of being “a non-anxious presence,” because a priest has a larger, broader, and deeper perspective than sometimes presents itself in the midst of the turmoil of daily life.

A priest has the capacity to reassure the community because a priest is called to stand a little bit apart from the chaos of daily affairs and to bring the assurance that “this too will pass.” Whatever anxiety or fear currently grip our hearts, the priest reminds us that there is another deeper, fuller realm in which we can know that, whatever is going on on the surface, God is present in the depths; we are not alone.

I have a sign on the cupboard door in my office that declares, “It will all be okay in the end. If it is not okay, it is not the end.”

Julian of Norwich, though not officially ordained in the church, filled the priestly role when in her Revelations of Divine Love, she wrote, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

Julian was no pie-in-the-sky starry-eyed idealist. Julian of Norwich was a child when the bubonic plague first reached England. Within her lifetime nearly half the population of England died from the plague. Julian had seen suffering, pain, sorrow, and human tragedy beyond imagining. Yet, Julian could peer into the face of this desperate affliction and declare, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

This is the leadership of the “non-anxious presence.” Julian was able to offer this leadership, not because she believed everything in life always ran smoothly, but because she had found within herself a place of peace and steadiness. She had made the journey, in a time of great suffering, to her own non-anxious place.

The journey for a leader to become a “non-anxious presence” travels through deep and treacherous waters of doubt and uncertainty. The disciplines for this journey do not come easily to leaders in a culture that worships activism and reveres efficient management. But becoming a “non-anxious presence” is a powerful call for leadership in anxious times. If we intend to lead in the current upheaval, we must find our way to that non-anxious presence in the midst of the turmoil.

Post-embarrassment Christianity

2009-06-01T20:05:00.000-07:00

In the spiritual supermarket that has characterized religious culture for most of my adult life, there have been a vast variety of paths available to the spiritual seeker. In the past thirty years many options have been accepted as valid ways of living a spiritual life.

It is acceptable to be a Taoist, Transcendental Meditator, Sufi, Theravada Buddhist, Mahayana Buddhist, Tibetan, Zen, Pure Land, or Tantric Buddhist, a Hindu, Muslim, or Jain. You can practice reiki, yoga, Tarot card reading, or follow the Diamond Approach, gnosticism, or wicca. You can be a monist, a pantheist or a panentheist. You can believe in karma, reincarnation, astral travel, channeling and astrology or crystals.

But in polite spiritual company, outside traditional church circles, the one thing you might hesitate to say is, “I am a Christian.” Christianity seems to have been the one spiritual option that is often viewed with real suspicion.

To be fair, some of the bad reputation Christianity has acquired is entirely our own fault. We have been arrogant, narrow, judgmental, exclusivist, triumphalistic, and violent towards those with whom we disagree. We have lacked humility, compassion, openness, and flexibility. We have inflicted enormous pain upon innocent people. We have demonized those who took a different perspective from that which we believed to be the only true way of “understanding” God. There is a great deal in both the distant and recent past of Christianity, about which we deserve to be seriously embarrassed. We have a lot for which to apologize.

But, all human institutions and human attempts to formulate truth have tragic blind spots and painful failures. Christianity is not the only religion to have caused harm both to its adherents and to those who remain outside its belief system. The fact that a particular community has done harm is no reason for every member to assume blame for every failure. If we are only willing to commit to a perfect belief system we must either live in denial of our flaws or never commit to any spiritual practice.

Recently I spent a weekend with a couple of hundred health care practitioners who are all either practicing or interested in pursuing alternative healing practices. This is a group of sensitive, open, spiritually aware people. Many of these people have witnessed the harm Christianity has done and in many cases have been harmed themselves. This is a group you would anticipate might be enormously antagonistic to any kind of Christian expression.

In this group I was publicly introduced as the “Rector of an Anglican Church,” and an “Archdeacon of the Diocese of British Columbia.” Surely, if anyone should be shunned for the atrocities of church life, it should be an “Anglican Rector” and “Archdeacon.” Yet, I found myself treated with respect and sensitivity. I was welcomed into the conversation of faith and apparently viewed as speaking from a legitimate spiritual perspective.

Perhaps the day has come when Christians can stop feeling embarrassed for our faith as one voice in the diverse spiritual company that characterizes our culture.

If I am right and the necessity for Christian embarrassment is coming to an end, we must proceed cautiously. We must steer clear of our old patterns of arrogance, judgment, and exclusivity. We must be willing to acknowledge that God is at work in many ways which we may not understand. We must approach all spiritual practitioners with deep respect and openness, acknowledging that we have as much to learn from them, as we have to teach.

There is absolutely no room in the diverse conversation of our culture for simplistic, narrow-minded bigotry towards people whose lives have brought them to a different understanding of life and faith. We must always move toward healing and connection. Fragmentation and division will never lead to a deepening work of God in our society.

Jesus said, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” (John 14:2) God’s heart is a spacious place. It would be tragic to treat poorly those who have found room in the open embrace of God’s love simply because they may not look or sound just like me.

Shame

2009-05-29T06:14:00.000-07:00

“I am ashamed of you.”

The words cut like a jagged saw through the child’s spirit. What could possibly motivate a parent to inflict such violence upon a child?

Words of shame come from having been shamed. Something in the child’s behaviour touches a deep wound in the parent’s heart. The parent feels ashamed and so shames in return.

The accusing voice worms its way into your heart. Unresolved shame is a psychic toxin choking your life, destroying your awareness of the generous abundance and blessing that are the true nature of life.

It fascinates me that the word “shame” rhymes with “blame.”

Something has gone wrong and you are to blame. You should have done this, instead you did that; now look what has happened and you are to blame. You did what you should not have done; you are bad. You could have done better; you are a failure. You should have tried harder, been smarter, or stronger. You have been tried and judged; you have been found wanting. You do not measure up. You should be ashamed.

Shame views life as an endless process of evaluation. We are not quite sure where it comes from, or who put it in place, but someone has established a standard of behaviour against which all our actions are judged. We never quite make the grade.

In the main office where I work we have posted a sign above the desk. It is a quote from my wife’s elderly Aunt who, with the gracious wisdom of her years is in the habit of saying, “I think most people are doing the best they can.”

The process of our lives has equipped us with certain tools. Some of us have bright, shiny and wonderfully efficient tools. Some of us have tools that are a bit rusty and cannot quite manage intricate complicated work. Mostly we have a mix of some good tools and other tools that are not entirely capable of doing the job. But we do the best we can with the tools we have at the time we face the task at hand.

When a saw becomes blunt we do not blame the saw for its inability to cut easily through wood. We do not accuse a saw of being bad because it cannot hammer nails. There is no moral judgment attached to the tool’s failure. We either sharpen or discard the saw and when we need to pound nails we put down the saw and pick up a hammer.

Life is the process of developing new tools and refining the ones we already have. We learn nothing from shame. Shame does not help us develop better tools or refine the ones we have. Shame paralyzes us, creating an identity out of the broken bits of our lives.

I am not the mistakes I have made, or the bad things I have done. I am not the sad things that have happened to me, or the cruelty I have encountered. I am something much more than blame would suggest.

Even the parent who shames the child is working with the only tools he or she has received or been able to develop through the processes of life. I need to look more deeply at the shaming parent to see the wound of shame out of which they act. Then I need to stop being named by shame. I need to open to the One who calls me by my true name saying, “I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1)

Through the prophet Ezekiel, God promises there is a place where we can forget all shame and dwell strong and secure. “They shall forget their shame, and all the treachery they have practiced against me, when they live securely in their land with no one to make them afraid.” (Ezekiel 39:26) This fearless land of no shame is not a geographical location; it is that place of purity and truth deep within where God is known and loved. Here we can know freedom from shame. Our true identity lies, not in the toxic words of shame, but in the one word of Love Who says, “you are mine.”

Leonard Cohen

2009-05-28T15:43:00.000-07:00

A version of this post appears in the June edition of the national newspaper of the Anglican Church of Canada, "The Anglican Journal."

There are 6,000 of us gathered in this sterile gray sports arena. We are mostly in our fifties. We are drawn here to listen to a seventy-four year old singer who has been part of our lives for the past thirty years.

No one would say he is the greatest musician who has ever performed. He is not the most profound poet. Certainly his appeal does not lie in the elaborate choreography and glitter of his simple stage show with six band members and three back-up vocalists.

Leonard Cohen’s enduring appeal lies in his honesty.

He tells us the truth about our lives. In his haunting anthem “Hallelujah,” he announces, “I didn’t come to Victoria to full ya.” And he is true to his word, gently pulling back the bandages on our wounded souls.

Cohen acknowledges that life is complex and we have navigated life’s winding ways imperfectly at best. He tells us that sometimes we have failed; sometimes we have lost our way and wandered astray. We have struggled. We have been guilty of sin, have tried to forgive and begged for forgiveness. We have stumbled along the path often leaving a terrible mess behind.

We have hurt one another, have let each other down, have betrayed those we love and failed to be true to our deepest convictions. We have been lost in loneliness and failed again and again at the mysterious enterprise of love. Our awareness of the impermanence of life and the closeness of death has been at times overwhelming. We have felt we might be drowning.

Cohen understands that “There is a crack in everything.”

It is not that he is complaining. He simply describes our lives as we have lived them. It is good to name the brokenness we know is true.

But he does not leave us with the broken pieces. Leonard Cohen finds shards of light in the midst of the fractured fragments of our experience. “There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” He has found the faint outline of beauty all along the way.

We have done the best we could. And in the honesty and openness of his words, we find compassion for ourselves and for one another, perhaps even for the world with all its flaws.

Having stirred our hearts for three and a half hours, Cohen skips nimbly from the stage. We move quietly, almost reverently out into the night, perhaps able to live more gently towards ourselves and more kindly towards those with whom we share the often painful journey that is our lives. His honesty has left the world a better place.

In the Midst of Chaos

2009-05-27T17:09:00.000-07:00

How do we respond in the midst of chaos? How do we relate to confusion and uncertainty? What is our first choice when the future seems full of doubt and the way forward is unclear? What is our reaction when we do not understand what is going on?

Most commonly, faced with life situations that are in upheaval, we are probably tempted to panic. All we want is to get life under control, make things work, find our way back to an imagined stability and security we believe we once enjoyed.

It is easy to get caught in the drama of uncertainty. You feel the adrenalin rush that comes from looking down the dark tunnel of the future and seeing only foreboding and threat in the distance. We flail around desperately seeking easy answers we hope will get us back on track. We analyze, strategize, organize, and rush to finalize our plans. We long for the day when everything becomes clear and our fear begins to ease.

Perhaps there is another way to respond to the inevitability of instability and turmoil.

In her poem “Evidence,” Mary Oliver suggests,

We all/ have much more listening to do.

A better response in the midst of chaos may be to just stop. Let the fear subside; step aside from the intensity of the moment. The writer of Lamentations says,

It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. (Lamentations 3:26)

Find a place of rest; stop; stay still.

In the midst of chaos, we need to heed Mary Oliver’s wise counsel in “Swimming, One Day in August,”

It is time now, I said,
for the deepening and quieting of the spirit
among the flux of happenings.

But quieting and waiting is not time for doing nothing. While you wait, you watch. In the quietness you listen to the words and stories others are telling in the chaos. From the stillness you pay careful attention to what is going on around you. You notice your own feelings; you observe the actions and choices others are making. You do not judge; do not rush to hasty conclusions. You sit at the centre of the turmoil and see what is unfolding. Gradually, something comes into focus.

In “Summer Story,” Mary Oliver writes,

now here I am
spending my time,
as the saying goes,
watching until the watching turns into feeling.

Good action comes, not from panic, but from patience. The disciplines of healthy choices are careful attention, attentive watching, and deep listening. As Mary Oliver points out, the “watching turns into feeling.” Some deep inner knowing begins to emerge, a gentle stirring happens within. It may not solve the chaos, but this gentle stirring guides you to the light; it moves you forward even in the midst of chaos.

You will know this stirring because it speaks with a soft and a gentle voice. It does not push or force. It moves gently and, wherever it leads, it creates openness, freedom and love. As you trust this inner knowing, you find that, whatever happens, you are able to thrive in the midst of chaos.

Loss

2009-05-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

I have only once lost a truly prized possession. It was prized, not because it was of such great value. It was a gift, given sacrificially by someone I love, a silent testimony of shared connection and deep affection.

One day I had it, the next day it was gone. There was nothing to be done. Hunting and hunting had not brought it home. It was just irretrievably missing. In its place a small emptiness opened – loss.

It comes in many forms – a bitter betrayal, an unfulfilled expectation, a petty meanness, a gaping chasm of misunderstanding. Circumstance or someone has taken from me that which I feel I cannot afford to let go.

What I meet in loss is my own deep longing, that nagging sense that something is missing which drives so much of our perceived need to accumulate and hoard or protect what little we feel we have. Life has not measured up to my standards. The persistent worm of regret gnaws at my heart.

The temptation is to rush to fill the empty space. Purchase a new possession. Find a new relationship to replace the one that has fallen apart. Make a fresh plan to fill in where the old plan has been left in tatters.

But the real challenge and opportunity of loss is to simply sit with the empty space.

This is the function of the ancient spiritual discipline of fasting. Fasting consciously and intentionally connects us with that feeling of emptiness, from which we spend so much time and energy in flight. Jesus said,

Blessed are you who are poor… Blessed are you who hunger now. (Luke 6:20,21)

Loss is our friend not our enemy. Loss creates an open space in which we begin to discover that we were created for something more than what we have lost. Our poverty and our hunger cannot ultimately be satisfied by any of those things to which we so tenaciously cling.

If we feel satisfied by anything this world has to offer, we have not looked deeply enough. We have not allowed the losses of our life to do the full work for which they were designed.

There is no human relationship, no possession, no professional accomplishment that can satisfy the depths of our human longing. We were crated for something more. We were designed to be finally content with God alone. Our hearts cry out for the invisible secret depths of God. Until we hear that cry, we will continue the endless restless struggle to achieve in the world, that which can only be achieved in the invisible secret realm of the human heart.

There are beautiful possessions in life. We may experience the gift of wonderful, deep, and nurturing relationships in the course of our journey. But they will all let us down at some point. Every relationship, experience, or possession will become another experience of loss if we hold on to it long enough. The challenge is to let go before they are wrenched out of our grip. Discover the freedom that comes from clinging only to that deep love that will never forsake us.

Theology

2009-05-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

When the church, as now, is caught in a confusion of conflicting voices it is difficult to know where to turn for help in finding our way through the jungle of disagreement. Most often we seem to turn to academics. We look to our theologians for wisdom. We hope that their careful parsing of verbs and analyzing of doctrine will uncover a magical land where we can all agree.

I have no doubt theology can play a valuable role in the Christian enterprise. But I am not sure theology has the power to guide us out of our present impasse.

Theology, as frequently practiced in our day, may lack the skills to lead us out of the barren land of disputation. It does not have the map to guide us beyond the polarities that paralyze church discourse. Too often it focuses its energy on the bad guys, identifying the heretics and making sure we all know who they are and why they are so dangerous.

At its worst theology seeks to fit imponderables into neat categories, pitting one position against another. Done poorly theology hopes to find truth in whichever argument is judged most reasonable at the end of the day. At its best theology leads us to the edge of knowing and confronts us with inexpressible mysteries beyond expressing. As Walt Whitman said, “Logic and sermons never convince,/The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.” (Leaves of Grass)

So, perhaps we should turn instead to the poet for wisdom in the turmoil of our time. Theology (theo logos – “God words”) may be more suited to poetry than to argument. When it comes to the deep things of life, the best we can hope for is to evoke. Precision of definition is beyond human capacity.

Poetry travels a path to knowing that journeys through the land of faith. We find this path in a way more analogous to our apprehension of beauty than the solving of a mathematical problem. As John Keats wrote, “‘Beauty is truth, truth beauty,’ – that is all/ Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” (“Ode on a Grecian Urn”) Beauty is not right or wrong. It transcends the polarized categories in which faith cannot long survive.

Faith is born where beauty is beheld, in the heart. Faith comes from softening and opening. It is found in the land of not-knowing. It emerges when we surrender in the depths of our being to a power greater and higher than our reason or our understanding. Faith travels the territory where we acknowledge that our words are, at best, vague approximations of the deep realities to which they call us to surrender.

Perhaps a poet like Mary Oliver might guide us out of the tangle of our contradictions. Poetry Mary Oliver says seeks not to prove or to convince, but to open our hearts,

I tell you this
to break your heart,
by which I mean only
that it break open and never close again
to the rest of the world. (New and Selected Poems, 2005)

Poetry wants to lead us to bow down before the wonder and mystery that is life,
Let me keep company always with those who say

“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads. (Evidence, 2009)

Perhaps the church would move forward in a more life-giving direction if we joined Mary Oliver and prayed,

God, rest in my heart
and fortify me,
take away my hunger for answers (Red Bird, 2008)

Theology points to the limitations of our ability to provide answers. Poetry asks us to step into the mystery, letting go of our determination to understand, opening to the possibility of living with the tangle and complexity our minds produce. The poet calls us to soften and expand embracing a dark way of knowing beyond the ability of reason to express.

In the poem we may find space for views of the world that seem on the surface to be incompatible. Poetry speaks to that deeper place within us where we discover that that which seemed to divide no longer separates.

Pain

2009-05-23T08:03:00.000-07:00

I don’t like pain. I don’t like it in any form, when I experience it myself, or when I see it in others. Most of us will go to considerable lengths to avoid pain.

The problem is, pain is not an optional part of the program. You don’t get to choose whether or not pain will penetrate your life experience. It goes with being human and being alive.

But truthfully, pain is not the problem. People can live with pain, many do with courage; it has not destroyed them.

What we cannot live with are the stories we tell ourselves about the pain we suffer. What really hurts are the little narratives we spin in our heads in an attempt to explain, or justify, or make sense of, or even to alleviate, our pain.

There are so many stories we create. “This should not be happening to me; I do not deserve to suffer.” “This is not fair.” “This is happening to me because I am bad; I deserve to suffer.” “My pain is your fault, the world’s fault, God’s fault.” “Someone should make this go away; make it stop.”

We hope if we can understand what is happening, the pain will ease.

But the stories never work, because the stories we use to try to deal with our pain find their origin in the common fallacy that pain is an unnatural part of life.

Our pain-stories begin to grow silent when we acknowledge that pain is nothing strange or alien. It is an integral part of what it means to be human.

When we stop telling stories about our pain, we discover that our pain has good work to do in our lives.

The proper work of pain is not, as we fear, to destroy us. The proper work of pain is to cause the cage we have built around our heart to break open. If we let it do its work, pain has the capacity to free us from the cages we build and to release the fragrance of gentleness and compassion.

When we resist pain’s work, we harden and condemn ourselves to being trapped on the surface of life. When we allow pain to do its work, we open, soften and deepen. Pain begins to uncover the richness and reality of life. When we accept our own pain and the pain of others, we discover the beauty that is the fullness of grace and abundance we have been given.

It takes faith and trust to embrace the pain that is ours. We cannot think our way towards this place of acceptance; we can only choose to act with the courage that sees clearly and accepts fully the reality of our lives as they come to us. This is the path through the inevitable pain we must at times all face.

Violence

2009-05-20T13:20:00.000-07:00

The Bible is a book full of violence – troubling, painful, angry, ugly violence. The Bible shows us innocent suffering, unjust retribution, harsh vengeance.

The world portrayed in the Bible is not a world we want to see, much less to live in. But it is the real world.

For most of us the violence of the biblical story seems far removed from our daily reality. We see pictures in the paper of death and mayhem. We hear news stories of horrifying human cruelty. But mostly, on a large scale, we are comfortably sheltered from the worst manifestations of the world’s suffering.

Be we cannot afford to be complacent about the reality of violence even in the protected world in which we mostly are privileged to live. Jesus took the issue of violence to a completely new level when he said, “You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister, you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire.” (Matthew 5:2122)

The world of the Bible is violent because we are violent. There is violence in all our hearts at times; it may not manifest as murder, but it is none the less destructive to our deepest being and to the well-being of the world and the human community. In Jesus’ view, the violence of a harsh thought or an angry word is no different than the violence of murder.

The problem is that violence hurts everyone. When I belittle another person, or respond with harshness rather than gentleness, I inflict pain that spirals outward to affect the whole human community and the world in which we live. But it is not only the victim of my words or actions who is hurt, I am also damaged. My violence diminishes me as a human being created in the image of God. Jesus said, “it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.” (Matthew 15:11) My violence defiles my own deepest and most true being.

I was not created for violence. I was created for gentleness and openness. I realize the fullness of my humanity, not by imposing my will upon the world and getting my way, but by yielding. The winners never win. Jesus said, “Many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.” (Matthew 19:30)

Violence ends when someone chooses to give way. When I am willing to let go, to surrender my cherished position, new ways open, new hope is born. The cycle of violence begins to unwind. The way of the cross of Christ shows that I am the winner when I am willing to be the loser. When I can bear the violence of life without retaliating with further violence, something deep and true opens within me and I find the light that is my true nature in Christ.

Disagreements in Church

2009-05-19T05:43:00.001-07:00

If only we in the church, in the midst of our disagreements, could learn from the deep wisdom of a true leader:

In this world of competing claims about what is right and what is true, have confidence in the values with which you’ve been raised and educated. Be unafraid to speak your mind when those values are at stake. Hold firm to your faith and allow it to guide you on your journey. Stand as a lighthouse.

But remember too that the ultimate irony of faith is that it necessarily admits doubt. It is the belief in things not seen. It is beyond our capacity as human beings to know with certainty what God has planned for us or what He asks of us, and those of us who believe must trust that His wisdom is greater than our own.

This doubt should not push us away from our faith. But it should humble us. It should temper our passions, and cause us to be wary of self-righteousness. It should compel us to remain open, and curious, and eager to continue the moral and spiritual debate that began for so many of you within the walls of Notre Dame. And within our vast democracy, this doubt should remind us to persuade through reason, through an appeal whenever we can to universal rather than parochial principles, and most of all through an abiding example of good works, charity, kindness, and service that moves hearts and minds. (President Barack Obama Commencement Speech Notre Dame University, May 17, 2009)

President Obama describes the church to which I want to belong.

Let us stay together each holding our faith boldly and with deep conviction. Let us declare with all the passion we can muster those things we believe to be most true about life, God and what it means to be human.

But let us also admit we do not know everything. There are so many mysteries in life we cannot begin to unravel. God’s wisdom is absolute; ours is always partial and imperfect. We need one another to move more closely to the greater wisdom that is God’s.

True wisdom will never be found along the arrogant road of self-righteousness. The truly wise will be humble and open, always willing to admit they may be wrong and their understanding is incomplete.

Most important of all, let us try less to convince with words and more with actions. Show me; don’t tell me what you believe. It is the quality of your life, the kindness, gentleness and compassion you demonstrate that will finally convince me of your knowledge of God.

Fear #3

2009-05-18T05:06:00.000-07:00

see May 16, 2009 (Fear #2)

In his book River of Compassion, Bede Griffiths invites us to become the instruments by which the endless cycle of fear is broken. Griffiths writes, when we have perfect fearlessness,
nothing is afraid of us.
Fearless people are the antidote to the tragic violence both small and great engendered by the constant fear in which we so often live.

So, how do we become fearless people?

We cannot think our way out of fear. Fearlessness is not rational. Being afraid often makes more sense than being fearless. Many things are frightening. People get terribly ill; people lose their jobs; marriages fail; children rebel. It does not matter how good we are; bad things happen to good people.

Fear is a deeply ingrained reaction that springs from the depths of our being. Fear comes unbidden to most of us. It emerges on automatic.

So how do we learn new ways of responding?

We train ourselves in new responses by consciously and regularly choosing a new way of behaving.

I choose a new way of behaving by facing every day the primordial human fear. Human beings fear emptiness. Human beings fear there is nothing, or no one, out there. We fear we are alone in an uncaring, dark and desperate universe.

