Sermon for March 25 - Depression

Scripture reading for this week: Jeremiah 31:31-34
I’m reading a tremendously powerful book right now.  It is called, Lincoln’s Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk.  He opens with a preface relating a story told by the Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Tolstoy had found his way to an isolated clan out of the way in the Caucuses, a remote area east of the Black Sea.  He spoke with them telling them about the industrial world, and they were most interested in his thoughts on the great leaders of the world.  He told them about the Russian Czars, about Napoleon, and other leaders. 

But they pressed him, wanting to know of the greatest general and ruler of all time.  He was described as “a hero.” A man who “spoke with a voice of thunder; [who] laughed like the sunrise and [whose] deeds were as strong as the rocks and as sweet as the fragrance of roses.”  They described his foretold birth announced by angels, and spoke highly of his compassion for his enemies. His name was Lincoln of a land called America.  Tolstoy stammered to tell them what he could from his own knowledge. 

Afterwards, the writer offered to get them a picture of Lincoln.  He gave it to one of the riders who had accompanied him into town.  The rider looked at the picture, and his eyes began to well up.  When Tolstoy asked the man why he was crying; the young man responded, “Don’t you find, judging from his picture, that his eyes are full of tears and that his lips are sad with secret sorrow?”

The book is a wonderful read, describing the depression that Abraham Lincoln struggled with throughout his whole life.  A depression that was at times so acute, that his friends had to have a suicide watch for him.  It also describes how that pain, that struggle, would transform him into arguably the greatest president of the United States, and possibly among the greatest leaders in the history of democracy.

Towards the end of fall I read a line from Parker Palmer’s book Let Your Life Speak.  He wrote about a period of depression in his life where he sought professional help.  After conversation with his therapist, which he at first found insulting, he began to reflect on something his therapist had said.  He described his own depression this way,

Read from Let you Life Speak – pg 68-69

I read this, and I started to cry.  I actually cried a fair bit this past summer, fall, and early winter, it was not until I read this however, that I was able to admit to myself that something was going on inside of me.  I was emotionally exhausted but I was not letting myself realize it, subsequently it would just come pouring out at different times.  Palmer was able to label for me, that unmentioned presence within my gut, the one that made it so difficult to get out of bed, the one that would make me break into tears in the shower. 

It did not suddenly “cure” my feelings, but it helped me to recognize them.  I never went to the doctor, though a few friends and family counseled me to.  Subsequently, I don’t know if I was ever diagnosable as depressed.  Had it gone on any longer, I probably would have.  I am not against taking pharmaceuticals to help adjust brain chemistry, to give us the mental kick we need to get back on our feet.  I continued to see my therapist, (and still do), and she was incredibly helpful.  She encouraged journaling, and is always able to draw out that inner voice within me.

Depression is characterized by feelings of sadness, anxiety or emptiness, so much so that these effect our daily lives. It can sap energy and feelings of self-worth. Instead possibly filling the person with a sense of guilt.  Sleep can be elusive, or it can be over abundant.  Appetite can fade to nothing, or overeating can become a problem. Subsequently, it can be difficult to categorize.  Women and men can experience it differently, as can older people and teenagers or children.  Suicide can come from depression, as a way out of the experience.  The idea of death can be seen as a sort of rest from an exhausting struggle.  Depression affects over 121 million people worldwide.  It can occur to anyone, at anytime.  It can be affected by genetics, by biological factors, by environment, and by psychology.  It is often best treated by therapy and/or medicine.  If you or anyone you know is suffering from depression, I encourage a trip to the doctor to just talk about it. 

In our Gospel reading for today, Jesus uses a wonderful image.  He describes a seed, and how that seed must fall into the earth and die if something new is to be born.  Though he is describing his own crucifixion, he is also inviting us to follow him.  Not necessarily to the literal cross, but to follow him in a different way.  This is a common theme in the Gospels, death to an old way of life and resurrection to a new one.  And the image of a seed falling to the ground fits well with Parker Palmer’s experience of depression, a voice that was bringing him back down to the earth.  It is cold, and dark to be buried in the dirt of the earth. But it is there where a seed can flourish.

