The word that best describes my sabbatical…

I wrote the following as a “report” on my sabbatical.


Regarding Rhythms:
Sabbath for Rest.
Retreats for Reflection.
Vacation for Recreation.
Sabbatical for Renewal.

As you by now know, I am back from a three month sabbatical.  I’ve been thinking for weeks and weeks as to how to best describe my time away, and I keep coming back to the same word, over and over again:  Gift. A gift.

The timing worked out well, and Milo was born my first week off of work.  Both Ash and I got to be with Milo for his first three months of life in a way that very few parents get to do.  That was a gift, and I am thankful.

During my sabbatical, it was reaffirmed to me that this church called Grace Mennonite is a gift… This community of people is a gift.  I know all of our warts and all the silly things we do, we’re not perfect, but let me tell you, there is no other place that I would be, no other place that I’d want to raise my kids, than here.

Ash and I were in Chicago in September for the both the Enneagram Conference and the Why Christian Conference, and one evening we were on the 94th story of the John Hancock Center doing the touristy thing, and one of you sent me a message.  You told me that tomorrow was Orange Shirt Day, a day we invited to wear orange to remember all the residential school survivors, and you told me that even though you didn’t own an orange shirt, you were going to put some orange flowers on your desk to tell the story.  With tears in my eyes in front of some European tourists taking selfies, I looked at Ashley and said: I love our church, and we get to be a part of this.

While we were away, my 4 year old nephew had to have open heart surgery to fix a hole in his heart.  We were told it was a fairly routine surgery, but when we stopped to think about it, it was terrifying.  We were able to shoot a quick email to a bunch of you to ask for prayers, and instantly we were reminded that we are part of something bigger than ourselves, and that we do not walk alone.  My nephew’s surgery went well, and all your prayers were a gift.

When I was gone I didn’t give very much of my money away to charities… Just a couple bucks to some cancer walk here or a natural disaster fund there.  I wanted to reflect on what not giving money to church would feel like… It was kind of empty.  I was reminded that giving some of our money every month to church is far more than simply paying for the heating bill or Mel’s pension plan.  Giving money here is a one stop shop for a whole host of initiatives and community building.  Here we get to have conversations on poverty and reconciliation with First Nations and mental health, here we get to go to Pauingassi First Nation for family camp, here we get to walk with people as they grieve loved ones, here our children get to have extra grandparents in every corner of the church, here we get to sponsor schools around the world and support refugee families in town and help host Soup’s On and English classes and have a free thanksgiving dinner with 200 people. When we were in Chicago, I would be talking to strangers about our church, and I would explain who we are at Grace, and who we try to be, and they would look at me and say:  “You’re church sounds pretty awesome.  I want to come.”    I get to be here… You let me lead here… That is a gift.

When I was gone, I had some time to intentionally pray and reflect on this Christian faith that we find ourselves in.  One thing I read was that the role of religion is simply, to tell us, and to keep reminding us, of who we objectively are… That we are beloved recipients of God’s grace and peace, and we get to offer that to the world.  That is a gift.  We get to do that!

I could talk a lot longer about all of this… I think that when I got back to work last week I was like a fire hose… Poor Mel and Audrey.   If you want to hear more about all I did and learned, definitely be in touch.  And if you don’t, well, it’ll come out in my sermons for the next few years.

But back to the word that I keep coming back to…  Gift.  It reminds me of the definition I use for grace.  Grace is a gift, undeserved.

And I am grateful to be part of a church that has named itself grace. That is a gift.

PS – Plus, I built a canoe.  That is also a gift.

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Manure, the Antichrist, and Flossing – A post-election sermon

You spend 3 months on sabbatical thinking about what you’re going to preach about on Peace Sunday, and then you wake up Wednesday morning and find out that our neighbours to south of us elected Donald Trump.

I understand that we are in Canada, so we’re watching from a distance.

I understand that even here, we probably won’t agree HOW we talk about politics in church, let alone how we participate in our governments or who we vote for.

Also, I’ve heard it said that when we mix faith with politics, it’s like mixing ice cream with manure.  The manure isn’t ruined, but the ice cream certainly is.

But something profound happened this week, and I think for us to ignore it would be naive.  As wiseman Mel says – If we’re talking about it out there, we can talk about it in here.

This morning, I am going to try to speak as kindly and fairly as possible, but I am going to speak directly.  I am going to take the risk of saying something you may disagree with.  I am okay with that, and trust our relationship and our desire to be loving over our disagreements.  If Ash and I can still love each other and disagree on things, I’m sure most of us can as well.

For me, the best lens to look at this week’s election is through the lens of scapegoat theory.

Scapegoat theory works like this:

(Most of what follows are Brian Zahnd’s words from his book Farewell to Mars.  For the sake of flow, I didn’t cite which words were his and which were mine.   But if it sounds smart and concise, assume they’re his words.)

When a group of people perceive themselves to be slighted or wronged, displaced or threatened, they can grow into a vindictive crowd.  When a group or people becomes an angry, fear-driven crowd, the group-think phenomenon of mob mentality quickly overtakes rational thought and individual responsibility.  The mob takes on a spirit of its own and some of the words that describe the crowd are words that we usually associate with demonic forces:  Angry, vengeful, blaming, accusing. The words devil and satan both mean to blame and to accuse.

When the crowd is whipped up, it searches for a target upon which it can express the pent-up rage it feels.  The crowd looks for a scapegoat, whose role is to bear the sin of the crowd.  The crowd looks for a sacrificial victim to bear its sinful anger.

And when it finds a scapegoat, the mob becomes capable of evil that would be unthinkable for most of us as individuals.  The crowd proceeds to blame, shame, accuse, vilify, and possibly murder the scapegoat.

The scapegoat is usually a marginalized person or a minority group that it is easy to victimize.  And we as humans have been scapegoating since the dawn of civilization.   All of us, both on the left AND the right, are guilty

Some examples?

The Holocaust scapegoated the Jews.

The Crusades scapegoated Muslims.

Terrorists scapegoat the West.

The West scapegoats terrorists, especially if they’re Muslim.

We can even directly name things closer to home.

Community meetings against Bill 18 was about scapegoating members of the LGBTQ community.

The angry barrage of social media posts cursing politicians who weren’t at the Pride March in July was all about scapegoating.

Almost every partisan election is an example of scapegoating.  We scapegoat conservatives and liberals and urban folk and rural folk and rich people and poor people and more educated and less educated and Muslims and Quebecers and the Reformers and the Religious right and Hispanics and First Nations and African Americans and Jews.

