Living in a world gone mad

For the moment, we’ll pretend that it hasn’t been over 7 months since I last wrote.  

Join the ranks of my parents, friends and earliest sweethearts to whom I have often provided the gift of opportunities for forgiveness.   Perhaps, in a later missive, I will explain myself.

For now… let us thank Donald Trump for motivating this current phillipic. 

 (we’ll wait while you google it…)  

Actually, I’m being somewhat misleading.  1.  This blog will not be particularly “fiery”.  

2.  There is NOTHING for which to thank Donald Trump.  

Ever. 

And Ever. (Amen).  

But he has got me thinking.  

What does one do when one discovers that he/she is living in a Reality Television show?  Because that’s how I feel as I watch the surrealist theatre and listen to the rhetoric of the Presidential Primaries in the U.S.    Can I simply swear at Gordon Ramsay and turn in my apron? Refuse to shower and get voted off Big Brother?  Is there any way that I can beg the Tribe to speak or simply dance away from the stars?

It seems not. 

This show will not turn off - like “Two Broke Girls” or “Saved by the Bell” no matter how poor the writing, acting or embarrassing the situations, it’s always on!

Living in a world where public figures re-write history on a whim (Donald Trump’s business acumen; Hillary Clinton’s lionizing of Nancy Reagan and her support for people with Aids; when Bewitched brought in a new Darren) I find myself wondering what to do when the nuts are in charge.  How does one live in the midst of evil, stupidity or just plain wrong-headedness?   I respect democracy and I have bought into the idea that the majority have the right to determine their shared future – but how does one live quietly in the midst of those who have been fooled or hoodwinked; lack the capacity or information to make an informed and just decision?  

Do I just grin and go along with it?

As teenagers, sitting in school cafeterias or basement recrooms we would often profess that, had we the ability to time travel, the first that thing that we would do is go back and assassinate Hitler before his rise to power.  We knew most assuredly that the best way to deal with evil was to kill it before it could spread.  However, with commitments to life, justice, the rule of law and the priority of democracy, I have to confess that I would be unlikely to assassinate anyone.  

(I had always believed that there we only two assassination attempts on Hitler, but having recently been informed that there were as many as 47, I’m beginning to wonder if some or my teen age friends haven’t figured out how to time travel and are simply bad a assassination) 

Of course, I could just bitch, moan and post constantly on Facebook how funny, stupid, useless or disappointing everything is.  But, much like my plans to assassinate Hitler, I would like leave my teenage attitudes and practices behind me.  

(Seriously… how ‘bout we give the new Prime Minister a little more than 6 months to fix everything that needs fixing and stop blaming him for looking good in a suit?)

So, what am I supposed to do?

I’ve ruled out assassination.

I’m trying to let go of whining.

I don’t want to live angry.

I’m not moving to Iceland.

French’s Ketchup aside, I’m not convinced that yelling and screaming at the Parliament Buildings, a Trump Rally or Loblaws is really going to affect much change in me or in the world.  But I can’t do nothing, can I?

This Sunday, the Sunday before Easter, most churches will be commemorating the Palm Sunday parade of Jesus.  And thinking about it, has inspired me and will help to inform how I will live in a Trump World… and you may live in a Trudeau world…. How we can live together in a world where we may not be entirely “at home” living with idiots. 

Historically, it is likely that Jesus' little parade happened on the day of or very close to the time of larger parades.  Parades that celebrated the Roman Empire; a least one parade that would have been notable for horses, chariots, loud noises, big crowds and raucous cheers in the name of Rome.  A reason for celebration, but also a reminder to the local folks as to who was in charge, and how they would deal with unrest and disobedience.  It’s all cheers and balloons, unless you step out of line and then these same horses, chariots and soldiers could be turned on you.  

Having been born and raised in Southern Ontario, I’ve never been to parade that frightened me or carried any undertones of violence in my mind – but go to the Airshow with some Refugees some time and you may see a very different reaction to the spectacle of military jets flying overhead in formation.

In the face of this militaristic, double speak world of violence and Empire, Jesus cannot remain silent.  However, he does not go to the parade and throw tomatoes… he does not scream “Fascist” and speculate as to the size of Pilate’s penis (thank you Republican Presidential hopefuls for raising the bar so high…)  He simply lives and presents an alternative.   He puts on another parade at the other end of the city… one with a donkey (or two) and people throwing clothes and waving palms.  There are no clowns, no banners,  no horses, no chariots or soldiers; there is no military or commercial might on display whatsoever.., instead, a parade of people cheering and crying out “Hosanna”.  An alternative to Empire; an appeal to God and peace, hope and love… a simple act that doesn’t dazzle or manipulate, but provides another way.  Kind of like the first the best of Pride Parades. 

images may appear whiter than likely... or even, possible.

I think that this will be my best way forward should I find myself a minority awash in a sea of idiots… or a morally responsible person in the midst of a world gone mad.  I will live and demonstrate an alternative to corrupt privilege of those who rule. I work diligently at loving the stranger, opening my hands and heart to those in need, I will seek peace rather than victory, I will pray rather than deride, I will keep doing what it right and trust God… and I will have a parade - many parades! I will make visible my choices, so that others may be inspired to come out of the shadows and live authentically, even if it is not endorsed by the majority;  I will live and parade in loving opposition to the “common sense” choices of the masses.   And maybe, just maybe… someone will recognize that “Hosanna” actually means “save us”… and our daring to hold true to what is just and loving will eventually be enough to change "common sense" and save us all.

Or we all move to Iceland. http://www.iceland.is/

Jesus Calms the Storm, David takes on Goliath and I try to figure out what to do after the murders at Emmanuel AME Church.

I don't often blog sermons.  (it makes it impossible to repeat them!)  But this is an exception.  On Sunday with Baptisms, Father's Day, Summer Solstice,  Pride Week and Aboriginal Sunday all deserving liturgical attention, it was the murder of nine men and women at Emmanuel AME Church in South Carolina that could not be ignored...   So, I spoke about racism and my part and complicity in it at the beginning of the service and I preached.   I publish because on Monday morning, I found 11 requests for the text of my sermon.  I don't know if it's any good... I can see many "preaching" flaws, but it is sincere and it's the best that I had to offer yesterday. 