For twenty minutes twice every day I sit in the face of this fear. I close my eyes; sit completely still; say silently a simple word two or three times, then sit until I notice my mind rushing after some thought. In the tight knot of fear and the chaotic tumble of thinking, I repeat my little word and sit some more. Over and over, I return to that space, that space wherein lies all that I most fear, that space that feels at first empty, frightening, and dangerous.

Over the years of sitting, gradually, slowly, almost imperceptibly as I have returned to this space, a new awareness has begun to grow. I have come to know that, in that place I thought was empty, I am not alone. There is in this dark silence, a deep strength. I see light; I know the Presence of Love. I am not alone. I experience in a place deeper than my fear that there is something/Someone much bigger and more real than all I have ever feared. And I know that this force of Love holds; it does not let me down and therefore I need not be afraid.

I do not know any other way to get to this place than the shear determination to return again and again to that silence, that stillness wherein the God who takes away all fear is discovered to dwell. Through the Psalmist God instructs us, “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalms 46:10) We get to trust by practicing trust, by stopping our frantic running away from fear. We get to Love by opening again and again to the stillness and the peace. We get to fearlessness by facing our fears and finding at their centre dwells the fearless heart of God.

Leadership

2009-05-17T14:32:00.000-07:00

Last Tuesday residents of British Columbia returned the Provincial Liberal Party to power. But the most significant fact in this election may not be who won and who lost, as who did not bother to participate in the process.

Justine Hunter in the Globe and Mail points out that, “Half of the province's eligible voters opted for ‘none of the above’ by staying home. And there are lessons for both parties in that result.”

I think the lesson of this dismal voter turnout is that it is enormously difficult to be a leader in the unsettled confusing times in which we live. The electorate looked at the leadership options and said, with Woody Allen’s character Cristina in “Vicky Cristina Barcelona,” “I know what I don’t want; but I don’t know what I do want.”

It is so easy and so tempting to be critical of existing leadership. Everyone is an expert until they find themselves in the position of having to make tough choices and difficult decisions.

The realities of the world in which we live almost guarantee that no leader is going to be popular for long.

When budgets are tight and cuts must be made, the leader who makes the cuts will be despised by those who lose their paycheck. When leaders fail to make cutbacks to bring in balanced budgets, they are reviled as irresponsible spendthrifts cashing in our children’s future. If you are going to be unpopular for cutting the budget and you are going to be unpopular if you fail to cut the budget, you are going to be unpopular.

In an uncertain world leaders must be willing to be unpopular. This is the flaw in democracy. Democracy rewards popularity with power. But good leadership comes from those who are willing to do what needs to be done even if it means being unpopular and losing the privilege of leadership.

Unpopularity, however, is not always the badge of good leadership. Bad leaders can also be unpopular. The leader who is arrogant, unresponsive, out of touch with the realities of peoples’ lives, and is only committed to the trappings of the office, will be justifiably unpopular.

A good leader must have a strong internal compass to guide decisions and keep heading in a consistent direction. But a good leader must also have the humility and flexibility to stay open to change. Only the leader with a stable inner sense of who they are has the security and calm to listen deeply to the realities in which leadership is being exercised and respond appropriately. When the leader’s inner sense of self is secure it is possible to be open and flexible enough to lead consistently in response to the constant turmoil of changing circumstances.

Good leadership in uncertain times is exercised by those who have taken the journey inward and have come to know themselves from the inside. Sadly, the person who is committed to taking the journey within is not the person who tends to win popularity contests and rise to the pinnacle of power in our culture.

Fear #2

2009-05-16T08:05:00.000-07:00

see September 25, 2008 (Fear #1)

Flu pandemics, global warming, earthquakes, hurricanes, cancer, heart disease, economic downturn, unemployment, institutional collapse, terrorism, crime, violence, family breakdown – sometimes it is scary to look out the front door.

Henny-Pennies abound. There is no shortage of doomsday prognosticators determined that “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.” There always seems to be good cause for fear.

But the sky has always been falling. I cannot think of a time in my life when someone has not pointed a crooked finger at the dark clouds threatening on the horizon and predicted impending doom. If the solution to fear is to organize the circumstances of life to run smoothly, there is little hope we will ever find peace.

Most fear does not emerge from difficult circumstances. Fear is a trick of the mind. It is entirely possible to lie secure in bed, healthy, well fed, with money in the bank, food in the fridge, and a loving family sleeping quietly in the house, and yet find your heart racing in a panic of terror at some imagined threat lurking at the edge of your mind.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we let fear stalk our nights and threaten our days?

Fear is an addiction. Like all addictions, fear is an antidote to boredom and emptiness. Fear creates a powerful adrenalin rush of intensity. Fear is what we do when we are unwilling to sit quietly and peacefully with our lives as they are.

The writer of I John says, “perfect love casts out fear.” (I John 4:18) The antidote to fear is love.

The problem with fear is that fear produces fear. Actions that spring from fear seldom produce the freedom that is the essential ground for the emergence of love. Fear creates a small world in which we erect walls and build barriers to keep ourselves safe. The more we entertain fear, the smaller our world becomes; the less we are able to open to the expansiveness of love.

The problem with love is that, in spite of what Hollywood would have us believe, love does not come with world-class fire works choreographed to a dolby surround sound symphony.

Love comes softly; the word Jesus used is “secret.” “Your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” (Matthew 6:6) Love is gentle, calm and quiet. It is not given to the splash and dazzle we find so compelling. If we are to let go of fear and find love, we must accept the dull routines of daily commitment. We must listen deeply to our lives as they come to us, opening to the unexpected and sitting lightly to our plans and strategies.

The way forward may not be clear. The obstacles may seem insurmountable. Fear sets in creating panic and paralysis. Love says, “Trust and open; there is a greater reality at work in your life than all the possible futures of which you feel so afraid.”

Drive By Tract Attack

2009-05-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

I came into the office this morning to find a tract dropped on my table. Later, I found another in the hall downstairs. The preschool teacher had moved it off her preschool’s library bookshelf. Both tracts had been left anonymously, no contact information, no possible way to identify the source, no opportunity for feedback, no chance to ask a question. How can we talk when I don’t know who you are?

Whoever deposited these bits of literature on our church premises presumably assumed they might do us some good. The one given to me appeared intended to tell me what kind of leader I should be. The tract left in the preschool was evidently aimed at the pre-school parents, assuming they might want to learn what it means to be Christian.

When Jesus wanted to teach he made personal connections. He looked people in the eye, called them by name. He touched them when they were hurting and sick. He went into their homes and spent time with their families. He ate with them, traveled with them and met them in the places they did business. I have no doubt, whoever deposited these bits of paper on our premises does many of these things. But a piece of paper is not a relationship; Jesus calls us into relationship.

The Good News of Jesus comes to us in flesh and blood. It is shared by the costly action of connecting with others. Evangelism means being willing to pay the price of knowing and being known. It means being the good news you want to share. It requires openness and listening, a willingness to enter another person’s life, a willingness perhaps even to be changed ourselves by what we encounter in the other.

I hope writing a blog is not just another form of drive by tract-attack.

I admit blogging suits my introverted shy personality. But, at least there is some opportunity for engagement. The potential for feedback, even extended dialogue, is always present. And there is some accountability. Most people who read these words probably know me personally. So, when I say something outrageous or stupid, I can always be challenged. A blog may not be as personal as face-to-face conversation; but it bears some resemblance to relationship.

I hope I have the courage to stand by the words I deposit into cyberspace. I aim to be available to back up my words with my presence when that is called for. It is my intention that the many words I launch into the world may be embodied in the life I try to live. I hope there will always be enough people who hear my words and see my actions to hold me to this intention.

I do not want to hide behind the anonymity of a blog. I want to see and be seen. Good News is most deeply conveyed when it comes with a face.

Woody Allen - Post-Modern Prophet

2009-05-13T14:46:00.001-07:00

In his movie “Vicky Cristina Barcelona” Woody Allen explores and explodes post-modern morality.

In the character of Vicky, Allen offers socially accepted, conventional morality. Vicky does not understand why it is important to follow traditional moral standards but is determined she must. The only rationale she can produce for playing by the rules is that she is afraid to abandon the social expectations with which she was raised.

Cristina accepts none of the social conventions that shape her friend’s life. Cristina is the perfect post-modern icon. She is a complete blank. She has no boundaries, no parameters capable of defining any sort of acceptable behaviour. In Cristina every moral code has been completely deconstructed. She is open to whatever happens, willing to follow wherever her sense of momentary gratification might seem to lead. She embraces the unconventional with absolute abandon. Cristina has no moral compass; the universe is a random series of more or less happy events.

On the surface, Vicky’s ethic seems to hold out nothing but a dull life of endless drudgery and meaningless duty tied to her dud fiancé Doug. Cristina’s life appears to offer an Eden of passionate self-expression and sensual delight in the arms of both Juan Antonio and Maria Elena. But, for Woody Allen, the picture is not so simple.

There is something genuinely decent and authentic in the man to whom Vicky has pledged her life and something deeply unsatisfying in Cristina’s choice.

At the end of the film Vicky is unsure if she wants to merely conform to traditional expectation and Cristina is certain that, while she knows what she does not want, she is unclear what she does want.

Traditional demands to follow conventional morality simply because that is what has always been done no longer work. But simply abandoning any moral guide and any sense of boundary is an equally barren alternative. Woody Allen does not offer a simple solution.

Perhaps he might consult the ancient prophet Jeremiah through whom God spoke saying that the day will come when, “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts.” (Jeremiah 31:33) The answer to the dead convention of a moral system based only on external social mores is not no law. The answer to meaningless legalism is to recognize that the laws of God are written on the human heart.

There is a way the universe works. We can live in tune with the operating principles of existence; or we can live against them. One way leads to life, the other to chaos. We do know the difference. If we listen deeply we will find that it is not either Vicky or Cristina. The truth lies deeper than both, in that place within ourselves where God is known. The truth of God’s Spirit will guide the heart that is willing to listen.

Mean Blogs

2009-05-12T05:52:00.000-07:00

In her April 23 blog, The Times of London writer Ruth Gledhill raised the troubling question of conservative blogs in which the writers “sip vim-and-vitriol under the cover of Christian sanctimony.” She warned “It’s ‘blog eat blog’ out here.”

It is curious and sad that some of the most violent, angry, bigoted writing on the internet appears under the guise of Christianity. There is a meanness of spirit that characterizes a great deal of blog writing and commentary in the Christian internet world that shames the Prince of Peace in whose name it is written.

Giles Fraser, Team Rector of Putney in south London suggests two reasons why Christians are often so mean in their blog writing.

First he suggests, these writers “believe themselves to be justified by some higher cause. This creates a blind spot, which is why the nastiest stuff comes from ‘believers’ with a mission.” His second explanation is that “on the internet, the other does not come with a face.”

These are perhaps the two foundational causes behind all violence. When I believe my cause or my conviction is absolutely and without question true and righteous, and when I fail to see you as truly human, it is a small step for me to begin to feel that I am justified in inflicting my will upon you at whatever cost.

The endless tide of violence will only begin to be stemmed when I respond to you with humility and intimacy. I will be less likely to inflict violence upon you when I am willing to acknowledge I may be wrong and when I am willing to enter deeply into your world and seek to know you as you perceive yourself.

Jesus instructed his followers, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged,” (Matthew 7:1) and went on to call for serious self-examination and self-awareness. When I hide behind my theology and use it as a weapon to dismiss anyone whose beliefs differ from my own, I will soon resort to violence.

If the sad endless tyranny of violence that characterizes human history has taught us anything, surely it has taught us to listen before we judge. Surely when I look at the brokenness of the human community I am challenged to open to you and seek to see the world through your eyes, before I demand you view the world as I see it.

Christian blogs need to model gentleness, sensitivity and openness to the other if they are ever going to communicate the truth they wish to convey.

Sick

2009-05-11T18:15:00.000-07:00

I have been sick. I have been sick, not in the seriously sick way of disease, just in the grinding boring way of endless minor infections that seem to have attacked my body off and on for the past three months.

I know I am not alone. And I do not mean to whine, or even to complain. My little list of irritants is nothing compared to what so many people suffer. It seems almost pathetic to mention a sore throat, runny nose, oozy eyes, little fevers, achy head, and rasping throat in the light of cancer, heart disease, AIDS. But I want to try to hear the voice of my infection, to understand the message my familiar afflictions bear.

To be sick in any form is to be made aware of human frailty. Life does not run smoothly. I do not always get what I want. There are things that are difficult, painful and unpleasant in every life. Everyone has something with which they struggle. Why should I for one minute think I should be exempt?

Sickness confronts me starkly with the most basic choice of human life. Either I resist and fight against my sickness or I accept and embrace the reality of my body.

Perhaps it sounds strange to think of embracing sickness. But, sickness is just another part of life. Sickness accepted has the capacity to open me to a deeper place in myself. This is the place from which true health may come because sickness confronts me with the reality of my weakness. And it is only as I accept my weakness that I can be made well.

Paul said, “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.” (2 Corinthians 12:10) It is strange we so often think that only our strength will be attractive. In reality, it is weakness embraced with grace that allows the beauty of Christ’s presence to shine in our lives.

If I allow my physical struggles to do their work, I will find they soften my heart and allow true beauty to radiate through the cracks in my life. In this way perhaps I no longer need to view sickness as my enemy; perhaps in sickness I can find a friend.

Mother's Day

2009-05-10T15:33:00.000-07:00

My mother died seven months ago.

On this first Mother’s Day without her, it feels important to acknowledge that she was not a perfect mother just as I was not a perfect son.

The complex transactions of navigating a workable life within the confusing decades of the 1950’s and ‘60’s demanded a high price from my mother. She struggled to find her way in the maze of social pressures and expectations that made up her world as a stay-at-home mum and wife.

On the surface my mother appeared to be the perfect combination of mother to her children, “helpmate” in the shadow of her husband, hostess for the social obligations her world imposed upon her. She seemed to thrive in the background. Most people saw my mother as kind, sweet, gentle, and humble. She was all of these things.

But, as with all of us, some of what my mother appeared to be on the surface was true, some was a costly illusion. What did not appear on the surface were my mother’s sadness, her fear, anxiety, and sense of inadequacy.

Her glass was always half empty. She knew she would have been happier if it could only have been a little fuller.

My mother died early on the morning of Remembrance Day. My wife and I were away and rushed to catch a 10:00 morning ferry. An hour into our voyage, the captain announced that at 11:00 the ferry’s engines would be cut, the ship’s whistle sound and we would observe a minute of silence in honour of those who had died. As the 11:00 eerie stillness enfolded us; my wife and I sat holding hands and crying.

We cried for the loss of a mother. We cried for the massive conflicts and tragedies of humanity. We cried for the complications, confusions and compromises of our lives. We cried because we knew how imperfectly we all live, how inadequately we love and how incompletely we fulfill the deepest call of our lives.

The day after my mother died, I met, as I do every Wednesday morning, with a small group of people for meditation, Bible reading, and discussion. We are reading through the book of Psalms. That morning we had reached Psalm 35 and stopped at verse 14, which ends with the Psalmist saying, “I went about as one who laments for a mother, bowed down and in mourning.” As I read these words, I knew that the God to whom the Psalmist spoke holds all the tensions, complexities and failures of our lives with tenderness and compassion.

So, on this first Mother’s Day without my mother, the gift I would give her if I could, would be the freedom she never really knew. I would give her the chance to live boldly and authentically in tune with the true depths of her innermost being. I would give her courage and the chance to open more fully to that spacious place within herself wherein dwells the truth and light of the God in whom she now rests.

Perhaps the only way for me to give my mother these gifts now that she is gone is to live them more fully in my own life.

I honour my mother’s life by allowing my heart to break open. The gift I give my mother on this Mother’s Day is the gift of my life lived genuinely and deeply in tune with God’s Spirit and guidance. I honour my mother’s life by living in tune with that gentleness and goodness that was so often shown through the kindness of her life.

Scarcity or Abundance?

2009-05-08T07:43:00.000-07:00

It is just one thing after another.

There are moments when the demands of life seem to overwhelm the available resources. It feels as if there is never enough to go around. Life seems set up to cause us to experience scarcity as the essential nature of existence.

So we scramble to accumulate just a few more resources. If only we had a little bit more, we would be up to the job. The temptation in the face of perceived scarcity is to rush to acquire more and hoard what we have.

Jesus said, “one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (Luke 12:15) Acquiring more will never bring us to abundance. As soon as we get a little more, the task grows bigger, our expectation increases.

Abundance is experienced on a completely different plane. Jesus spoke of “an abundance of the heart.” (Luke 6:45) He pointed to an inner experience of abundance that no external circumstance could ever diminish.

When we experience inner abundance we discover that “A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over,” has been “put into your lap.”

This abundance is never discovered by accumulating and hoarding. Abundance is only experienced by giving. “The measure you give will be the measure you get back.” (Luke 6:38)

We do not need more of those things we experience as scarce in order to be fully alive. Fullness of life resides in the human ability to choose that which is most truly rich, deep and real about what it means to be human.

When Jesus was asked for the key to life, he repeated the same word twice; he said, “Love.” (Luke 10:27) Only love unlocks abundance.

Life provides an endless supply of love. Love never runs out. The essential nature of existence is love. As we live in love, abundance multiplies. We know ourselves to be the recipients of an overflowing resource of the only gift necessary for true life.

We can always love and the more we love, the more love we experience. The more we live in love, the more we experience ourselves as fully and abundantly alive. There is no longer scarcity; in love life is full.

How Much Agreement Do We Need?

2009-05-07T05:30:00.000-07:00

Recently, I received a communication from a priest who left the Anglican Church of Canada in one of the earlier exoduses of traditionalists. My response follows.

Dear Canon Birch,

Thank you for your response to my article “Why I Remain An Anglican.”

I am not a theologian; nor am I a church historian. But, in the deepest part of my being, it makes sense to me to draw a distinction between beliefs I hold to be essential to Christian faith and therefore unchanging and traditions of church practice that I view as open to refinement as history evolves.

I believe absolutely in the incarnate revelation of God in Jesus Christ. I believe that Jesus died, rose again, ascended into heaven and poured out God’s “spirit on all flesh.” (Joel 2:28) I believe that the Christian vision of God as Trinity is a divinely revealed and deeply true mystery of the nature of God. I believe Scripture is the revealed word of God and that it “containeth all things necessary to salvation.” (Articles of Religion VI, BCP)

I find it impossible however to convince myself that Jesus mandated a male only priesthood for all human history, or a celibate priesthood, or the infallible authority of the Pope, in spite of the fact that these beliefs have been held by Christian tradition as that which should be passed on “umimpaired to our posterity,” and continue to be held by the majority of Christians today. This may make me a hopeless heretic in your eyes, but surely not a heretic on the level of someone who would deny the divinity of Christ, or call into question the reality of his resurrection.

I understand God to be One who says, “See, I am making all things new,” (Revelation 21:5). I believe God’s Spirit “blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes,” (John 3:8) and that we are challenged to provide “fresh wineskins” into which the “new wine” of God’s Spirit can be poured. (Matthew 9:17)

I am deeply saddened that my willingness to embrace “fresh wineskins” makes some faithful devout Christians believe they can no longer worship with me. I may be wrong, but I have never seen any document that convinces me that any bishop in the Anglican Church of Canada ever “excommunicated” anyone due to disagreement over issues relating to church polity. Any person is absolutely welcome to share the bread and wine at the Lord’s table in the church where I serve. I am convinced there is enough upon which we are “agreed” to make it possible for us to “walk together.” (Amos 3:3) and still each “act according to our conscience.”

I honour and respect your years of faithful ministry in Christ’s Church. I regret the hurt you have felt from the Anglican Church of Canada and agree absolutely, as you suggest, that “loving one another" might indeed “do some good.” I pray you may always find a warm welcome if you should ever find yourself moved to re-connect with the Anglican Church of Canada. But in the meantime, I am glad you “have found such a joy and freedom, being able to know” yourself “in Communion with the Church throughout the ages of the Christian Faith.” I pray the day may come when you may be able to view me as included in that community of Faith.

God’s blessing,

Christopher

Education as Meeting

2009-05-06T05:35:00.000-07:00

If you ask almost any adult about the impact of church school on his her growth, he or she will not tell you about books or curriculum or Bible stories or anything like that. The central memory is of the teacher, learning is meeting. That poses problems for the characteristically American way of thinking about education for competence even in the church.

Meeting never made anybody competent. Surely we need competence, unless we mean to dismantle much of our made world. But our business is not competence. It is meeting. We are learning slowly and late that education for competence without education as meeting promises us deadly values and scary options.

And anyway, one can’t become “competent” in morality or in Bible stories. But one can have life-changing meetings that open one to new kinds of existence. And that surely is what church education is about. (Walter Brueggemann, Living Toward a Vision, pp. 167,168)

Christian education is not primarily about content. It is about connection. Education happens when the student listens to the deepest truth and reality within, leading to an awareness of the student’s connection to God. To teach is to be willing to know and be known. We educate by listening, by opening to the student, entering the student’s world with sensitivity and compassion.

There are so many places in the world that focus on product, on creating skilled workers able to perform specific tasks. In the church, we do not aim to produce a product. We aim to create space for transformation. We desire to make room for each person in the community to experience the Spirit of God at work in their lives.

This is a gift we can give to one another simply by being willing to be in the space of God’s presence together. As we open, a new reality is created between us and in that reality the truth of God is found. Anyone can do this. All that is required is a willingness to trust and open.

The skills of godly education are gentleness, patience, honesty, deep listening, openness, and respect for God’s work in every person. These skills grow in the fertile soil of surrender. The willingness to surrender to God creates an environment where we are able to meet one another without judgment or agenda. In that meeting we discover that we more deeply meet the source of love and light known to us in Jesus.

Disappointment

2009-05-05T10:25:00.000-07:00

I am disappointed in you. The outcome was such a disappointment. I am sure I am going to be disappointed. I am disappointed in myself.

Disappointment – it is a curious concept. You have missed an appointment, failed to measure up to an expectation. You have fallen short.

Disappointment derives from a vision of life as a series of goals that must be achieved. When we fail to make the grade we are disappointed; we are a disappointment.

How did we come to define life by a mythical external standard of measurement? Who set the rules? Who created the test?

Perhaps most puzzling of all – what do we hope to achieve when we say someone or something is a disappointment?

When a child brings home a report card that does not measure up to parental expectation the parent says, “I am disappointed in you.” Does the disappointed parent expect this statement will motivate the child to work harder, do better or achieve a greater measure of success?

Jesus taught his disciples for three years. They witnessed his miracles and shared an intimate connection with Jesus. When Jesus was arrested and brutally executed, did his followers come to his defense? Did they fill the streets with the news of the terrible injustice that had been done? Did they rush to announce that Jesus had been the embodiment of life, truth, love, and justice?

After his death Jesus’ disciples hid for fear behind locked doors. (John 20:19) When Jesus stood among his fearful, doubt-filled, insecure disciples surely he would rebuke them for their lack of courage. Surely, Jesus would say, “I am so disappointed in you.” But Jesus says only, “Peace be with you.” Then “he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” (John 20:21,22) Jesus understood that healthy motivation comes from the indwelling presence of God’s Spirit. And Jesus knew that we find God’s Spirit, not by being rebuked or reprimanded, but by being forgiven and set free.

I wonder if I can let go of my disappointments and embrace myself as I am rather than demanding I change before I deem myself acceptable. I wonder if I can receive all of life, even the difficult bits that feel like a disappointment, as a gift along the way. Disappointment keeps me trapped and bound by external expectations. Acceptance and embrace set me free to live from the deep inner well-spring of God’s Spirit. It really is my choice!

Church: Institution or Movement?