We are always looking for someone to blame for our problems, to project our own anxieties upon.

The angry crowd is always wrong.  Even if it calls itself Christian.  Even if the issue is right, the angry crowd is wrong in spirit.   The angry crowd is dangerous because they are looking for a scapegoat.

Jesus does not lead the angry crowd.  Jesus does not lead his people to join the angry crowd.  Jesus never leads anything other than the gentle and peaceable minority.  Jesus hides from triumphalistic crowd that tries to force him to be their war-waging king.  Jesus weeps over the nationalistic crowd whose Hosanna’s are meant to egg him into violent revolution.   The angry crowd is the antichrist.  The angry crowd can evil kill the son of God.

The gospel narratives make it clear that Jesus filled the role of scapegoat.  By becoming the scapegoat, Jesus dragged the demonic practice of scapegoating into the light where it could be named, shamed, and once and for all rejected.  Jesus carried our blame down to Hades and left it there.  Jesus became the final scapegoat.

That’s why Christianity is the only religion in the world whose founder suffered a violent death and there was zero call for revenge or retaliation.  For three hundred years there was only grace and peace and forgiveness, even for “enemies.”

It was human systems of blame, sacrifice, and violence that put the Son of God to death. But this sacrificial death drags the sin of the world into the light where it is forgiven by Christ and where it is to be forsaken by us.

The Jesus way of producing peace is based in mercy and forgiveness, not blame and retribution.

So in any election, in any discussion or debate about what’s right and wrong, or who’s right or wrong, we can name our anxiety, we can lament the realities in front of us, we can work for justice, we can admit our fear and ask God to help us, but what we cannot do is turn towards others and blame them in anger.   Especially those on the margins of society.  Especially those with less social capital and resources and community connections and places to draw strength from. Doing so is the antichrist.  Not Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton or Rachel Notley (if you live in Alberta).   The angry crowd looking for a scapegoat is the anti-christ.

Two things for us today.

Number one.

The church doesn’t have a social strategy.  The church is the social strategy.  – Stanley Hauwerwas

The primary confession of the first Christians was three words:  Jesus is Lord.  No matter what happens, anywhere, anytime, the first task of the church is to simply be the church and say together that Jesus is Lord.  Saying that Jesus is Lord means that we give Jesus the right to tell us how to live.

So that means that we keep welcoming refugees and we standing with minorities and we keep feeding the hungry. We keep clothing the naked and keep inviting people to parties and keep being kind to immigrants and outsiders and we keep giving back all that we have received.

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to racism and say yes to reconciliation.

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to sexism and misogyny.  Bragging about sexual assault like it’s normal is not okay.  Especially in the church.

Denouncing sexism and racism isn’t a liberal agenda. It’s a Christian one. 

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to homophobia and yes to equality for all of God’s beloved children.

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to dropping bombs on our enemies and yes to praying for them.  It means that we say no to drone warfare and yes to doing good to those who would hurt us.

Jesus is Lord means that we are pro-life means that we care about the quality of life for everyone from the womb to the tomb, not just part of one’s life.

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to scapegoating others and yes to working for the common good.

Jesus is Lord means that we say no to fear and hate and yes to peace and grace and justice and love.

Jesus is Lord means that we keep loving our neighbours as ourselves, imagining a better future for everyone, even if it costs us… Love is not a victory march, but it’s a cold and it’s a broken hallelujah. 

Jesus is Lord means that, to quote Bruce Cockburn, we keep (non-violently) kicking the darkness til it bleeds daylight.

Number one:  Jesus is Lord.

1669323205cbe57ace5e04433be5e389Number two:  Loving our enemies takes practice.  It doesn’t just happen.  It’s seems so counter-intuitive that often it doesn’t make sense.  But if we declare that Jesus is Lord, we have to practice ways to love our enemies.  Kind of like flossing our teeth.  We know we should do it, we don’t really want to do it, we don’t always like doing it, but when we do it, and do it well, we open ourselves up to the amazing world of good dental hygiene.  If we don’t choose to nurture loving kindness, it is unlikely that a year from now we’ll be any more loving (Richard Rohr).

So, today we’re going to nurture our loving kindness by ending few minutes of contemplative prayer.

As I light the candle, I’d invite you to sit a comfortable position and put your hands out like you are receiving a gift.

As you close your eyes, take a few breaths. Notice your breathing.

Begin by finding the place of loving kindness inside your heart, the place where God’s love and affirmation for you is as real as it can be.

Drawing upon this source of love, bring to mind someone you deeply care about, and send loving kindness toward them.

Now direct this love toward a casual friend or colleague, someone just beyond your inner circle.

Continue drawing from your inner source of loving kindness and let it flow toward someone about whom you feel neutral or indifferent, a stranger.

Remember someone who has hurt you or someone you struggle to like. Bless them. Send them your love.

Gather all these people and yourself into the stream of love and hold them here for a few moments.

Finally, let the flow of loving kindness widen to encompass all beings in the universe.  Imagine God’s love reaching into every corner and crevice of the universe.

Amen.

And grace and peace to everyone.

 

Some thoughts after Tuesday’s HSD meeting

“How do we move on from here?”

“I just don’t know what to do…”

“Conflict is inevitable, but is middle ground even possible?”

“Besides posting on social media, how do I show support?”

I’ve had/observed several conversations with people since the school board meeting on Tuesday (It was quite a surreal meeting, as trustees ended up comparing school policies on calling parents of LGBT teens to residential schools, tried connecting sex-ed to cancer rates, and expressed concern about indoctrination).

But all my conversations seem to be ending up in the same place.

What do we do?  How do we elevate the conversation?  How do we create safe spaces for everyone?

In some ways, I’m lucky I’m part of a small church.  At Grace Mennonite, we are committed to trying to love each other and to sitting next to each other every Sunday, even if we disagree.  We have facilitated conversations about all sorts of things (environmentalism, poverty, residential schools, refugee sponsorship, and yes, sexuality), and they’ve all gone quite well.  But because these conversations happen within the context of a community that cares about each other, we still work very hard at loving each other, sharing food, organizing parties, visiting each other when we’re sick, and praying for each other, even if we’re not on the same page.

So, for me, the easy part of the question “What do we do?” is simply to continue doing what we’re already doing at Grace – Try to model the life of Christ by actively working for peace and justice and accepting and caring for all people. No matter what happens, we will support each other and walk together as we try to love God and love our neighbours as ourselves.

But when the question about what to do leads me outside of our church walls, or for people who aren’t a part of my church, or people who don’t believe in the “invisible sky god” like I do, I have less answers.

 But what I do have is hope. 