To put this in context -  I began the sermon by putting on a kettle… in the early part of the sermon, as I spoke the water heated… and then came to a boil, even as I was coming to a boil.  I then stopped and  made a cup of tea.   I was inspired by some words that Brian Nicholson shared from Joyce Rupp about cups, warmth and tea, at a meeting earlier in the week.

The Gospel and the Hebrew Scriptures that were read will be obvious as my words unfold – but for reference they were Mark 4:35-41; 1Samuel 17:32-49

Here is close to what was preached

It’s been a tough week… and a busy day.  If you don’t mind, I’m going to put the kettle on – I feel like tea.

So Jesus was on the boat.  And there was a storm… a big storm… wind blowing, waves crashing against the side of the boat… the Apostles were hanging one for dear life… sure that at any moment they would capsize;  like any of us would be, they were terrified.

Jesus was napping.

As if he wasn’t worried at all.

Finally, they wake him… and they plead with him… Help us!

Although he will chide them for their lack of faith,  he still calms the storm.   Whoosh!  It’s over.   The wind is gone, the waves have disappeared;  the sea is calm and still.

And if you went to Sunday School or Seminary with me, you know that this moment in scripture shows that Jesus and God are one with all of Creation.  God is not separate or divorced from the elements; from creation… it’s not just we who are in communion or relationship with God:  All of creation is in relationship with God- because even the storm obeys Jesus. Get it?

Cool.   Jesus is like one of the Xmen or an Avenger… an awesome superhero who has great power and is clearly worthy of my cheers and adulation.  Probably a lot better than your non- Christian God. 

But, here’s the thing.    I had a friend who got sick and he died…it wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right…  why didn’t Jesus stop that?   Nine people were praying together in church – they were nice, good people… and they were shot and killed… why didn’t he stop that?  

I love the story… but I don’t need a Jesus who can stop the storm – I need one who can stop bullets… I need a God who can stop racism… put an end to hatred… stop me when I’m being part of the problem and refusing to be part of the solution…. 

I get so angry… and upset… and hurt… and angry again… and it all begins to storm inside me…  Mother Emanuel Church… Residential Schools… War in Afghanistan, Nigeria…  injustice  in Ferguson, in Baltimore, in my own city… teenage victims of violence, child criminals…    It boils up inside of me…it roils up…  it becomes a storm…

{STOP and pour boiling water for tea.}

Did you ever have a friend who would offer you tea when the world makes no sense?  I don’t even like tea all that much… but sometimes… I need a cup.

A cup of tea… slows me down… warms me up…brings calm…  and suddenly the story of Jesus in the boat begins to make sense.  It’s not about a superhero who controls the weather… it’s the observation that the presence of God, that deep abiding faith can calm storms…  like a cup of tea…  faith warms you… right  - to the core…And it really does slow things down (you can’t have instant tea).

When I think of the storms of my life and I have had a couple… it was my faith that warmed me, slowed me down and carried me through.  My faith in God… God’s presence in my struggle…. God’s presence in the struggles of the world…   My trust that Jesus doesn’t do party tricks, he speaks, reveals and embodies truth.  So when I’m lost or confused, I stop and listen for the words of Jesus… I pray and I wonder, “What do I do next?  Where is God leading me?”

Those moments when my hurt was so profound that it made my whole body ache and my mind and heart were just swirling and making no sense… I remind myself that I believe in God…that I am beloved… that I am  enmeshed  in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ… and I can almost hear God speaking to me:  Be still… I am with you… you are not alone… I love you.  And in the next moment, I know that I will survive…. the storm inside and around me is calmed.

{STOP take tea out… and sip from here on…}

You know the thing about tea?  When you put it in a cup, you don’t have grab the handle…you can grab the cup itself and feel the warmth … and  you can hold the cup and offer the handle to someone else.  And you can give them calm…  give them perspective… it’s not just your faith that gets you through the storms… it can also be the faith of another.

I don’t know about you but as the news broke and the media followed the story of the murders at Emmanuel Church in Charleston,  I was storming… I was angry and I was devastated,  I cried;  I got more angry.   I started to feel hopeless:  Because this will never end; things will never improve… racism and violence will always a find a way to destroy what is beautiful.  My faith just wasn’t carrying me this time, the storm raged and I could do nothing about it…   and then I heard the families of the victims speak to the man who had murdered their loved ones  (you likely heard it, too)  and they prayed for him; they spoke words of forgiveness, they refused to give into the anger that was storming in me.  And their faith began to calm my storm.  In their faith – not mine  - I recognized the presence of God… I heard the hope… and I began to believe that we can be better… we can come through this…  In their faith, mine was restored.  

This morning, I come to you with my faith restored… and also aware  that at times, I have been that cup of tea for someone else…it’s been my faith that others have relied on to get through the struggle and the storm:  At the death of a loved one; in the midst of destruction; in the absence of hope… some people have asked me directly- How can you believe? How can I believe?? Others have silently implored with their eyes, their tears, their shaky hands: How can I have faith when everything has fallen apart?   I’ve never had great words of theology or philosophy… but I have held some hands… I have sat and cried… I have hugged…I have prayed… I remember once just sitting and singing old hymns…  and I have shown my faith more than explained ed.  I have been told later how important my presence was… how it calmed the storm.

And I bet you have, too.   (it’s not something for which  I have a unique ability)

Each of us has the ability to share the love and presence of God… each of us can calm the storms for others… And in fact, in our baptism, we have taken on the responsibility of allowing that Divine Presence to flow through us to those in need… we have committed to being cups of tea.   But there is a trick… or a precondition to doing properly. 

To be the one who shares that cup of tea… the one who calms the storm… we have to be who we are authentically.  We have to be truly ourselves… which means that I will share and BE God’s presence differently from you… I may use humour… I will hug… I will sigh and probably cry…I will share my kind of wisdom and compassion… that’s me.  Given my privilege in this time and space,  I will try to make things better in this world by letting go of some of my privilege and making space for others to grow and lead, to find space at the table where decisions are made and all people are fed… I can do that and I can do it authentically.

You see that’s what David and Goliath is all about for me… or at least part of what it is all about. 

