Jesus

Betwixt and between…

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As we continue our Lenten series “The Story” at St. Andrew’s, today we were taking a look at Jesus’ life on Earth. The time before his ministry, or at least leading-up to his ministry. There isn’t a lot of Biblical material on this time and Geoff handled that (very well!) by taking some time to look at the doctrine of incarnation – the idea that God had to become one of us for the plan of salvation to work.

In the middle of his sermon, Geoff mentioned that believers today don’t question Christ’s humanity. We find it easy to believe that a man named Jesus lived in Israel a couple of thousand years ago. We find it easy to accept that he was, indeed, a human being. We struggle with the concept that he was also divine – the Son of God. But it wasn’t always that way. Early believers struggled to believe he was really a man. They found his divinity easy to grasp – after all, he performed miracles and rose from the dead. But they felt that it must be that he only “seemed” like a human.

I was glad Geoff pointed this out because it made me think of how much difficulty we have with paradox. We like things to be black or white, not a shade of grey. We like to be able to label something, definitively. To put a name on it. To understand it.

We’re not so good at dealing with “both/and” situations. We’re not so good at living in the tension between two possibilities. We tend one way or the other. So with Jesus, who was both God and man, we tend to highlight one of those things and downplay the other. In seminary, we call this having a high Christology (ie, it’s easy for you to accept Christ’s divinity) or a low Christology (ie, it’s easy for you to accept Christ’s humanity).

But the thing is…the life of faith is one lived between. Between our sin and God’s salvation. Between the moment of birth and the moment of death. Between knowledge and mystery. Between who we are and who we were created to be.

It’s not easy to live in the betwixt and between, but it’s good. It is there that God meets us. In the middle of our mess, in the middle of our confusion, in the middle of life.

During the journey through Lent, may you find yourself a little more at ease with paradox. May you find yourself living betwixt and between, and may you know the God who meets you there.

So then, since we have a great High Priest who has entered heaven, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold firmly to what we believe. This High Priest of ours understands our weaknesses, for he faced all of the same testings we do, yet he did not sin.
Hebrews 4:14,15 NLT

Living…

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Tonite I had the opportunity to watch a movie with my GRACE Group. The theme of how to live life well was prevalent in the film, and it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

Lent is a journey from death to new life – we start on Ash Wednesday, acknowledging the fragility of our lives, the ease with which we sin, the sacrifice of Christ which was necessary for our salvation. And then for 40 days we walk toward Easter – that morning when life triumphed over death. The grave was empty and the world made new. My colleague/friend/teammate Geoff is fond of saying you can’t really GET Easter unless you’ve done the full journey. You have to have Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, a long silent Saturday before you get to celebrate the Resurrection.

Slowly, I’m coming to the belief that you have to have journeyed properly through Lent. Not just giving up chocolate or swearing. Not just singing some of the hymns that are written in minor keys (goodness, the Lent section of our hymn book is a tad on the dreary side, isn’t it?). Not just acknowledged Lent with your lips.

But actually walked that whole journey. You have to have stood, slightly awkward with a smudgy cross on your forehead, aware of your sin, on Ash Wednesday. Thought, acted, prayed and read your way through the weeks of Lent. Each day with the cross looming on the horizon. Each day with the thought and question of what it all means. Taken Communion on Maundy Thursday. Wept on Good Friday. Tried – knowing it was impossible – to get back to what the disciples must have felt on that long, quiet Saturday.

Only then, can Easter Sunday really be celebrated. Because Easter is something like life. You cannot fast-forward through it to get to the parts you like. You cannot simply have a montage and a cool song to deal with all that will happen on the journey (don’t you sometimes wish life was a movie?). You cannot understand the ending unless you’ve experienced the beginning and all the (sometimes boring) bits in the middle.

Living well doesn’t happen suddenly because you wanted it to. It happens slowly, over time. It is the result of a thousand little decisions. It is the choices you make in front of others and in private. It is the meal you shared with others and all the ones you ate alone. It is the failures that lead to an eventual success. Living well is more than the sum of its parts – it is all the parts themselves put together that somehow make a good life. And if you take your eyes off the goal, it is so very easy to get lost.

Jesus said,

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.
John 10:10 NRSV

Jesus came that we might live well. That was his purpose – to give life. And he contrasts it with the thief’s (read: enemy, Satan, evil) purpose.

During this season of Lent, may we take the time to think about how we are living. May we journey through each day with the cross looming on the horizon. May we draw closer to the One who came to give abundant life.

Word LESS…

Ok, so I’m not completely wordless this evening as we continue our journey through Lent. But I am tired. It has been a long day, with much to do. So I don’t have a lot of words. A few, but not a lot.

Today we had a funeral for another pillar of our community at St. Andrew’s. Tears were shed, and when I came across this image, I thought it quite apropos:

tears

Sometimes our days are marked by tears. In this season as we journey towards the cross, toward the way of sorrows taken by Jesus, tears seem appropriate and significant. So remember, when tearful days come your way, that Jesus wept. And that God reads our tears as if they were the most eloquent of prayers. In His presence may we find comfort and peace.