2009-05-04T19:00:00.000-07:00

The Diocese of New Westminster has posted a Draft Diocesan Strategic Plan 2018 on its website http://www.vancouver.anglican.ca/. It is an honest, visionary, and encouraging document. It starts in the right place for a Christian church stating that,

The primary work of the church is to nurture faith in all who come.

But the Diocesan Strategic Plan opens with a puzzling premise.

As a Diocesan Church we need to be intentional about making healthy and wise choices about our future.

What is wrong with simply “making healthy and wise choices”? How do we make “healthy and wise choices about our future”?

The Diocese of New Westminster plan itself affirms a vision of church that seems to render any attempt to make “choices about our future” utterly futile.

We think of the Christian church not as an institution but rather as a movement. It is part of the dance of God’s Holy Spirit throughout and into our own time.

How do you plan a movement? How do you make choices for “the dance of God’s Holy Spirit,” which, as the report itself acknowledges, “blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes”? (John 3:8)

The church lives in an uneasy tension between “institution” and “movement.” Institutions must plan for day-to-day operations and may attempt to make choices toward a more vibrant future. But how do you plan a movement? The goal of a Christian movement is to find and follow the unpredictable work of God’s Spirit. The disciplines of a movement are not statistics, strategic plans, and measurable, quantifiable assessment tools.

The disciplines of a movement are openness, flexibility, deep listening, patience, gentleness, and the radical commitment to the unpredictable and subtle moving of God’s Spirit. This may lead to a kind of planning; but it is planning that will be cautious, short term, and easily abandoned at the slightest hint that the Spirit may be headed elsewhere.

Too much talk in the church today seems to assume we have some inkling about what the future might hold or that the work of God’s Spirit can be measured.

We follow a teacher who asks,

Why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith?(Matthew 6:28-30)

We in the church need to decide whether we are first an institution or a movement. Everything may rest on the choice we make.

A Response to Walker Morrow #5

2009-05-02T08:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Walker,

One of the things that encourages me to continue this conversation with you is your honesty. You demonstrate a refreshing willingness to look at your own ideas, to have them challenged and to accept the possibility that you may need to look at things from a slightly different angle. This openness is one of the primary qualities that will help us gradually grow into the people God is calling us to be.

Your reply to my April 23, 2009 A Response to Walker Morrow #4 makes me feel that I have not adequately managed to communicate what I was hoping to say in response #4. Looking back over my response I see that I did not in fact express myself very clearly. I hinted at my point in relation to Psalm 46:10 when I pointed out that rapha which is traditionally translated as “be still” might also be translated as “sink down.” To “sink down” is to open to a deeper realm of our being. It is to experience the depths of what it means to be human. It is to open to a reality deeper than the intellect, more mysterious than rationality. To “sink down” is to enter the realm of faith.

I do not believe that truth is found in the mind.

cont'd

The mind can point us to truth; but the mind can equally be a serious obstacle to our discovery of truth. Truth is more ephemeral than an intellectual formulation can ever fully embody. My granddaughter responds to my request for a hug good bye declaring firmly, “No!” She pauses for a moment before announcing her alternative plan, “ Kiss,” and toddles over to bestow a kiss upon her grandfather; that is truth. It breaks open my heart. I find light and love and beauty. This is where truth is found.

This is why music moves us. It is why we are touched by the beauty of God’s creation and why a magnificent work of art, or a stirring piece of poetry moves something deep within our being. You cannot sum up in words or rational concepts what the kiss of a granddaughter means. You cannot capture the fullness of a symphony or a piece of poetry in precepts and logical equations. You simply have to allow your heart to open beyond rational thought.

In fact the “logic” that you so long for is a poor second cousin to truth. “Logic” functions on the surface of life and leads to sparse results. It is not logical to love an infant. It is not logical to spend hours composing and playing a Bach Cantata. It is not logical to protect the weak and vulnerable, nor to give oneself in service to the poor who “you will always have with you.” (Mark 12:8) The most exalted human instincts emerge from somewhere within the human heart much deeper than logic or reason.

You say it is more “confusion” you fear than chaos. But it is impossible to live apart from either chaos or confusion. The world is a deeply confusing place; chaos abounds wherever you look. In my life I have stood at the graveside with young parents grieving the death of their three week old infant; I have watched as a young teenager died as a result of an utterly arbitrary head injury; and I have celebrated a ninety-second birthday with a senior who lives on her own and recently had her driver’s license renewed. If we choose to open to the realities of life, we must finally acknowledge that life is deeply confusing.

Coming home from Vancouver last weekend my wife and I had lunch in the ferry’s buffet. In the hour and a half that we sat leisurely eating an endless array of beautifully prepared food and watched the most magnificent scenery slip past the window by our table, over 800 children died of starvation. That is confusing. The world does not make sense.

Some years ago, friends of ours joyfully awaited the arrival of their second child. The mother was healthy; the pregnancy had been perfect; the timing was ideal; the whole family looked forward to welcoming this new member into their midst. During delivery, at the last moment before the baby’s arrival, the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and she suffocated. Instead of a healthy little girl, our friends welcomed a severally brain-damaged infant, who died in her father’s arms shortly after delivery. Life hangs by a tenuous thread. It is not rational; it is not fair; it often does not make sense.

If we hope to “think in calm surroundings” rather “than in turbulent ones,” we will be reduced to a strategy of either denial or lies. We do not live “in calm surroundings.” If we are ever going to discover any measure of peace within the turmoil, chaos, confusion, uncertainty, and terror of life, it will only be as we discover a deep inner peace that I believe can only come from knowing the presence of God in the depths of our being.

The brilliant Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, discussing the importance of the Eucharist in Christian practice, says, “A the table as nowhere else we are made aware that true life is in mystery and not in management.” We cannot manage life. We are not in control. We cannot think our way to safety, or organize our environment to meet our perceived needs. Brueggemann concludes that at the table, “we need only yield our lives over to God.”

The Christian answer to chaos is not control, or understanding. The Christian answer to chaos is surrender.

You do not need to fear that this surrender will “turn into apathy.” We are not surrendering to nothing. We are following the example of Jesus and surrendering into the hands of Love. At the end of his physical life, Jesus’ last words were, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” (Luke 23:46) We are surrendering into the hands of God, the hands of the power that turns the universe. There is no possibility that this act of surrender could ever lead to “apathy.” Surrender into the hands of God can only lead to the life-giving power of resurrection. God is the power of love. Love will always compel us out into the world to encounter all of Creation with a renewed capacity for compassion and goodness. Surrender in fact is not a cause of apathy, but the antidote to apathy.

The “larger picture” you want to “capture” is the picture of Jesus abandoned into the hands of chaos and confusion, sunk in the depths of abandonment and doubt, but finally surrendered into the gracious care of God and therefore raised to new life and power. This picture cannot be “captured;” it can only be lived. And it must be lived in the midst of confusion, doubt, chaos, and even fear. This pattern of love that is our true nature created in the image of God, cannot be finally understood, or reasoned about; we can only open to it with complete abandonment and joyful embrace.

The confusion and chaos of life exist to defeat our proud attempts to understand. The darkness that lurks at the edges of life serves to break open the hearts of those willing to learn the lessons of a broken world. When our hearts are broken open, we discover the strength and power of God’s risen life. The aroma of love is released and we become that image of God in which we were originally created.

Prophetic Confession

2009-05-01T12:41:00.000-07:00

I have always thought of Mary Oliver as a nature poet. It turns out she is also a prophet. In her poem “The Empire” Oliver speaks with a scorching prophetic voice. Anyone running for election to political office or aspiring to any kind of leadership should be required to read this poem every day.

Of The Empire

We will be known as a culture that feared death
and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity
for the few and cared little for the penury of the
many. We will be known as a culture that taught
and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke
little if at all about the quality of life for
people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All
the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a
commodity. And they will say that this structure
was held together politically, which it was, and
they will say also that our politics was no more
than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of
the heart, and that the heart, in those days,
was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

(from Red Bird by Mary Oliver)

Oliver does not separate herself from “The Empire;” it is “We” who have “feared death/ and adored power.” This is not finger pointing. It is honest, soul-searching confession.

I wonder if I can be as honest.

When have I “adored power”? How have I “tried to vanquish” the trivial little insecurities of my life while caring little for the poverty that surrounds me on every side? What power do material “things” still have in my life while I continue to fail to speak about “the quality of life for/people (other people), for dogs, for rivers”?

I wonder if I am willing to see where my heart has been “small, and hard, and full of meanness.”

Κύριε eλέησον, Χριστe eλέησον, Κύριε eλέησον.

Finding Wisdom

2009-04-30T05:28:00.000-07:00

In his webcast conversation with Oprah Winfrey a year ago Eckhart Tolle offered profound advice to parents saying,

The most important thing is your own state of consciousness at home because the children absorb from you, your predominant state of consciousness. And if you can be present with children at home, present means to give them full attention. When you are present, you don’t want anything from them. You just give them attention, which could be listening. It could be watching them as they play. Now many parents don’t do that. They give them attention, but it’s always wanting something. They say, ‘Do this, don’t do that. Now this needs to get done.” So that is what I call form-based attention.

That has its place, of course. The children need to brush their teeth and need to tidy up their room. This is fine. It has its place. But more is needed. Your child wants to be acknowledged in his or her being. So it’s vital to give the children conscious attention at home. Give the child space to be. Doesn’t need to be long, just a few minutes every day. Be there, be present for the child. That’s vital.

The thing that fascinates me about these observations is that I do not believe Eckhart Tolle has ever been a parent. I doubt he has ever read a parenting book, or watched an instructional video on how to be a good parent. Yet intuitively Eckhart is able to present a beautiful and wise picture of the key to good parenting.

What Eckhart Tolle has done is open deeply to reality. He has discovered in the depths of his being a source of wisdom that makes it possible for him to speak truth about topics that, on one level, he may know almost nothing about. When we pay attention to life and listen deeply to the truth within, the wisdom we discover will apply to every realm of life. Eckhart’s insights for parents can apply to many more circumstances than just childrearing.

In so many areas of life we become focused on problem solving, attempting to modify circumstances or behaviour so that situations can be forced to fit some prescribed model of how we have determined they should be. We do not really listen. We do not pay attention. We do not listen for the wisdom the circumstance itself has to teach us. We want a particular result and so we fail to open deeply to reality as it is. We settle on superficial “solutions” that deal only with symptoms and often do violence to the true underlying causes.

We need to listen to our children. Their behaviour is always a form of communication. In every circumstance of our lives, we need to ask what is this situation trying to tell me. What do I need to learn from these circumstances? These are the questions that lead us to an open accepting spacious place in which we will find wisdom.

Hurt People Hurt People

2009-04-29T07:22:00.000-07:00

No it is not a typo, and it is not meaningless repetition. It is in fact an answer to one of the most difficult questions I frequently ponder: Why do we so often hurt one another? Why are we so often mean, judgmental, negative, and critical?

There are probably many ways to answer these questions. But one answer is to say,

Hurt people hurt people.

When I am mean, critical, negative, and judgmental, it is because I am acting out of that place where I experience myself as having been hurt. I attack because I feel vulnerable. I criticize in an attempt to rebuild my faltering sense of self. I judge others because I have already judged myself and found myself lacking.

Hurt people hurt people.

So how does this idea help me in relationship to people who hurt me, or in relationship to myself when I feel hurt?

When I can look at a person who hurts me as a hurt person, it is easier to extend towards that person the compassion that has the capacity to set us both free. When I see that my hurtful behaviour comes from my own experience of pain, I find compassion for myself.

To be compassionate means being willing to look clearly at myself and at others. When I see clearly, I see that we are all hurt. We are all broken; and the sharp edges of our brokenness will always clash until we acknowledge the wounds that cause us to hurt and to be hurt.

When I feel attacked, I need to understand that my attacker is acting out of their own insecurity, fear, anxiety, and hurt. This is not a bad person, not even a cruel person. This is a hurt person, a fearful person, a sad person who is unwilling, or unable to bear their own sadness and therefore feels compelled to attempt to inflict it upon others.

When I have deeply accepted my own wounds, the wounds others attempt to inflict upon me, lose their power. I no longer need to pass on my pain, or to be overwhelmed by the pain of others. I am free to live from a place of strength.

Deep Marriage

2009-04-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

The following is way too long for a blog. But it may interest someone enough to plow through the whole thing. As a person who is called upon to officiate at weddings, it was good for me to try to articulate my current thinking about "marriage."

Introduction

I have been challenged recently to think about the meaning of marriage. Particularly, I have been caused to think about the modern Western monogamous parameters that define the traditional understanding of marriage. Why should marriage necessarily involve a life-long commitment “forsaking all others, to be faithful to you so long as we both shall live”?

I have no particular expertise in any professional sense to speak about marriage. But, I have been married for thirty-two years. And I often say that in my life I have done one thing really well; I married well. I take no credit for this fact; it is simply a miracle, a freely given grace that frequently surprises me in all its wonder. Any reflections I have on marriage are profoundly shaped by this primary human relationship in my life.

My thoughts on marriage are also informed by the fact that I am a follower of Christ. I attempt to allow my Christian worldview to shape every aspect of my behaviour; this is as much true in my understanding and practice of my marriage as in any other aspect of my life.

cont'd.

Biblical Context

Stating that I view the world through Christian eyes, it is not surprising that the starting point for my vision of marriage should be the Bible. As a Christian the Bible is the primary sacred text with which I interact in an attempt to allow my life to be shaped by God. But, the Bible is a complicated book. In the case of marriage, it is not possible to point to any one isolated text and claim, “This is the biblical teaching on marriage.”

For much of the historical period covered by the Bible, the prevailing pattern of marriage included various forms of polygamy. In the Hebrew scriptures Abraham, Esau, Jacob, David and Solomon were all polygamists. God’s law in Exodus 21:10 spells out stipulations for polygamous practice stating that “If a man takes another wife to himself, he shall not diminish the food, clothing, or marital rights of the first wife.” And in II Samuel 12:8 God is quoted as having stated that God gave Saul’s wives to David. It is interesting that the New Testament makes no reference to polygamous practice. It is likely the early church faced the dilemma of polygamous men accompanied by their wives converting to Christian faith. Yet no guidance is given about how such an awkward situation should be handled.

Jesus’ teaching on marriage occurs in the context of his culture’s debate about divorce. Only a man could initiate divorce; the only discussion was what grounds constituted adequate reason for a man to send his wife away. Jesus sided with those who took a strict view forbidding men to divorce their wives for trivial reasons and thus offered the maximum protection possible to the women of his day.

The main point of Jesus’ teaching about marriage was to reinforce the indissoluble bond of the relationship. For Jesus this bond was based on the creation ordinance of Genesis 2:24 in which God is said to have declared, “Therefore a man leaves his father and his mother and clings to his wife, and they become one flesh.” This mystical concept of becoming “one flesh” forms the basis for the Jewish and Christian understanding of marriage.

For Jesus marriage is fundamentally spiritual. A marriage relationship is much more than a mere contractual agreement. Marriage cannot be comprehended simply in sociological or psychological terms. It is not merely one more human institution constructed by human beings for the stability of society. Marriage is a deep and profound mystery; it reaches the depths of what it means to be human and how we live together in relationship to God and to other human beings. The mystical unity of marriage is taken so seriously by Christian writers that the writer of the Letter to the Ephesians draws a parallel between the relationship of husband and wife to that of Christ and the church. (Ephesians 5:32,33) This one-flesh teaching also lies behind Paul’s claim that “whoever is united to a prostitute becomes one body with her.” (I Corinthians 6:16)

The vision that marriage creates a new entity in which “the two become one,” is not restricted to Christian faith. Robert Bly, in his poem “A Man and a Woman Sit Near Each Other,” offers a deep vision of the new creation that occurs through the bond of a committed faithful marriage relationship. This new creation is so real that Bly pictures it as the creation of a third person, “someone whom we do not know,” “someone we know of, whom we have never seen.”

A man and a woman sit near each other, and they do not long
at this moment to be older, or younger, nor born
in any other nation, or time, or place.
They are content to be where they are, talking or not-talking.
Their breaths together feed someone whom we do not know.
The man sees the way his fingers move;
he sees her hands close around a book she hands to him.
They obey a third body that they share in common.
They have made a promise to love that body.
Age may come, parting may come, death will come.
A man and a woman sit near each other;
as they breathe they feed someone we do not know,
someone we know of, whom we have never seen.

For Bly, as for Christians, although an embodied reality, marriage finds its deepest meaning in the hidden realm of the spirit where a new entity of “one flesh” comes into existence through the bond of marriage.

The rest of New Testament teaching found in the epistles relating to marriage attempts to spell out the implications of this deep one-flesh mystery. Paul describes how men and women should function in the marriage relationship. His teaching is coloured by the common Christian assumptions of his day that human history was rapidly coming to an end and that men should occupy a position of superior power in relation to women. In response to these convictions Paul argues that the real priority for the Christian is a life of service to God and that, while functions in a marriage may differ, there is an absolute equality of being between male and female. Thus, properly understood, Paul moves in a radically egalitarian direction, offering a measure of power and dignity to a woman in the marriage relationship that would have been denied her in Paul’s day.

In keeping with his assumption of equality between the sexes, Paul appears to assume that the new pattern for Christian marriage will be monogamous. In I Corinthians 7:2 Paul states that “each man should have his own wife and each woman her own husband.” This appears to encourage his readers in a direction of marital exclusivity that would have been challenging for the men of Paul’s day but deeply liberating for the women.

When we look at the broader biblical concept of what it means to be human and what it means to be a follower of Christ, there are two important points. First, all human beings are created in the image and likeness of God. (Genesis 1:26,27) Second, God’s purpose in Jesus Christ was to set human beings free. “For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death.’ (Romans 8:2) “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” (II Corinthians 3:17)

The Image and Likeness of God

There is that within every human being that bears the mark of God. This mark may be obscured over time; it may be denied or ignored. But the Christian understanding of what it means to be human starts with the assumption that to be human means to bear something of the reality of God. If you contain the breath of life, God is present in your innermost being. “The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and the man became a living being.” (Genesis 2:7)

Because all human beings bear the image and likeness of God, all human beings are indelibly marked with the dignity, mystery and beauty of God. Therefore, every human relationship is based fundamentally upon the presupposition of deep honour, mutual respect, shared dignity, and absolute equality of being.

Husbands are to “love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her.” (Ephesians 5:25) Christ’s only intention for the church is that those who make up the church should become everything they were created to be. Jesus is reported in John’s Gospel to have said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10) For husbands to love their wives “just as Christ loved the church,” is to do everything in their power to facilitate the realization of abundant life within the marriage relationship. Marriage exists to enable the full coming to life of both people in the relationship. Anything that hinders the abundant life of either person is to be excluded from the marriage relationship.

This requires a willingness to walk the costly path of self-sacrifice. My primary concern in marriage is not my own fulfillment, the realizing of my own desires, or the fulfilling of my own needs or wants. In marriage I am called to give myself away. As Christ “gave himself up,” for the church so I am challenged to give myself up for my wife. Marriage is my primary training ground in surrender for the well-being of the other. Self-giving is the only context in which love can grow. It is the pattern of the universe realized in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. It is the central reality of human becoming, the path along which lies the realization of the full dignity and beauty of what it means to be human.

Freedom

Modern Western culture has laboured for generations under a massive illusion about the nature of freedom. Freedom is commonly seen as the ability to make whatever choices I feel like making without suffering any ill-effects. Beatrice Bruteau writes of “choice-freedom,” and “creative freedom.” “Choice-freedom” is the ability to choose between a variety of alternatives. In “choice-freedom” my freedom is limited by my options and, therefore, I am not truly free. What Bruteau calls “creative freedom,” emerges from within the core of the human being and is not chosen “in reaction to some kind of external stimulus,” but rather within the context of our true human nature. “Creative freedom” is an inner quality of the human spirit that exists regardless of external circumstances and is thus truly free.

Christian freedom is the ability to choose to live within the parameters of what it means to be truly human. To be free is to choose to live according to that image of God in which I have been created. I am not free because I can do anything I want. I am free because I can choose to live as I was created to live, in tune with the nature of God, regardless of my circumstances.

The nature of God is best described by love, “God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” (I John 4:16) So to be free is to be free to love. Freedom and love form an inseparable bond at the heart of what it means to be truly human. Love is not love as understood in a Christian context, unless it is freely given and freely reciprocated. The eternal circulation of the flow of love lies at the heart of the unique Christian understanding of God as Trinity. God lives in relationship to God’s self and all of creation as a never-ending flow of love. To be human is to choose freely to enter into the energy field of this love thus finding union with God, the source of all life.

Like a river, in order to reach its source, the flow that is love must find its way along a path defined on either side by the banks of the river. The freedom that makes deep love possible is shaped by the banks of commitment and lifelong fidelity. As Wendell Berry says in his poem, “To Tanya on my Sixtieth Birthday,” “In binding love you set me free.”

Life fulfills its destiny by accepting the realities of boundary and confine. A kite cannot fly unless tethered by a strong line to a fixed and stable point. A ship cannot move purposely through the water unless the sail is firmly fixed to a steady mast. A child who grows up without any reliable stable relationship will struggle to mature into the fullness of her intended destiny.

It is the nature of love to provide this stable, secure vessel for the flourishing of life. As Shakespeare says in his “Sonnet CXVI”,

Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove

Love is the steady centre of the universe around which it becomes possible for the human spirit to reach its fullest reality.

it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Helen Luke suggests that stability is the foundation for the full flourishing of love because the confidence stability makes possible enables each person to open most deeply to the reality of the human condition. Writing of the husband and wife in marriage, Luke states that, “There is no hope that they will be able ‘to love and to cherish’ each other unless each is prepared to accept his or her own darkness and weakness and to strive for the ‘holy marriage’ within, thus setting the other free to find his or her individual reality.” Marriage is that place where my entire life is received and embraced; it is the context in which I am able to extend an absolute welcome to the other. In this welcoming, we open to the fullness and depth of our true nature.

At the same time marriage is the place where I am caused to face my own woundedness. Because I have committed myself to remain for life in this one relationship with honesty and openness, I must face my demons here. I cannot run away. I refuse to escape into distractions, fantasies, or self-serving denial. By staying put I grow and mature. When I leave a relationship that becomes a struggle, or because I feel my needs are not being met, I condemn myself to a life of immaturity and triviality. If I seek in another relationship, what I feel is lacking in my marriage, I am choosing to live as something less than the profound and beautiful being I was created to be.

The commitment of marriage requires that I make the adult choice of accepting all possible consequences of my choices. Under normal circumstances, healthy hetero-sexual sexuality may result in procreation. To give myself fully in heterosexual sexual activity I must acknowledge this possibility and embrace the potential accompanying responsibility.

At the same time, sexual intimacy outside the confines of life-long monogamous commitment carries an increased possibility of infection and even serious disease. In order for sexuality to be a loving action, the participants must do all they can to reduce any possibility of inflicting harm upon their partner. Life-long monogamous sexuality is the only guarantee of regular sexual intimacy without the potential for disease.

Conclusion

There is a dark unpredictable vein that runs through the human psyche. All human relationships and all forms of human community manifest to a greater or lesser degree the reality of human brokenness. Healing is only possible within the crucible of trust and faithfulness forged out of life-long commitment and the deep opening that is represented by the sacrificial choice to give oneself exclusively to another person.

Marriage enables those who are called to this particular form of embodying love, to realize the image of God in which all human beings are created. Marriage is the vehicle for the full becoming of both persons because it provides a stable trusting framework within which it is possible to open to the deepest most vulnerable part of our being. The life-long exclusive commitment of the marriage relationship provides a secure context within which to risk offering the gift of oneself fully to another.

The exclusive commitment that is marriage is the ultimate expression of the dignity each person has in the eyes of the other. In marriage I say, ‘I choose the limitation of forsaking all others to cling only to you. In this commitment I demonstrate my love for you; I honour you; and I affirm the inestimable value you have in my life.’ The choice of self-sacrifice sets us free to entrust ourselves to the other. Anything less is a decision to hold part of myself back from this relationship and to diminish the love we are able to share.