Goliath is a Giant.   He terrifies all of the armies of Israel.  He cannot be defeated.  David is small… like me in the face of great evil or darkness.    But David’s faith brings him to volunteer to take on the Goliath... he somehow believes that he can vanquish the giant …win the battle and calm the storm for the Israelites.  Eventually he wins the approval of King Saul (not like there was anybody else eager to go into battle).  Naturally, the King is appreciative, if dubious, and  wants to show David how to do it; equip him for the battle.  And so,  he dresses him in his armour.  The King is larger than the boy shepherd, so his helmet engulfs David’s head… his breast plate hangs low on the youth’s body… his sword all but tips David over… it’s good armour, but it doesn’t fit and it ISN’T DAVID!    David is a shepherd…  he has his own way of doing things; ways that may not be familiar to the King or the rest of the army, but ways that can be effective.  David refuses to be somebody that he is not; refuses to wear the armour that is not authentically his… he puts them aside and claims his own authentic self and is then able to win the battle… to reveal God’s presence powerfully for Israel.

You have to be you.  I have to be me.  If we can all be who God created us to be… who we are joyously destined to be… then God’s presence; God’s love can abound… literally flow through us all.  But we have to be who we truly are.

That’s why we celebrate Pride Week and our identity as an Affirming Church – to encourage all members of the LGBTQ community and beyond to be authentically who they are… to affirm that their love and their lives are sacred and God’s love and presence flows through them…

That’s why we repent and need to work at making reparations for our role in the Residential Schools, where children were taught, coerced and forced to be other than they were created to be.  We forced them to give up their culture, their identity and personhood… and in doing so, we precluded them from being able to fully share God’s love and presence… even with the best of intentions, we tried to stop God from shining through these precious lives.

That’s one of the great tragedies of racism… we try to force people to be other than who they are created to be… we refuse to recognize them for who they are… and we shut down God.   We pour that precious cup of tea into the sink…

But it needn’t always be so.   I heard words of love and hope spoken through tears this week; I recognized the presence of God in what I thought was utter darkness.  And if that can happen in Charleston, South Carolina,  it can happen here.  If I can hear and feel the presence of God in the words of another then I can be the presence of God to others… and so can you.

I can release my privilege and make room at the table for others… I can love all of my brothers and sisters; confront my own racism and bigotry – be it large or small…. I can confront it lovingly with my neighbours and family…   and I can… you can… actually change the world, so that all people can who they were created to be: authentic, loving and unafraid.

But along the way…I’m going to need a few more cups of tea… a few more storms will need to be calmed… but right now, I have no doubt that someone will hand me a cup of tea..  and Jesus will wake up and calm the storm

Thanks be to God.  

I'm a Racist

I’m a racist.

I know that I haven’t written anything in ages (busy church, busy life) and that such a statement is a bit of a harsh way back into conversation with folks… but it needed to be said.

I am a racist.

I don’t want to be.

I don’t mean to be.

But the truth is that  words sound wiser in my ears when they come from a voice that sounds like my Grandfather.  

I listen more closely when the face sharing the message reminds me of my Grandmother.  

I tend towards foods that remind me of my Great Grandmother or the culinary heritage of my ancestors. 

I dance better to the rhythms of my childhood.  

My favourite games are the ones that I played with my parents.

Things that remind me of my childhood make me feel safe and comfortable.  

And all of these things make me tend toward my “Tribe” and similar “Tribes”.   I laugh at Irish jokes because I recognize the references and I will often think that other jokes aren't as funny because I am less familiar with their references and rhythms.   

I understand and support solutions that come from my cultural heritage and sound familiar to me.  I know that the best way to fix something is to find a good clever and strong man who will enforce his will for justice on the bad man.  I've learned that from my cultural reading list that begins with the Odyssey, carries on through our “Victory” in World War II and is found in movies like Dirty Harry and The Avengers.   I've been taught by well-meaning people that I should aspire to being good, clever and strong so that I can apply my solution to people’s problems and in that way, love them and make the world better.

That kind of tribalism makes me a racist and a bigot.

Not because I think that other races, cultures or groups are lesser – but because I simply do not give them equal weight when it comes time to listening, embracing or acting.  “Their” way just seems so backward. I give power and privilege to the familiar... sort of an "old boys network" of procedures and ethics. 

I am a cisgendered, heterosexual, man in his early fifties, descended from Irish and Scottish immigrants,  employed full time, and in a stable domestic relationship.  All of which speaks of privilege. (just to be clear, I also cheer for Toronto Sports teams, so it’s not like I’ve got everything going my way).  There are some in the same or similar cohort who want to deny the privilege that we have – but I suspect that much like climate change, we say we don’t believe it simply because we don’t know how to deal with the implications or how to make things better.  One cannot look at the evidence and rationally deny the existence of Climate Change or Racism.

 Yes, I have heard that “white men” can’t get jobs because they all go to “minorities.  (Please note, those who crow this sentiment and include women in the group “minorities” – women are actually in majority, so you are the minority seeking work.)  I have never experienced my person as a liability in finding employment.  I did lose an election once because, apparently, they were looking for a younger voice. That’s not unfair… that was a preference expressed by an informed majority.

I have the privilege of travelling and I have never been held up by airport officials with the exception of one extra baggage check during which the security officers were polite and apologized for taking up my time.

I have been questioned, detained investigated by police.  They have always taken my word when asked to explain myself, always treated me with polite respect, even when one officer thought that I was trying to be uncooperative. 

When I offer assistance to a stranger in the street, it is nearly always accepted and received with thanks.

When I am confused or lost in public, people are always helpful.

Now, all of this could be because of my striking good looks and obviously winning personality… 

or, more likely, it could be that in Toronto 2015, my cohort is in very good standing.  We are not terrorists, anarchists, bitches, immigrants, freeloader, petty criminals, violent thugs, or stupid outsiders – as least as far as public perception goes.

So, why am I dumping this on you, gentle reader?

For the past week or so, I've been stunned into shocked silence by the Earthquake that has devastated Katmandu and I have been equally stunned and shocked by the death of Freddie Gray and the ensuing public demonstrations.  I've sent some money to Nepal to aid in the relief… but I’m not sure what to do for Baltimore.

Except recognize the deep problem and try to at least be less of a contributor. 