I am, you are…

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I came across this on Facebook recently. It was one of those days when things weren’t going right, and I needed something to let me know it’s all going to be okay.

You know days like this? They start when you get out of bed and knock over the glass on your bedside table…spilling water and shattered glass everywhere. Then you find you are running late and no matter how hard you try to rush, you fall further and further behind. When you try to get a bit of grocery shopping, you discover you left the list at home and though you try to remember it all, you aren’t able to do so and you know you’ll have to find time to make another trip to the store. Someone makes a remark, and it’s the kind of thing that would normally slide right off your back, but this time it digs beneath your skin and you feel the sting of it hours, or even days, later. The dog bites, the bee stings, and you’re feeling sad.

Instead of thinking of brown paper packages tied up with strings on days like that…I want to remember whose I am. Because at the end of the day, when everything is a mess, if I belong to God – who is peace, joy, strength, comfort, creator, and all the other things that God is revealed to be in the Bible – then the forgotten groceries, the shattered glass, the cutting remark, the bee sting…they all lose their power over me. The power rests instead with the One who created it all, who sent His Son to lay down his life that I (and you!) would be able to be with him forever. I am His. And in that I find my true identity, my true rest, my true hope.

So whether you’ve had one of those days, or whether everything has been just fine – be encouraged my friends. You are HIS. Nothing can ever change that.

When I think of all this, I fall to my knees and pray to the Father, the Creator of everything in heaven and on earth. I pray that from his glorious, unlimited resources he will empower you with inner strength through his Spirit. Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully. Then you will be made complete with all the fullness of life and power that comes from God. Ephesians 3:14-19 NLT

Blue…

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Tonight was the first ever Blue Christmas Service at St. Andrew’s. I’ve always struggled with the concept of a Blue Christmas Service – I always enjoy the sparkle and joy of the Season. So to take time to focus on the struggle with grief or loss didn’t seem to make a lot of sense to me. It seemed like something that would jar me out of my joyful celebration.

However as we sang, prayed and lit candles this evening, I found something precious. A space of silence and breathing in the midst of a hectic and stressful season. This year, I have struggled to find my footing in the celebration of Christmas. I have loved every moment of worship that I’ve had since returning from Israel, but in between moments of singing and praying and listening to the word, I have found myself cranky and out-of-sorts. I think this has to do with wanting time to process all that we experienced in the Holy Land, and not having the time to do it. It also has to do with all the things on the “to-do” list which normally would have been done by now.

I have felt harried and frustrated and lacking in rest. So though I am not struggling with any particular grief or loss, I am struggling nonetheless. And this service ministered to me. My hope and my prayer is that it also ministered to all who attended, all who came broken and weary and weighed-down.

My hope is that if you are feeling that way, you too may be ministered-to during this season. That you may find a space to breathe, to reflect, to heal. And that the One who was wounded for us all, the One by whose wounds we are healed, would bring you comfort.

He was despised and rejected—
a man of sorrows, acquainted with deepest grief.
We turned our backs on him and looked the other way.
He was despised, and we did not care.
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles
were a punishment from God,
a punishment for his own sins!
But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins.
He was beaten so we could be whole.
He was whipped so we could be healed.
All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him
the sins of us all.
Isaiah 53:4-6 NLT

Joy…

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Today is the Advent Sunday of Joy. This marks a turn in our Advent journey. This is when the celebration of this season becomes a true celebration. This is when we turn from quiet contemplation to elation…sometimes our joy may be noisy. But sometimes it might be soundless.

Today I experienced joy in many different forms – it was there in the greetings of congregants before worship, it was there in the singing of the choirs (both junior and senior), it was there in time spent with a friend. And it was there in a quiet moment, as my dog and I stepped out into a snow flurry for an evening walk.

Joy is a gift. And our deepest, truest joy comes from the birth of a baby in Bethlehem. A baby who’s beautiful life, ground-breaking teaching, and sacrificial death would reconcile God and humankind. Through him, we are saved – the basis of all our joy.

The angel reassured them. “Don’t be afraid!” he said. “I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!
Luke 2:10,11 NLT

Born to bleed…

Having just finished up a sermon, and being a little exhausted, I’m not going to write a lot for this evening’s blog entry.

But I’ve been noticing this Christmas how often Easter makes an appearance in the carols and songs of the season. I love it. You can’t have Christmas without Easter and you can’t have Easter without Christmas. Sometimes people want to just enjoy the sweet baby Jesus, without thinking what would happen 33 years later. Well, maybe it is because I had the experience of being at the birthplace of Christ, and then the deathplace of Christ a few days later this year…but I just can’t look/talk/think/sing about the baby without also being deeply aware of the cross. They go hand in hand for me.

And they should. The baby has to grow up, and do his work and lay down his life, or we’re all lost.

So on that note, I’ve been listening to this song a lot this season. I hope you’ll enjoy it, too:

Mystery…

 

SmokeI was reminded today that the age of reasoned faith has passed and we are now living in the age of the Spirit…the age of mystery. And this means that the church needs to be not only ok with talking about the mystery of God, but encouraging to those who are longing to experience the mystery of God.