The seed that is our true self only sprouts and begins to grow when it chooses to fall into the earth and allows its shell to be broken open, releasing the power of life contained within. In order for this process to take place, the seed must hold itself in the same place long enough to allow nature to act. A seedling will never grow into a healthy tree if it is constantly uprooted and planted in different soil. Marriage is a stable environment in which growth can take place. The miracle of marriage only happens when, as Wendell Berry writes, “once again I am blessed, choosing/again what I chose before.”

Choosing faithfulness, steadiness, self-giving, and deep opening, I discover

Suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade

(Wendell Berry, “The Wild Rose”)

Absolution

2009-04-26T18:05:00.000-07:00

I was challenged today to ponder what it is I think I am doing when, as a priest, I stand before the worshiping congregation after the confession and pronounce absolution.

To begin to grasp the function of absolution in Christian liturgy we have to understand that Christianity is an embodied religion. Christians believe that we learn the deepest lessons of life in our bodies not simply in our minds. We learn and grow through seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, and smelling.

In the eucharist, using all our senses, we re-embody the drama of Christ’s death and resurrection. We experience in bread and wine, the present action of God in Christ.

When as a priest I stand before the community and pronounce,

Almighty God have mercy upon you,
pardon and deliver you from all your sins,

I am using sound and sign to embody in the present, the action of God’s Spirit in the heart of each person in worship. That which is signified in my action, in some mysterious way takes place in the heart that responds with faith.

It is not just that something happened long ago. God’s grace and forgiveness continue to happen mediated through words I am appointed to speak. As Christ is mystically and mysteriously present in bread and wine, so he is actively present in sound and sign as I speak words of absolution and mark the community with the redeeming sign of the cross.

The priest is not issuing a theological statement in the hope that the congregation will grasp the concept of forgiveness and be transformed by this idea. The priest is inviting us into the transforming mystery of grace and forgiveness.

In utter fear and trembling, with the deepest humility possible, the priest gives voice to the deep mystery of God. Then, joined in mystical communion with the confessing community, the chemistry of God’s grace is released again in the fresh and immediate work of God’s Spirit.

Permaculture 1 Addendum

2009-04-25T17:46:00.000-07:00

The Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann writes,

God aches at the disunity in the world... it would be useful for church folks to make a list of the agents of separation in their community and parish and then to address those agents - through budget and through programming - to see how the church might serve God's will for unity in a world of fragmentation. Where are the crunches in your life? We know about some standard ones of old-young, rich-poor, Black-white, conservative-liberal, male-female. In the church sometimes it is people-leadership, or even parish-diocese. We won't run out of agenda to address. All of that which seems so natural to us - it is against the purpose of God; and it is not the wave of the future. (Living Toward a Vision,47)

In response to "Permaculture 3" Andrea wrote, "One of the things our culture struggles with is the desire to hide, to pass by community and not be known." I wonder if she has been reading Brueggemann. This seems to me to be saying the same thing. So, how do we "hide"? How do we choose to "pass by community and not be known"? Why do we make these choices? Are these appropriate choices for Christians?

Brueggeman's idea that we address through "budget and through programming" "the agents of separation" in our community, seems to me an utterly fascinating idea. But I fear I have no clue what it might mean. What could it possibly look like for a church to attempt to address the prevailing culture of fragmentation and to nurture community and connection through its budget and programming?

A Response to Walker Morrow #4

2009-04-23T14:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Walker,

Thank you for your gracious offer of an exit strategy from this conversation. I believe conversation is important. I want to be open to having my thoughts and ideas challenged by different understandings of the world. It is vital for the well-being of our culture that people who may see the world from slightly different perspectives be able to speak to one another with mutual respect and deep listening. As long as this is what is going on in our exchanges, I am happy to continue.

Your idea of “a subjective objective truth” (see Comment to "A Response to Walker Morrow #3) is quite lovely. But it challenges people. In fact, although on the one hand you acknowledge the subjective nature of the human apprehension of truth, at the same time you run a little fearfully from your own insight.

cont'd.

In almost any conversation in which the reality of the “subjective” nature of our ability to grasp and express truth is honestly and humbly acknowledged, the specter of “relativism” is immediately raised. You say, “We have to grasp onto some things as absolutes, or else we could find ourselves falling into the dangerous waters of complete relativism.”

It is intriguing that you do not feel compelled to list these “some things,” we need to “grasp onto” in order to save ourselves from “the dangerous waters of complete relativism.” What are you afraid of here? And where does this fear come from? Who have you seen who has fallen “into the dangerous waters of complete relativism”? What is your list of “absolutes” that will save me from this threat? Who told you that this list is the correct list of “absolutes”? What if our lists are different? Who is going to decide whose list is really absolute?

My suspicion is that, as soon as anyone starts to list their “absolutes,” they will discover that their absolutes are in fact not quite as absolutely absolute as they thought. Then we are rather quickly enmeshed in a debate about how absolute our “absolutes” really are, or at least about how our “absolutes” should be applied in a given situation. Who gets to decide that your absolutes are in fact the absolutes that should absolutely dominate, especially if they do not seem absolute to me? And how do we know what it will look like eve if we agree to live by your list of absolutes? Might it look different to live by your absolutes in different contexts? Obviously, it is going to take some conversation to work out exactly what we mean by “absolutes.” The whole matter of establishing absolutes is extremely complex, requiring a lot of conversation and a willingness to be open and flexible. Suddenly our discussion starts to feel less absolute.

So what really does lie behind this fear? What threatening monster is being conjured when we are warned of the “dangerous waters of complete relativism”?

I get the impression that you are afraid that if you allow for the possibility that human beings may not be able to absolutely establish some agreed upon code of conduct, pretty soon we will slide into chaos.

I do not think that this “slippery slope” argument is a particularly credible line of approach. It is not immediately obvious to me that the admission that it is difficult to establish hard and fast absolutes to govern human behaviour, automatically means we abandon the human community to a chaotic morass of relativity in which anything goes.

It seems to me that when people raise the specter of relativism, the real problem is that they do not trust the human spirit. We are being offered a vision of the human condition that views human beings as victims of barely controllable forces that are bent upon destruction and evil. There seems to be a fear that we will spin wildly out of control unless careful boundaries and parameters are laid down to confine human behaviour within certain norms. I feel as if I am being told that an ax-murderer lurks deep in the innermost being of every human and we must keep vigilant guard lest the chaotic dark forces that dominate the human heart run wildly out of control.

I do not subscribe to this pessimistic, gloomy vision of what a human being is. We are not born as monsters into this world who must be rigidly controlled. (You should meet my granddaughter.) No doubt there is considerable evidence of a dark destructive streak that runs through much of the human condition. It would be foolish and naïve to assume that all human beings will always make positive life-giving choices if they are simply left to their own devices. Societies must establish agreed upon norms for the conduct of civil community and the establishment of safety and protection for the greatest number of people possible within a social unit. But these boundaries and parameters themselves are not absolutes.

When I say “Societies must establish some parameters for the conduct of civil community and the establishment of safety and protection for the greatest number of people possible,” I am suggesting that “civil community,” and the “establishment of safety and protection,” are values that should be afforded to all people. I cannot imagine that too many people would disagree with these “values.” However, if someone did suggest that civil community, safety and protection are not absolute values, it would be difficult for me to prove to such a person that my absolutes are in fact absolutely absolute.

So the real question is not are there absolutes. The real question is how do I come to know the absolutes I believe are absolute.

Ultimately, the only absolutely absolute is God. So, the real question we are dealing with here is, how does one know God.

Psalm 46:10 says, “Be still and know that I am God.” This sounds as if it is saying, if we stop our feverish activity, we will learn something about reality. We will learn that there is a God; we will discover the Absolute. But the English translation here can be misleading. The Hebrew in Psalm 46:10 consists of three words, “Rapha yada elohim” - “Be still; know God.” To “know” here does not mean “to know about;” it means “to enter into deep intimate communion with.” This verse is inviting us into a deep spiritual relationship.

This is reinforced by a possible alternative translation of “rapaha.” “Rapha” is traditionally translated “be still.” It could also be translated as “sink down.” So the psalmist is inviting us to open to a deep place within ourselves in which we will discover our connection to the Absolute as a living reality at the heart of our being. We are not being directed to uncover a list of rules and regulations that will tell us understand the absolute principles governing life. We are not being told to acknowledge some intellectual formulation about the nature of life. We are being invited into a living relationship with an active Reality we call God.

We do not enter into relationship with God by identifying a series of absolutes and then conforming our lives and the lives of others to the values we have determined are absolute. We know God by being in loving relationship. I John says, “everyone who loves is born of God and knows God, Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.” (I John 4:7,8) There are no rules and no limits to love. Love requires opening to the depths of our being and discovering the vulnerability and wisdom that reside within.

When Jesus was asked to sum up the whole teaching of the Hebrew tradition in which he grew up, he did not give a theology lecture; he did not make a list of “absolutes.” Jesus said, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength…. and you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” (Mark 12:29,30)

It is important that we do not confuse this “love” with sentimentality. It is not loving for me to let my granddaughter run out into a busy street. But eventually she must grow up to the point where she knows within herself what is good for her and what is harmful. For my granddaughter to mature means she must come to the point in her life where she is able to choose freely that which is best for her own becoming and for the well-being of all forms of creation. As she learns to open deeply to the presence of God’s Spirit within her life, she will know truth and the truth will set her free. (John 8:32)

This is why Jesus tells his followers,

I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth… You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you…. the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything.” (John 14:16,17,26) Jesus seems to be willing to risk everything on the presence of the Spirit in our lives.

What does this mean? If “the Father” will “teach you everything,” is Jesus risking complete relativism? Why does Jesus feel no need to make a list?

Faith means trusting that the inner reality of God’s Spirit dwelling in my life is bringing me to truth. But, equally, faith means that I must trust the work of God’s Spirit at work in your life leading you to truth. If you can honestly say, from the depths of your being, that God has shown you that eating only chocolate ice-cream for three meals a day is absolutely the best way to a healthy, trim body, I must trust that you believe this is true. And, as long as you are not harming someone else by forcing chocolate ice-cream upon them, and do not demand that I be your chocolate ice-cream supplier, I must leave you free to act upon your convictions until you discover that they were in error. At the same time, as you stuff your face with chocolate ice-cream, I will continue to ask you to open to the voice of truth within, asking yourself, “Is chocolate ice-cream really leading me to know God more fully and deeply? Is chocolate ice-cream the path to love?”

Love is always the true human goal and the means of achieving that goal. I cannot agree that there is ever a point where “self-preservation becomes more important than love.” Jesus called his followers to self-sacrifice, self-giving, self-death, not “self-preservation.” To be a follower of Christ is to “take up” our cross “daily” and follow him. (Luke 9:23) When we discover within ourselves the absolute nature of love, we come to know that there is nothing we need to preserve, nothing we need to fear or protect. We discover the presence of God within our lives and know an immense security that resides in knowing the fullness of God’s presence. This is why love is the absolute; everything else is just application.

Permaculture 4

2009-04-21T06:22:00.000-07:00

The most remarkable piece of wisdom I gleaned from the permaculture presentation Heather and I attended last week came when the presenter said,

The species that survive are the ones that can place themselves in the most service to the whole.

Think about that for a moment. We have always been taught that the way to survival is for each person to look after himself. We get ahead by providing for our own needs. Success comes to the one who accumulates the most power, the most talent, the most possessions. I will be happy when I get my way, when my plans, goals, dreams, and aspirations are fulfilled.

But Jesus said, “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20:28) Bede Griffiths says, “Sacrifice is the law of the universe.” We realize fullness of life by giving ourselves away.

Permaculture agrees; the way forward for all beings is through “service.” We get ahead by giving ourselves in service to others.

It turns out that self-sacrifice is the rhythm of the universe. Giving is the pattern that brings life. It is not by looking after myself that I get ahead; it is by considering your needs and the needs of the world around me. I will truly prosper as I work to support your flourishing.

There is so much concern in the church today for the church’s survival. What if we change our priorities, forget about the church’s survival and focus on the role the church might play in “service to the whole”? What might it look like for the church to see itself as a servant of the flourishing of all creation? How can we serve the community of life where we are?

Permaculture 3

2009-04-20T17:43:00.000-07:00

Perhaps in “Permaculture 2” I was unfair to the content of the presentation. The speaker did not simply say, “We just have to change what our priorities are.” He offered a helpful piece of advice for discovering a way toward positive change in our priorities.

He said, “observe and interact.” The key to healthy change is paying attention to the situation as it is and being present to the realities of the world in which we live. Too many attempts at producing change are driven by ideology. The person desiring change has a vision, a “master-plan,” and then approaches the situation attempting to impose the “master-plan.” The outcome is always violence in some form.

To “observe and interact” is to honour the realities of our situation as they are. We begin by listening, watching, keeping all our senses open and attuned to what is going on. In his book The Mindful Leader, Michael Carroll says,

Leading others requires that we first open to the world around us… Opening is how we become available to what is actually going on – how we become realistic about our circumstances, abandoning our version of reality for experiencing reality itself.

Having deeply opened to the realities of our situation we are able to work for change, not as a disinterested, “objective” observer but as an active participant in the system in which we hope to facilitate change; we “interact.”

As a participant invested in the system, we attempt to understand another permaculture principle: “The problem is the solution.” We look for the key to change within the situation itself. “Problems” are not really problems. “Problems” actually point the way forward if we pay close enough attention and embrace them as opportunities.

This requires acceptance, patience, sensitivity, openness, and a willingness to sit lightly to our agendas, needs, and demands. Permaculture sounds a lot like spiritual practice. It requires humility, surrender, flexibility, and gentleness. These qualities point the way forward for anyone who desires to facilitate deep, lasting and transformational change in any system.

Permaculture 2

2009-04-20T06:10:00.000-07:00

I am still thinking about the presentation on permaculture Heather and I heard at Uvic.

The solutions permaculture offers to human and environmental challenges are deeply radical. They require a change in our thinking and our behaviour on an order of magnitude that is hard to imagine.

We were told we must slow down; consider the possibility that “more” may not always be better. We were encouraged to contemplate the possibility of living deeply in harmony with our given context and to consider “harmonizing with what’s there.”

How, I wondered, are enough people ever going to embrace such radical, counter-cultural values to make real change possible?

The speaker suggested an answer that on the surface sounds perfectly simple. He said, “We just have to change what our priorities are.”

What are the priorities we need to change if we are to live more harmoniously within the community of all creation? What priorities hold power in our lives that cause us to live in unhealthy and dysfunctional systems? What patterns best function “to benefit life in all its forms”?

But, most important of all, and most challenging - how do peoples’ priorities change? Is it adequate simply to say, “We just have to change what our priorities are” and assume that everyone will wake up in the morning having adopted a radically altered value system?

What values dominate my church culture? Are there priorities that must change in the church if the church is to be an instrument for transformation in peoples’ interactions with one another and with the rest of creation? How can the church model a pattern of being “which functions to benefit life in all its forms”?

Permaculture 1

2009-04-18T07:56:00.000-07:00

Thursday evening Heather and I attended a presentation on permaculture at Uvic. Permaculture is defined as

A system of assembling conceptual, material, and strategic components in a pattern which functions to benefit life in all its forms. It seeks to provide sustainable and secure places for humans and all other living things on this earth.

In a gathering of sixty people, Heather and I were the oldest by twenty years. The topic was obviously of interest to young adults. As I sat listening to this discussion of how humans might interact in more healthy and life-giving ways with our environment, my mind wandered off, as it sometimes does, to the topic of church, where the population is less dominated by twenty-somethings.

At one point in his presentation, the speaker said, “Permaculture is about connections; to be a functioning system, there has to be connection.” Is there a hunger for human connection of which the church may have lost sight?

We live in a culture that is characterized by isolation. Increasingly, the demands of work, the attractions of home entertainment, and the pressures to perform in the world make it difficult for people to find meaningful ways to connect.

In the church of my childhood, connection formed around bazaars, rummage sales, and spring teas. This activity based, fund-raising connection no longer provides a compelling vision for most people under the age of sixty.

Within the often hectic realities of peoples’ lives, the church must find ways to facilitate Christ-centered connection. What might it look like for the church to be a place in which people are given an opportunity to connect with one another around a common desire to grow in their ability to love God and their neighbour?

Deep Identity

2009-04-16T16:22:00.001-07:00

At Bible study this morning, we looked at Psalm 21. It is one of those difficult, enemy-formation Psalms in which the writer cheers God on in the hopes that God will wipe out all his enemies.

Why is enemy formation so attractive? What is it in us that compels us to form enemies?

In the middle of Psalm 21 we found verse 6. The Psalmist, speaking of the king says to God, “you make him glad with the joy of your presence.”

We make enemies because we lack an awareness of God’s presence. We forget that God is at the centre of our lives. We experience a lack and so we try to shore up our faltering sense of identity by proving others wrong and winning adherents to our side.

Later in the day my daughter sent me Richard Rohr’s thought for the day. Rohr says, “We need to know, experientially, that ‘I am who I am who I am”, and THAT naked, undecorated self is already and forever the beloved child of God.” That is the whole thing!

When I rest secure in my deep identity as “the beloved child of God,” I no longer need to make enemies. I discover that my “enemy” is equally a “beloved child of God,” not different from me, not worse, not better. We are all connected. The differences that appear to separate us exist only on the surface.

In the depths of our true identity as children created in the image of God, we are one. This realization sets me free to truly love. I do not need to have all the right answers and to prove you wrong. I do not need to be seen to be successful, or even to be successful. Life ceases to be a threat. I no longer need to build up my fragile sense of identity by rallying the troops against some perceived danger. I no longer need to defend myself. I am not fragile.

In this deep identity I discover the only real freedom possible for any human being.

Centered in God: Thomas Merton on Discernment

2009-04-15T14:35:00.000-07:00

I was asked recently about references in the writing of Thomas Merton to the topic of “discernment.”

I have three direct references in my notes, all from Merton’s The Ascent to Truth, which he began writing in 1948 at the age of thirty. Of the three only one reference is of interest. On pages 27,28, Merton writes,

In the Christian Platonism of the Fathers, dialectic is no longer as important as it was in Plato and Plotinus. The Christian contemplation of nature does not consist in an intellectual tennis game between these two contrary aspects of nature. It consists rather in the ascetic gift of a discernment which, in one penetrating glance, apprehends what creatures are, and what they are not. This is the intellectual counterpoise of detachment in the will. Discernment and detachment (krisis and apatheia) are two characters of the mature Christian soul. They are not yet the mark of a mystic, but they bear witness that one is traveling the right way to mystical contemplation, and that the stage of beginners is passed.

The presence of discernment and detachment is manifested by a spontaneous thirst for what is good – charity, union with the will of God – and an equally spontaneous repugnance for what is evil. The man who has this virtue no longer needs to be exhorted by promises to do what is right, or deterred from evil by threat of punishment. (The Ascent to Truth 27,28)

The interesting thing about this passage, and perhaps the reason, I find no further direct notations in my notes to the topic of “discernment,” is that Merton appears, even at this early date, to view discernment, not as a separate discipline of the Christian life by which a person can figure out the external will of God, but as an integral way of living life in Christ. Discernment is not a technique for discovering the will of God; it is simply a character “of the mature Christian soul.” It is a way of living, an orientation of the whole being toward “what is good – charity, union with the will of God – and an equally spontaneous repugnance for what is evil.”

Even in his late twenties Merton had understood that everything centered on his inner consciousness of God’s living presence at the core of his being. Later in his life Merton expressed this beautifully in a passage that appears in Love and Living,

it opens the believer’s inner eye, the eye of the heart, to the realization that he must come to be centered in God because that, in fact, is where his center is. He must become what he is, a ‘son of God,’ ‘seeking only his Father’s will,’ abandoned to the invisible Presence and Nearness of Him Who Is, for there is no reality anywhere else but in Him. Love and Living, 75.

A Response to Walker Morrow #3

2009-04-14T07:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Walker

In an attempt to honour my commitment to more succinct posts (April 6, 2009), I will confine my response to your latest comment (Comment on “A Response to Walker Morrow #2) to four points.

1. No human being can as you suggest “ever truly grasp the truth in its entirety.” The Bible impresses upon us the limitations of the human ability to know.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. (Psalm 139:6)

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! (Romans 11:33)

For now we see in a mirror, dimly… Now I know only in part. (I Corinthians 13:12)

The arrogant assumption that human rationality has absolute understanding lies at the heart of much of the triviality and dysfunction of the human community. Wherever you encounter an unshakeable conviction of absolute truth, you need to proceed cautiously. Truth is characterized more by mystery and humility than by clarity and certainty.

2. The proper goal of the human search is not to “grasp the truth in its entirety,” but to discover wisdom. We discover wisdom as we open to a reality deeper than the limited confines of human rationality. We are more than what we think. There are dimensions to human existence that cannot be contained by the mind.

Wisdom resides along the path of faith. Faith does not contradict reason, but moves beyond reason into the realm of trust, mystery and commitment. Faith opens us to the deep inner reality of the Spirit where we discover the transforming power of life lived in relationship to God. No one thinks his way into transformation. Transformation comes from the deep opening and vulnerability of surrender. As we surrender to God, we more fully reflect our true nature as beings created in the image of God.

3. To grow in our ability to live according to our true nature created in the image of God means to grow in our capacity to love, because “God is love,” (I John 4:16) and “everyone who loves…knows God.” (I John 4:7)

4. If, to love is to know God, then “Whoever loves a brother or sister lives in the light,” (I John 2:10) because “if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected it in us.” (I John 4:12)

Whether we like it or not, our relationship to God is inextricably bound up with our relationship to other people. We cannot “love” in the abstract. Love must be embodied. We must find a place, beyond the self-interested bonds of biological kinship, where love can be practiced. For me church is the place where I am truly challenged to grow in love.

In church I am required to see God in people in whom I might be disinclined to notice God’s presence. Church holds me faithful to the challenging practices of patience and perseverance that are essential to discovering God’s image where I may have failed to discern God’s Spirit. This is a vital discipline because, as I see God more fully in others, I grow in my awareness of God’s presence in my own life and so my capacity to love expands. By finding God more fully in you, I become more fully the person I was created to be. This is only possible with the faithful discipline of choosing to stay with you, especially at times when I find it most difficult to see God in your life.

The awkward, uncomfortable spiritual practice of choosing to remain in relationship with people who I may feel let me down, betray me, or upset me, is essential to growing deep in faith. Those who choose to love discover truth more than those who believe they think right thoughts.

Easter Miracle

2009-04-11T07:19:00.000-07:00

The Globe and Mail has a beautiful Easter story posted on Good Friday April 10, 2009. The original can be viewed here: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20090410.wfacts10/BNStory/lifeMain/home. In case it disappears, I include the whole article below.

Facts & Arguments Essay

Easter miracle

ALANA TRUMPY

From Friday's Globe and Mail April 10, 2009 at 12:00 AM EDT

Easter came early last year. Most of the country was coming out of a deep cold. And my 19-year-old sister had just died because of a misdiagnosis at a medical clinic.

From her bed in Victoria, where she lived on her own to go to college, she text-messaged my father in Saskatoon saying, "I'm scared." My mother booked a flight to go see her, not because she thought my little sister was in serious danger, but to be there for her. No one knew it, not my parents and certainly not the clinic that treated her hours before her death, but her lungs were filling up. She had undiagnosed pneumonia and died suddenly, with no goodbyes.

Rachel came fifth in a family of seven siblings, the youngest of three daughters. I was nine when she was born, old enough to hold her on my hip. That was only part of our dynamic, though. She had achieved such grace and level-headedness by her mid-teens that I, an adult, didn't know whether to baby her or to ask her for advice. When I'd tell her of something needlessly dramatic I'd done, she would laugh out loud, her eyes bright with incredulous amusement.