The bible is rife with images that can appropriately be viewed through the lens of depression.  Another example, is the common theme of the desert, which, as I have said before, is like a character unto itself in the bible.  Depression, can often be experienced as a desert, a wilderness, a place of struggle, a place of pain.  It was where the Israelites wandered through for forty years.  It was where Elijah fled to, and collapsed saying he had had enough.  And in the season of Lent, we symbolically follow Jesus out to the desert where he encounters trials and temptations of his own.

But the biblical witness of the desert never ends there.  It is out in the desert, where the Israelites are forged into a nation.  It is in the desert where Elijah encounters God in a gentle whisper.  It is in the desert, where Jesus is stripped of everything but himself, where he goes and finds his mission.  The desert strips us down, it tears away all of our comforts, everything that we define ourselves by.  Even the hope that we might get out of the desert is taken away.  We are naked to the wind and the sand and the sun.  All that is left, is our true self; that part of us that was created by God that can never be destroyed, and here we can encounter it within.  Everything is stripped away, all that is left is our beating, so we can finally read that inscription Jeremiah so eloquently speaks of.

I don’t know if we have any Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans here, but I was watching an episode that really rang true as a metaphor for the possibilities I experienced that helped me pull out of my own struggles.  In the last episode of season 2, Buffy is fighting Angelus, the big bad guy, a vampire who used to be her lover.  Following a sword fight he has knocked her to the ground, her sword just out of reach.  By this episode she has been kicked out of her school, she is on the run from the law, she has been told by her mom that she is not welcome back in the house, and she is separated from her friends.  Moving in for the kill Aneglus says to her, “No weapons, no friends, no hope.  Take all that away and what’s left.”  The sword comes down.  Buffy grabs it, and responds with, “Me.”

I would not dare describe someone else’s depression, I don’t want to assume that I know how depression is universally experienced.  However, I find these image fit well with my own experience, and was a tremendous part of my own healing.  The idea that I was being pulled down to the earth, down from all the heights I had created for myself.  That I was in some sense, being healed, being called back by a true friend within me.  The idea that I was wandering in the desert, where the wind and sand strips us of everything but our true selves, was important to me.  It helped me to see my own struggles as a sort of gift.  When I stopped fighting my depression, and instead tried to embrace it, I was slowly (and I emphasize that – slowly) able to move from despair to a reformed sense of hope.  From lethargy to a different sort of energy.  From sadness, to a sense of grace.  Read my sermons from Advent knowing they were written in the midst of this.  I think they are among my best sermons, there is a truth to them I was just beginning to discover.

I needed help.  I could not have done it alone.  I relied heavily on colleagues, on friends, and on family.  I had to read some very powerful writers who shared their own experiences with depression, writers like Parker Palmer or Henri Nouwen, and trust them.  I had to reach deep into my faith, and not just believe in, but trust in the life death and resurrection narrative of Christ.  To trust that I would find that inscription written upon my heart.  And it was very hard.  I could not always do it. 

Still, I count myself as fortunate.  I did not dive to the depths that some people do.  I don't know whether I was clinically depressed or not. I was still able to come to work.  Suicide was never a significant concern, though the image of death as a sort of peace, a sort of rest was certainly present.  Parker Palmer shares that he does not know why some people do commit suicide and others are able to find life.  I’ll echo that.  I’m not convinced that is something entirely within my own control.  My tears did not suddenly dry up, they still flowed readily. 

I’m sharing this because it is how I experienced depression.  My hope is that in sharing this, others who are experiencing it, or will experience it, will know that they can get through it.  People who have loved ones experiencing it, can know that it is not leperous or shameful, but something that carries the possibility of new life. Though it was painful, though I wish it upon nobody, though I never want to go through it again, God was able to use my struggles to form something new.  Though God does not want us to experience pain, God can transform it when we do.  Even out of death, God can create new life.  Thanks be to God.