When I was younger (I know, some of you are thinking “Rebekah, you’re still young!”…but I mean 20 years ago – when I was in my late teens), I used to be scared of thinking of God as a mystery. I was at a time in my life when I needed to KNOW about God. I needed a strong, resolute, knowledge-based faith. And the last thing I wanted was anyone giving me room for doubt or for not-knowing or for not-having-all-the-answers. I was afraid of the mystery. (I love the line from the Caedmon’s Call song “Shifting Sands” that says: The only problem I have with these mysteries, is they’re so mysterious!)

But something has happened over the past 20 years. As I have journeyed forward in faith, and as God has been at work in my life, as I’ve grown up and as I’ve changed… I am no longer afraid of the mystery. The words “I don’t know” have become some of my favourite words. Maybe I’ve figured out that I don’t have it all figured out. Maybe I’ve figured out that it is ok that I don’t have it all figured out. Maybe I’ve realized that God doesn’t need me to have it all figured out. That I don’t have to have it all figured out, to still have faith.

Because God IS mysterious. He does things we don’t expect. His timing isn’t what we think it will be. If we think we’ve got it all figured out, we’re probably about to go into a serious faith crisis. Because sooner or later we will bump up against things that are bigger, tougher, and more confusing than anything we think we have figured out.

God is bigger than you and me, bigger than our plans, bigger than our solutions, bigger than our fears and bigger than our doubts. Bigger than the things we think we know.

Except for this one thing that I am absolutely, unshakably sure of: God loves me, and God loves you. And that one things is so powerful, that all the mystery in the universe cannot overcome it.

Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.

Ephesians 6:19-20 NIV

Longings…

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Currently I’m sitting in a gym in Scarborough at Seneca College. I am here for the 139th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church in Canada. For the un-initiated, the General Assembly (I will refer to it as: GA, Assembly, #ga139) is the superior court of the Presbyterian Church in Canada. The Assembly meets once a year (near or at the beginning of June) and consists of 1/3 of the ordained ministers in our church and an equalizing number of elders (lay leaders within the church). We meet to discern God’s will for our church and to rule on points of church governance. The Assembly meets in a different location every year (the last time I was at Assembly, it was in Sydney, Nova Scotia!).

Assembly can be mind-numbing and frustrating at times, but it can also be a place of hope for the future of our church, a place where we remember that we are in this together, a place where we can encourage each other in being the hands and feet of Jesus reaching out to a world in need.

One of things I have heard more than once in conversation so far in this Assembly, is the longing for our church to be healthy and vital. This makes me smile. Because I have heard so often the concerns and problems that we face. I have heard so often the fear and the frustration with our church. I have heard so often the difficulties and the lack of solutions.

To hear, instead, a longing for health and vitality is a very good thing. Two years ago I longed to be healthier, to be slimmer, to be stronger. And then I made some decisions about how I eat and what I do with my time. Today I am healthier, slimmer and stronger. This trend in my personal life will only continue.

As a church, as we long for health and vitality, we also have the ability to make some good decisions about how we do things. And if we follow through on those decisions, we will find ourselves healthier and more vital. I believe this is what God longs for, for us. I believe there is hope for our future. I believe that the honest, heart-felt longings that I am hearing expressed may be the powerful catalyst that this church needs to embrace a better future.

Now may our Lord Jesus Christ himself
and God our Father,
who loved us and by his grace
gave us eternal comfort and a wonderful hope,
comfort you and strengthen you
in every good thing you do and say.
2 Thessalonians 2:16-17 NLT

Familiar…

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So today was another funeral at St. A’s. I’ve lost count of the number that we’ve had since this year began. But it has easily been too many. The gentleman whose life we celebrated today was not known to me, but he was an ordained elder in our congregation. He was remembered fondly by many who are elders today.

As the service rolled on, I found myself thinking about the scriptures that were read. I have heard them too many times recently. But because of that, they were strangely comforting to me. There was something in the rhythm of the words, the familiar cadence of these promises of God, that was deeper than the words themselves. Deeper than the things they were describing. It’s hard to explain what I felt as I listened to them yet again.

If there is a sound to the fabric of life, I think it is heard in powerful words of Scripture that are often repeated. The words of the 23rd Psalm – The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want – or the firm voice of Jesus saying “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” or the beautiful writing of Paul’s letter to the church in Rome, reminding them that he is convinced that neither depth nor height nor anything else in all creation can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus.

As I listened, what could have been a very exhausting and sad time (really, it has been too much lately, and I echo the sentiment of one friend who said “I just don’t want to sit in another funeral.”), was transformed and transcended. I found myself deeply moved by by the sense that these words and stories travel with us throughout our lives. They may be often read at a funeral, but they shape and form followers of Jesus in our good moments as well as the bad ones, in our happy moments as often as our sad moments, in our times of celebration and our times of grief.

I am so glad we do not go this road alone.