She was a great kid. Just having emerged from her gawky high-school years (complete with braces), she didn't know how pretty she was. As a child, she kept a tidy bedroom in a rambunctious household and got straight As in school. I once found her kneeling at her bedside. She earnestly read books like Attitudes of Gratitude. The kids she babysat across the street would peer out their front window when she was coming over and squeal, "Rachel's coming! Rachel's coming!"

She was that kind of girl. Promising, and at the age of 19, in bloom.

And then in an hour it turned into a horror show. Running out the door of a coffee shop and down the street whimpering when I guessed the news from an urgent e-mail. Shopping for a brand-new white Lululemon hoodie for Rachel to wear in her casket. Waiting in Saskatoon for her body to arrive in cargo from Victoria. Touching my sister's hairline for the last time, the only part of her body that reminded me of her. Her face was a mask of hideous brown makeup: a stranger's face. What I was touching was a corpse.

From dust to dust.

My mother, a devout Catholic, has arguments about Christianity with her children all the time. We usually tell her we believe in Christian values, but that's it. We believe in the golden rule: Love others as you love yourself. We'll even concede that Jesus can be seen in the face of a stranger. A junkie sleeping on a grate on the sidewalk, Pope John Paul II: Their souls have the same value in the eyes of God. You have been made in God's image. Your soul is worth more than all the dollars in the world.

But my mom always tells us that Christianity is more than that. Atheists believe in the golden rule too. What you need is a personal relationship with Christ.

Saying things like that makes people cringe, especially teenagers, even more so your kids. But I think last March I went and fulfilled my mother's prophecy. The meaning of Easter pierced my newly vulnerable heart with its miraculous promise. Everything else was clouded with grief, yet I found myself focusing my tired eyes on that hope.

I went to Easter mass alone in Toronto, across the country from the rest of my family, to be surrounded with what churchgoing people are called to celebrate at Easter: hope. Heaven. Turning our minds to that myth or that miracle: that God would suffer a mortal death and, in so doing, open up the doors to life after death for us.

Before Rachel died, Easter had never taken for me. Jesus was waiting for me in heaven?

Then one day it changes. Suddenly heaven has a face, Rachel's face, and I need it.

Easter celebrates that what's finite and what's infinite intersect, that there's life on Earth and there's life outside of it. Easter is an annual celebration for a reason: so that we're constantly aware that our earthly existence is insignificant compared to what awaits us. The entire church season pounds this into our consciousness.

When I stood in the congregation at Easter mass, I could think only two things: "Rachel" and "heaven." I thought of seeing Rachel's sweet face again, and it was like a hand ran over my heart. The idea of heaven came to me stronger than I could ever have expected.

I have survived my first awful year without my little sister. That sliver of hope for heaven that I felt at the Easter service has often evaded me, but I'll tell you something: It has meant more to me than hugs, cards, flowers, human kindness, the compassion of employers and certainly the notion that Rachel will "live on in memories."

Easter. Spring. It's a time of hope. Millions of Canadians are celebrating hope this weekend. And as a cradle Catholic, I am perhaps for the first time experiencing the true consolation of my religion.

Alana Trumpy lives in Toronto.

Seder

2009-04-10T04:59:00.000-07:00

Last night we celebrated our Seder Supper. I was asked and could not remember what the word "seder" means. "Seder" is the Hebrew word for "order" or "arrangement." It refers simply to the fact that the meal follows a particular pattern or ritual. The actions have meaning that refers back to the traditions and heritage of the Hebrew people.

Some people believe Christians should not use the rituals of the Seder meal in a Christian context. For Christians to celebrate "Seder" is seen as disrespectful to Jewish faith.

If you had been with us last night, you would have seen a group of people from as young as eleven months, to as old as late 80's celebrating together their faith in the liberting work of God throughout history. You would have experienced the transforming faith of a group of people who trace the "order" of God at work throughout human history and who understand this work to find its fulfillment in the person of a Hebrew man named Jesus.

There is no disrespect to the history and tradition of the Jewish people. God's faithfulness to the Jewish people is honoured and celebrated in our Seder observance. We see ourselves, through Jesus, linked to the Jewish people, sharing in their rich heritage and rejoicing in the presence of God at work in this great tradition of faith.

Jacob’s “Dia”

2009-04-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

I wrote this story for our Good Friday service this year. I have written a children's story for Christmas Day and Good Friday for many years. It is hard to know if they connect with the children, but it seems a worthwhile effort. nb: this post violates my recent resolution to have shorter posts.

since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God
through (dia) our Lord Jesus Christ (Romans 5:1)

Ever since any one could remember, Jacob had carried a blanket with him everywhere he went. When he was first beginning to talk Jacob named his blanket “Dia.” No one knew how Jacob came up with this strange name; but everybody knew Jacob could not be separated from his precious “Dia.”

Now, Jacob was six years old and his “Dia” was not so beautiful anymore; it was tattered and threadbare. But Jacob still loved his “Dia.” Recently the other children had begun to laugh at Jacob for always carrying his “Dia” everywhere he went. They called him “baby Dia” and other names that made Jacob feel hurt and sad.

Jacob tried to hide his “Dia” when the other children were around. He would tuck it under his tunic and pretend he didn’t have it. But it was too big to hide. A corner would stick out somewhere and the children would notice and make fun of Jacob. Sometimes they pretended they were going to take his blanket away from him and Jacob became really frightened. Jacob knew he should throw it away but he just could not give up his “Dia.”

When Jacob had his “Dia,” he felt calm and safe. When he was lonely, Jacob would rub his “Dia” and feel better. At night Jacob would smell his “Dia,” and it helped him go to sleep. No matter how upset he might be, when Jacob had his “Dia” he felt more peaceful.

Jacob lived a long time ago in a busy city named Jerusalem. Jacob liked the name of his City because it means “city of peace.” But Jerusalem was not always a peaceful place.

One day Jacob noticed that the streets of Jerusalem were filled with noisy angry people. They lined the main street leading out of the city. They were shouting and throwing things into the street.

Jacob pushed through the crowd, clutching his “Dia.” When he finally got to the front of the crowd Jacob looked down the long empty street. He saw soldiers marching and behind them one man all alone. The man was dragging a heavy wooden cross over his shoulder. Every few steps he would fall. No one helped him up; they just kicked him and cursed at him. Jacob wondered what terrible thing this man must have done to deserve such treatment.

The angry voices of the crowd were terrifying. They shouted, “Jesus you’re so great, why don’t you save yourself?” Some of the people laughed and made fun of this man. They said, “Jesus where is your great God now? Why don’t you get him to help you carry your cross?”

As Jacob watched the man got closer and closer. Finally, the soldiers passed Jacob. Then Jesus came slowly dragging his cross and stopped where Jacob stood. Jesus fell again. He was crushed under the weight of his cross. He lay on the hard cobblestones at Jacob’s feet. Jesus’ cheek was crushed against the stones. Jacob did not want to look. But something made him crouch down by Jesus’ head.

Jesus’ face was covered in blood from a crown of thorns pushed down onto his forehead. His back was bleeding from the beating by the soldiers. His knees and elbows were skinned. But, it was the man’s eyes that held Jacob’s attention. Jacob looked deep into those eyes. Even though the man was suffering so terribly, his eyes seemed filled with tenderness and love.

Jacob paused. Then Jacob reached out with his right hand holding his “Dia” and gently wiped Jesus’ forehead. It seemed to be the only thing he could do to try to ease the pain. Finally, the soldiers yanked Jesus to his feet. Jesus struggled up under the weight of his cross. He put one foot in front of the other and stumbled nearly falling again. Jacob wanted to help, but what could he do?

Then just as Jesus started to move, Jacob stepped forward and placed his “Dia” in Jesus’ hand. He hoped it might bring Jesus some comfort and peace.

Jacob watched as Jesus staggered down the road. He was still stumbling. But now, from Jesus’ right hand dangled a blood spattered piece of blue blanket. Jacob watched as Jesus and Jacob’s “Dia” disappeared around the corner. Then Jacob turned away from the street and began to walk home.

Suddenly, Jacob realized what he had done. His precious “Dia” was gone. Jacob knew he would never again feel its soft warm comfort. But then Jacob remembered Jesus’eyes. And Jacob knew that all the peace and comfort he had ever felt through his “Dia” had come to him through those eyes. There was something much stronger and more real than an old blue blanket and it was living deep in his heart. Jacob knew that the love in Jesus’ eyes was more real than any blue blanket. And Jacob knew that this love would never go away and would always make him strong and full of peace.

Many years later, when Jacob was grown up he heard a man named Paul teaching in the city square. Paul was speaking about the man named Jesus in a language Jacob did not understand. As he listened, Jacob recognized one word. Over and over Paul used the word, “dia.” When Jacob asked a man in the crowd what language Paul was speaking, he was told, it was Greek. Jacob asked, “What is Paul saying about ‘dia’?” The man said, “That is a Greek word, it means ‘through.’ Paul is saying that through Jesus we can find peace and strength.”

Jacob remembered how so many years ago he had thought that peace and strength came through an old blue blanket. But then he had seen Jesus and knew that peace and strength had come into his heart, not through a blanket, but through this person Jesus. Jacob felt sad that so many people were searching for peace through all kinds of things that could never bring peace. And Jacob was thankful he had found peace through Jesus. Jacob was thankful that this peace through Jesus lived in his heart and nothing could take it away.

© Christopher Page 2009

The Holy Week Question

2009-04-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

It doesn’t get the attention it deserves. It is such an odd unsettling question. Jesus asks it in the Garden of Gethsemane after one of those with Jesus “struck the slave of the high priest, cutting off his ear.”

Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?(Matthew 26:53)

A Roman legion consisted of 6,000 soldiers. Jesus has unlimited power at his disposal. Upon this fact rests the central meaning of this week we call “holy.” No one has taken his life from Jesus. He is not a victim. Jesus surrenders his life. He gives himself into the hands of violence and injustice.

This giving is the power that turns the universe and opens a crack in the opaque density of matter through which resurrection breaks forth. Every week becomes “holy” when we choose to join Jesus in this transaction of surrender.

The Palm Sunday Propositions

2009-04-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

1. We don't always get what we want.

2. When we don't get what we want, it is tempting to ask, how can I get what I want.

3. How can I get what I want is the wrong question because:

a. we do not have the power to orchestrate the circumstances of life to always give us what we want

b. what we think we want is usually not what we really want

What we really want is to do what Jesus did when he entered Jerusalem.

"Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple." (Mark 11:11)

We want to know the dwelling place of God. When we enter the temple of God's presence, it does not matter so much that we don't get what we want. We stop asking how can I get what I want. In Christ we have all we want and all we truly need. That is the Palm Sunday proposition.

Short Blog Posts

2009-04-06T05:10:00.000-07:00

My wife,who is the source of most of the wisdom in my life, has been trying to convince me that my posts on this blog are waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too long.

So here is my first really short post:

Happy Birthday Heather
.
You are a spectacular human being. I love you.

A Response to Walker Morrow #2

2009-04-03T06:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Walker,

Again your thoughts in the Comments Section (see March 22 “A Response to Walker Morrow” Comment 3) are so thorough and stimulating that I feel the need to respond with a separate post.

I am struck by how much we seem to agree about and how minor our differences really are. The difference comes mostly in our interpretation of certain events, actions and people. This is critically important. We need to be clear in any human discourse that interpretation is taking place. Two people look at the same event, or person, or set of circumstances and come to different, sometimes radically different, conclusions about what is happening or has happened.
Not infrequently I have met with one partner in a marriage dispute. I listen sympathetically to her description of her marriage and wonder how can she bear living with her husband. Some time later, I meet the husband and listen to his description of the same marriage and wonder, how tolerates living with his wife. They are both describing exactly the same situation and coming to radically different conclusions.

There are times when I listen to conversations and it seems to me that the people are discussing a particular familiar object that I recognize quite easily. One of the people in the conversation is convinced the object they are discussing is a china cup. The other person is speaking as if the object is a watermelon. And I am sure in my own mind that they are actually talking about a table. The participants in this conversation view the world so differently that they do not appear to have any common meeting ground. It is tempting to walk away from the entire enterprise of human discourse in utter despair.

If we are ever going to persevere in any human conversation, we must acknowledge that we all speak from a particular viewpoint. You see a cup; someone else sees a watermelon; I see a table. Every viewpoint is a view from a point. And the point from which I start colours everything else about the way in enter into conversation. We see things the way we are conditioned to see things. We see things from the point of view we have already adopted or have inherited from our family, church, culture, or peer group. There are no absolutely objective perceptions. We all have prejudices. We all have blind spots.

I often tell the people in the church I serve that I do not ever want to belong to an organization in which everyone agrees with me. I need to be challenged by being around people who have different perceptions of the world. Having to live with people who disagree with me helps keep me honest and deepens and matures my perception of reality. If I walk away from everyone who disagrees with me just because we disagree, I condemn myself to a life of immaturity and superficial perspectives on life.

The story is often told, but bears repeating of the three blind men who were asked to describe an elephant. The first man grasped the tail of the elephant and announced, “An elephant is like a strong thick rope.” The second man felt along the side of the elephant and proclaimed, “An elephant is like a strong solid wall.” The third man felt the leg of the elephant and said, “An elephant is like a tree.” They were all touching the same animal but each man had only a partial vision of the truth. None was completely wrong; none was completely right.

The really important part of this story is that the vision of the whole would have been more adequate, and closer to the truth, if each of man would have been willing to contribute his perception to the whole. Indeed an elephant is a bit like a thick strong rope, a strong solid wall, and a tree. When each person contributes his insight, the whole is better than the parts.

This of course brings me to your thoughts on individualism. There is no first or second when it comes to being an individual or being “part of the whole.” We are all absolutely responsible for our lives, for our perceptions and for the choices we make in response to the way we view the world around us. But at the same time, we are all absolutely connected. We are intertwined as part of the human community.

We can deny the reality of our connectedness; we can fight against it, or pretend it is not true. But the air I breathe is the same air you breathe; it has already circulated through your lungs. There is something of you in me and something of me in you. We are connected. We are interdependent. The human community is profoundly impoverished to the degree that I deny my bond with you.

In I Corinthians 12 Paul uses the image of a body to speak about our interconnections. He says, “the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body.’” (12:14,15) He goes on to say, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’” (12:21)

Paul is saying, whether we like it or not, whether we acknowledge it or not, we are joined. The only question is whether we are willing to acknowledge, manifest and work at growing in our awareness of and exercise of this human bond. Are we willing to embody this deep inner mystical connection between human beings in some tangible form? This is what church is for. As frail as it may be, church is an attempt to give physical expression to the hidden inner reality of our bond as human beings created in the image of God.

There is no doubt that we in the church frequently fail to give a compelling and attractive image of what it means to be one humanity joined in Christ. We often look fragmented, broken, conflicted, and confused. But the human condition is broken. When broken people come together with their partial insights, one will see the elephant as a tree, another as a rope, and another as a wall. If we walk away from each other every time our partial views of reality clash, we will never know the elephant.
The elephant is far bigger than any one of us. As long as we keep holding together to the elephant and feeling our way around this mighty animal, we will be able to grow in our awareness of what the elephant is. When we are willing to share our different understandings of “elephant,” we will come closer to the reality we seek to know. When we walk away with our perception of the elephant as a tree firmly clutched to our breast, we condemn ourselves to a tragically partial vision of reality.

The question is not who is right or who is wrong. The question is, can I stay open to you. Can I listen to you? Can I respect you even though we are different? Am I willing to allow my life to be broken open more deeply by the collison of our differences?

The four most important words for human community are, “I may be wrong.”

Am I willing to accept that my view is not the only view? Can I see that, even though we may disagree or view events in a different light, your view has validity and my view is not the only way of understanding reality? When we demonize the “opposition,” we are all diminished. The fragmented world in which we live desperately needs to see a place where it is possible for people to be together in respectful, open, accountable relationship in spite of disagreements. The world needs to see that there can be a place where people are willing to put aside disagreements in the interests of a greater vision. I pray that the church may be this place.

The Fear Response

2009-04-01T21:23:00.000-07:00

I received an email today that contained a beautiful line of deep spiritual insight. With the writer's permission, the line and my response are posted below.

"I'm trying to let go of my tight, clutching, fear response to life and adopt a gentle approach."

This is probably the only real lesson there is on the spiritual journey. Everything else is window dressing.

For me the key to getting past the “tight, clutching, fear response to life,” is simply being aware. I need to see the "clutching, fear response" when it comes. I need to recognize it in my body, learning the feel of it and then, not judging it, but going to a different place in my body. I think this is really a physical process before it is a mental process.

We cannot think our way out of the "clutching, fear response." We just need to recognize the tightness and then affirm that there is a place within ourselves that knows better and is stronger and more real. When we can get in touch with that wiser, deeper place in our being, we will respond differently.

For me, finding this deeper place means taking a deep breath, choosing not to disassociate myself from whatever is going on, staying present with whatever is happening, holding my ground where I am, feeling my feet on the floor or the weight of my body in the chair. It means intentionally choosing to relax my shoulders, my hands, the muscles around my face. It means looking out from my eyes with openness and receptivity instead of caution, uncertainty, doubt, and fear.

In our service this morning we read Psalm 46. The whole Psalm evokes this strong, steady, open place so beautifully. The key in the Psalm is that this strength does reside within us. We are not in any real danger. The Psalmist says, “God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved.” (46:5) I see myself as “the city,” with God in the depths of my being. Therefore I “shall not be moved.” I do not need to be tossed about, pushed this way and that way by every breeze that blows past. What could possibly hurt me? “The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter; he utters his voice, the earth melts.” (46:6) God in me is my “refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” (46:1) There is nothing to fear!

The external forces that pound against my life, only have power over me to the degree that I give them power. I don’t know why I would spend my life giving power over my life to people, events, or circumstances that occur outside myself. Why would I allow someone’s opinion of me, or their words to me, or the way they look at me cause me to close down and become rigid? This “clutching, fear response,” is simply a learned automatic reaction. I can program into my being a different more life-giving response.

Sitting in silent prayer has so much to do with this. It is such an important discipline. Twice a day for twenty minutes, I choose to let go over and over of all those external forces that in the past I have allowed to control my life. Instead, I intentionally rest in that steady place of strength that is my true nature and is the gift of God’s Spirit dwelling in me.

I think, the more I am in that place in prayer, the easier it is for me to find it in the hurly burly of daily life. Then, when I am confronted with some external force that would normally cause me to tense up and retreat I can stand my ground and flow out from that peaceful place. Then I don't even really have to "adopt a gentle approach." It is just there, because that place is a gentle place. Gentleness becomes our natural response rather than the defensiveness that has been so habitual. The gentleness is not a product of my discipline. It is a fruit of God’s Spirit dwelling within me. Because I have rested in the presence of the peaceful, gentle Spirit, I live more peacefully and gently.

A Response to Walker Morrow #1

2009-03-22T19:39:00.000-07:00

Further down in this blog you will see a post titled "Why I Remain An Anglican." Today I received a thoughtful and challenging response to this post which the author posted in the comment section under "Why I Remain An Anglican." As I began to respond to Walker Morrow, I realized that my "comment" on his response had become a post in its own right. So I am posting it here as "A Response to Walker Morrow."

Dear Walker

Thank you for forwarding to me your thoughtful and challenging reflections on the Anglican Church. I do not perceive your words to be in any way “confrontational.”

I will not respond here in detail to your specific allegations against the leadership of the Anglican Church. If you wish to pursue these details, I would be happy to discuss them if contact me personally.

In general I have three responses to your thoughts and one conclusion.
1. It is always easier to be a perfect leader from outside than when one is actually in the position of having to be the leader. In my own parish ministry I know there have been times when my parishioners have wrung their hands at my bumbling efforts to fulfill my function as their rector. I can only say I have always tried to exercise my leadership to the best of my ability and to conduct myself with integrity. It remains my conviction that those who are in leadership in the Anglican Church are genuinely seeking to serve Christ and to exercise their leadership in the best interests of the church as a whole.

It is fascinating to watch Barack Obama’s shiny image begin to become a little bit dulled as he gets into the incredibly challenging business of actually trying to find his way through the complexities and intricacies of the US government.

The issues facing the Anglican Church at this time are terribly complex, profoundly sensitive and deeply challenging. The conversation in which we are presently engaged is a difficult conversation. It is not easy to conduct such a conversation. All sides in any conversation bear some responsibility when the conversation falters. If we walk away from every conversation that stumbles, soon we will have only ourselves to talk to.

2. Every human organization has some hierarchy. The hierarchy in the Anglican Church may be more noticeable than in some other organizations but the fact that we acknowledge our hierarchical leadership makes it less threatening than those organizations that attempt to pretend they operate without hierarchy.

The hierarchy in the Anglican Church has many checks and balances that exist in an attempt to diminish the harm it can do. The hierarchy in the Anglican Church is not imposed; it is elected, hopefully with the guidance of the Holy Spirit. As in any form of elected governance, the electors get the leadership they deserve. The healthy response to a perception of inadequacy in leadership is to work to provide better leadership.

In fact hierarchy in the church has existed from the beginning and has been the vessel that has conveyed to us the traditions and teachings of our faith. Without some kind of structure the light and truth of the gospel would have been dissipated and lost in the shadows of history. Christianity would have vanished as simply one more strange momentary religious sect that flashed upon the scene and then evaporated. You may think this would have been just as well. But from my perspective it would have meant the loss of a profoundly rich and deep religious heritage that, for all its failings, has contributed enormously to the well-being of the human community.

The church is a human organization. Like any human organization it has many flaws. But the church continues to carry the light of Christ and, at the moment, I am not aware of a better container from within which to nurture and support that light.

3. Finally, with all due respect, whether you acknowledge it or not you are “part of a whole.” We all stand upon the shoulders and are deeply beholden to those who have gone ahead of us. There is deep and profound wisdom that has been passed down through the ages. We are deeply impoverished if we are not willing to acknowledge our debt to those who have carried the faith and wisdom of the ages before us. We are all connected. The human community is not a collection of distinct individuals, each one their “own person.” The well-being of the world requires that we acknowledge, affirm and celebrate our deep inter-connectedness.

We belong to one another. The church is one of the places where we attempt to incarnate that reality and give form to our belonging. In the church we celebrate the reality of our human connection that exists not because we always agree or look or behave alike but because we acknowledge that all human beings are created in the image of God and therefore deserve to be honoured and valued as bearers of that image. The world is a frightening and troubling place when we surrender to the absolute autonomy of every individual and forsake any acknowledgement of the deep realities that bind us together as one human organism.

Conclusion

I share your sense of frustration that this conversation in the Anglican Church has dragged on for so long. We have allowed ourselves to be sidetracked over a particular issue. Although the issue may be important, it is not the central issue of the church. The church exists to point people beyond the visible tangible manifestations of church to the hidden, mysterious, invisible reality of God’s Spirit at work in our lives.

Paul says, “we have this treasure in clay jars.” (2 Corinthians 4:7) We are all “clay jars.” The church is a “clay jar.” The clay jar is cracked and broken but it still contains “this treasure.” It is deeply tragic if we allow our pain at the cracks in the clay jar to cause us to miss the treasure. If we can look carefully and open our hearts deeply, we will begin to discover that, in fact, it is through the cracks that the light of the treasure within can be seen.

I pray that you may continue to know God’s guidance on your journey. I pray you may find a community in which you can discern the outline of God’s work enough to make it possible for you to participate in and contribute towards supporting and nurturing the work of God in the world through that community. God bless and keep you.

When Is It Time To Leave My Church?

2009-03-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

Introduction to "When Is It Time To Leave My Church?"

A slightly different version of the reflections that follow this introduction appears in the current issue of the Diocese of BC Diocesan newspaper.

The title may seem unnecessarily negative, even provocative. I admit it was intended to get the reader's attention. But in these thoughts I was seriously trying to imagine what might cause me to feel I had come to the point where it was necessary for me to leave the church that has nurtured my faith for almost all of the past fifty-four years. In the process I hoped I might clarify in my own mind what has brought certain people to the conclusion that their faith requires them to leave the Anglican Church of Canada.

