One size may NOT fit all... Something that I'm thinking about on Easter Saturday.

Like many Christian clerics on Easter Saturday, I am reviewing tomorrow’s sermon.  What do I say to the folks on Easter Sunday?  What challenge, what comfort, what truth do I strive to lay bare… what inspiration to Transformation dare I offer to the faithful who come every Sunday (or 3 Sundays a month, anyway) and how do I combine it with a message to those who will be there under duress  (you promised that you’d come to church with me this Easter!     

No Easter Egg hunt until after church!       

Maybe, I should go just to be safe…)?

Old School? New School? Out of School? 

This year, as with many years, I have some media features trying to shape my narrative – a national magazine wondering if Jesus really existed and another colleague featured in interviews decrying the stupidity of the “Old Man in the Sky” and professing to know that most clergy are in agreement with her position, just lacking in courage and support.

Allow me this confession – I am progressive.  I am personally persuaded by what most would call Process Theology.  I am in agreement with Gretta Vosper on many many points.  Not all – but many.  One might say that I am in “Essential Agreement” with her, but still end up in another place entirely.  (United Church clergy inside joke).  I have no reservation seeking personal wisdom or relying on the compassion of many of my Non-Theist and Atheist friends in a time of crisis.   But, I still want my Jesus.

I still adhere to a discreet Divine presence in the universe (throughout the universes, even) that inspires me toward justice and beauty, that loves me and persuades me in all aspects of my life.  I pray and I think that it matters; I hurt and I believe that I am not alone, even when nobody knows about my pain.  That’s me.  I also find that the teachings and the event of Jesus connect to me on all levels of my being: Intellectual, Spiritual, Emotional and even, Physical.   That’s me.  

Enough about me. 

   (egad! I barely know how to type that sentence)

Here are the two things that struck me today, as I was reviewing my notes for tomorrow.

1.      My Great Grandmother has a framed picture on her wall declaring that: “God couldn’t be everywhere, so He created mothers”.     It was likely a gift from one of her many children, but it also matched her theology:  A theology that wouldn’t have lasted 5 minutes in seminary.  She was the kind of woman who sang “In the Garden” quite happily and had no doubt that Jesus walked with her, talked with her and called her his own…. Rather like a boyfriend.

How arrogant would I need to be to run back from Seminary and tell her that her faith was wrong… that it couldn’t stand up to real critical thinking and that it would not be sufficient to carry her through her life? A life in which she raised 7 children and even more grandchildren; buried loved ones, both adult and child; created a life with her husband and community that touched more people than I have touched in 25 years of Easter Sermons.  Hers was a faith inspired her to be kind and compassionate, understanding of the failures of others and unafraid to live even to the very end of her life (and beyond). 

I read Tillich and Moltmann; reveled in Whitehead and Cobb; worked through Calvin and found light and joy in De Chardin, discovered Von Balthazar and rarely put down Hall… I could enumerate most (if not all) of the things that were wrong with her silly hymns and ridiculous wall hanging..  

And I haven’t lived a life half as loving or nearly as authentic as was hers.  

Faith is meant to embrace us, it fits us and inspires us… it is not a “once size fits all” reality and just because you may wear a size 2 is no reason to insist that my size 14 is unhealthy or wrong.   It just fits me better.

2.      Back in the late 18^th century, Residential Schools for “Indians” were opened in Canada.  We closed the last one in the late 20^th century.  For two centuries it was our policy to give these Native people what they needed to live in the world as we imagined the world.  We knew that their ideas were silly and not realistic (imagine living on the back of a Turtle)… we knew that their language would never say anything meaningful in world dominated by English and French. We knew that their faith wouldn’t be enough for the real challenges of the “modern” world… so, we insisted that they learn English or French for their own good;  that they accept Jesus Christ as their Saviour and come to know the God of Abraham, the one true God, for their own peace and salvation.   And because we were so convinced that this was the right thing to do, we took away their language and rituals, we forbid any talk of their out-dated faith… we insisted that they talk and believe as we did, we wrested them from their families so that there would be no going back – after all, they were wrong and in our superior thinking we were so very right.