I have hope because anytime I write a blog post about sexuality and Steinbach and religion, the feedback is 95% positive.  There are thousands of us down here in the Southeast who believe in equal treatment for everyone, regardless of orientation or gender.  Yes, we are a minority, but we are here, and we are learning to find our voice and use it in constructive ways.

I have hope because there are advocacy/support groups made up from local folk that are forming and continuing to network and educate and support and work towards change.

Because of the hard work of a great teenager a few years ago, there’s a Gay-Straight Alliance at the SRSS that continues to meet and receives tremendous support from teachers.

There’s a student led GSA at Providence University College that has some great professors lending support.

Steinbach Pride is organizing a march for equality this summer, seeking to create safe space for people where they can be themselves.

I’m part of a group called Steinbach Neighbours for Community that is seeking to promote understanding and acceptance of the diversity present in our community.  We brought in a theatrical play last year called Listening for Grace, and we’re continuing with plans for a story telling event in the autumn featuring stories of local LGBT individuals and their families (we’re still in the planning stages of this, but I’ll keep you updated for more info when I have it).

Heck, even us pastors/clergy who are open to the conversation are supporting each other.  We know that much of the opposition to LGBT equality is rooted in religion, but not every church and every pastor and every Christian is opposed.  There aren’t a lot of us, but we are still here.

And none of this includes the informal conversations, coffee, emails, and other signs of support that are shared between LGBT individuals and allies.

So when it comes to how to create change on a big level, I don’t have a lot of concrete answers.

But on a smaller, local level, what I do have is hope.  Lots of it.

We are here, doing our best.  Change might not be as fast we’d like, we will inevitably make mistakes, but at least we’re on the road.  Baby steps are better than no steps.

I’ll end with some words attributed to Oscar Romero.  It’s rooted in the Christian tradition (did I mention that I like being part of a church and the Christian tradition?), but I think much of it’s applicable to all my thoughts and conversations this week.

It helps, now and then, to step back and take a long view. 

The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent
enterprise that is God’s work. Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of
saying that the Kingdom always lies beyond us.

No statement says all that could be said.

No prayer fully expresses our faith.

No confession brings perfection.

No pastoral visit brings wholeness.

No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.

No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about.

We plant the seeds that one day will grow.

We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.

We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.

This enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an
opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master
builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders; ministers, not messiahs.

We are prophets of a future not our own.

Grace and Peace to you all.

PS – And, as usual, if you’re looking for safe spaces or people in town, let me know, and I’ll do my best to point you in the right direction.  kyle.grace@mts.net is my email address.

 

 

 

NEVER READ THE COMMENTS (on lgbt articles in steinbach. it’s exhausting.)

This week a parent talked to the local school board about bullying, and how schools talk (or don’t talk) about same-sex parents.  You can read the article here.

I’ve never met her, but she seemed quite prepared and confident, so I wasn’t going to say much on social media.  I was rather much looking forward to seeing how the school board would respond to her concerns.

And then I did something I never should do. Our two local media put the story on their Facebook pages, and I read the comments.  I should know better.  NEVER READ THE COMMENTS!

In short, I found it exhausting.  It’s the exact same talking points that I lived through three years ago.  Religious freedom, bullying, Hollywood, arsenokoitai, blah blah blah.

Frickin’ exhausting.

And then it hit me.  If me, a married straight male pastor with two kids, finds it exhausting to read these comments online, how does one who is LGBT feel? Or a parent whose kid is a sexual minority?

(Yes, I was aware of straight privilege and heterosexism before this morning.  I just happened to reinforce that knowledge today.)

So, as someone with very little skin in the game, whose orientation isn’t questioned wherever I go, who’s not worried about being mocked, looked down upon, or beat up for whose hand I choose to hold in public, I write today.  I write, knowing full well knowing that I have the choice to, whereas many LGBT folk don’t.

Someone much wiser once said to me, “There is a lot of anger directed to sexual minorities.  That anger is going to be absorbed by somebody, somewhere.  Sometimes, as straight allies, it’s our job to absorb some of it for those members of the community who are tired of it.” (aka:  frickin’ exhausted.)

So, if you identify as LGBT (or have family who do), you are not alone here.  There are a bunch of us quietly working towards equality for everyone.  If you need someone to connect with, feel free to shoot me an email at kyle.grace@mts.net.  I can’t promise much, but I’ll do my best to listen, and direct you to the best resources I know of.

Grace and Peace,

Kyle

PS – And if you are convinced that you know how to translate arsenokoitai, or the public schools aren’t teaching biblical morals, or that Hollywood is leading people astray, or that my salvation is at risk and you would like to pray for me, feel free to leave a comment below (but I will take the prayers, thank you very much).  Better here than directed at someone who is frickin’ exhausted of it all already.

On the Apocalypse, Wookies, and Little Orphan Annie

For Lent, we’ve been intertwining two different paths.  We’re going through the gospel of Mark as Jesus prepares for his death and resurrection, and we’re also remembering the suffering that happens in our lives and in our world.

Last week, what text does Mel get to preach about?  On love being the greatest commandment, and of the widow giving her pennies at the temple.

This week, what text do I get to preach about? The apocalypse and the second coming of Jesus.  Not that I’m bitter or anything…

First of all, Mark chapter 13 is strange and weird and something that doesn’t make a lot of sense.  In actuality, we could skip the entire chapter, and the entire story of Jesus would make still make sense.

So why is it there?

Well, since you’ve been listening to me preach for almost 6 years now, hopefully you know that the first question we ask about hard biblical texts is, “Why was this written down?”

Mark 13 is a genre called apocalyptic literature.  There are a variety of ways to approach apocalyptic literature, with some of them a bit more helpful than others.

(But before I begin, I do want to remind us that our unity isn’t based on us agreeing on how to interpret apocalyptic literature.  Our unity is based on us being a community of Jesus followers coming together and trying to love God and love our neighbours.)

I’ll start by saying what I think apocalyptic literature isn’t.

Apocalyptic literature isn’t a literal prediction of the future.  It’s not a sequence of events to come.   If you take the text literally, I see how some of us end up there, but then that leads to all sorts of interesting ideas about Jesus and the end of the world.

For example, some of us were taught about something called “the rapture”, where all the Christians leave this world and the rest of the world has to suffer through trials and tribulations for several years on Earth til Jesus comes again.

“It’s like all the Christians leave the Earth and get box seats in heaven from which to watch all the bad people on Earth suffer.” – Nadia Bolz-Weber

Some of us might even be familiar with the movie from the 70’s called “A Thief in the Night”, where this exact thing happens, and proceeded to scare and scar an entire generation of Christians into not wanting to be left behind.  Or, if they came home from school and Mom wasn’t there, them thinking that they were left behind.