What happened in Baltimore and continues to happen in cities and towns across North America is a result of racism. Like Climate Change: I know it, you know it… we just don’t know what to do, so we deny it, or simply shut up.

So, I may not be in time to stop the next black man or child from being assaulted, abused or murdered by the authoritarian system that I support (at least tacitly) – but maybe, I can start to do something that might save the somebody 150 people down the line.  I've

got to start somewhere.

I start by acknowledging that I tend to the familiar and I am most comfortable in my “tribe” – be it defined by race, culture, economics, gender, sexuality, age or something else.  And I commit myself to broadening – to opening up my tribe.  I do that by listening… by following… by praying…

I commit to not so much using my privilege as letting it go.  The world keeps offering me privilege and every time that I fix things “my way”, I get to be the hero and the power and privilege stay with me. Others are invited to look on in gratitude.   I need to let that go and NOT fix everything, but listen to other voices, support solutions that may not make immediate sense to me… I need to hear the voices and respect the opinions of those who are oppressed – rather than comparing their oppression to mine or denying their painful reality.   

And in this, I will begin to open my eyes, my ears and my heart to others.. I will open up my tribe so that one day, I just might recognize everyone as a brother or sister; might agree, disagree, struggle, collaborate in active love, not privileged charity… and maybe, I will recognize that a revolution is possible (as soon as we stop calling them all rioters).

Maybe one day, I will help my government take the needs of First Nations seriously.

Maybe one day, I will help my community be open to immigration.

Maybe one day, I will help my neighbour recognize that brilliant and free people do wear a hijab.

Maybe one day, I will be against violence without having to choose sides. 

Maybe one day, a bad police officer will be arrested immediately and we won't need to consider his or her colour

Maybe one day, I will be informed by the wisdom of elders that weren't at family dinners.

Maybe one day, I will be changed by you...

These thoughts are far from complete… but then, so am I.   But I’m working on it… And for those who might wonder if there’s anything religious in this… it is Jesus, who eats with tax collectors and Samaritans, who reminds me that I need to open up my understanding of tribe and it is a loving God who give me hope that we might all recognize our shared humanity and truly be brothers and sisters to one another. 

Heterodoxy, maybe even Heresy to start the New Year!

The church newsletter went out yesterday... much to my surprise, I have already received numerous requests for a copy of my "Notes from Norm"  Something seems to have hit a chord with my folks... and so, not just because I am too lazy to send copies to all who ask, but also because maybe there's somebody reading my blog for whom this might also strike a chord. 

or not. 

Also, I haven't blogged in over 6 weeks... and I really should have written something. 

So, as my way of multi-tasking, I offer this a response, inspiration and long over-due publication. (WOW, three things a once... if you include me hiding my head in shame for calling this multi-tasking, that's FOUR things at once. )

Without further delay:  

January 4^th, 2015.  It was the first Sunday of a New Year.  I was still recovering from my Man-Flu (formerly Man Cold) as well as the joy and efforts of Christmas at Jubilee and in the Seli family, which involved several extra services, events and a Christmas Dinner that would be the first meal cooked in my son’s new house and would gather my children, parents, sister, niece and nephew, father-in-law and two brother-in-law… as well as my son’s girlfriend who arrived from India three days before.  Did I mention that this was our first time meeting her? Did I mention the Man-Flu?    I mention all of these details perhaps as an excuse… either for what had already happened or what was about to happen. 

I arrived at Jubilee, eager, if not rested, to begin a New Year.  Our first New Year with Music Director Daniel, Drama Wonder Jennine and our ever exuberant intern Étienne.  I was looking forward to singing more Christmas Carols (after all the season extends beyond the day) and celebrating Communion.  There is something special about Communion on the first Sunday of a New Year.  For me, it is a balm to my soul and nerves that have been stretched over Christmas; it is a quiet moment when I sit at table with God and all of Creation and see  holy in the simple and mundane.  It is a moment for recognizing and embracing God’s presence and committing to carrying it with me through the year as it unfolds.

Well… I would love to show you a picture of the beautiful Communion set up that greeted me at 10:15 as I darted into the sanctuary to grab check something with Daniel before the service.

Somehow, in the joy and stress of Christmas time, I had not communicated my dedication to New Year’s Communion… I had not passed on my passion for the Sacrament… I had not requested or checked that Communion be set up for Sunday.  

There was nothing there.

I ran to the kitchen… nothing was being prepared.  I checked the Craft Room where Communion Supplies are stored… nothing was happening.  I checked again and discovered that we had NO bread… NO Grape Juice… and NObody to fix it.

I hung my head, decided to blame my Man-Flu and went back to my office.  I gathered Jennine and Étienne, told them the news and decreed that we would have Communion next week and simply skip over the Communion Prayers in the Order of Service.

It was Jennine who blurted, “Aw c’mon, we can do it!”

“We don’t have any bread” I explained.

“I have some Christmas Cake” said Jennine as she proferred a lovely Christstollen that Pat had given her for Christmas.  I looked at it… it was bread.  And dried fruit, marzipan and powdered sugar.. but I don’t what kind of bread Jesus had at the Last Supper, do you??

Étienne’s enthusiasm was instant (no shock) and Jennine set about to cut up the Christstollen while I found some Fruit Drink, broken cookies (in case we ran out of Christstollen)… prepared one tray of Fruit Drink in tiny cups, and unceremoniously put the proceeds of our efforts on the Communion Table along with our usual Cup and Plate.

As the service proceeded, I adapted the prayers and change the focus of the service so that we might recognize the order that God brings out of chaos; the hope when everything seems to be falling apart; the promise that God continues to act in the world and in our less than perfect lives.   It seemed to connect.

Of course, I would never want my Seminary, nor the folks that ordained me to see what transpired that cold January morning.  There was no elegance to the table, we did not have the “proper” elements for celebrating Communion – recalling that Jesus broke the bread and declared “This is my body broken for you” I snapped a chocolate chip cookie in twain and hoped that no one would laugh. As people received the “body” of Christ, Étienne reminded them that “Jesus is sweet”.   The Fruit Drink was ridiculously sweet and very, very bright.  As we had no extra servers, Jennine, Étienne and I served everybody as they came down in one line down the centre aisle, necessitating a fair bit of weaving, cutting around behind and in front and much less efficiency than our usual practice.  And some kids tried for seconds (some succeeded).