I am afraid I have not come to much greater clarity on this second question. The Anglican Church of Canada has always been a slightly muddled community. This is both a strength and a weakness. Our muddle means that it is possible for a person to share fully in worship within the Anlgican Church while still experiencing some doubts and uncertainties on the way. We do not demand conformity, clarity, absolute agreement before fully embracing people as participants in our community. We are willing to allow for flexibility and to trust the intentions of peoples' hearts demonstrated in their desire to attend worship and participate in the eucharist.

The weakness in our muddle is the potential loss of any coherent identity. If we acept absolutely every expression of faith, we may eventually stand for nothing. I do not believe we as a church are anywhere near standing for nothing. We are a Christian church. We celebrate the central mystery of Christian faith over and over in the eucharist in which we acknowledge the death and ressurection of Jesus Christ and open ourselves to the life and work of God's Spirit in our midst through that action. We continue to read, study and preach the scriptures. The historic Christian Creeds continue to appear in all our officially sanctioned worship resources, affirming the fullness of the traditions and content of Christian faith. We pray together and challenge one another to live the life of love we have experienced in God through Christ.

It is possible there may be isolated clergy, or even bishops, who appear on the surface to have wandered so far afield that they have forsaken the right to identify themselves as Christian. I have never personally met, or sat down and had a protracted conversation with, such an errant cleric. It is my suspicion that, if I had the patience to seriously engage with a person within the Anglican Church of Canada who might appear to me to be swimming in a completely different ocean, that we would eventually discover that the water is not all that different after all. If we could approach each other with open minds and gracious hearts, I suspect we would find that there is more that unites us than divides us.

I was deeply moved a couple of years ago by a colleague who in a discussion around who may or may not receive eucharist, said "We feed people, not because they are converted, but so they will be converted." This seems to me to be the church of which I want to be a part. I eat at the table, not because I am converted. I eat at the table because I need to be converted, over and over, again and again, week by week. I need to come and lay before God the brokenness of my own life and allow my heart to be shattered afresh by the mercy of Christ as I receive the bread and wine of his presence. I need to be called to surrender more fully and to open my heart more deeply to the presence of Christ at work in my life. I need to be challenged to see the idols to which I cling and to allow them to be rooted out of my heart. I need to be called to examine my idolatries of thought and to listen carefully to those whose believes may seem to differ from my most fondly cherished beliefs. This is all part of the process of conversion in which I must share.

There is no means test, no theological character profile that must be administered before Christ bestows upon me the gift of his grace.

When I was in seminary, anyone who did not lay down the law pretty clearly, was accused of preaching "cheap grace." If you read Romans 5 you will discover indeed that God's grace is not "cheap"; God's grace is free! I want to be in a church where I experience God's grace as free. I want to be in a place that trusts God's Spirit to be at work in peoples' lives without always having to tell me what that work is going to look like.

As I say in the words that follow, the fundamental issue is trust. Do we trust those who kneel or stand around the table with us? Do we trust that, whatever their understanding or lack of understanding of the finer points of theology may be, the fact that they gather at Christ's table means they desire to open their hearts to God's Spirit? Do we trust that, wherever there is an openness to the work of God's Spirit, that Spirit is present and at work, even if we feel unable to see exactly how that work may be unfolding?

I choose to trust that there is love in the hearts of those who sing and pray and break bread in Anglican churches. And I believe "God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them." (I John 4:16b) And I strive to model my life after Paul's extraordinary vision of this love that is "patient," and "does not insist on its own way," that "bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." And I take my stand on the deep conviction that, no matter what," this "Love never ends." (I Corinthians 13:4-8)

There is so much I do not understand. "Now we see in a mirror, dimly... Now I know only in part. (I Corinthians 13:12) Dimly I see the outline of Christ in your life as I pray, even if only dimly, you may see the presence of love in me. So, I cannot walk away from you. I cannot abandon you, even if you are wrong, perhaps especially if you are wrong. Paul tells me to "Welcome those who are weak in faith." (Romans 14:1) So I welcome you, as I pray you may welcome me when my faith is shaky and my heart is dark. A church that welcomes me when I struggle, is a church that it will be hard for me to find a reason to leave.

When Is It Time To Leave My Church?

In twenty-five years of parish ministry I have seen many marriages end. The end usually comes when the talking is over. When it is no longer possible to have conversation, any hope of keeping a relationship together is usually dead.

There are those in the Anglican Church of Canada who have concluded that the time for talking is over. For some members of the Anglican Church there seems no longer to be any value in continuing the conversation. Our differences are too great; the gaping chasm separating us cannot be traversed by words.

But perhaps people are more complex than this simple scenario suggests. In my experience, the end of a marriage usually happens even before the conversation stops. The fact that words have run out is simply the final dying gasp of a relationship that has been suffering for some time.

So, what causes the death of a relationship?

There are many causes for the demise of any relationship. But, common to all relational death is the end of trust. Somewhere along the way, one or both parties decide it is no longer worth the risk of extending the gift of trust. The likelihood of betrayal and violence is too great to make the risk of trust worth the price. It feels as if the only hope for safety is to withdraw from relationship with this person who has become too threatening.

In some marriage breakdowns the betrayal has been so great that it is probably unrealistic to expect any resumption of trust. Family violence, repeated marital unfaithfulness, and consistent unwillingness to deal with substance abuse, all represent such a fundamental betrayal of the marital relationship that the preservation of the health and sanity of at least one person may require separation.

Parishioners, or whole parishes that are determined to leave the Anglican Church of Canada have, apparently concluded that a betrayal of such magnitude has occurred that the preservation of spiritual health and sanity makes separation essential. As a person who remains in leadership within the Anglican Church of Canada, I can only look with sadness at the departure of people I have known and loved, in some cases for as long as thirty years. Any marriage breakdown is always a tragedy. The further fracturing of the church institution in our day can only be seen as a continuing manifestation of the brokenness that lies at the heart of human experience.

The end of any relationship is an important time for serious self-examination. When a marriage ends, I want to ask both parties, what was your contribution to the demise of this relationship. As a person in leadership within the Anglican Church of Canada, I must ask myself what offense I may have caused that has led others to conclude they can no longer worship with me. Is there anything in my ministry that is so abusive, violent, offensive, and wrong that I would recommend anyone to break trust with me and refuse to break bread with me at Christ’s table?

No doubt in thirty years of ordained ministry, twenty of them in the same community, I have made many mistakes. I have done stupid things and, at times have been petty, mean and insensitive. But I have done all these things in my marriage. Yet my marriage survives, even thrives in spite of times of pain and struggle. These are simply the normal routine bumps along the road in any relationship. It would take more than the frequent but relatively minor manifestations of my own frailty to derail my marriage.

Many people in the church I serve have experienced the disappointment of my bumbling efforts to be a faithful priest and servant of Christ. There are people who have, at times been deeply hurt by my insensitivity and failure. But we continue in community. We exercise forgiveness and forbearance. The betrayal has not been so great that trust has been irredeemably broken. Recognizing our weaknesses and bearing one another’s failures, we carry on in the journey of imperfect human community.

There must be something more than the common failures of human relationship to cause a final break in community. What has the Anglican Church of Canada done that has made it necessary for some of our members to feel they must come out from among us in search of a community of greater faithfulness and truth? Why can we no longer worship together? Why are we unable to continue in allegiance to the same bishop?

I suppose I am the wrong person to answer these questions. As one who remains generally content within the frail vessel that is the Anglican Church of Canada, I obviously have not felt so abused by this institution that I must leave in order to preserve my spiritual well-being. What might cause me to feel I must leave a church? How would I know it was time to say this relationship is over?

These are difficult questions. The burden of biblical directive is to “Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other.” (Colossians 3:13. See also Ephesians 4:2, 32; Romans 14:13, 19, 15:7) We are instructed in the Bible to forgive, to put up with each other, to be humble, gentle and caring toward one another. We are to bear one another’s burdens, to stand by the one who is weaker, to honour others above ourselves, to encourage one another, and to avoid judgment, provocation, biting, devouring, and favouritism. Leaving another person will always be difficult for anyone who seeks to embody these qualities in relationship.

So what might cause me to separate from another person?

I have twice encouraged one partner in a marriage to leave the relationship. In both cases it was my perception that the person I counseled to leave was in serious danger in relationship with a person who was completely unwilling to address the issues causing the presence of violence in their relationship. Since people have left my church, I must ask myself if I am the perpetrator of such violence that it is no longer safe for such people to share in worship under my leadership. What would such violence look like in a church?

Violence in the church usually takes one of two forms. I have witnessed violence in the church when a person in power uses their position for personal gain against the well-being of the person who the leader is abusing in pursuit of his own physical, material, spiritual, or emotional gratification.

The second form of violence I have seen in the church occurs when a person in authority demands that everyone conforms to the leader’s vision despite what church members may perceive to be their conscience. This conformity may take the form of a demand that you believe all that the leader believes or behave like the leader because the leader knows that his or her choices are universally true and right for all people at all times.

I would encourage anyone to withdraw from a community that accepts leadership that uses its position to seek personal gain, or demands conformity of belief and behaviour contrary to personal conscience. The sign that a church leader has reached the point at which withdrawal from that leader becomes necessary, is when that leader is unwilling to entertain even the possibility that he or she may be wrong.

Paul taught that the sign of God’s Spirit is the presence of freedom (II Corinthians 3:17). He suggested that the purpose of Christ’s mission was that human beings might live in freedom (Galatians 5:1). Where there is freedom there is hope. Where there is freedom we can always trust that God’s Spirit is at work. Error will be corrected in time. Fellowship can be sustained because we walk together in respect and love for one another. When I fail it is because I do not trust the work of God’s Spirit in the lives of those who may conceive of following Christ in ways different than my understanding. Where I have done violence to others is where I have been unwilling to discern the faint outline of God’s Spirit at work in those whose experience of life has brought them to a place different than the place I find myself. When I encounter such violence it is time to leave my church.

I do not see this violence in the Anglican Church of Canada. I see struggle and difference. I see an occasionally messy community striving to stay open to the Spirit of Christ and to be faithful to its perception of where that Spirit is leading. As long as I find room within this church to follow where I believe God’s Spirit is leading, it is not time for me to leave my church. I will not leave those who give me the respect of freedom and openness. I pray others may find in me the grace I desire to extend to them. To stay in community I need only the willingness to continue the mysterious journey of discerning the work of God’s liberating Spirit in our midst.

God's Concert

2009-02-08T21:14:00.000-08:00

The choir stands tiered on risers curved across the platform in front of a mighty pipe organ that rises to the ceiling. The choristers are dressed in floor length crimson cassocks with white ruffles at the neck. They sing words based on Psalm 68, beseeching, “Let God arise.”

There are two hundred of us seated in pews on the main floor and in a balcony that stretches around the room. On my left and my right intricate filigreed stained glass windows rise from floor to ceiling.

This is not a church service. The building, though once a house for sacred worship, is now a concert hall. The audience has each paid thirty-five dollars to sit and listen to choristers accompanied by a baroque orchestra ask God to “Let mercy and truth go before Thy face.” We do not pray, sing hymns, recite creeds, or hear a sermon. At the end of each piece of music we applaud.

For a hundred years the walls of the building in which we now sit have listened patiently to the prayers and praises of people of faith. The stained glass windows have witnessed rites of passage, celebrating birth, marriage and death. These walls have served as containers for words of wisdom, hope and trust. Sometimes they have held the despair, doubt and deep confusion of people facing life’s inevitable tragedies.

But these walls no longer serve as containers for the spiritual yearnings of a community drawn together by faith. The days of sacred worship in this place have ended, replaced by advertised concerts sponsored by wealthy patrons and supported by the ticket sales of loyal fans.

The choir pleads, “Let God arise. Let his enemies be scattered.” Is it the “enemies” of God who have caused this place of worship to become a centre for the arts? Has this building been diminished by abandoning its once glorious role as a house of prayer to be replaced by its new function as a vehicle for music performance?

Or is it possible my vision is too small?

Must I confine God’s work in this building to the years when it was consciously intended to draw people to acknowledge God’s presence? Might God be as active here this evening in this concert as God will be active in the sacred service I will lead in the morning in a building that remains intentionally dedicated to the presence of the Divine?

Perhaps in the transcendent beauty of this evening’s music, the Mysterious Presence I name “God” is equally at work as in my morning prayers, hymn singing, preaching, and breaking of bread and sharing of wine. Perhaps, if I have eyes to see, in the selfless dedication of these musicians to their art and in the gift of their talents to the audience, I may perceive the vitality of that creative energy I name as “God.”

Can my vision expand to embrace the possibility that God may be hidden here as much as I believe God is hidden in all of life?

There is no doubt, the people in this audience have stepped for a moment away from the normal grasping, clutching, demanding routines of their lives. They have entered a gentler place in the presence of this music. They have opened to the possibility of another reality beyond the daily demands of finding their way through the complexities of life.

If hearts have softened here, how can I believe God is absent? If spirits have opened for a moment, how is this different from what I hope occurs in the services I conduct in my life in the church? God’s ways are not necessarily confined to my tidy little picture of reality. God’s ways are mysterious and beyond my knowing. When I try to lock God up in my little church box I lose sight of the wonder and majesty that are the true nature of God and to which this music will point those with eyes to see.

This concert challenges me to open my eyes more fully, to see more deeply to find God where I might least expect to find God. I need to renew my vision and respect the work of God’s Spirit even where that work may not occur according to my prescribed requirements. I need to understand that there are witnesses to God of which I know nothing. God is active in places I might never perceive. My vision needs to grow. My faith needs to deepen. God is present wherever there is beauty.

In his book Living Vatican II: The 21st Council for the 21st Century the Catholic writer Gerald O’Collins, S.J. quotes the famous dictum of Thomas Aquinas who wrote, “Every truth, no matter by whom it is said, comes form the Holy Spirit.” O’Collins then goes on to draw the conclusion that

Since goodness and beauty belong necessarily with truth and since one cannot imagine the Holy Spirit inspiring truth but being unconcerned about goodness and beauty, one could legitimately expand the dictum and declare: ‘All truth, goodness, and beauty, no matter by whom they are expressed, come from the Holy Spirit.’ In broader terms, wherever there is truth, goodness, and beauty in a culture, there is the Holy Spirit.

This is the true Christian Spirit, open to God’s work, affirming God’s work wherever God’s work may be found and in whatever form it may occur.

Why I Remain an Anglican

2009-01-24T09:28:00.000-08:00

this post originally appeared in the January 2009 edition of "The Diocesan Post" of the Anglican Diocese of British Columbia.

If you have your own reasons "Why I Remain an Anglican" add them to the comments section.

Seven years ago I was invited by a local paper to write an article explaining why I “remain an Anglican.” The request came in response to a fellow priest’s decision to resign from the Anglican Church and start a new church.

Today things are not greatly different than they were in 2001. I remain an Anglican, serving now in the parish I served then and people continue to leave our church. Usually they depart one by one, sometimes as families. Occasionally whole congregations pack up and move to the other side of town. And so I wonder how might I answer the question if it were posed to me today, “Why remain an Anglican?”

I could give historical reasons; there are several and they are good. I could give reasons argued from theology; but theology can always be argued in a variety of directions. My real reasons for remaining an Anglican are deeply personal and they organize themselves around five basic convictions about the nature of life and of the Anglican Church.

1. I remain an Anglican because I know that life is messy. People are often disagreeable, hard to get along with, cantankerous and sometimes just irritating. We will always find things in other people that are disagreeable. No group of people larger than one will ever experience blissful harmony all the time. Families would seldom survive if we parted company every time we disagreed or had a squabble.

Seven years ago I said, “The tendency to separate seems to be contagious. The history of the Christian church indicates that those who divide will likely divide again. I cannot imagine what might merit risking one more break in the already fragmented body of Christ.” The last seven years has proven this again and again. Communities that divide because their way is the only right way soon find another way that someone in their new community is getting it wrong and division continues to spread.

Does this mean I have no convictions? Does this mean I settle for anything that goes just so we can stay together?

2. I remain an Anglican because the Anglican Church is a community of Christian faith. In 2001 my brother who left the church said he had to go because the Anglican Church “has increasingly allowed the values and demands of a decadent and demoralized western culture to set more and more of its agenda.” I did not see it then; I do not see it now. I do not believe we are any more or less greedy, self-obsessed, power hungry, or violent than every church has ever been throughout all of history.

The “agenda” in the church where I serve has not changed one bit in the last seven years.

We are a community of Christian faith. We exist to worship God who is known to us in Jesus Christ. We desire only to follow faithfully where God’s Holy Spirit leads us and to serve all people with love, compassion and grace. We believe God calls us to grow daily in our ability to bear the fruit of the Spirit in “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.” And, as I said seven years ago, “I will never learn these qualities from people with whom I always get along.” I need uncomfortable people, people who disagree with me and with whom I argue in order to learn “patience, kindness,” and the faithfulness to which Scripture calls us again and again. So I must not give up on those in my faith community who I find difficult or awkward.

3. I remain an Anglican because love never gives up. Even if the church to which I belong makes mistakes, or is at times compromised, confused, even a little bit chaotic love is stronger and more lasting than all of the ways in which we might get it wrong.

My mother recently died. As I write these words, my desk is covered with cards expressing love, compassion, care and concern for me and for my family. Many of the expressions of condolence I have received over the past few days have been deeply touching in their sensitivity, gentleness and kindness. These cards come mostly from Anglicans. Some of them come from Anglicans with whom I worshiped as a small child representing fifty-four years of connection and affection. The people who wrote these cards are people in whom I see the face of Christ. They are people who, even when the reflection was terribly faint, have been willing to continue struggling to see the face of Christ in my life. In these lives I experience the deep work of God’s Spirit. It is hard to imagine what would motivate me to leave these people.

4. I remain an Anglican because the Anglican Church is a large and diverse community. We live in a world that is deeply broken with often violent and horrifying results. Almost the only surviving international communities left in our world are the corporate consumer communities that are bound together by a common economic interest. The world desperately needs to see that it is possible for a community to hold together across barriers of culture, language, ethnicity, and race without the binding motivation of self-interest, or the benefit of economic gain or power advantage.

The Anglican Church contains people of many races, languages, and ethnic backgrounds. It is a church that has room in it for everyone. We do not demand that you achieve a certain socio-economic status before you join. You do not have to pass a theology test before you qualify for membership. We ask only what Jesus asked, that you acknowledge your poverty and are willing to mourn. You need only to “hunger and thirst for righteousness,” be pure in heart, willing to exercise mercy, and to live as a peacemaker. (Matthew 5:3-9) And, in the end, we embrace one another even when we fail miserably to reach any of these exalted goals.

And so, my final reason for remaining an Anglican is the most important reason of all.

5. I remain an Anglican because I am a failure. The Anglican Church is a church for failures. The Anglican Church is a place where I can beat my breast and say, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” (Luke 18:13)

I remain an Anglican simply because there is room in this church for me. The Anglican Church is my home. And home is the place where they always have to take you in. If I can only belong when I get all the right answers, I will never be at home in any church. If there is only room for me because my behaviour measures up to some external standard of prescribed conduct, I will always be excluded. There is no room for me in any community where I need to be smart enough, good enough, clean enough, pure enough.

I can only belong in a community where I am trusted, not that I will always get it right but that I am doing the best I can to follow God’s Spirit. I can only belong in a community where, when I kneel at the altar rail and put out my empty hands, I am told that God believes the intention of my heart and desires to fill me with love, blessing, grace and mercy. I remain an Anglican because, when we gather at the Lord’s Table, we are all the same. None of us is special, none is better than anyone else. We gather with our shared poverty, our deep hunger and hearts that desire only to open to God in Christ and to receive again and again the bread that feeds us for eternal life.

You see, no matter how low I set the bar, there are no standards to which I can measure up. There are no great achievements I can hold out to say, this proves I am worthy to eat at the table with you. The only reason for us to separate is if you can no longer accept me just as I am - stumbling, confused, broken, and often lost, but longing to have you see Christ in me, as I long to see Christ in you. In the Anglican Church, I am encouraged to see Christ in broken vessels and to find the riches of God’s mercy in failing followers like myself. This community of mercy rooted in faithfulness and love is the only place I will ever be able to belong. This is why I remain an Anglican.

Money

2009-01-07T20:24:00.000-08:00

I seldom talk about money. It is not that I am embarrassed by the topic. My hesitation lies in my concern about the potential for subtle hidden agendas whenever people who work in the church bring up the topic of finances.

My primary responsibility in the church is to support and nurture the spiritual lives of the people in the community I serve. In order to support the flourishing of the human spirit I must encourage those I serve to live in the freedom for which Christ has set them free. There is no place in spiritual nurture for guilt, manipulation, pressure, or hidden agendas.

When we clergy talk about money it is difficult to avoid the potential for a hidden subtext lurking beneath our words. When clergy talk about money, we are usually talking about our church budget. We are talking about our own salary. A bigger budget in my church means more programs, more staff, more ministry. And the more programs, staff and ministry in my church, the better I look as a leader in the community. The potential for a conflict of interest is clear.

It is tempting to urge my congregation to consider the deep spiritual principle of financial giving to God through the church. But what motivation lies behind my urging?

I once attended a service in which, just before the offering was taken, the minister conducting the service paraphrased (and abused) Jesus’ statement in Luke 6:38, announcing to the congregation, “Just remember as you consider what to give to God, Jesus promised the more you give, the more you will get back.” This was not for the spiritual benefit of the congregation. It was an attempt to raise money for the church. Money-talk in the church is a dangerous business.

It is distressing how many clergy seem to find it relatively easy to bypass the Bible’s clear and frequent exhortations to practice justice and mercy, embracing the poor and welcoming the outcast and the marginalized. Yet, these same clergy suddenly become all biblical when it is time to preach their stewardship sermon and boldly announce the spiritual relevance of obscure biblical references to “tithing.”

The problem with money-talk in the church points to a central tension for church leaders. On the one hand we want ordained ministers in our church to be spiritual leaders. We look to them to be people of prayer, to have a deep interior life, profound devotional practices and to be able to offer insightful spiritual council and direction. At the same time we want clergy to be aggressive entrepreneurs, capable of raising an annual budget and developing ever-expanding church programs. In my experience, the skills required for a rich inner life and the skills for growing a small business are seldom found in the same package.

But churches need money. Salaries are expensive. Buildings and their upkeep are enormously costly. Most peoples’ worship experience would not be enriched by an unheated building in the deep freeze of a Canadian winter. The programs and ministries performed by all churches have to be financed somehow.

Some churches operate masterful fundraising programs. Others are well endowed with bequests left by the wealthy dead. But, most churches depend for their regular upkeep on the freely given offerings of those who regularly worship as part of the community. And frequently, giving seems to fall a little short of what is required to finance the smooth operation of the church. This is when it becomes tempting to start badgering, using a little guilt to pad the offering plate each Sunday.

So what can clergy safely say about money?

Perhaps I can safely suggest four general principles that might guide us in how we live in relation to money.

1. Always practice gratitude; everything we have is a gift. In I Corinthians 4:7 Paul asks, “What do you have that you did not receive? And if you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift?” It is all gift. We did not create ourselves. We do not keep ourselves breathing, our heart beating or the blood coursing through our veins. God is the source of life, the source of all goodness and beauty in the world. When we start to view life as a personal possession, or as a right, we begin to destroy the world around us and the human community entrusted to our care.

Anyone who lives in North America is already fabulously wealthy beyond the wildest imagining of the majority of the population of the world. No matter what the stock market may be doing, we in the privileged West are the most materially blessed people in the world. We did not earn this birthright. We do not merit our material riches. We just happen to have been born in a part of the world where we are blessed with material benefits in enormous abundance.