This train of thought can be more or less attributed to a guy named John Nelson Darby from the UK in the mid-1800’s.   And almost 200 years later, some of us still believe it.

Why?  As the author Nadia Bolz-Weber says, “This fear-mongering stuff sells like hot cakes. People eat it up.   And why wouldn’t we?  It panders to the selfish, hateful, vengeful-seeking parts of ourselves, like God himself is co-signing on it all.”

So, if treating apocalyptic literature as literal future events that is really just fueling our selfish and vengeful egos, is there a better way to approach apocalyptic literature?

Well, this is how I treat it.

“First of all, apocalyptic literature is style of ancient writing that was usually code for speaking about the world the people at the time live in: they were for people in politically dangerous situations to speak the truth about power – they were more commentary than prediction.”  Nadia Bolz-Weber.  It would kind of be like us in 2016 writing an epic story of good and evil and power and what happens when a raging lunatic gets a hold of the most powerful weapon in the universe, and us calling it Star Wars.  And then, in the year 4016, humans would dig up the remains of our houses and find a copy of Star Wars, and then they would start exploring the universe looking for Wookies.wookie.jpg

A commentary on good and evil and the possible destruction when big weapons fall into the hands of the wrong people? Very compelling and real.

Wookies and Ewoks and Jedi Knights? Not so much.

So, what’s the commentary of Mark 13? Well, the first few verses are about the temple being destroyed by the Romans, which, we now know happened around the same time as the gospel of Mark was written.  The sacking of Jerusalem by the Romans left huge buildings nothing but piles of rubble and dust.  It was the ultimate destruction.

And who was the gospel of Mark written to?  A small band of misfit, powerless Christians being persecuted and killed by the Roman Empire.  And Jesus tells them to not be afraid, for even though heaven and earth will pass, his words never will.

Often, apocalyptic literature is code.  It uses metaphors and symbols to describe the present reality of the readers.  Nowadays, we just fly drones to take videos of cities that have been leveled.  But back then they used apocalyptic literature.


Secondly, apocalyptic literature served as a reminder to be awake, to be on guard.  Some os us take that metaphor as a bit of a threat, a warning, that you’d better be ready for when Jesus comes back so as to not be left behind.  It portrays Jesus like an angry parent who has returned home from their vacation a day early and finds that their kids threw when they were gone. Oh man, you’ve been bad, and now you’re going to get it.

Actually, “the word apocalypse actually means “uncovering” or “disclosure” or “unveiling.” It’s about things being exposed for what they truly are…a true apocalypse, then, wasn’t something to be feared or dreaded but something to be anticipated and celebrated as evil is crushed and violence ended and injustice brought to an end as God makes all things right.” – Rob Bell

So watching out and being on guard aren’t only negative actions, but could also be positive ones.  If we throw a house party when our parents are away, and a bunch of strangers show up and start snorting cocaine in the basement, watching and waiting for your parents could be seen as a good thing.


There’s one other thing that apocalyptic literature does.  It’s an attempt to place our own experiences, our own joys, our own sufferings, into a bigger picture.  It sees our own earthly stories as part of a bigger story.  This kind of “apocalyptic literature stems from a worldview that believes that everything happening on earth represents and correlates with a larger, heavenly struggle between good and evil, between God and the devil.  By casting these stories in a larger, cosmic framework and in this way gives comfort to people who are currently suffering or being oppressed.” – David Lose

And, as we know, the first readers of the Gospel of Mark were suffering and oppressed, so any reminder of God’s love, any reminder of God winning in the end, was probably well received.  Some of this apocalyptic literature can be read as stories of hope.

Last year I came across a great definition of despair:  Despair is when we believe that tomorrow won’t be any better than today.  Despair is when we believe that tomorrow will be the same as today.

When times are good, and life is humming along, it’s easy to believe that tomorrow will be better.  Even little Annie Orphan believes that tomorrow will be better than today.

But in hard times?  That’s a harder sell.  In Lent so far, we’ve heard stories of depression and anxiety and mental health, we’ve heard stories of surgeries after babies, and stories of insomnia.  In those times, it’s hard for us to be hopeful, it’s hard to believe that tomorrow will be better, it’s hard for us to believe that God makes all things right.

Apparently some people throughout history have needed apocalyptic literature to remind themselves about hope.  Others of us nowadays might find hope in places other than apocalyptic literature, such as a walk outside with some friends, a good cup of coffee, or some warm weather in March  (But if the world’s superpower was actively killing us and destroying our cities, we may need something more than sunshine and coffee.)

But when we place our own stories inside of a bigger story in order to give us hope… maybe we’re not that far away from understanding apocalyptic literature after all.

Highlighters, Asking Mom for the Car, and Hair Transplants for Men

A sermon from the first Sunday of Lent, based on Mark 10:17-31.


 

This one time, about two years, I preached a sermon about money.  I thought it was okay… But then afterwards, there was an invitation to come and into that room over there with our coffee and talk about the sermon and money and Jesus. I waited, and waited, and waited, and in the end, and only Peter and Thelma came!  I commented that “I guess people don’t want to talk about their money,” but then Thelma kindly suggested that the low attendance was maybe because people went home to go watch the Brier. She was certainly more optimistic than I was.

Another time, about a year and a half ago, we had a series of conversations about marriage and sexuality.  We had between 70 and 100 people show up on 6 straight weeknights.  One of our speakers had this to say right off the hop (I’m parphrasing): “I’m glad that we’re all here on a weeknight to talk about the few Bible verses that speak about sexuality and marriage, but let’s just remember that there are oodles of Bible verses that speak­ about money, and I highly doubt that we’d have this many people here to talk about those.”

Or, as the artist Rich Mullins says:

“You guys are all into that born again thing, which is great. We do need to be born again, since Jesus said that to a guy named Nicodemus. But if you tell me I have to be born again to enter the kingdom of God, I can tell you that you just have to sell everything you have and give it to the poor, because Jesus said that to one guy too…But I guess that’s why God invented highlighters, so we can highlight the parts we like and ignore the rest.”

The snarky part of me smiles when we quote Bible verses to our liking, or when we say that we should just follow the Bible, or just do what Jesus says, because when we say these kind of things, we definitely do not mean these verses directed towards the rich young man.

Sell everything you own and give it away?  Surely, Jesus doesn’t mean me, does he?

We would much rather talk about who’s born again and who isn’t and who can marry whom, than talk about our money.