Not dignified.

Not orderly.

Probably not really official.

And yet… having only one tray of small cups, I watched many people choose to dip in the large cup, even if they would normally have taken a small cup, because they wanted to make sure that would be enough for everybody  (we had one small cup left after everybody had been served) – simple kindness.  I saw people being patient with each other as soft collisions necessarily took place.  I got engaged in discussion during coffee about whether what we had just done was Orthodox, Heterodox or Heresy… and I heard many people talking about the experience.  How often do we stop to talk about Communion??

But more than that, I felt the presence of God in our sanctuary that morning.  As badly as we did it; as heretical as our practice may have been… it was holy.

As we did our best; made do with what we had available, God was present to make up the difference.  What a great way to start the New Year!

It has struck me since that this is something that happens at Jubilee quite often: We take what we have, we put it out in our imperfect way to the community

               and God is present. 

At Community Table.

At Ulterior Worship

At Labyrinth Walks

At Bible Study

At Living the Questions Discussions

At Youth and Children’s programs

At Baptism and Communion.

As collect food and clothing for our brothers and sisters in need.

As we try to support our friends at Eva’s Place and the Massey Centre

As we try to welcome the stranger who comes through our doors for the first time.

In all that we do… God is present.

I would invite you to be similarly inspired and recognize that even though you don’t know what to do from time to time; even though you may not be perfect… you have the promise that God is present and will make up the difference.

Don’t know what to say to a friend who has lost a loved one?  You don’t have to an expert, offer what you have with sincerity… say the wrong thing if you must…but know that it doesn’t rest on you alone, like our January Communion, God will make up the difference.

Have a thought about God or a question about Jesus but don’t know how to phrase it? Don’t want to sound foolish or be wrong?  Remember the January Communion, say what you’re thinking and feeling, you don’t have to be a graduate theologian (nobody likes them anyway)  - dare to speak and let God make up the difference.

Afraid to take on a project or a task in the community, at work, at Jubilee?  You don’t have to be an Engineer or an experienced planner… offer your imperfect Christstollen and remember our January Communion and expect people to collide gently, respond politely and engage in the imperfection with love… and trust God to make up the difference.

What started out as a disaster and then became a great risk, proved to be a highlight of a New Year and a wonderful reminder of what happens when we do the best with what we have and trust in God to make up the difference…. Not just a Jubilee, but in life, as well.

Norm.

No doubt, there will be typos and errors of grammar in this - 

but I am trusting in you to overlook them… and God to make up the difference.

Taking sides in the War on Christmas!!

I've always loved the "War of the Roses"... it always sounded so floral... and it must have smelled great!

I loved the "War of the Worlds", the Mercury Theatre featuring Orson Wells... awesome!

I've marveled at the  "War on Drugs" for as long as I can remember - criminalizing Marijuana while the LCBO promotes Alcohol consumption as a viable and attractive "Life Style".  

And of course, there’s a war on Christmas.

Not on Christmas Cake - which would make sense - but actually on Christmas.

I’ve heard about it on TV.

I’ve read about in the newspapers.

I’ve heard people muttering about it as they walk out of shops where clerks have responded to “Merry Christmas” with “Happy Holidays”

For goodness sake, it’s Merry Christmas… this is Canada you know!

I’ve not really given it much thought over the past few years… since the war was declared.

It doesn’t feel like a real war to me. There are enough real wars around for me to know the difference.

There are enough problems in this world that need my attention more urgently than a “war” of Christmas…

Nobody is taking my faith away by insisting on Seasonal or Holiday Concerts at the school.  Frankly, I think it’s a bigger concern that most schools no longer have full music programs. (Perhaps a casualty of the "War on Drugs" - after all you know what musicians are like... and who knows what was happening to all those Tuba Mouthpieces.)

However… as I am wont to do… I’ve changed my mind.  (so proud that I have one to change).

It might be a sign of my age.

BUT I am now taking sides in the war on Christmas.

I will no longer sit idly by as people choose to say “Happy Holidays” over “Merry Christmas”

I will not grin and bear it…

I will insist on it!

Seriously… I much prefer Happy Holidays… in fact, anything that includes the word Holiday… over Christmas.

Because, at least Holiday… comes from “Holy” day.

A day that is Holy.

What does it mean when something is holy?

It is sacred… or connected to the Divine… to God.  When you make something holy or sacred, you connect it to God.   Happy Holidays:  “May you have a time when you are connected to the Divine”

I’ll take that.

I’ll take that over “Merry Christmas” anytime… 

Not because of an inferior etymology, but because we have come put such an emphasis on “Merry” over Christmas and Christmas has become defined as a time of gift giving.   What we mean when we say “Merry Christmas” is “I hope that you get really good gifts and that the gifts that you give are well received…  or at least easily returned.”

I suppose that there is nothing wrong with that in and of itself… gifts, I mean.  I like gifts (you don’t have to be shy about giving them to me… I receive them shamelessly.)   Gifts are great…  We’ve come to refer to Jesus as God’s gift to us… the most important of all the Christmas Gifts…  you see, it is hard to separate the idea of Christmas from gift giving.  Just as it’s hard for us to separate Hallowe’en from Trick or Treating, Valentine’s Day from Chocolate or Election Day from wailing and the gnashing of teeth. 

Merry Gift Giving.

It’s nice… but is it enough?

Christians in Syria… in Egpyt… people who have recently experience death in their family…. do you think that “Merry Christmas” is going to cut it this year?  Is there a gift that anyone can give that will make them Merry?

Is making Merry, really the goal of Christmas?

‘Cause if it is… I’m afraid that we’re going to leave a lot of people out.  For a lot of folks, for whom Merry is simply not on the agenda.

Merry… it is such a nice word. It’s so… well, Merry.  It speaks of a condition that is joyous and care-free…  but that’s not a realistic expectation for many at this time of year - should we leave them out?

The first Christmas without that person who brought colour and shape to your life… hard to find Merry.

The Christmas where you toss and turn at night not sure how you’re going to cover the bills and wondering  if the new year will provide work enough to get through till next December… hard to be care free.

The Christmas that you know is going to be your last.

The first Christmas surrounded by “old people” and the occasional family visit… Merry?