I am not suggesting that Non-Theists, Atheists or A-Theists are running residential schools – that would be an incredible disservice to those whose lives were lost and devastated; whose culture was almost murdered… but I would remind myself and other progressive thinkers and preachers that our arrogance can sometimes takes us down paths that we may not have intended, or certainly would not have chosen had we the privilege of foresight, or the wisdom of hindsight. 

  Your faith might be perfect for you… it might even be objectively “right”; so, too, might your culture and language be perfect, even “right”… but before you insist that others abandon their rituals, language and beliefs; give up their comfort and familiarity... think about my Great Grandmother and consider he truth of the Residential Schools with which we now struggle to reconcile. 

Please, be ready for the questions and the growth as it comes to be – allow people to let go and hold on as they choose, strive to find a common language or at least a way that we can speak together without insisting that either side stop talking their native tongue... but don’t for a moment imagine that you’ve got it all figured out…because one day, you might realize that a size 8 is a way better fit than you imagined. 

I believe in Prayer

I haven’t blogged in a very long time.

  and I'm going to be hackneyed and awkward today... blame on lazy blog muscles. 

I was silent during the Canadian Federal Election, because I was reminded by the government of the day that I was not allowed to be publicly partisan as a “minister”,  lest my church’s Charitable Status be in question.  As my blog is linked to my church Website and Facebook Page and because I agree that in my role as pastor/minister/priest there is no place for political partisanship,  I stopped writing.

Then, it seems that I forgot how to write.

Then, there just seemed to be too much about which I could write.

And I was crazy busy.

BUT then, the anti-prayer backlash became a thing.

After the horrific shootings in San Bernadino California yesterday, public figures who offered prayers were criticized for the weakness of their response.  It was suggested that Prayer is an easy way out.   I agree that many people say “I’m praying for…” as a way of doing something when they are unable or uninclined to do anything else… and I do feel strongly that water is the best response to a thirsty person, even before prayer.   But I also think that people have the wrong idea of prayer.   (practitioners and critics alike).

We’ve all heard stories of the power of prayer, people who have prayed  and seeming “miracles” have ensued; but we also know of lots of people who have prayed and “nothing” happened.   Prayers have not been answered  and please don’t tell me the “but the answer was ‘No’” story... ‘cause I pray for peace every day and I find it hard to imagine that God is saying “No” and millions of others every day.

The thing about prayer, is that I’m not exactly sure that it’s a conscious decision.

Most of us recognize hat prayer that comes out in desperation… even before we know it;  without our thinking…

“O God, no!”

“Please, please… God”

Even those who don’t believe in prayer… those who are non-theist, atheist, post theist… “beyond all of this”-ist… modern, right thinking rational people…  In a desperate moment, it comes out.

I talked to a modern non-theist, non-religious friend recently.  She told me that she stood in the shower early on a Saturday morning, after a night of hearing about the violence in Paris (a place that she loves to visit) and she found herself talking quietly to herself in the shower, asking for peace and comfort for everyone in Paris;  an end to the violence and that people would be okay… that a better day would come… 

I asked her why she did it… she said, “I didn’t know what else to do…”

I asked gently, “were you talking to yourself…?”

“No… I don’t think so… maybe… no”

My friend is not much different than most of us.  We’re modern, intelligent people and we’re pretty sure that we’re not talking to ourselves… but… but…

As we talked further we agreed that there is something special about those quiet conversations,  those hopes or fears that we speak in the shower, in the silence of our minds, or in the intimacy of church.  Those words have meaning and we do it because deep down we know that they matter.  It’s just that we don’t know how to describe it… we lack the vocabulary… and we don’t want to seem like idiots.   So, we don’t talk about it.

But we do it.