In most of the gospels, we have Jesus inviting people to follow him, and they enthusiastically drop everything and hit the road.  This story is one of the only ones where the invitation to follow Jesus, is rejected.  Maybe he doesn’t like talking about his money either?

Let’s start with the question that he asks Jesus.  “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

I actually think he asks a terrible question.  I think it’s selfish and egotistical question.  He’s not asking questions about mercy or justice or community or suffering or peace or loving your neighbours  He’s just looking out for number 1.  Himself.  What must I do to be saved?

And he even does this little, buttering up thing to Jesus by starting with “Oh good teacher.”  It’s like when I was a teenager:  “Mom, I think you’re a great mom.  Can I take the car to Winnipeg?”  Clearly, this is a manipulative move disguised as a compliment so that I could get what I wanted.  Unfortunately, it didn’t work out so well with my mom.

How did it work out with Jesus?

Just as well.  First of all, he says, “Yeah, save your compliments. God alone is good.”  And then he tells the rich young man to follow the commandments.  And then he starts listing them.  But he Jesus sneaks something in there that I had never noticed before.

Do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, do not defraud, honour your father and mother…

Do you see it?  Did you catch it? Did you see the sneakiness?

Well, unless you have Exodus 20 or Deuteronomy 5 memorized, you might not notice.  And who really has those chapters memorized?  I don’t.

Jesus lists some of the 10 commandments… don’t murder, don’t steal, blah blah blah.  And then, he adds one in there!   Do not defraud!  It isn’t one of the 10 commandments!  Why would Jesus sneak an extra commandment in there?

Well, the young man was rich, so presumably he came from a family that had a lot of wealth.  And, back then, how did you become wealthy?  You owned a lot of land.  And, if you owned a lot of land, that means that you weren’t practicing the year of Jubilee.

Here, again, unless you know the book of Leviticus really well (which is okay), you might not know about the year of Jubilee. In a nutshell, Jubilee was this practice of cancelling all debts and returning all land to its original owners every 50 years.  It was meant to ensure that you never had people living in perpetual wealth or perpetual poverty.   Every 50 years there was a giant reset button of wealth re-distribution.

And biblical scholars tells us that the Israelites actually practiced Jubilee a grand total of… zero times.  They never did it once.

So, the young man having wealth isn’t even his fault!  He and his parents and his grandparents and great-grand parents were all part of a system built on not really following the law.

So, when he says that he’s followed all the commandments since he was as young boy, he is technically correct when following the 10 commandments, but technically incorrect because he’s part of this big, centuries old system that doesn’t follow the law and works to keep the poor poor, and the rich, rich.

Maybe, a parallel example is present day Canada.  Somewhere in Canadian history, European settlers came to occupy the land of First Nations, and for the most part, I think we can all agree that it wasn’t the European settlers that got the short end of the stick.

And now we are here, today.  Most of us are good, law-abiding citizens who work very hard, but we don’t quite know what to do with all the big questions about justice and reconciliation and land use and treaties and the Indian Act that we have to face.  We can claim that it’s not really our fault, or our parents, or our grandparents… We were given the land by the government and were told it was empty (or we looked the other way)!   We, too, are part of this big, centuries old system that works well for the favour for some, but not in the favour of others.

The next verse then, is truly good news, for all of us.

“Jesus looked at him, and loved him.”

The rich man isn’t a bad guy. He’s not the enemy.  He’s not morally bankrupt person who hates people with less money than him.  He’s not stealing candy from babies or shaking people upside down to take their coins.

Every time Jesus challenges those who have power and wealth, he never calls them personally evil or malevolent.  Instead, he points to the fact that they’re blind, and that they can’t see.”  – Richard Rohr

In this story, something is blinding the rich, young man. Something is getting in the way.  And Jesus names it:  His possessions.  This is why Jesus tells him to sell all his possessions.  They’re blinding him.  They’re causing him to be defensive.  They’re causing him to ask questions about how to save himself.  They’re causing him to justify his existence. I’m worthy! I follow all the rules!  I’m a good person!  Really!

Jesus continually seems to be telling his listeners that there are some pretty big things that blind us, namely, power, prestige, and possessions.  These three things seem to be quite universal, actually, and they seem to get in the way of the Kingdom of God.

Power, prestige, and possessions. 

Take a look at the billions of dollars we spend on elections. Or the money we spend on bombing our enemies to give us a sense of security.  Look at to our neighbours to the South. When some of the presidential candidates have talked about killing terrorist’s families, or turning away refugees even if they’re orphans, or they’re talking about who we can drop the most carpet bombs… Or when we in Canada casually talk about who we should bomb… Do we really have the capacity to decide who should live and who should die?  These are questions about power, and they make us blind to the Kingdom of God.

Take a look at how we talk about the low value of the Canadian dollar.  “Oh man, my vacation is costing so much more!”  “That boat I wanted to buy is thirty thousand dollars more now!”  Generally speaking, if we’re complaining about the exchange rate for our overseas vacations and luxury boats, we’re blind to the Kingdom of God.

What we’ve discovered amongst teenagers on social media is that they will take about 50 selfies, post one, and then if there aren’t enough likes within an hour, they’ll delete it.  The image they present to the world matters. And before us adults get to smug about “kids these days”, I think they learned it from us.  When Ash and I came back from South America in the summer, as soon as we landed back in North America, I noticed all the ads for laser hair removal for women or hair transplants for men or other cosmetic surgeries.  When we spend so much time and energy on the image we present to the world, I think we’re blind to the Kingdom of God.

So, the story of the rich young man is a story about money and wealth.  But at a deeper level, it’s a question about how power, prestige, and possessions are blinding us.

And asking what in our lives is blinding us, trying to figure out what’s holding us back, trying to address what’s getting in the way… That takes hours of contemplation and reflection and intentional decision making.  It’s hard work.  So hard, that it might be easier for a camel to go through an eye of a needle.

It’s not addition that makes one holy, but subtraction: stripping the illusions, letting go of the pretense, exposing the false self, breaking open the heart and the understanding, not taking my private self too seriously. Conversion is more about unlearning than learning. – Richard Rohr

This is why we have this great tradition in Christianity of giving something up at Lent.  It’s about us trying to figure out what’s getting in the way. It’s about letting go of what’s blinding us.   And it is not always an easy journey.

Eugene Peterson wrote a translation of the Bible in contemporary English, and he translated the story like this:

Jesus looked him hard in the eye—and loved him! He said, “There’s one thing left: Go sell whatever you own and give it to the poor. All your wealth will then be heavenly wealth. And come follow me.”