Christmas on the other side of the world… staying in touch by skype… it feels so different and so “alone”… Care free? Merry?

Those Christmas’s are all around us.  There are lots of us who will engage and participate in Christmas, but Merry is not going to happen.  Because there aren’t gifts enough in the world to get us there.

AND there are those who, knowing that there aren’t gifts enough in the world to get to Merry Christmas… will simply not engage or participate… because it just deepens the isolation and highlights the hurt.

 (WOW, that was cheery!)

But there is more to Christmas.

There is that part that we call “Holy".

Holy is when God is present… through our reaching out to the Divine or the Divine reaching out to us… Holy is a time or place where humanity and the other… the Divine… God… co-mingle.

And isn’t that what we have said for centuries about Jesus?   That he is fully divine and also fully human… a contradiction, to be sure, but also a mystical description of “Holy”.

Our Christmas Story assures us that Holy is not a condition reserved for great temples or rarified places… a stable is as holy as the Vatican… shepherds are as close to God as the highest of high priests…God is as present in a barn as a marble sanctuary…as present with those away from home, as those who are home…  as present among the poor as the rich… as present with those that society would shame as with those that society would idolize… as present in the face of tragedy and death as in an oasis of peace and joy.

Remember, in our story Mary is unmarried and pregnant…away from home;  they have no place to stay… those who recognize the presence of God in their child are shepherds and foreigners… this presence of God is revealed in a time of political oppression and the violent deaths of children..   In all of that – God is still present.  

You may not be merry any time soon… but you may smile… and you may have peace.  That is the message of Christmas, far beyond “Merry”.

You may find yourself without a mountain of presents… or even enough food… but together we can and will create a time when there is food on your table.  That is the promise of Christmas, far beyond “Merry”.

You may find yourself missing a part of yourself in an absent loved one… but you are not alone.

You may find yourself struggling with darkness… but there is light.

Because God is present… in all aspects of our lives… not just the “Merry” times…

None of us excluded from this love that teaches us to look beyond “Merry Christmas” to a “Holy Day” or even “Holy” Days, that can lead to a sense of God’s presence every day,  because if it can happen in a manger in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, it can happen in your life today.  That’s Christmas… with all due respect to Santa and our decorations… there is so much more.

So, if I may combine  Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays…   

(Peaceable Compromise IS my middle name) 

  allow me to wish you a “Holy Christmas” this year… and may every day be a Holy day for you… a day when you are keenly aware that nothing separates you from the presence and the love of the Holy Other, whatever name or experience you may most cherish.

Holy Christmas!   

Life, the Universe, Rob Ford, Miley Cyrus, Ben Affleck, The Senate, CNE and Everything....

So, I haven’t been blogging much over the summer… somewhat busy. 

Riding my bike.  

Sitting in the backyard.  

Doing Nothing.

Writing old J.D. Salinger novels.

But before it’s all over, I realize that a number of things went by without my comment this summer and I really think that I should weigh in while we some of us can still remember what I’m talking about.

1.       The Wolverine.  Wow.  Just wanted to say that.

2.        Ben Affleck as Batman.  It’s a movie… relax.  Also, everybody hated the casting of an unknown Hugh Jackman as Wolverine 13 years ago….  Hugh Jackman as Peter Allen in the Boy from Oz…. Hugh Jackman as Jean Valjean ( well, maybe that one…).   What about Denise Richards as a Rocket Scientist in The World is Not Enough ?     Relax about Ben, he’ll probably be wicked awesome.

3.       Rob Ford getting drunk at Taste of the Danforth.  As he and his brother pointed out, Rob is a private citizen who should be allowed to have a few beers at an event where everybody is having a few beers.  He wasn’t being the “Mayor”, he was just being Rob.     So, why was his staff running around looking for him and getting concerned that he wasn’t where they were supposed to meet?  Doesn’t bringing along City Hall staff change Rob in “The Mayor”??  (soon to be played in a major motion picture by Ben Affleck)

4.       Food Poisoning at the EX.  Wow! Didn’t see that coming.  The CNE has always seemed so clean and sanitary… Surprised that they cancelled the Midway Surgery demonstration.   If I believed in a Coercive Interventionist God, I would suggest that God poisoned 130 people to save the rest of us.   But I don’t… and I’m not.

5.       Blurred Lines – Robin Thicke’s song of the summer!  I think that it’s kinda “rape-y” and the lines are NOT really that blurred.  I’ve managed to get through my whole 51 years without once wondering if I might be raping somebody… and I’m no genius.   It’s like the poster says:  If you want to have sex with somebody, set them free… if they come back, they probably want to, too.  If not… they never did.   (I think that's the wording... I mostly remember the butterfly)

6.       The Senate.  To be clear, neither Mike Duffy nor Pamela Wallin have ever lived at my house – no matter their expenses may say.    As for reform?  Pay should be based on performance.  Days you show up to work, are days you get paid.  Otherwise, forget it.   AND you have to wear a uniform like they do a McDonalds, so that we can see them coming… and they can be reminded that they are in the “Service” industry.

7.       Syria.  There is something wrong with the world with Vladimir Putin sounds like the sanest guy in the room.   I clearly don’t know enough.

8.       Miley Cyrus.  Miley Cyrus.  Oh my….  First, not a fan of the song "We Can't Stop" don’t particularly like Robin Thicke or Blurred lines either. I've never Twerked  (well, okay once, but it was totally in context... at church)  Not crazy about “nude” bikinis – on Miley, anyway..  (Which is good because it would be kinda creepy if I did).  She also sang flat - I mean, really flat.  The kind of flat that is not good.  As for the rest of the performance, I did find something racially off-putting about it all.  I’m not talking about simple cultural appropriation… I mean, I play Jazz and nobody comes up and tells me that I shouldn't because it’s not my culture.  However, when I do play, I don’t dress like Miles Davis and surround myself by exclusively black musicians and slap their asses.  Something seemed very off for me… but I also remember the Police being accused of ruining Reggae by stealing from Jamaican musicians and whitening it up… I remember the bad press around  Paul Simon’s Graceland album… So, I guess that I'm not really sure what to think - I just found it off putting.  But Art is often meant to be off-putting.  And Artists put themselves out there to be criticized, so....   I will note that  I’m not sure what we would be saying if Miley were a 35 year old man (like Sting, Simon, et. al. back in the day).  