Most are very clear that we don’t  believe in a Cosmic Concierge, who gets us what we ask for because we’re on the team… or we asked the right way… or so often, or with so many people that we win him over to our wishes.  I think many of us are afraid to talk about prayer because we don’t want to endorse a partisan, petty god who works for us and not for others; who smiles upon Hannah, but doesn’t seem to care about Abigail.   We don’t believe in a god who allows us to abdicate responsibility by simply handing it over in prayer.

So let me say this:  I  still believe in prayer.  

I believe that it matters and that it makes a difference.   I learned about prayer from my parents:  As a little boy saying grace before dinner and prayers before bed, I told God what I had done that day and asked God to take of the people that I knew and loved.   In Sunday School and in Church the tradition continued.  Years later, experiencing the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous with a someone with whom I felt connected, I experienced prayer in a very real way. I met people, became dear friends with people who prayed like drunks in church  (a fine tradition if 1 Samuel 1:1ff is any evidence).  These people prayed for a new way of living, prayed out of their torment, prayed out of need… prayed like their lives depended on it… also prayed without abdicating responsibility, but recognizing the limits of their own power.    I’ve seen prayer work, but it works in on-going relationship. 

At the risk of repeating myself, I don’t endorse a theology of the Cosmic Concierge who waits for me to ask politely before doing my bidding.   I do endorse a living God who dwells within me and throughout all of creation.   And in relationship with that living God, I find strength that I never thought I could have, I find peace that comes with the knowledge that it’s NOT all about me.  

  

When you read about prayer in most of the Abrahamic Scripture, there always seems to be a bit of negotiation. “   If you do this for me, I will do something for you”  “We will be your people, if you will be our God like this….” 

Again, that’s the problem for some people.  It makes God a petty despot who needs to be assuaged, cajoled or flat out “bought”.   And yet.. I’m not sure that it’s God as much as it is us.  Surely you recognize the familiar prayer:  God, if I get through this, I promise that I’ll never do it again!

God, if I could just win that lottery, 

get that raise, 

find that job, 

have this thing that I want to so much… 

I promise that I’ll give some of the money to charity; 

I’ll go to church more often; 

I’ll be nice to my neighbour.

What I hear in these ‘negotiations” is not the buying and selling of favour, but relationship.  Give and take.  Conversation.  Real sincere prayer, for me, is about relationship and so there needs to be an honest conversation.   This is who I am God…  I’m not great.. parts of me are pretty fair, but other parts… well, you know.. we talk to God sincerely; we get rid of the artifice and falsity and speak the truth.

.
When I pray – I joke with God (seriously, I do) because that’s who I am and somehow in the absurdity of humour, I feel authentic…  God, remember that I’m the guy who still prays for the Leafs, like it might make a difference, so you know that I am hopeful… please help me raise money for Refugees and those who are so vulnerable that my efforts might actually save their lives…

I’m in real relationship with God, so there’s no point in my trying to sound like the Pope or Richard Burton or Taylor Swift. (now, that would be a dinner party).

And being me, I pray for my children and my wife… and my sports teams… and for Paris, Beirut, Syria, San Bernadino...  not necessarily in that order, or under the impression that my children are more important than your children or that my wife is of greater value than a woman in the Sudan or that San Bernadino is the only place visited by violence and traged..  but because that’s who I am right now.. I am those worries and those pains.

And in the midst of such concerns, I also give thanks.  Because, I had a great afternoon yesterday, and  if we’re in a relationship you should know that.

And I listen.  

Because it’s a relationship.

I listen to the Cosmos Intoning… I listen to that still quiet voice within… and it provokes me, beckons me, invites me into new ways… new insights… I can feel my pettiness and fears lifted up into the light and I let them go… I face my cowardice and dare to try… I experience my humanity and recognizing the mystical humanity and divinity of Jesus, I am assured that God and I are not separate;  we are together.. in relationship… I am not alone.  I also find that prayer takes me deeper - if I give a thirsty person a glass of water, I will quench that immediate thirst - good for me! But if I also take the time to pray, I might also find myself engaged in that person's other needs; I might find that I need to consider justice and why it is that the person in front of me has no water... In this situation prayer does not make it easy for me, it makes it harder because it invites me into deeper relationship with this person as I recognize that we are connected through God with whom I am in deepest relationship. 