The man’s face clouded over. This was the last thing he expected to hear, and he walked off with a heavy heart. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about to let go.

So what are we holding on to tight?  What do we not want to let go of?  What’s getting in the way? What do we need to unlearn?  What’s blinding us?

 

Hey! At least we’re not killing each other anymore!

Last week (I think) was the week of Christian unity, where we acted and prayed for Christian unity, or something like that.   Which is a big step in the right direction, since it means that most of us aren’t killing each other anymore.  This can only be a good thing.

Anyhow.  Like we usually do at Grace Menno, we did diddly squat about it.  Not that we’re against Christian unity, but rather,

  1. We forgot
  2. There are days and weeks for everything, and we simply can’t do them all (I’m looking at you, World Fellowship Sunday and Mennonite Heritage Sunday).

But after last weekend, maybe I have a better reason why we didn’t mention it:

BECAUSE WE TRY TO DO IT ALL THE TIME!

Okay. That may be a bit of an overstatement (although our faithful Women in Mission group do invite other women’s groups for a Christmas tea every year).

But let me explain.

Through Mennonite Central Committee, our church made an application to sponsor a refugee family.  In preparation for their arrival, we hosted a “cultural awareness” day last weekend.

Despite the weather being -30 degrees Celsius, we had 80 people gather in our ugly church basement on a Saturday morning to learn about Syrian culture.    It was great, but what really excited me was WHO was all there.

Our organizer was a Roman Catholic who attends a Mennonite Church.  She had invited a Syrian Orthodox priest to share, who flew in from Toronto.  The Syrian Association of Manitoba sent two young Muslim women from the University of Manitoba to share a presentation.  Seated at the tables were Mennonites from a variety of churches, a Ukrainian Orthodox woman, some women from the big Evangelical church down the road, some non-church attenders, some Catholic men from a French town next door, a few United Church of Canada folk, and even some strangers who came and left and we still don’t know who we are.

And we had a blast learning and laughing and eating hummus.

We still may not all agree on how to interpret scripture, whether or not the Roman church should have inserted the filioque clause into the Nicean Creed causing the East/West schism of 1054, or the roles that Jesus or Mohammed play in revealing the character of God (or, for my secular friends, the invisible sky god).

But it was nice that we could put aside our differences and unite around our common humanity for a bit, as we try to find homes for the ridiculous number of displaced people in the world.

So yay for “Christian and Muslim and whomever else” unity!  We’re not only not killing each other, but we’re actually working together to relieve suffering!  Better late than never, right?

I hope you all enjoyed Christian Unity week as much as I did.

– Kyle

PS – After our session, some folk from our church, the Syrian Orthodox priest and the Muslim women went out for a stone-fired pizza lunch.  I would have paid money to see people’s looks as they walked in to the restaurant.

Mel Gibson, Sir Paul McCartney, Sarah Palin, and Leonard Cohen

A sermon, based on Mark 5:21-43.


 

The Gospel of Mark was written to Christians in the Roman Empire, who were not only on the edges of society but also without social or political power.  They were also facing the very real threat of death, as the Roman Emperor at the time was a guy named Nero, and he was quite okay with Christians dying.

The Gospel of Mark also tells the story of Jesus Braveheart-1living and teaching and interacting in Galilee, a place that the Roman Empire had conquered, and every time they tried rebelling against the Romans, to throw off the shackles of oppression like Mel Gibson in the movie Braveheart (FREEDOM!!!!) they got crushed even more.  It can be said that the Roman Empire had its boot to the throat of the Jewish people.

And here we have two stories of healing intertwined with each other.  One, a woman who had been bleeding for 12 years, a social outcast who had no money, and nobody wanted to be with her.  The other, a well respected Jewish synagogue leader whose daughter was dying.

Both of them were kind of desperate, weren’t they?  The woman was alone and broke and on the margins of society.  The man couldn’t do anything for his daughter, feeling quite useless and powerless in the face of death.  Their worlds were falling apart all around them, and they came to Jesus looking for healing.

When reading the words of Jesus in this text, and actually, most of other texts in gospels, we notice that Jesus almost always praises someone’s faith and trust more than their love.

He doesn’t tell the woman to go and be loving.  He tells her, “Your faith has healed you.”

He doesn’t tell the man to go and be loving.  He tells him, “Don’t be afraid.  Just believe.”

Jesus praises faith and trust, more than love.

Which is kind of remarkable, because if Jesus is what God looks like in the world, and God is love, then surely Jesus is all about love.  And in the parable we heard this morning, Jesus praises right living over right thinking.  It’s not about the words we 053d3a04e2b19705992ed77872fa1b1csay, it’s about the actions that we do.  In other places Jesus says that doing to others what you would have them do to you is the summary of the law.   James, the brother of Jesus, even wrote down “Love, without action, is dead.Love your neighbour as yourself.   It’s all about love!  We may as well just start singing like Sir Paul McCartney -“All you need is love, love love.  Love is all you need.”

Except that the Beatles broke up.

If it’s all about love, then why does Jesus praise faith and trust so much?

Well, what do we do when we fall?

What do we do when we fail?

What do we do when we love someone and they don’t love us back?

What do we do when our loved ones die, when we have chronic pain, when life seems unfair?

What do we do when war breaks out?  When there’s a terrorist attack?

What do we do when we lose our jobs?  Or if we go bankrupt?  Or if we get screwed by a business partner?   Or if we have crushing debt?

What do we do when someone swears at us while curling? Or we crash our car into someone else?

All you need is love, right?

On Thursday at 12:15 pm, the headlines on CBC were about sexual donald-trump-sarah-palin-alliance-rharassment, federal budget deficits, job losses, doctors making mistakes, the low dollar, pipelines, refugees, contaminated water that caused irreversible brain damage in children, doctor assisted suicide, and Sarah Palin (how in the world did she make it back into the news cycle?!?).

All you need is love, right?

What do you do when you’re bleeding for 12 years and have no money and there’s no social safety net?

What do you when your daughter is dying, and there’s nothing you can do about it?

All you need is love.

Maybe we need more than love at times.

Maybe, if love is the goal, then faith and trust seem to be how we get there.

Maybe faith and trust are the path to love.

Maybe faith and trust are what keep us going when life is hard and it’s hard to love.

Maybe faith and trust are what keeps us from being cynical, from being closed to others, from being full of resentment and negativity, and from being filled with despair.

Maybe faith and trust are foundational.

Jesus values right living over right thinking, but praises faith and trust more than love.

Back to our story:

Remember the audience that Jesus was speaking to?  Jewish people who had Roman boots to their throats.