But, let’s let her be a 20 year old girl for the moment.   Last week, I was looking through an old High School yearbook (as I like to do every Friday... tearfully).  I was reading my Graduating Year Book and a page fell out.  It was a page that I had cut out of the book back in grade 13, but a page that I didn't want to lose… a page that I didn’t want to share with anyone....   a page that had been signed by a girl.   On my expurgated page this girl of 18 or 19 (almost Miley’s age) wrote the dirtiest, most flirtatious 4 paragraphs of purple prose I have ever read.  It spoke of things beyond both our kens; promised things that would never be delivered… and had it  been published would have outsold “50 Shades of Grey”  (a fair comparison because, let’s be honest, there are only about 4 paragraphs of real writing in the whole book).    With the wisdom that age and experience brings, I recognize that my “friend” was experimenting with her new-found sexuality.  She was discovering herself as a sexual and sexualized being… she was wondering out loud (or in print) about what gave her pleasure and joy; she was discovering the currency of her attentions… she was trying some crazy ideas out on the page.  If it were possible to sit down with her today and read that passage, I imagine that we would both blush, laugh awkwardly and move on…

I would recommend the same thing for Miley’s performance.

I would also note that neither Miley Cyrus or Robin Thicke are individuals – they are corporations.  Lots of people advise and take part in decision making… and I’m pretty sure that MTV didn't say to either of them, “Here’s the stage for 10 minutes… just do what you want”.  There are lots of anonymous faces who were part of the fiasco that dominated Youtube and Twitter for the better part of a week…. Funny, how we don’t heap our scorn upon them.  Oh, and wait for it, Miley and Justin Bieber will soon be releasing a new song about "Twerking"... so, we can look forward to more (this time with Added Bieber!!)

 

That’s enough of that… thanks for letting me get all of that off my chest.  My wife thanks you as well, because she will no longer have to listen me pontificate and drone on about these subjects as we shop for groceries. 

  ( btw, great name for a law firm:  

Pontificate and Drone, Attorneys at Law)

God, Authority, Leadership, Church, the Future.... simple thoughts

My mind wanders as I listen to the News... let's face it, sometimes it has to protect itself.

    (fear not, I'm not about to start singing "My Inner Ninja"... although you probably are, now)

In Toronto right now, we apparently have a Mayor who is a Crack Head, a Gun Runner, a Bully, an Imbecile, a Liar, OR a Victim of nasty politics and media, a Diabetic, a Man in over his head and the Unluckiest son of a gun in the world. 

Might be any one of the above, a combination… or none of the above and it’s all been done with mirrors.  Ta-DA!!!  (Worst magic trick ever!)  

Regardless of what delights you put on your Rob Ford Buffet Plate… (ooh, a nice big helping of nasty media, a little bit of un-lucky…. And.... Hey, how did that crack get on the plate??)… most of us have lost faith in our Mayor.

Provincially, I hear a great many people opine that our Premier is a fantastic, intelligent leader with great integrity… but they also say quickly, that she’s burdened by a government with too many scandals, missteps and errors in judgment.  The alternatives for Premier are also suspect as we are invited to go forward to the 1700s or build our future homes in Cloud Cuckoo Land  (not necessarily what I’m saying, just what I’m hearing… and also a chance to once again use my vast Classical Studies background for an arcane Aristophanes allusion).   In short, we have lost faith in our Provincial leaders…

AND you do not want me to start on our Federal leaders.  Petty, small minded, corrupt, obfuscating, arrogant, entitled, dismissive and claiming to live in PEI.  (To be fair, most of the descriptors apply to most of our leaders… not all and all).  We have lost faith in our Federal leaders.

We have lost faith in our business leaders… as they reap profits while cutting jobs and imagining that a vibrant economy is one in which investors make money while workers become a fixed cost of doing business… not a part or partner in success.  

We don’t trust ‘em.

AND hardly any of us gather around the TV to listen to Coach’s Corner any more…

We don’t trust leaders.

We are suspect of authority….  Actually, we don’t recognize it any more.

Tough time to be a church. 
An institution that talks about authority all the time:  Authority of Scripture:  We read from a big book together on Sundays; Authority of professional leadership:  We sit (often quietly) while somebody in a big dress lectures us for 20 minutes (your experience may vary); Authority of values:  Thou SHALT not kill; and Authority of God:  We are not alone, we live in God’s world...

Some would say that Authority is a tough sell today that it might be best for us to stop talking about authority.  After all, we are in a time of the democratization of everything.  No longer does the Encyclopedia have pride of place in the house as an Authority for everything from Argentinian Agriculture to the Zambian Zither... Now, we have Wikipedia, an an authority that changes constantly and can be edited and altered by the user (if enough of us think that the Dodo bird is no longer extinct, we can make it so on Wikipedia).  Hard to sell a Wikipedia used an old set of Encyclopedia Britannica (partly because they are no longer published); even harder to sell them a Bible that they cannot edit and a God who is Immortal, Invisible and Unchanging (see all sorts of hymns... esp. "Immortal, Invisible, God only Wise").

So, do we pack it in?

Accept that we are selling a stock in which nobody has faith?  (wanna trade for some Enron?)

OR

   … might we imagine that in this time when we have lost faith in our leaders and have come to question the very nature of authority, that it might be time to show what real leadership and authority can look like?

What if we are not fed up with, but actually hungry for leadership and authority… and have only rejected the existing supply because they are not deserving of our respect and engagement?  Look how many people are anxious to respond when Justin Beiber recommends a video on YouTube or Fashionistas tell us that Orange is the new Black, 50 the new 40 and Foolishness the new Wisdom?

What if we talked about God, not as Celestial Concierge; Divine Doge or Eternal Evaluator, but rather as that which has Authority in our lives…. That which creates and continues to create within our lives, that which gives us identity, that which partners with us in our struggles and hopes, that which inspires us to be whole… you know, like leaders use to do. 