Prayer is relationship for me - not request, not abdication or passing the buck. 

In a relationship, I am influenced by the other.  

I am who I am because of my wife… and my children… and my friends…   and I am influenced by God.   I don’t do everything that my wife asks of me (I should); I am not at my children’s beck and call – but I love them, ache for them, hope for them and let them into my life;  I do not do everything that my friends hope that  I will do, but I hear their concerns and your worries, I smile at their joys and rush to their side in times of grief and pain… because we are in relationship.  Similarly, I listen to God… often, I follow bravely, sometimes I drag my feet… Occasionally, I pretend  that I didn’t hear.  All of these relationships make me who I am.

But relationships are two way and so just as I am influenced by God, so is God influenced by me… and others.  God does not do everything that I ask.. God is not solely at my beck and call… but God loves me, aches for me, hopes for me and invites me into God’s life.  God doesn’t do everything that I ask; God sometimes disappoints… but God hears my concerns and worries, smiles at my joys and rushes to my side in times of grief or pain. And it's not just me... it is all of us.   We are all in relationship.  And so, we know that God is influenced by us.  As a Christian I am assured because in Jesus we are promised the permanency of such a relationship – Jesus is both Human and Divine.. now and forever.   God and us, we are in relationship and that cannot be changed.

So, for me, prayer works.  But mostly because it affirms a relationship that makes me more daring and more loving and never lets me abdicate my responsibility as a human being to all of creation... and like any good relationship, it is anything but "easy". 

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.  

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.

Ice Bucket Challenge

So, in response to a challenge, I dumped a bucket of cold water on my head.  I also donated $100 to ALS Canada  (   http://www.als.ca/   ) .  It’s kind of a fad right now… Everyone from Lady Gaga to Sesame Street’s Cookie Monster has posted videos of the downpours.

In the past couple of weeks, $15,000,000 has been raised in the U.S and in the past 4 days, over $130,000 has be raised in Canada with over 3,000 new registered donors.  

There are also several folk who disdain this new “fad”.   Celebrity Comedian Ricky Gervais wryly tweeted “Dear Celebrities, OK now that’s enough. Please stop pouring lovely fresh water over your heads” – Africa.    He’s got a point…  And yet, I think it’s a good campaign.

I have been minister/companion to  a small handful of people  as they struggled with ALS.  I have been there for the last breath of two and presided over funerals for another 4.  ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s disease sucks. It is a progressive neuromuscular disease that kills nerve cells and leaves victims paralyzed.   Rarely have I felt so impotent, as when I have watch once lively and vibrant people disappear into the living prison of a body that no longer responding to their commands.  I have seen the wit and intelligence behind their eyes and wished that I could somehow reach inside and let them free… but only death has been able to do that.   

So, for me, the bucket challenge has been a small way for me to actively share my grief and do a small bit of good.  The money donated/raised matters a great deal – but for me, it was also a brief memorial to lovely people who slipped away from my grasp.

I believe that part of the genesis of the “Ice Bucket Challenge” was to share with others a brief fleeting moment of what those with ALS experience… for a few seconds as the ice and water cascaded down my body, I felt a paralyzing numbness that is a unique feeling for me, but a ubiquitous experience for those with ALS.  If we seize on this moment, we can talk with each other about the experience and perhaps find a small window that leads to greater understanding of what our love ones are experiencing as the disease takes hold.   The conversation and engagement matter…  If the shocking cold were to only make people go to the website and discover that between 2 and 3 Canadians die every day as a result of ALS; if it would inspire people to go deeper into the website and discover the ways that they can support research and patients… then, it just may be worth all that water.

For now, I’m content that the ALS society of Canada is very happy with the response to the Ice Bucket Challenge; I’m content to have talked to 5 different people about ALS in the past two days;  I’m content that several of the youth in my community have been inspired  (it was one of them that challenged me)… and I’m content that so many people are recognizing the ALS society as an organization worthy of financial and volunteer support.