Remember the audience that Mark was writing to:  Christians who had no power and were facing violent persecution.

Love is what’s it’s all about, but faith and trust are how we get there.

At the time, the Romans were going around, killing and enslaving people by the thousands as they conquered the world.  They insisted that they were bringing peace to the world, and they even had a propaganda phrase for this:  Pax Romana.  Roman Peace.  Peace through Victory.

Another one of the Roman Empire’s propaganda pieces was “Caesar is Lord.”  And if you disagreed with that, well, they’d nail you to a cross.

Then, a small, rag tag group of powerless people from a corner of the empire come along and say, “Cesar isn’t Lord.  Jesus is Lord.”  They didn’t believe that peace came through military might, but rather that God made peace through his resurrected son.  For them, Jesus was a better way, a way that made the whole world better through sacrificial love, not coercive violence.

Jesus is Lord.

That takes a bit of trust, doesn’t it?  That takes a bit of faith.  To claim Jesus as Lord meant reordering one’s life, one’s social fabric, one’s bank account, while being so counter-cultural that you risk being killed… All you need is faith and trust in Jesus, Da-da-da-da-da-da

Trust and faith in Jesus seems to be the path for a radical new way of living and loving and being community together.

I do want to make a note here that this is starting to sound like a Christian cliché, where, if you just trust and have faith, then everything is going to be fine.  Or “Smile!  Jesus loves you!”  We know that it isn’t that straight forward…

I like to think that faith and trust in God isn’t a false sense of reality, like we’re have our heads in the sand, being unaware of everything.  Having faith and trust in God isn’t us walking through town and not hearing the firetruck sirens because we have our fingers in our ears and we’re humming Jesus loves me. When faith and trust in Jesus is used simply as a ticket to heaven, that’s not a path to love.  That’s delayed gratification, and delayed gratification isn’t about love.  Choosing to not eat a chocolate bar today so that you can have two tomorrow has nothing to do with love.

I like to think that, rather, that faith and trust simply keep us on the path to love.  I think that when we encounter all the hard things in life, or the hard stories, or the hard people, or all the parts of ourselves that we realize aren’t all that nice, faith and trust in following Jesus keeps us looking for love and grace and peace and healing.   Faith and trust keep us open.

I think that’s why Jesus praises trust and faith more than love.  “It takes a foundational trust to fall, or to fail, and not to fall apart.” – Richard Rohr

This is the story of the woman and the man.  In the moments of their darkness, they turned to Jesus, looking for healing.

It’s my hope and my prayer that for all of us, as individuals and as a community, that in all of the ups and downs and in-betweens of life, in all the black and white and grey areas, as we try to figure out what following Jesus means in our lives when life is beautiful and when it’s a chaos filled mess with only slivers of light, may we always remember that faith and trust are the path towards love.

As Leonard Cohen sings “Love is not a victory march.  It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.”

(As usual, thanks to Rob Bell and Richard for their words (some of which I borrowed directly) and influencing much of this sermon).

Nero, Bono, and Ruffling Feathers

Based on Mark 2:1-22.

Scholars tell us that the book of Mark was written between 55 and 70 Common Era to explain who Jesus was.  Christians at that time, about 30 years after Jesus, were a small, fledgling offshoot of Judaism, especially popular among the poor and the destitute.

This information is important because it tells us who the audience was, and some of the challenges that they faced.

Between 55 and 70 CE, the Roman emperor was a guy named Nero.  He was a nut ball, and some historians wonder how the Roman Empire survived his rule.

And, when he was accused of starting a week long fire in Rome that burned down three quarter of the city in order to make more space for his palace, he said, “It wasn’t me!  It was the Christians!” And so the killing of the Christians began.

The Romans really had a taste for blood, and devised all sorts of excruciating ways to kill their victims.  Crucifixion, lions, being lit on fire…  There are even reports of the Romans making Christian parents watch their children be fed to hungry dogs.

When writing this book about Jesus, Mark’s audience was a small, poor, destitute group of cultural outsiders trying to follow Jesus while staring death in the face.  They had little money and no power and were afraid for their lives.  The emperor Nero was quite okay if they were wiped off the face of the Earth.

I find that knowing this information not only helps explain some of the stories about Jesus that we find in Mark, but also reminds us how much of a different world we live in today.  In our world, we have money, health care, CPP payments, and social assistance.  We don’t have the death penalty in Canada.  We have written laws about religious freedom, we have our highest politicians identifying as Christian, and we have rural municipalities declaring that they will continue to pray at meetings.

When we stop and think about who the gospel of Mark was written for, the audience seems to be quite different than most of us today.

Let’s keep this in mind as we look over these stories.


Jesus Forgives and Heals a Paralyzed Man

 A few days later, when Jesus again entered Capernaum, the people heard that he had come home. They gathered in such large numbers that there was no room left, not even outside the door, and he preached the word to them. Some men came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. Since they could not get him to Jesus because of the crowd, they made an opening in the roof above Jesus by digging through it and then lowered the mat the man was lying on. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralyzed man, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”

Now some teachers of the law were sitting there, thinking to themselves, “Why does this fellow talk like that? He’s blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

Immediately Jesus knew in his spirit that this was what they were thinking in their hearts, and he said to them, “Why are you thinking these things? Which is easier: to say to this paralyzed man, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up, take your mat and walk’? 10 But I want you to know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.” So he said to the man, 11 “I tell you, get up, take your mat and go home.” 12 He got up, took his mat and walked out in full view of them all. This amazed everyone and they praised God, saying, “We have never seen anything like this!”


We start with the story of the paralytic man, whose friends took apart a roof so their friend could experience healing.  These guys loved their friend.  Obviously.

It reminds me of an old story.    Someone went up to two older people who attended church their entire lives, and asked them a question.  “Are you a Christian?”

The first one answered: “Yes.  I am a born again baptized believer.”

The second answered:  “Well, you’re asking the wrong person.  You’d better ask my neighbours.”

The friends of the paralytic man understood this. They loved their friend.  Deeply.  They put their faith into action.  And, as we read in verse 5, it was this faith in action that Jesus responded to.

Now, remember the first readers of this gospel.  A church full of poor and destitute outsiders facing persecution.  This is a story about love for people on the margins, unable to fully participate in society.  They is a story about love between friends.  This is a story about a community coming together to love their neighbour when they don’t have any political or social power.  In this story, the only power they have is their love.  Because of love, you take apart the roof.

Jesus always seems to place a higher value on right living instead of right thinking.  Both are important, and they probably lead into each other, but right living always seems to be held higher than right thinking.