What if we, as church leaders, imagined that our authority came from the people we serve and the God who calls us… that we didn’t imagine that it endowed us with privilege and power, but invited us into relationship?   What if we spoke with integrity, admitted when we made mistakes without trying to win sympathy or be excused because our dogs were mean to us when we were younger?  What if we confidently, yet fearfully, went forward engaging with people, daring to be weak AND strong… not hiding our gifts, but also not imagining them to be the only gifts at the party?  You know, like leaders are supposed to do.

 

I don’t really think that people are done with leaders or authority – I think that they are just fed up with the current stock and are hungry for something better.  Perhaps it is time for the church to set itself apart and show ‘em something else… 

         If not now, when?

Prayer and Spiritual Spooning

Someone asked me recently, if I prayed.

Now, I’m careful about such questions.  I’m cautious…   I’ll tell you what teams I cheer for, what foods I like, who I think is hot (always, and only, my wife).  I’ll tell you about the pedicure I got last week, the experience of my last colonoscopy and I’ll even give you the PIN for my bankcard, before I’ll talk about prayer  (Which is weird because I’m a Minister and it’s kinda in the job description)

.

But as well as being a Minister, I’m also a people pleaser  (many people think I could work harder at this..).  Deep down, I like to make people happy and I hate to disappoint.  I hate to let the earnest believers down when I won’t affirm their belief in a Celestial Concierge to whom I appeal for information, recommendations, reservations, transportation, entertainment and polite solutions to all of my problems.   I also hate to disappoint my “oh so progressive” friends who want me to divorce myself from anything “supernatural” and confirm that prayer is just a kind of self-help meditation practice in which I enable myself to be lovable, capable and gosh-darn amazing.

Answering questions about my personal prayer life, can only lead to disappointment… so, I often change the subject:

"Prayer… that sounds like hair… I love musicals, do you love musicals? I went to London once and saw lots of musicals and I ate a bug…"

Undaunted, the Master of my Inquisition persisted:  “Do you pray?”

“Yes” 

“Do you pray often?”
“Yes” (that’s me, always taciturn).

“Regularly?”
“Yes… I’m a big fan of spiritual bran”  (that sounds more like me)

“Come on… tell me more… how do you pray?”

“I pray Girly in the morning.”

“What?”

“I pray Girly in the morning.”

“If you’re not going to take this seriously, than forget it…”

Mission accomplished… he stormed off and I left the Men’s shower at the gym (people do seem to find the strangest places to start conversation).

However, this time, I actually was ready to explain.. I finally knew how to answer the question.  In fact, I kind of wanted to answer… but I thought that my running naked after him calling out “Wait, wait… I know how to do it now..” would have seemed awkward.  

So, I will instead, blog my reply.

I pray Girly in the morning.

I do pray every morning… heck, I pray all throughout the day… but I make a point of quieting the world down and praying in the morning.  Sometimes at 6am; sometimes at 11:30… but always Girly.   Which has nothing to do with what I wear when I’m praying… and everything to do with my attitude to prayer.

Now, I should warn you that I am about to venture into some serious engagement with cultural stereo-types, which might be offensive to some (feel free at this point to switch over to a Youtube video of a cat riding on Roomba).  I am inspired by Meister Eckhart, Julian of Norwich and David Steinberg when it comes to prayer, but for the authority that comes from cultural stereo-types, I rely heavily on the film canon of Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock and Meg Ryan (the Holy Trinity of chick flicks).  Pouring over the canon, here is what I’ve learned:

Women and men are different.

Men like to do things and get things done…. Often with duct tape.

Women like to talk… communicate… cuddle…  (almost never with duct tape)

Men are in a hurry.

Women are patient.

Men are motivated by reward.

Women are motivated by relationship.

Men, when they listen to women, like to go and fix things.  (again, often with duct tape)

Women just want to be heard…

Women like to cuddle....

Women like Johnny Depp.  (but hey, who doesn't?)

When I pray, I believe that something profound happens.  I believe that my prayers matter.  I believe that the world changes and I change in and as a result of prayer.   But I pray to God…. The Divine… the Holy (and wholly) Other…  as if I was a big girl.  I’m not motivated by reward or fixated on results; my desire is communication and relationship.    My prayers to God are meant to enhance our relationship; to open us further to one another.  In response to my prayers, I’m not expecting God to do my bidding or to rush out and fix things for me… I just want God to listen to me.   I just want to share who I am and be accepted for my experiences, thoughts and feelings and be loved just as I am.  I guess, I’m looking for a little Spiritual Cuddling.

In that cuddle; in that acceptance, I am strengthened… and my awareness is heightened.  As God and I become closer, I am more aware of the Presence of the Divine in the world around me, more attuned to the voice that invites me into beauty, greater depth, deeper joy, varied connection and real wholeness.   Prayer is a place for us (me and God) to enhance and enable a relationship.

I pray about my friends who are suffering, not because my expectation is that God will send an angel and end Aunt Edna’s woes, but because if God is going to know me then God needs to know that I’m awake nights worrying about my beloved Aunt.  I need God to spiritually spoon with me and say “I know…. I know…”  If Edna is on the receiving end of some kind of miraculous gift, then I’m going to be very happy… but regardless of what happens in the next couple of days as a result of prayer, I will at least be more aware of God’s presence in her life and in our relationship… and so, might be able to point to something comforting or inspiring... I might have an observation or insight that has value to Edna, because prayer has opened my eyes and my heart to the Divine.

There was a time that I prayed like a man… or a boy, anyway:  Asking for help and judging God’s love and my worth by the evidence of my will being done.  But then, the Toronto Maple Leafs stopped winning Stanley Cups and I had to wonder.  I came to a crossroads where I would have to give up cheering for the Leafs or give up believing in God (surely, I was good enough to warrant a reward… especially in the 1970s.  The other choice was that I would have to come to a new understanding of prayer.   And so, not ready to give up on God or the Buds, I reconsidered prayer. 

And I found Girly prayer. 

Prayer that asks God to hold me and never let me go… Prayer that tells God about my day, my hopes and my fears without the expectation that God is going to fix everything or take over my life… Prayer that invites and enhances relationship: relationship that invites both parties to grow… Prayer that brings me a deeper appreciation of God’s presence all around me and invites me to be part of that life…  And as I become a part of God's life, I begin to change the world...  Quite satisfying and remarkable, actually. 

Now, if I can just figure out how to get the duct tape in, I’ll have it all.