Or maybe, I’m just all wet….   

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!   

Forgive me, another Rob Ford Blog

So, I’m going to write another blog about Rob Ford.

As I go forward, let me make the following admissions:

1.       I  don’t live in Toronto, so I have never voted for or against Rob Ford as Mayor. 

             (I live in Pickering and work in Toronto, so I have a vested interest if not a vote)

2.       I believe that Rob Ford is an over the top bully.

3.       I believe that Rob Ford is a liar.

4.       I consider myself a Christian

5.       I am prepared to forgive Rob Ford

6.       And… I secretly like to eat peanut M&Ms while watching trash television.

That last point has nothing to do with this blog, I just really wanted to get it off my chest.  

 (I feel so much better)

Please note that I don’t make any claims that Rob Ford is an drug addict or an alcoholic – I really don’t know – he talks like one, he makes excuses like one and he acts like one… but so do some sober people, so I can’t really say. 

Oh, and I don’t care.

Really…

Rob Ford has invited me to NOT care about his alleged addictions. He has emphatically told us (the public) to butt out… so, I am butting out.  Consequently, I don’t care.

Now, some would take that as a cruel “non-Christian” stance.  We should care about each other.  God loves us all and Jesus loved the little children, etc.  But I’m not sure that “Love” and “Care” are the same things.   Almost without exception, Jesus invites the people he heals to be part of the healing.  “Do you want to be healed?” he invariably asks.  When they say “Yes” they are engaged and part of the healing, sometimes they are invited to do more – but they are always engaged.  When they decide that they don’t want to engage, Jesus lets them walk away… he doesn’t stop loving them, but he stops caring because they do not wish to be cared for.  Jesus respects them as adults and lets them decide for themselves… In love, he lets them go.  I feel the same way about Mr. Ford.  In love, I am letting him go. I do not wish him ill, I take no pleasure in his pain… but I am respecting his wishes and no longer caring.

As long as I’m on a rant/roll here…
I noted that Doug Ford suggested that Denzil Minan-Wong was “No Christian” in his continued conflict with Rob Ford…Implying that a Christian would let bullying and bad-behaviour go un-challenged.   I noted also the Billboard of unknown origin that stood on the Gardiner Expressway for a few days in support of Mayor Ford included the phrase:  “let the one who has never sinned, throw the first stone”.  It’s too easy to mock the spelling mistakes or the un-authorized use of a Municipal Logo, so instead I will comment on the text.  

Is anyone really suggesting that we all need to be perfect before we are allowed to be critical?  Does my speeding ticket or the time that I had 10 items in an “8 Items of LESS” cashier line, mean that I can’t speak out against poor behaviour and/or bad government???  “Let the one who has never spelled incorrectly, wag the first finger!!”  (See, you know that I wouldn’t that one alone, didn’t you?)    

I have been told by good “Christians” that as a “Christian” I should forgive Rob Ford and leave him alone.  I think that the problem here is a fundamental misunderstanding of what “forgiveness” means, in a Christian or any other context.  Forgiving is not forgetting… When you forgive somebody, you don’t pretend like nothing ever happened; life does not go back to the way it was before.   Forgiving is when you “let go” of someone or something, it’s when you face the future and stop looking backward; it is when you stop kicking  someone in hopes that it will make you feel better or make up for the pain that they have caused.   I can forgive Rob Ford and still not believe that he should be Mayor.

I can forgive a child abuser and not allow him/her access to children. 

I can forgive a thief, but not give her/him access to my wallet.

In my judgement, Rob Ford is a liar and a bully.  He has not delivered on his promises and he has so “narcissized” his office (yes, I just invented a word) that his Mayoralty has become about him as a person and not about the agenda by which he was elected.  He doesn’t show up for work and by his own admission, he is often unfit to make responsible decisions.    

And I forgive him. 