Sermon for March 18 - Addictions

Scripture for this sermon: Ephesians 2:1-10

I remember once going on a day trip to Niagara Falls with my friend Bryce from back in Guelph.  We wandered around for a short while, but it wasn’t long before we found ourselves standing outside the casino.  We looked at each other, checked our wallets and decided to head in.  I only had about forty dollars, I’d never been to a casino before, so I figured it would be ok to lose all my money, and walk out saying I’d done it once in my life.  Forty bucks isn’t too expensive for what I thought would be a few hours of entertainment.

We wandered around, wound up at the roulette table.  And within a few spins of the wheel, we were up.  It was great.  We had it all figured out.  Undoubtedly we would be walking out of there with at least a couple of hundred dollars each.  I didn’t understand how people could lose money, when it was so easy.  Each time we won, it was quite a rush of excitement.  What we didn’t notice was that, those rushes of excitement were further apart than they needed to be for us to keep our winnings.  And soon, I’d say after about only half an hour at the table, we were both broke.

I remember as we walked away thinking to myself: “Boy, I know what I did wrong, and if I just go take out a bit of money, I can get back what I lost.”  Fortunately, I have a good friend in Bryce and he said we should leave even as warning bells were starting to go off in my head.  I can see why they say that the worst thing that can happen to you the first time you go to a casino, is to win.  That thrill is easy to chase.

I never became a compulsive gambler.  But addictions do take a hold of us all in different ways.  For some they may be associated with substances.  Alcohol, narcotics, pharmaceuticals, cigarettes, caffeine, just to name a few.  Some may be associated with behaviors, gambling, sex, pornography, adrenaline inducing activities, eating, even working.  All of these can become addictions.  Though some of these addiction might be socially acceptable, or even socially praised, for the most part we view these as unacceptable.  And any addiction cannot be considered healthy.

Often people with addictions are looked at as a sort of leper.  They are people who are judged for making poor decisions, for not having any self control, for being lazy.  This is why I think addiction is another example of a taboo issue that is never openly discussed.  Instead it is whispered and gossiped about, which truthfully, I think is even more damaging than helpful.

I’m not going to lecture today on the evils of addiction.  We’ve all heard that countless times, we’ve witnessed it, we’ve seen enough after school specials.  I’m not going to tell you how to get rid of an addiction.  I’m not trained in that, though if anyone is interested, I have contact information for groups, and you can feel free to ask me about it in private for yourself or for someone you may know.  All I want to do today is to break the silence.  I want to talk about it in such a way that we are not as afraid to talk about it with one another.

So what is an addiction?

Invite responses

Simplistically put, an addiction affects the reward part of our brain.  So for example, some substances can cause our brains to release dopamine, one of the chemicals responsible for us feeling good.  The more a substance is used, the more our brains become dependant upon them to release dopamine.  Our brain circuits get damaged as we continually fill our system with addictive substances, requiring more and more of them in order for us to feel good about anything.

Behavioral addictions, like gambling addictions or sexual addictions, similarily affect our brain’s reward system.  The rush of winning a big pot, for example, causes us to feel good.  Our brains release dopamine.  Eventually, our brains become re-wired to associate good feelings with gambling.

With chemicals or behaviors we can become obsessed, we can become compulsive.  Longing for that good feeling, longing for the reward system in our brains to be activated, we seek out those same stimulants to do it.  It gets to the point where it is no longer even a choice, our brains have become re-wired, and this is the dependence.  Sometimes this can happen after one or two experiences, sometimes it might take longer, years even.  This is effected by all sorts of factors.  Certain substances or behaviors are more or less addictive.  Our own genetic predisposition to addiction is also a factor.  Environmental and social factors also influence this.

The cycle gets worse when our compulsive behavior, seeking that high, seeking that good feeling, leads us to do things that make us actually feel worse.  An alcohol binge that goes wrong, losing a lot of money at the casino, feeling ashamed of a sexual encounter.  We want to feel better after them, so tragically we return to our addiction.  Addicts often know that what they are doing is having an awful affect on their lives. 

There isn’t reason to it.  There isn’t logic to it.  Don’t try to find it. The natural human desire for pleasure, or to end pain, believe me, holds a greater sway over any of us than logic does.  Many people who are under the sway of an addiction will express a desire to change.  Guilt becomes a factor, and not necessarily a positive one. Someone trying to quit drinking may feel guilty if they fail.  The logic becomes, “I feel awful about drinking.  Let me have a drink to feel better.”