2. The operational principle of the Christian life is generosity. The only logical response to abundance is generosity. Generosity is one of the fruit of God’s Spirit. (Galatians 5:22) It is a sign of God’s presence and work in our lives. When we are generous we are behaving like God who “is generous to all who call on him.” (Romans 10:12) It is tempting to think that we will enjoy life more fully when we have more, more financial security, more toys, more money for holidays. In fact, we live more fully when we become more like God in whose image we were created. And to be like God is to give generously.

When, rather than living generously, we try to create security for ourselves by hoarding the material benefits of our lives, we are living as far less than the generous beings we were created to be. Jesus told the story of a wealthy farmer blessed with great abundance. Rather than sharing his wealth, the farmer tore down his barns and built bigger ones saying to his soul, “you have ample goods for many years.” (Luke 12:19) He believed that safety security and fullness of life lay in the quantity of his possessions. But, God said to the secure wealthy man, “‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you.’” (Luke 12:20) Jesus told this story to remind us of the importance of being “rich toward God.” (Luke 12:21) We discover the richness of God, when we live generously which brings us to point number three.

3. How we relate to money is a sign of the depth of our God-following. Jesus met a rich young man who sincerely desired to follow God. The young man was moral, religious and faithful to his tradition. But Jesus said to him, “‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor.’” (Matthew 19:21) But the young man was attached to his wealth more deeply than he desired to follow God. So, “he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.” (Matthew 19:22) His relationship to money demonstrated the lack of depth in his commitment to follow God.

When I am pinched and tight with my financial resources, I demonstrate my lack of trust in God’s provision and my determination to establish a sense of security using material resources. When I sit lightly to material possessions I show that I am free of attachment to the external world. So point three leads naturally to point four.

4. Those who give freely grow in their freedom. Freedom is perhaps the most underrated gift of the Christian life. Paul promised that “where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” (I Corinthians 3:17) Freedom is one of the signs of God’s presence and the more freely we give, the more we grow in that freedom. This is the real meaning of Jesus’ statement in Luke 6:38 that the minister so abused in the service I visited years ago. Jesus said, “give, and it will be given to you.” (Luke 6:38)

True human freedom is not the freedom to do whatever we feel we want to do. Freedom is the ability to live in tune with our true nature. The great tragedy of the human race is that we have concluded that human beings are designed for accumulating. In fact, we are designed for giving. When we give we live in tune with our deepest nature as free being created in the image of God.

Conclusion

So, will these four convictions help fill the church’s bank account? They may, or they may not. But, filling the church’s bank account is not the point. The point is that, wherever a community practices gratitude, generosity, God-following, and giving, that community will be filled with the light of Christ. However, great or however small the ministry of such a church may be, it will be a place of light and hope. Whatever flows from a grateful, generous, God-following, giving heart will bring transformation and freedom. Finances will follow. As Jesus said, when we “strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness…all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:33)

The church that seeks to live in God’s kingdom will have all it needs to follow faithfully wherever God may be leading. To share in the vibrant life of a grateful, generous, God-following, giving community will be far more fulfilling than all the ego gratification that may come from being an outwardly “successful” church.

Vulnerability

2009-01-03T11:04:00.000-08:00

It is the phone call every parent dreads. Our daughter stands by the highway in the snow, clutching her baby, crying on her cell phone, while her husband talks to the police. Their car hit a patch of black ice. It went into an uncontrollable spin, hit a snow bank and flipped onto the meridian, rolling side over side and landing mercifully on its wheels.

After the police, ambulance attendants, and tow truck operator have been consulted, it seems miraculously no one has been hurt. They are able to continue in their dented vehicle over the Coquihalla highway to catch the Tsawwassen ferry back to Victoria.

There is so much to be thankful for. It could have turned out so differently. They spun inches from disaster.

We seldom confront the dimensions of our vulnerability as acutely as when people we love are in harm’s way. But the awareness of the fragility of life lies just beneath the surface. When the protective covering of our normally routine lives is pulled back for a moment, we confront the dark depths of our inability to control the forces of life. We face the closeness of the forces of death.

It is tempting to long for a life more secure, less threatened, a life not balanced so precariously upon the edge of the precipice.

Years ago the delivery of a friend’s perfectly healthy baby went terribly wrong. The baby was choked by her umbilical cord moments before birth. She died in her father’s arms in the delivery room. Months later I asked the mother what she was left with from this experience. She replied without hesitation, “We all live our lives hanging by a thin thread and mostly we don’t see it.”

Every day innumerable unspeakably terrible things happen in peoples’ lives. There is no way to be alive and avoid pain. Suffering is part of the package of life. The only important question is “how will I choose to respond?”

I have been so gratified to see my daughter and her husband make the choices they have made in response to their car accident. There has never been a hint of blame, or accusation from either of them towards the other. No blame is possible in this case, but that would not have stopped lesser people from rushing to point a finger.

Instead of allowing the terror and raw vulnerability they experienced in this situation to drive them apart, they have clung more closely to one another and to their tiny daughter. They have allowed their hearts to open more deeply.

When we were able finally, all to be together, the room filled with warmth, gentleness, and compassion. This is the strength of love. It grows stronger when adversity is received and shared. Gratitude deepens in the glimpsed possibility of loss. Love holds on and the presence of that Love draws us back to a reality deeper and more real than all the terrible things that might ever happen in our lives.

Earlier in the morning of the accident, our older daughter visiting for the Christmas holidays had been reading aloud some Wendell Berry poems. She read “The Way of Pain,” in which Berry writes

For parents, the only way
is hard. We who give life
give pain. There is no help.
Yet we who give pain
give love; by pain we learn
the extremity of love.

Berry goes on to speak about the pain of Isaac and his father Abraham as they shared in the agonizing dance of sacrifice and the miracle of redemption.

Berry writes of Jesus’ pain and the pain of his mother. But, it is in the midst of that pain that Berry finds hope saying, “Unless we grieve like Mary/ at His grave, giving Him up/ as lost, no Easter morning comes.”

Berry ends by writing about his own son.

And then I slept, and dreamed
the life of my only son
was required of me, and I
must bring him to the edge
of pain, not knowing why.
I woke, and yet that pain
was true. It brought his life
to the full in me. I bore him
suffering, with love like the sun,
too bright, unsparing, whole.

In all this, the parental experience is the experience of being utterly powerless. It is so tempting to try to rush in and bring the pain to an end. It is so tempting to try to control the world around those we love and keep all suffering safely away (as if such power were ever available). But no. It is in the midst of that pain that “we learn/ the extremity of love.” It is by embracing the reality of pain that life is brought “to the full in me.”

I cannot have the depths of love and vulnerability I experience with those closest to me, unless I am willing to allow them to be at times in pain and to accept the pain of seeing them in pain and doing nothing to alleviate their suffering. It is not love, to build an impenetrable fortress around those we love in a futile attempt to keep them safe from any harm.

To love is to choose to stand together in the midst of the chaos of life and walk on holding the same hands, embracing the same shaking shoulders, allowing the tears, doing nothing to diminish the deep ache of our vulnerability.

I wish there were no icy highways. I wish cars would not roll. I wish there were not bombs and guns, wars, starvation, tornadoes, tsunamis, forest fires, windstorms, terminal illness, pollution, crime, drug addiction, marriage break down. I wish life was always safe. I wish those I love would never come to any harm. But, I know that, without the precariousness of life, the richness would be diminished. Without the deep risk of loss, there would be no challenge to trust.

God entrusted the beauty of Jesus to a broken world. The world did all it could to destroy that innocence and purity. But, the gospel tells us, that as long as hearts open and continue to choose love, the power of Christ is born again and again. We humans always have the capacity to meet and pass through all pain, all suffering, all brokenness. We do not need to flinch or turn away. We do not need to pretend it is not difficult. There is always the promise of resurrection. The human spirit held in God cannot be destroyed. The gift of love is given; nothing and no one can destroy this gift as long as we receive it and allow it to flow through us to embrace the other.

My heart grows when I think of a car spinning out of control on the highway and rolling over on its side. My heart grows when I hold my child, my son-in-law, my granddaughter with love and tenderness. Hearts will always grow if we let them. And when hearts grow love and life will always triumph.

A CHURCH OF COMFORT AND CONFRONTATION

2008-12-29T09:34:00.000-08:00

In his book One Taste Ken Wilber suggests that religion performs two important but separate functions.

Religion “acts as a way of creating meaning for the separate self.” It struggles to help us endure and make sense of the difficulties we inevitably experience in life. Religion seeks to give consolation and strength by promising God’s favour in the present or in an ultimate eternal reward. This is comfort religion.

But religion also serves “the function of radical transformation and liberation.” It “does not fortify the separate self, but utterly shatters it.” Religion serves to destabilize the superficial self by which we attempt to navigate so much of life. It challenges us to open to a deeper more real dimension of our being where we discover the presence of God and our lives begin to be transformed. This is confrontation religion.

Jesus practiced both comfort and confrontation religion, sometimes voicing both in the same breath. Jesus said, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” That is comfort religion. Then he went on to say, “and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate.” (Matthew 23:37,38) That is confrontation.

In the first statement Jesus portrays himself offering protection, safety and nurture for those who would accept his offer. Jesus then denounces those who refuse to heed his call and suggests that their lives are going to unravel. If we refuse God’s gift of comfort, turmoil and chaos in some form will inevitably follow.

Jesus’ teaching tends more towards confrontation than comfort. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 19:23) “Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor.” (Mark 10:21) “You snakes, you brood of vipers! How can you escape being sentenced to hell?” (Matthew 23:33) “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26)

Jesus understood the terrible cost of our attachments. He knew that we spend a great deal of our lives trapped by our defended, grasping, demanding, needy little self. “If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.” (Matthew 5:39-41) He believed that until we let this little self die, it always gets in the way of our true destiny as beings created to bear the image of God. “Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who loves their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” (Mark 8:35)

Jesus confronted, often harshly, the empty, dead-end ways we live because he knew the price we pay for following the self-centered demands of the ego instead of taking up our cross and following him. “What will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life?” (Mark 8:36) Jesus confronted the small human ego-self because Jesus knew that the deep purpose of religion was to bring about transformation. He knew that we are destined as human beings to be the light of the world. “You are the light of the world.” (Matthew 5:14)

In my experience, the church works harder at comfort religion than we do at confrontation religion. But comfort without confrontation slips into sentimentalism and never leads to transformation. While confrontation without comfort is harsh and legalistic, replacing moralism and judgment for grace and mercy.

How can the church practice comfort religion, while at the same time confronting the small programs of self-protection to which we all fall prey? What would it look like for the church to call us to a life of deep transforming union with God through Jesus Christ?

If church leaves us simply with the comfort that we’re all ok and everything will work out in the end, the church has failed. Jesus intended us to live radically new lives in this world. He instructed his followers to discover an entirely new way of living. He called those who would be his followers to “strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness” and to trust that when we get the kingdom first, every other aspect of our lives will find its proper place. (Matthew 6:33)

Paul understood the radical implications of following Jesus and said that “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (II Corinthians 5:17) The church exists to offer us the comfort of God’s love and peace and then to challenge us to live as “a new creation.”

Too often our vision of the Christian life has been too small. We have viewed the Christian message as final comfort in heaven for those who trust in Christ and persevere in the constant struggle to be moral and do good deeds before they die. Paul understood that God’s vision for our lives goes far beyond this limited picture. For Paul the journey of our lives is a process of radical transformation into the likeness of the God in whose image we were created. “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another.” (II Corinthians 3:18)

I wonder if we expect the church to call us to lives of radical transformation. Do we anticipate that our involvement in the community of those who call themselves followers of Christ will confront us with the deep challenge to forsake all our attachments and embrace the liberty that Jesus promised when he said, “if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed”? (John 8:36) Do we look to the church for both comfort and confrontation?

When we experience both comfort and confrontation, we will find within ourselves an expanding security. We will know that our lives are grounded in Christ, that our identity is fixed in God and that we depend upon nothing other than God’s presence to support our identity or give us a sense of well-being. We will be more gentle, more open, more kind, and more gracious.

A community that practices a balance of comfort and confrontation will be characterized by non-violence and an absence of abuse, manipulation and rigidity. It will be an expansive community, open to people wherever they may be in their lives and in their spiritual journey. It will be a flexible community whose only centre is the presence of God in Christ Jesus and whose only motivation is to faithfully follow the leading of God’s unpredictable Holy Spirit. “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” (John 3:8) So we will trust that those around us, desire as much as we to allow God’s Spirit to be fully and deeply at work in their lives.

To maintain a balance of comfort and confrontation we must know that our true identity lies in the deep common life we share in Christ. In order to find this true identity we must be people of deep prayer and worship. We must open ourselves daily to the presence of God’s Spirit at work in our lives. We must hold firmly to the depths of faith revealed in our sacred texts and known to us by God’s Spirit. And, at the same time, we must be willing to sit lightly to our own agendas, needs, demands, and pet-projects.

Our identity does not reside in being right. We will always be willing to say, “I may be wrong.” This is not a lack of conviction but a humility that resides in the realistic assessment of the profound limitations of the human ability to know. Our understanding is boundaried on every side by our cultural background, our personal upbringing, ongoing life-experience, and the unique nature of our own personality. This is why we always need to be able, within the context of comfort, to remain open to confrontation. Healthy communities will embrace a diversity of opinion even on important issues. We need to be able to extend comfort to those with whom we may disagree. We need to accept and celebrate the inevitable confrontation that comes from living close to those whose perception of truth may differ from ours.

On the surface, a church that practices both comfort and confrontation may appear to be a confusing and unsettling place. Things will not always be predictable. Life may look untidy, even at times chaotic. But when comfort and confrontation are held in balance there will be a deep core of confidence that resides in the heart of every community member. Each person will know that every other person desires simply to rest and trust in the presence and work of Christ in their lives. We will honour each other’s journey, protecting the right and duty of each person to hear God and to contribute to the conversation of our community according to their perception of God’s word.

Security in such a community does not lie in conformity or even agreement. It resides in a deeper place in which we know that we are bound together by invisible ties of love and truth. We find a deep comfort in our common identity in Christ and therefore can afford to allow all our idols to be challenged and deconstructed within a community whose bonds lie deeper than a masquerade of common life founded on uniformity of opinion.

The only way any group of people can become such an expansive faith community is for each member of that community to be deeply committed to the vision of an open, trusting, life lived in faith and trust in God. There is no program for creating such a community. It can only emerge out of the shared faith of its members. It will only happen when we each assume adult responsibility for our own convictions and are willing to share the truth as we understand it and to respect the truth shared by every other person. As we walk with integrity our journey on in the Spirit, we will walk together as a light to the world and a witness to the comforting and transforming power of love we find in Christ and experience in one another.

Mary's Letter to Baby Jesus

2008-12-22T11:54:00.000-08:00

My Dear Sweet Baby,

My heart trembles when I think about the events surrounding your arrival.

It is not that your birth was so difficult. For generations women like me have received their children as I welcomed you on that day. Every baby comes into this world through a bewildering mixture of pain and joy.

No it is not the physical pain of your arrival that moves most deeply in me. It is the strange mystery surrounding your birth that stirs my spirit and the fear I have for what these things may mean for your future.

What can I tell you of these strange events? Will my words seem to you like the raving of a woman who lives in terror of what others might think? Will you hear only the fear in my words and miss the struggle for faith and trust that lies deeper in my heart?

The world does not put much trust in angel visions of the night. People are not likely to be impressed with stories of strange shepherds appearing miraculously to celebrate your birth. My people are practical, hardworking, ordinary people. We have never been anything special. No one destined for greatness would ever be born in our midst.

And yet, there were signs…so many signs…so many words that spoke of you as one who would be great and who would know God in such a deep and strong way. These words spoke of your coming to bring hope and light for all people. They said you would bring salvation to the world.

I almost hesitate to tell you of these things. The words seem so unbelievable. Even now I wonder if I heard properly. Perhaps I only imagined all this talk of your greatness. Perhaps I should be still and tell nothing of the time the angel Gabriel came and promised your birth. Perhaps I should stay silent about that holy night when your birth was celebrated by a heavenly host and shepherds knelt at your bedside.

We are such poor people. We have no power. Why would God’s anointed be found in such humble circumstances? How could the world possibly be expected to embrace a messiah born in a stable?

The world to which you have come is a confusing and troubling place. I know how this world receives messengers of God. People seldom welcome gifts of tenderness and love with the openness and embrace you might hope for. There is always pain and struggle for tellers of the truth. Love often meets violence and hatred in a world that is frequently cold and harsh. The words the angel Gabriel spoke about you cast fear into my heart.

I want to protect you from the suffering I hear in the angel’s words. I want my tears to wash away the dark force of tragedy I see overshadowing your life. God may be kind. And God may be good to us. But I know that God does not always make things easy, especially for those who choose to live in love and call others to open to the force of love that is God. I want to save you from the hard road I fear may lie ahead.

But what can I do against God? How can I stop God’s will from unfolding as God plans? If you are God’s chosen one, I must not get in the way. I will not resist God’s will for your life, even though my heart breaks to think of the lonely way I see unfolding from your birth.

So, I ponder all these things. I wonder what words can I give you in which you might find strength. What prayer can I offer that will sustain you through the dark days that will surely come?

My prayer for you sweet child is that you may grow to hear deeply in your heart words I learned as a child. They are words my mother taught me from our holy book where the poet says that

Our steps are made firm by the Lord,
when he delights in our way;
though we stumble we shall not fall headlong,
for the Lord holds us by the hand.
(Psalm 37:23,24)

I pray for you sweet child that you may always know that God delights in you and, even when you may stumble, or be pushed, the Lord holds you by your hand.

You see my child our problem is that we forget who we are. We forget that we are God’s precious gift. And the Giver will never let the gift be destroyed. You may be hurt; you may be pushed into dark and painful places; you may feel absolutely forsaken and alone, but the hand of God never lets you go. God is always with you, holding you, surrounding you with love and mercy.

When we know God’s power of love, we find the beauty and truth that is God’s presence. You are this beauty. You are the perfect image of God. In you we see who we were created to become. We see our true selves. We see in you, little baby Jesus, the destiny for which our lives came into being. So, even when you struggle with the harshness of the world, do not forget who you are. Do not forget that you are held and cherished.

As you feel my arms cradling you against my breast with all the tenderness and love you could ever imagine, I pray you may know God holds us all in this same way. When people come to hurt you, when they try to make you feel small, or to take away your beauty, know that the tenderness of God is stronger and more real. The gentleness of God is always with you. You are good and true. God’s love always lives in you.

You only need to open your heart to this love, as I open my heart now to you. You only need to choose to return to that soft tender place within. There you will know that nothing can separate you from the God who has sent you into the world to be the presence of love. In the tenderness you will find truth. In the softness you will know strength.

The flow of love that has brought you here never ends; it never changes; it never gets tired or runs out. It is love that keeps the world going. It is love that makes your heart beat and the blood run in your veins. It is all God’s gift, God’s mercy unfolding in us and all around us. There is nothing more we need to know, nothing more we need to achieve or accomplish. We need only again and again to abandon ourselves to the truth of the love that carries us through life. May you choose, even in the darkest times to know this love that never lets you go.

May you always trust that, deeper than any tragedy, there is the loving Presence. When we turn and remember, we will know that the broken bits of life are restored by the love in which you have been born. The wounds that so often hinder our lives are healed when we surrender to the love that has sent you to live among us.

You are the source of all healing. As you open to this great destiny God has for you, I pray that you may always find hearts that open to you and receive from you the love and light that is God’s presence.

I love you, as I know I have been and will always be loved by you,

Your Mother Mary.

A Wedding Anniversary

2008-12-17T05:45:00.000-08:00

The Wild Rose

Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart.

Suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,

and once again I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.

-by Wendell Berry, for his wife

Dear Pieter and Naomi,

Three years ago today we celebrated your wedding. Looking at you together now, I am reminded of Wendell Berry’s poem “The Wild Rose.” It says so beautifully something I think you both understand so well.

Your relationship is a beautiful gift, like “a wild rose blooming at the edge/of thicket, grace and light.” Love is a gift. But it is a gift that we can never afford to take for granted. It is so encouraging to see you both renewing that gift daily as you choose “again what you chose before.”

It may not be the most romantic vision, but love is what we learn by continuing to choose to move together in the same direction. Every choice we make for faithfulness, gentleness and commitment, enables us to grow more deeply into that love for which we were created.

I think perhaps we should use the word “love” hesitantly to describe a relationship until we have stayed in that relationship for many years. Love grows in the deep soil of steadiness. We learn what it means to love when we have walked through many circumstances holding the same hand. When we love with the strength of permanence we discover the freedom that grows in an environment of trust.

There is so much uncertainty all around us. It is hard to imagine what the future might look like for you and your little family. But, whatever the future may bring, you will always be able to see in one another that you are loved. You are cared for and you can always grow in your ability to love. This is the meaning and purpose of your life.

You can always open more deeply to the reality of love. As you choose the openness that is love, love grows. It embraces more of the world and of the people in your life.

The love you share is the true nature of life. It is the force and energy that creates each new human being and causes one season to follow another. You do not have to create this love. You only have to enter into the flow of love and allow it to carry you. The love you chose when you committed your lives to each other is deeper and more real than any fears, doubts or uncertainties you might ever experience. This love will sustain and strength you throughout your lives.

As you enter your fourth year of married life, may you continue choosing every day, to open to one another, sharing all that you are and all that you have. May you always tell the truth to each other, knowing that truth is the soil in which love grows. May you grow daily in your willingness to be gentle. May you desire to be vulnerable towards one another and to share that respect and honour that is so clear in the first three years of your marriage.

It is such a gift for us to be able to watch you grow together. May you always know God’s presence in your life, and the love that surrounds and supports you.

Love,

Christopher/Daddy

Gabriel's Announcement

2008-12-15T12:05:00.000-08:00

It would not have been my first choice to receive this heavenly visitor. I am not accustomed to mystical visions. I am a practical woman; voices speaking in the night are strange to me. Angels are not part of the normal routine of my daily experience.

Why would a heavenly messenger come to me? I am a poor young woman, not someone any person of importance would bother to visit.

My name is Mary. This angel-visitor came to me the night after Joseph and I became engaged. It had started out as such a happy day, the excitement of knowing my life was committed to this man, our families celebrating together. In a small village, an engagement is always big news. For us it is as if we had become married already. The bond of engagement cannot be broken without great shame and deep pain.

Joseph is a good man, a strong man. I know Joseph will care for me and for our children when we have them. He will be a good provider. Joseph will respect me and together we will build a strong and loving family. I can trust Joseph. When our engagement was announced I felt sure that my future was secure.

But, that very night, the angel came and shattered my calm. He told me, his name was Gabriel. The name means “God is my strength.” I didn’t know it at the time, but would soon learn, that the news this angel brought meant I was going to greatly need God’s strength. Even the strength of my beloved Joseph would not be enough to face the events that would follow the angel’s announcement.

I don’t know what you think an angel looks like. I cannot really draw you a picture. Encountering an angel is more like a feeling deep inside. The angel presence felt to me like a powerful movement and yet, at the same time, perfect stillness and quiet. It was in that stillness the angel spoke.

At first I could not make sense of his words. He said I was greatly blessed and God is with me. He said I did not need to be afraid. I wasn’t really afraid, until he told me I didn’t need to be. Then I began to wonder. What does this strange visitation mean? How is this angel message going to change my life?

Then the angel told me I was going to become mysteriously pregnant even before Joseph and I were married. That is when I knew why he had said I should not be afraid. My heart began to flutter; I felt sick in my stomach. Perhaps at that moment, already, the miracle had begun. But all I knew was that something terrifying and bewildering was beginning to happen.