I’m not going to keep kicking him in hopes that it will make things right or make me feel better… but he can’t be Mayor anymore: Either by legal means now, or by election next year.  And his not being allowed to continue as Mayor does not make us un-forgiving. 

If the same (admitted) behaviour was exhibited by a surgeon, you would not let her/him operate on a patient.

If the same (admitted) behaviour was exhibited by a company President, you would move to have him/her removed.

If the same (admitted) behaviour was exhibited by a husband or father next door, you would call the Police or Child Services. 

You would not “forgive” him, and let him act irresponsibly, dangerously, aggressively and recklessly with his children or spouse behind closed doors.  If you did, I would suggest that you are very “un-Christian” and care little for the more vulnerable, the potential victims.   I’m not saying that Rob Ford is abusive to his children or his wife –  I am using a metaphor - I am saying that he is dangerous and reckless with the people of this city and should only be allowed supervised access to Torontonians.

I don’t want to punish Rob Ford.  I don’t want to dwell on the past.  I forgive him and am letting go of the past.  I would gladly assist in his healing if he asked me.  I think that Jesus would approve… but I don’t think that he should continue in a position of authority or responsibility where there are vulnerable people – and Toronto is FULL of vulnerable people – that’s the very constituency to whom the government is responsible.

I invite you – nay, encourage you  - to make up your own mind about Rob Ford. Never mind me or  Saturday Night Live or the Daily Show… ask yourself if you think that he’s told you the truth often enough to be trusted; ask yourself if you would trust him to operate on or give important advice to someone you love; would you drive confidently over a bridge that he designed or built in the last three years?  Wonder if you would leave your children or your parents in his care…   and decide for yourself.  But whatever you decide, do no equate “Forgiving” with putting things back the way they once were; do not imagine that it is a synonym for “Forgetting”  and don’t tell me that continuing to take abuse is “Christian”… it simply ain’t so. 

P.S.  This song is not about Rob Ford.. and it contradicts much of what I just wait - but it did inspire this blog.

http://youtu.be/fpQNLZRcNA4

Remembrance Day

Instead of my usual blog, I will offer, instead, the substance of my sermon on November 10th at Jubilee United Church.  Don't worry - reading this does not constitute going to church.  Non-theist and Non-Christians alike, you are safe. 

I was going to talk about Red Poppies and Whited Poppies… I was planning to talk about why, at Jubilee, we hold a Service of Remembrance on the Sunday before November 11^th, and why other churches do not do so.  I was planning to talk about war and peace… but as I was preparing for the Sunday Service I was looking at a copy of the Last Post, written in my high school music teacher’s hand….

When I was 16, I met RJ Cringan. 

Bob. 

He was my music teacher at Earl Haig.  He called me leather lips because I could play the trumpet for hours on end… he taught me to write music, encouraged me to write a musical, made music a part of my life – a part that I cannot imagine being without.  

Bob volunteered for the infantry in 1943.  Realizing that it takes months to train a soldier, but years to train a musician – they decided to take this musician and have him play for the troops, and so he led the Rhythm Rodeo and toured the bases in Canada and the UK playing for the men and women in service.   

It was Bob who had me play the Last Post for the first time. 

At a school Remembrance Day ceremony.  He wrote it out for me…  I have it with me to this day, not that I need it… but it connects me to him.

I think that’s one of the reasons that we wear the poppy… it connects us to those who have shaped our lives, in ways we recognize and in ways that we take for granted.

After I played the Last Post, being a teenager, I decided to jazz it up a little… playing in the music room by myself, I added few riffs, flattened a couple of notes… improved the melody and gave it a better finish.   Bob heard me playing it and told me to stop.  I don’t recall Bob ever being “angry” with me, but it was clear that I was to stop doing what I was doing.

“Leave it alone…” he told me,  “It’s not meant to be show stopper… it’s meant to be simple… it’s meant to mourn… and honour.. remember that.”

I never fooled around with it ever again… I always play it the way he taught me. Thirty Five Novembers in a row.