Are you a Christian?  Ask my neighbour.


Jesus calls Levi and Eats with Sinners

Once again Jesus went out beside the lake. A large crowd came to him, and he began to teach them. 14 As he walked along, he saw Levi son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax collector’s booth. “Follow me,” Jesus told him, and Levi got up and followed him.

15 While Jesus was having dinner at Levi’s house, many tax collectors and sinners were eating with him and his disciples, for there were many who followed him.16 When the teachers of the law who were Pharisees saw him eating with the sinners and tax collectors, they asked his disciples: “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

17 On hearing this, Jesus said to them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”


Jesus calls Levi, the tax collector, to follow him, and then he goes and has dinner with him and other sinners.

For those of us who grew up in churchy world, I could ask the question, “How many of us here are sinners?”  And we’d all dutifully raise our hands.  We know we’re not perfect and we say stupid things and sometimes think bad thoughts.

But, let’s go back to the original audience.  A church full of poor and destitute outsiders facing persecution.  I think sinners, here, didn’t mean people not swearing and not speeding. I think that “sinners”, here, could best be understood as “outsiders.”  “Outsiders” was something that Mark’s first audience could understand.

So, I were to ask us the question, “How many of us here are outsiders?”  I wonder how many of us would raise our hands?

Jim Wallis, part of the Sojourners community, was on CBC radio a few weeks ago, and he told a story about being at Davos at the World Economic Forum, a gathering of the world’s richest people and governments.

He said that recently, there’s been a bit of a values crises there, as we try to figure out what our massive wealth inequality means to the world, where 1% of the world’s population owns half the global wealth.  Even Pope Francis had written a letter to the meeting in Davos about this, saying that “Wealth should serve humanity, not rule it.” And at the end of the conference, Jim Wallis was asked to make some concluding remarks.

He looked around at the people there:  Bill Gates, Bono, CEOs, heads of states, and other famous, rich people.  He said to them, “Look around you. Understand that this is the most included room on the planet.  You are the most included people.  So the moral test of your vocation is how do the most included relate to the most excluded.”

Are we included, or excluded? Are we insiders or outsiders?

And who does Jesus come to first? Those of us who are outsiders.

Funny story:  I was applying for a job as youth pastor at my previous church in Winnipeg,

So, the church I was applying to was a little more on the theologically conservative end of things, and in my application I had written down that the radical message of Jesus is about radical inclusivity and radical obedience.  All ten people in the interview had circled the word “inclusivity”, and asked what I meant by that word.  Well as you may know by now, I often say things without always thinking, and I said the first thing that came out of my mouth.

“Well, if Jesus came to Winnipeg today, where would he go hang out first?  He’d probably skip most of our churches and go hang out a gay bar.”

I cannot believe that they hired me that day.

Who does Jesus come to first? Those of us who are outsiders.  Yes, those of us who are rich and powerful and educated and pay our taxes on time and cut our grass and iron our shirts also need Jesus, but Jesus always seems to start at the bottom.  And this, was great news to a church filled with people at the bottom of society, and still is good news for us today.

Opposition

Before we go to story #3, let’s talk about some of the opposition Jesus was facing.

In all the gospels, including Mark, Jesus always seems to be rubbing up against some opposition.  He’s ticking people off and ruffling some feathers.  And if we notice, the people he’s frustrating are all people who are either wealthy, religious leaders, or people who have some sort of social capital or power.

When I preached about hell a few years ago, one of the many things that I remember is that the only sinners Jesus condemns to hell are rich people who won’t share, and religious leaders.

Which, as a rich, religious leader, is always a good thing to remember.

Jesus keeps rubbing people the wrong way. Shane Claiborne, one of my favourite authors, tells it like this:

“I always tell our community that we should attract the people Jesus attracted and frustrate the people Jesus frustrated. It’s certainly never our goal to frustrate, but it is worth noting that the people who were constantly agitated were the self-righteous, religious elite, the rich, and the powerful. But the people who were fascinated by him, by his love and grace, were folks who were already wounded and ostracized — folks who didn’t have much to lose, who already knew full well that they were broken and needed a Savior.”

This morning, I’m just going to let that sit with us.   As someone who has a 5 bedroom house in the suburbs and a pension plan and social capital out the whazoo, this makes me uncomfortable.  But I’m okay with that.

As Shane Claiborne also says:  “For some: Life was a mess, then you met Jesus. For me: Life was smooth and Jesus messed me up.”

Because if we are comfortable, we really won’t change, will we?     Which brings us to the final story.


Jesus Questioned about Fasting

18 Now John’s disciples and the Pharisees were fasting. Some people came and asked Jesus, “How is it that John’s disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees are fasting, but yours are not?”

19 Jesus answered, “How can the guests of the bridegroom fast while he is with them? They cannot, so long as they have him with them. 20 But the time will come when the bridegroom will be taken from them, and on that day they will fast.

21 “No one sews a patch of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. Otherwise, the new piece will pull away from the old, making the tear worse. 22 And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the wine will burst the skins, and both the wine and the wineskins will be ruined. No, they pour new wine into new wineskins.”


Jesus was asked a question about following the law and fasting, and he answered with the metaphor of new wine and old wine and new wineskins and old wineskins.  Jesus basically told his listeners that if you wanted to understand and practice following  him, it is going to involve a whole new way of life and a whole new way of thinking.

What we had, our old wineskins, served their purpose.  Old wine.

But if we want new wine, well, those old wineskins gotta go.

These stories in Mark really challenge our old wineskins.  Questions of success, safety, power… questions of economic and military might… The Roman empire answered those questions, quite well.   Old wineskins.

But the Kingdom of God is like new wine.  Good news for the poor and oppressed and marginalized and outsiders doesn’t always fit well into the categories of security and safety and wealth and power.

Jesus seems to know this right off the bat.  The new wine is about a community of people guided by love for each other, especially for those on the margins.  It takes new wine skins, new containers, to encompass this radical way of Jesus.

What these new wineskins look like, well, that’s the question to ponder, isn’t it.  It’s a question that we can ponder as individuals, as families, as friends, as a community seeking to follow Jesus.  It’s a question that will never be answered very easily, and involves some deep contemplation and reflection.  It involves trial and error, getting it right sometimes, but other times, we’re going to get it spectacularly wrong.

The good news, though, is that as we ponder Jesus and how we live because of that, I truly believe that there is enough grace and forgiveness for everyone.  For both outsiders and insiders.  For both poor and rich.  For both the weak and the powerful.  I’m sure there is even enough grace for ourselves.

 

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