What would my family think? What would Joseph do? What would the village elders say? Surely, I would be an outcast. No one would believe the strange explanation Gabriel offered. What could it possibly mean to say God’s Spirit was going to come upon me and give me this child? Why did he have to be named Jesus?
I would have preferred to choose my first child’s name myself. But the angel did not seem to be open to negotiation. He simply announced, “you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus.” It’s not that “Jesus” is such a bad name. Like Gabriel, the name “Jesus” tells us something about God. It tells us that God saves people. God makes people whole. God gives the gift of life and helps us to be the people we were created to be.

As I listened to the angel and felt the hot air of God’s breath on my check, I wondered what it might mean to be saved. What is it that a person is created to be? What does a whole human life look like?

Then Gabriel went on to speak about the son I was to bear. It was the last thing the angel said that caught my attention. He said that my baby would “reign over the house of Jacob for ever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” I don’t know a lot about history; but I do know that all the human kingdoms that have ever been on this earth have all come to an end. We Jews know what it is like to see the kingdoms of men come and go. We are always waiting for some foreign ruler to pass in the hope that one day we might be able to rule our lives without the interference of others. Right now the Romans are in charge of my people and of the land where we live. Before them it was the Greeks and before them the Persians, the Babylonians, Assyrians, and the Egyptians. Since the days before our journey in the wilderness, someone else has always been in charge.

I may be young but I know enough to know that in life things don’t always go the way we may want them to go. Life follows a windy path; life goes up and life goes down. We never know what is coming next and sometimes the things that come are good and wonderful, other times they are hard and painful.

When the angel announced Jesus’ birth it felt like this was going to be one of the hard and painful times. And yet, the angel said that, in the midst of all this, there is a kingdom that will never end. When the angel spoke about this kingdom, I felt something deep inside me begin to stir. I touched a place in myself that I never really knew existed. It was a place that felt stronger and more real than all my fear and all my uncertainty. It felt solid and whole and good and true. And I knew that this is what the angel was talking about. I knew that my baby Jesus was going to grow up into a man who would help people find this solid, strong, deep, never-ending place in their lives.

When I found that place inside myself, it was not so hard any more for me to say yes to the angel. Suddenly, I was able to let it all be the way the angel had said. I knew I could not control my life. I knew that things were going to be difficult sometimes. I knew that I would experience pain and heartbreak with this baby. But I also knew that, whatever happened, I would be ok. I knew that nothing could hurt this kingdom inside me that never ends. My life would go on and I would trust that strong deep place. I would be able to rest in that place the angel had uncovered.

My baby was going to show the world this place of strength and love inside every person. He was going bring us all to that place where we know that “nothing will be impossible with God,” that place where we cannot be hurt and we will always be open, strong and loving. This is the place Jesus came to help us find. This is the gift God has given us in the child I bear.

The Uncertainty Principle

2008-12-08T18:21:00.000-08:00

The one thing about which we can be absolutely certain, is that there is little about which we can be absolutely certain.

Everywhere we see uncertainty. Ottawa is in flux. Bay Street has collapsed. The job market is shaky. Relationships are insecure. The health of someone we love is at risk. We may be unsure about the direction of our own lives and what the future holds. As the hymn that is often sung at funerals declares, “Change and decay in all around I see.”

Mary, the mother of Jesus, was no stranger to uncertainty. Her pregnancy before marriage placed her reputation, even her life, at risk. Her son’s birth was surrounded by intrigue, political scheming, violence, and eventually exile for his entire family. Mary was poor, vulnerable and insecure.

The Gospel writer says Mary found her life situation confusing and puzzling – “she was much perplexed.” (Luke 1:29) There is much about which to be perplexed. If I do not find life at times confusing, bewildering, and even a little frightening, I am not paying attention. Things often do not turn as I planned. I am overwhelmed by circumstances, confused and troubled by the world.

Mary asked the question I ask, “How can this be?” How can things be so confusing? How can there be so much upheaval and turmoil? Why can’t things be more orderly and predictable? Why can’t I relax and feel safe and secure in this world?

Mary does not get a satisfactory intellectual resolution for her question. She is never given a tidy intellectual formulation to answer the questions that ring in her heart.

But somehow, Mary moves from fear to a place where she is able to sing with joy, declaring, “My soul magnifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” (Luke 1:46,47) Nothing has changed in Mary’s circumstances between “How can this be?” and “My soul magnifies the Lord.” She is still young, pregnant, unmarried, at risk for her life.

How has Mary moved from “How can this be?” to “My soul magnifies the Lord”?

One small shift accounts for the transformation in Mary’s heart. Between “How can this be?” and “My soul magnifies the Lord,” Mary has said, “let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38) This changes everything. In the midst of uncertainty, chaos, confusion, doubt, and fear, Mary has surrendered to God. She has chosen to let go of her need to make sense of life. She has given up her desire for control. She has simply accepted that there is a will at work in the affairs of her life that is greater, wiser, and more kind than anything she can understand.

It is a fundamental fact of life in this uncertain world that I cannot orchestrate the circumstances of my life to be exactly as I would like them to be. This reality confronts me with a foundational life choice. Either I will resist the circumstances of my life as they are, or I will accept my situation and trust in God’s presence at work in the world and in my life, even when I cannot begin to understand or to see the trace of God’s hand at work. There is no other option.

I can fight, complain and become bitter and resentful against the awful state of life. Or I can surrender. To surrender is not the same as defeated resignation. To surrender is to do what Mary did, to open to a deeper place within her spirit where she knew God’s mercy and strength at work in her being. In surrender I give up needing to fix things, because in the depths of my being, I know that God has already “helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy.” (Luke 1:54)

The only place the uncertainty principle never applies is in relation to God.

The hymn “Abide with me” is popular at funerals because it does not conclude with the gloomy note of “change and decay.” It goes on to declare triumphantly that, even in the face of the unknown mystery of death, “I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless; / Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness;/ Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?/ I triumph still if thou abide with me.”

Christmas promises that, even in the midst of uncertainty, confusion, doubt, chaos, and fear, we are not alone. Christmas declares “ ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us.’” (Matthew 1:23) Circumstances do not need to change. The One who is with us is greater and steadier than all the uncertainty that may ever afflict our lives. There is solid ground upon which we can stand. When we surrender our determination to force life to conform to our will we find deep in our innermost being the security and steadiness of God’s abiding presence. That is the one security in the midst of all uncertainty.

On My Mother's Death

2008-11-27T12:27:00.000-08:00

My mother died three weeks ago. She would have been eighty-six at the end of the month. She had been frail for two years, but nothing indicated that the end was so near.

Heather and I were away visiting our oldest daughter when my sister phoned to say that our mother was dead. It was November 11, Remembrance Day. We caught the 10:20 ferry back to Vancouver Island. At 10:55, the captain announced that, "In respect for Remembrance Day, at 11:00 this morning, all onboard services will be suspended and the engines will be stopped; we invite you to join us for two minutes of silence in honour of those who have died."

At 11:00 a long lonely blast sounded on the ship's whistle. The engines on the boat went silent; everything stopped. Heather and I sat holding hands and crying in our seats as the universe stopped for two minutes in honour of those who had died. It felt pure and good to just sit with the sadness, to acknowledge the empty space my mother's death has left and to allow the pain just to be. No one was there trying to fix anything; no one needed to say a word. We were just together in the space of grief, allowing the tears to flow.

The next day, I met as I do every Wednesday morning with a small group for our 10:00 meditation service. In the course of that service we read a short passage of Scripture, sit in silent prayer, and end with a half hour of discussion. We have been reading slowly through the book of Psalms, one at a time, whichever Psalm is next. I don't edit them; I don't read ahead. The only input I as the reader have is to occasionally stop half way through on a longer Psalm. On this Wednesday morning, twenty-four hours after my mother's death, we had arrived at Psalm 35. I read the first half of the Psalm and stopped at verse 14 with the words,

I prayed with head bowed on my bosom,
as though I grieved for a friend or a brother;
I went about as one who laments for a mother,
bowed down and in mourning.

Again, the silent presence that had touched me on the ferry the previous day, stirred in my heart with comfort and strength. The force and power of life was present. God spoke in my heart reassuring me that I am not alone in a dark uncaring universe. There is a place for my sadness, a hand to hold my grief. Death is not the final word. There will always be the goodness and grace of God at work in the world all around me.

The Sunday after my mother died, we welcomed a new baby into our midst. Then, six days after my mother's death, another member of our church community died, and a week later another. All around I am surrounded by the coming and going of life. And I know it is all held by God. I know it is all part of God's good creation. Life goes on, continuing to unfold. There is movement and in the midst of that movement there is a Presence I can trust. There is a reality that transcends both life and death. It is to this reality that we are all headed. If we open our eyes, we can see this Presence now. We do not need to wait until we join those who have gone before us and get to the other side to know that love is stronger than death and the light is greater than all the darkness we might ever know. We can live today in that light and know that Presence surrounding our lives.

My mother died in the faith of Christ. She died confident in the reality of God and trusting in that power of love she knew in her life. I pray that I may live in that same truth and be carried in the end into the fullness of that Light that is God

Pictorial Directory

2008-10-29T15:04:00.001-07:00

At the church where I work, we are having a new pictorial directory made for our community. We seem to go through this cycle once every four years or so. There are many new faces in four years and some that are no longer with us. It is good to catch up and try to catch a fleeting portrait of who we are.

For the cover of our directory this year, Matthew Wolferstan has painted a beautiful watercolour of the church. Matthew's painting suggests a number of things about the Anglican Church of St. Philip.

Notice that the main doors of the church are open. We embrace within our community a wide variety of people. We desire to be a welcoming church. We do not all agree about absolutely everything. Sometimes we violently disagree. But there is space in our community for many ways of seeing the world. We do not demand that everyone understand every aspect of life in exactly the same way. We want to stay open to people who may understand things a little differently than we do. We value the discipline of sticking it out with people even when we do not see eye to eye. We don't have to be monochrome people in order to belong.

The only requirement to belong in this community is a heart that is open to Christ. You do not have to take a theology test, or even a morality test before you qualify to join us. You don't have to sign a statement of faith, or pledge allegiance to any standard other than your willingness to follow the Spirit of Christ in your life. If you desire to live with your heart open to the truth, light and wisdom of God in Jesus Christ, then you belong.

You will also notice in Matthew’s painting that a young family is entering the church. You often hear dire predictions of the imminent death of the Anglican Church. This is not our experience. Sunday by Sunday we experience the energy of a dynamic living community of people from infant to elderly. The love of God and the mercy of Christ create among us an empowering body of love and faith that sheds the light of Christ throughout the world.

Finally, Matthew has included in his painting the large spruce tree that stands to the North of the church. This tree has seen some difficult days. Regularly, hydro crews cut limbs off this tree to make room for the power lines. Yet in spite of the loss of these limbs our tree grows strong and healthy towering above the church building.

In any community there are times when limbs fall off. In a transient culture of consumer religion, it can be tempting to walk away from a community in an attempt to find one that feels more comfortable. Sometimes it may be essential for a limb to be separated and the tree as a whole feels the pain of every loss. But, the tree continues to grow. The trunk is straight, sap runs strong beneath the bark and the branches bear needles and pinecones.

When a church makes a pictorial directory, inevitably many faces from the last directory, will not appear in the new version. Some people have died, others have become angry about their perception of the direction of the church, some have moved from the city, others have just drifted away. But the church remains strong. We are a community of love and fellowship. We minister to and care for one another and for the world. There is light here. There is hope here. The love of God in Christ Jesus is in our midst.

The world we live in is a desperately broken place. Everywhere you look, you can find groups of people splintering into smaller, more tightly defined and narrowly based special interest groups. People seem to be able to hold together in groups only as long as they find agreement among themselves. The world desperately needs to see that it is possible for people to look past superficial differences and to discover their identity in the deeper reality of Christ. We can be that community of faithfulness, mutual respect and trust.

I give thanks to God for every person in the church community to which I am privileged to belong and I pray God’s continued blessing upon us as we journey on together.

Broken

2008-10-28T16:06:00.000-07:00

Bob Dylan once sang,

Broken lines broken strings
Broken threads broken springs
Broken idols broken heads
People sleeping in broken beds
Ain't no use jiving
Ain't no use joking
Everything is broken.

As a priest, I stand Sunday by Sunday before a worshiping community and I break a piece of bread. It strikes me as a deeply profound and important gesture. "Everything is broken."

There are times when I am almost overwhelmed by the brokenness of life. There are so many things that do not work very well. I do not know any communities or institutions that run along smoothly without encountering tension along the way. Businesses falter; the economy seems to be in danger of sinking beneath the surface; social problems grow more acute every year; governments struggle to govern; churches flounder. We are not getting better and better as the years go by. Institutions don't work very well because institutions are made up of broken people.

I get to hear a lot of stories of peoples' lives. Many of the stories I hear are filled with pain and struggle. I see people who feel completely bewildered by the circumstances in which they find themselves. I see so much tragedy and suffering without even needing to leave the comfortable suburban confines of my little parish. I wonder sometimes how people manage to keep going.

The pain I see may not be the pain of fearing for your life of those who live in a wartorn country or those who face the bleak daily struggle to find enough food to sustain a family. I do not see the grinding poverty of the truly poor. But the pain and the brokenness I see are no less real.

What do I have to offer this broken world as I stand at the table of the Lord breaking bread to share among broken people?

I wish I was Jesus with the power to heal all the brokennes I see. But even Jesus left more unhealed than he made well. Even Jesus left in tact the injustice of Roman rule over his people and the awful religious oppression of his day. Surely Jesus could have done more. Surely Jesus could have taken all the brokenness and made it better. He left so much undone, so much unfinished buisness. What was he thinking?

Jesus knew something I sometimes forget. Jesus knew he did not come to establish a visible, tangible physical kingdom here on earth. Jesus said, "The kingdom of God is not coming with things that can be observed." (Luke 17:20) Rather Jesus came to establish a kingdom within the hearts of those who opened to him, "in fact, the kingdom of God is within you." (Luke 17:21b)

All the brokenness, all the pain and the suffering of this earthly existence call us to open to a deeper reality within ourselves. The tragedies we experience summon us to recognize that God lives within us and that our ultimate peace and contentment lie, not in orchestrating the circumstance of life to work the way we wish they might, but in resting and trusting in the unchanging mercy and grace of God at work within our lives.

We cannot fix all the brokenness of life. We can only offer it back to God, surrendering our own wills and trusting in God's love. When we enter into this transaction with God, we will find that our lives become instruments of healing even within the terrible brokenness of life. We act, not in order to fix anything, but because the love that we discover when we surrender to God's mercy, compels us to be instruments of restoration. And so the world is a little bit more healed when our hearts open and embrace the loving mercy of Christ.

This is the hope I offer every time I stand at the table and break bread to share with broken people. There is hope within our hearts, because we do not face the brokenness of life alone. God is with us; God is in us. We are filled with the light, mercy, truth and grace of Christ that triumphs over all the pain and suffering we might ever confront. We are instruments of light when we surrender to the Goodness that sustians the universe and that dwells in the depths of our being.

Talking to Teens

2008-10-02T10:23:00.001-07:00

It is never easy. Talking about prayer, particularly silent prayer, is always a challenge. How do you make even remotely reasonable to the average person the possibility that it might be beneficial to spend time just being quiet, letting go of all thoughts and surrendering to God?

The challenge increases exponentially when the audience is a gathering of twenty sixteen and seventeen year old young people. The setting is a fluorescent-lit classroom with stiff-backed tubular desks arranged in uneven rows. The time is 8:30 in the morning. I stand at the front of the class with a green chalk board at my back and look out at fresh young faces. These are lovely, intelligent, energetic young people. They are clean, well-dressed, well-fed, well-mannered, obviously well-cared-for. They are in every way privileged young people. But behind their shiny exteriors their eyes look glazed and tired.

I must not take it personally, I suppose. Even before I begin to speak two young men have their heads down on their desks; they appear to be fast asleep. As the teacher introduces me, I notice one young woman sitting against the back wall, obviously busy at work on the homework she labours over for the entire hour and fifteen minutes I speak. Two young women chat at the back and one young woman is clearly entertaining the silent attentivness of the young man beside her. Even the students who seem to be mildly paying attention, do not seem really engaged. They look trapped. Everything about the language of their bodies says they do not really want to be here.

What can I possibly say to these young people that might suggest to them that they seriously consider sitting for twenty minutes twice a day in silent prayer?

I draw a dot on the lefthand end of the chalk board behind me. "Every life," I say "begins at a particular moment in time." Then I walk to the other end of the board and draw a vertical line. "And every life has a particular moment when it comes to an end." The few students who are actually looking at me, look blank, unintereted, bewildered. Haven't I just stated the most obvious fact of life, a boring reality they all know perfectly well?

I go on to talk about the fact that for most people between the moment of beginning and the moment of ending, life unfolds along a narrow horizontal access on which they experience a series of events that make them feel either happy or sad. The purpose of life for most people is to try to maximize the happy moments and minimize the sad mometns. If when they get to the end the chart of their lives has more happy faces than sad faces, their lives are judged to have been a success.

I stop and look out at the faces sitting in the desks before me. They do not look paritcularly happy, or particularly sad. They do not look hostile or antagonistic. They look blank. I want to shake their world a little bit, help them to consider the possibility that there may be more to life than this single horizontal-line, happy-face, sad-face scenario suggests.

I read words of Jesus in which he tells his followers not to be anxious about their lives and concludes with the question, "Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?" (Matthew 5:25) Prayer is opening to this "more than" dimension. In prayer we open to the possibility that there are other realms of existence than just the horizontal access along which things happen to us and we define ourselves by what we do, what we accomplish, and how others respond to us. In prayer we open to the depth dimension of life in which we become conscious of the reality of God permeating every aspect of existence.

I leave the school after my presentation wondering if anything I have said has connected with that deep place I believe exists in each of these young people.

On my way back to the church, I stop at our local coffee shop and reward myself for my labours with a 16oz, extra hot, no foam, skim milk latte. I have been in this coffee shop three times this week. The young woman who serves me has dark straight hair, black eye make-up and a tiny silver ring in the middle of her bottom lip. She is beginning to recognize my face. She smiles warmly this morning and says, "Hi my name is Meghan." I reply "Hi Meghan." And then, to keep the conversation going, add, "Boy the parking is getting bad around here." "Oh that doesn't bother me," she says, "I ride my bike. I'ld be scared to be in control of a big heavy fast moving metal object. And anway I figure riding my bike is good for the environment."

Meghan is probably twenty; she is animated, warm, pleasant, and friendly. We chat a little longer and I leave with my coffee. There is something warm and gentle in our exchange. I have connected more in this brief encounter with Meghan than I have in seventy-five minutes talking about prayer with twenty captive young people. This connection is prayer.

Prayer is a stance towards life. Prayer challenges me to stay open to whatever is going on in each moment of my day. It invites me to remain connected.

Standing before a class of twenty young people is an opportunity for prayer. Talking to the young woman serving me coffee is an opportunity for prayer. Prayer happens if I can only stay open. If I can only stay connected to that deeper part of myself in which I am conscious of the presence of the living God, then I will be able to fulfill Paul's instruction to "pray without ceasing." (I Thessalonians 5:17)

The prayer question is not, what was going on with those twenty young people to whom I spoke this morning. The truth is I know absolutely nothing about their lives or what they may or may not have heard in my words. The prayer question is, what is going on in me. Am I choosing in this moment to allow my life to be a prayer? Am I choosing to open and soften towards life and towards the people and events of this moment?

To make my life a prayer is to choose openness no matter what is going on. To make my life a prayer is to give up evaluating, judging and assessing every person, event and every circumstance. To make my life a prayer is to recognize that everything that comes to me is an opportunity to open more deeply to God and to an awareness of God's loving presence at the heart of all existence.

Learning to open is the purpose of silent prayer. Opening to the reality of the divine in all of life is the path to my true nature as a human being. I was created for something more than simply the horizontal axis of events, circumstances and people that fill my life. It is not important whether those young people in that classroom heard a word I said. It is only important that I come away from that experience with a heart that is open and a spirit that is surrendered to God. Then the deepest prayer of my heart will be answered; I will know that God is present. I will discover the meaning and purpose of my life. I will experience my true destiny as a being called to join God in creating an open space for the work and presence of God's Spirit.

Fear #1 (see May 16, 2009)

2008-09-25T12:11:00.000-07:00

September 24, 2008
President Bush's Address to the Nation

The government's top economic experts warn that without immediate action by Congress, America could slip into a financial panic, and a distressing scenario would unfold:

More banks could fail, including some in your community. The stock market would drop even more, which would reduce the value of your retirement account. The value of your home could plummet. Foreclosures would rise dramatically. And if you own a business or a farm, you would find it harder and more expensive to get credit. More businesses would close their doors, and millions of Americans could lose their jobs. Even if you have good credit history, it would be more difficult for you to get the loans you need to buy a car or send your children to college. And ultimately, our country could experience a long and painful recession.

It is a familiar tactic. You can hear it in his voice and feel it creeping up your spine if you pay attention. It is the age-old device, using fear to motivate people to take action you believe is necessary. Fear may work when you are unprotected facing a threatening grizzly bear miles from civilization. But, when we make our choices from a fearful place, we seldom make the best decisions. And, when we use fear to motivate others, there is always a price to pay.

Fear is not a good motivator to generate well-being within the human commiunity.

The problem with fear is that, when we are fearful, we become tense; our heart races; we brace against the undesirable outcome predicted. Operating from this fearful, anxious, braced position disconnects us from the open, expansive gentleness within ourselves that is the place where we can receive wisdom and light. We choke the voice of God when we take an oppositional stance to the realities of life.

Jesus did not have much patience with fear. Over and over, he said, "Do not be afraid." In the Coleman Barks translation of Rumi, the great Persian poet directs us simply to "Move outside the tangle of fear-thinking." Fear always creates a tangle, a mix of motives and a paralyzing sense of anxiety. It is hard to see clearly when our vision is clouded by fear.

Fear does not create a life-giving envrionment for anyone. Fear feeds upon fear, creating more fear. When we act from fear, it is not long before we resort to violence in a futile attempt to gain control of our situation. As soon as we believe we have managed to get one part of life under control, something goes wrong and we are plunged back into a new fear. Terrorism from abroad is followed quickly by economic crisis at home. Some new fear is always close at hand.

Fear arises from the illusion that someone or something has the power to take from us that which we cannot afford to let go. Pema Chodron says, "When we feel inadequate and unworthy, we horad things. We are so afraid - afraid of losing, afraid of feeling even more poverty-stricken than we do already."

But Jesus suggests that "Blessed are you who are poor for yours is the kingdom of heaven." (Luke 6:20)It is in the experience of loss that we begin to discover how much we can do without and open ourselves to the possibility of true riches.

It is ironic that we think things can make us wealthy. Jesus said, "Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven." (Matthew 19:23) When we are rich it is tempting to fall prey to the illusion that our things, our possessions, our talents are the source of satisfaction in life. But no secure sense of well-being resides in anything external to ourselves.

As the present economic panic in North America demonstrates, there is nothing outside of ourselves that we can rely upon as an unfailing source of security, peace or contentment. If we cannot find an inner security that exists independent of external circumstance, we will never experience any true and lasting security.

Most Sundays in church I end the service by saying, "The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord." The Gospel promises a peace "which passes all understanding." This is a peace that does not rely upon stock market portfolios, insurance plans, economic stability or massive military build up. A peace "which passes all understanding," is a peace that comes from knowing "in your hearts and minds, the knowledge and love of God."

Kabir Helminski says, "To be spiritually mature is to be free of the fear of loss, knowing that we are connected to the Source of all generosity." We
are connected to the "Source of all generosity." Therefore, we have nothing to fear. We can be "free of the fear of loss." No matter what may be taken from us, there is nothing and no one that can separate us from the one thing for which our hearts most truly and deeply long. Paul asks

Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or faminine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?

Paul answers his own question with absolute conviction and unwavering faith.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separte us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
(Romans 8:35-39)

Freedom from fear comes from the knowledge that nothing can separate us from that inner stream of light and life that is the presence of God known to us in Christ Jesus.