I will try to keep my thoughts this morning, in a similar vein.

Simple.

My father was born in 1939; he didn’t go to war.

I have never been called to serve.

My children have never been called to serve.

To those who have served – thank you.

Thank on behalf of me, my children and my parents… not many people in the world have three generations at peace.

That’s all any of us who wear a poppy want to say – “Thank You”

The vets who wear the poppy are saying “thank you” to the soldiers who stood with them, those who fell in battle and those who made it home… thank you for you sacrifice, thank you for standing with me…thank you for picking me up when I fell and thank you for putting me back together.

The rest of us are saying “Thank you”  to the men and women who have served and are serving…

the families at home who worry around the clock…

those who will always remember their child, husband, wife, sister, brother, parent in uniform – because it was the last time they saw them….

The men and women who stayed home and worked new jobs and extended hours to support the country…. 

The men and women who came back and didn’t know how to fit back into civilian life…

the men and women who helped others come “home” and fit in…

Thank you.

Remembrance Day is a time to mourn…

We mourn those who didn’t come home.

Those who didn’t get to take us fishing, or see us graduate, come to our wedding…

those who might be forgotten if not for one day a year when we remember those who have served.

We mourn those who have come back from active service, but are not the same people who left…  the pain and burden they bear is so great… too much for us to understand, sometimes too much for them to handle.    

We mourn lost youth… because everyone who has served has spent some of their youth on all of us.  Some have spent it all.

We gather today to honour…

I don’t mean that we gather to cheer on the soldiers,  wave the Canadian Flag in victory or glamourize war.   We’re not politically motivated and we have no future or present war agenda.

We gather to honour.

Most veterans that I know, are the biggest advocates for peace…. They don’t want us at war, they don’t want their children at war… they went because there seemed to be no other way, but they hope and pray that we can find another way.  

We honour them as we try to find another way.

Some call them heroes…  I don’t think that they are.   

Hero is a term that comes from ancient Greek mythology and drama in which there are Gods, Demi-Gods and Heroes.    Gods are… well, they’re gods.  Demi gods are half human half god and Heroes are the humans who aspire to be gods.     The men and women that I know, who have been to war…. Never aspired to be gods.  
They aspired to be sons and daughters, husbands and wives, parents and grandparents, comrades and buddies, neighbours and friends…  they aspired to be the best human beings they could be in the worst of conditions.  Their greatest desire was to come home and make it possible for all of us to be sons and daughters, husbands and wives, parents and grandparents, comrades and buddies, neighbours and friends…

The scripture that we read earlier recognized the widow who gave all that she had to the Temple (Mark 12:41ff) She gave, not out of abundance, but out of her poverty because she gave everything that she had.   We honour our veterans when we recognize that they have given to us, not out of their abundance, but out of their poverty, by giving everything that they have.

In every country…

under every flag…

in every generation…

Today, I think about my father in law, who enlisted because he wanted to fly planes and knew that he’d look good in the jacket…  he had no idea what it would really be like…and it was horrific.  But he stayed.  1939 to 1945.  He doesn’t talk about it much, but every now he’ll talk about flying, being shot down... and other experiences.  Most of the time he would rather talk about his family.

I think about my grandfather and his brothers in the Navy and Merchant Marines and how it must have been for my great-grandmother to have her boys at war…

I think about the young man who asked me to bless his Sunglasses on his way back for a second tour in Afghanistan… 

I think about the number of veterans that I came to know so well in my years in Bowmanville and now at Jubilee… their stories, their lives… their pride, their hope and their sorrow, all intertwined.

And all that I can say is “Thank You” for giving, not from abundance, but from your poverty – giving all that you had and have… I promise to try to be the best human being I can be in hard times and situations; to give to the community not from my abundance, but from my poverty, daring to give all that I have.   In that way, I hope to find a better way than war… and I hope to honour all that you have done for us all.

Bob would want me to end now… no big finish required. 

And so, that’s what I’ll do.