Once the brain has re-wired itself, it is no longer a matter of choice, no longer a matter of will power or strength.  And often, people do not realize the negative effect certain influences can have on their lives until this re-wiring has occurred.  The cycle of addiction is truly one of powerlessness.  And it is heart breaking.  Heartbreaking because of how helpless the addict is, and heartbreaking because of all those who are influenced by it.  Addiction leads to great wounds in life, and not just to the lives of the addicts.  Addiction can greatly wound families, friends, and communities.

I’ve been reading the Big Blue Book.  This is the book put out by Alcoholics Anonymous.  It is a good thing to read.  I’d recommend it to anyone.  It is full of stories about alcoholics, about their lives under the influence of alcoholism.  This powerlessness is shown again and again. People who know what they are doing is hurting them, is hurting those they care about, but who cannot stop.

I think our scripture reading for today responds to that powerlessness.  Verses 8 and 9, “For by grace have you been save through faith, and this is not of your own doing; it is the gift of God – not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” 

Here the author seems to be speaking directly to our society’s view that people just need to get over their addiction.  People just need to develop more will-power, people just need to be stronger.  The author seems to be saying, no amount of strength in you, no amount work done by you, is going to move you into holy relationship with God, with ourselves, with the people around us.  Moving into a state of grace is not accomplished by us. 

And of course we don’t like that in our world.  We live in a pious protestant society.  Live and act proper, and you’ll get what is yours.  Anyone who is having a rough go of it, deserves it, and anyone who is successful deserves it too.  The reason I am not an addict is because I am a better person.  The reason I am successful is because I am better.  I have done all the right stuff, and someone else has done the wrong stuff.  It is their fault, they got where they are. 

Of course we think this way.  It is logical.  It helps us maintain a semblance of control, it helps us see some sort of order to the world around us.  If I were not entirely in control of my own fate, that would be a terrifying prospect.  And since I am entirely in control of my fate, everyone else must be as well.  This is the American Dream.  The idea that everyone is in control of their own destiny, and everyone gets what they deserve. 

Unfortunately, this is counter to the passage that we just read today from Ephesians.  The author is very clear that we are not in control.  That the works we do in this world have no influence on God whatsoever.  No one is more loved by God because of the work they do.  No one is loved less by God because of what they do.  We are not in control of grace.  All we can do is surrender to the love that is freely offered to all, regardless of who they are or what they have done.

And when we think about addictions, when we think about the powerlessness that comes against such a disease, what a wonderful message of hope this is.

I was re-reading the 12 steps a few days ago at drama practice and I almost started crying at their beauty.  It is no wonder that Richard Rohr called the 12 steps, the greatest addition to spirituality that has come out of North America. 

Read the steps

The steps all carry this message of profound grace and surrender of control.  Perhaps this is why 12 step programs have an above average rate of success in helping people get over addictions.  They admit to that same biblical truth that we are not entirely in control of our own salvation.  That control is in the hands of a power greater than ourselves.  As Christians we believe this power to be the one who loves us, who cradles us, who cares for us, and who longs for the best for each and every one of us.  Maybe this is why many of the recovered addicts I have met and spoken with seem to have a deep understanding grace.

Perhaps the 12 steps can teach all of us a lesson, not just those of us who have struggled with addiction, but all of us who have made mistakes.  All of us who long for relationship with God, with one another.  Perhaps the 12 steps can remind us, that none of us have control over our salvation.  These are not about making us better, instead they are about re-creating relationships.  I would encourage everyone to take a look at these steps, and see how they can transform all of our lives.

Sermon for March 11 - Domestic Violence and Abuse

I’d like to start out by reading some words of poetry.

Open your ears, God, to my prayer;

don't pretend you don't hear me knocking.
   Come close and whisper your answer.
      I really need you.
   I shudder at the mean voice,
      quail before the evil eye,
   As they pile on the guilt,
      stockpile angry slander.

 My insides are turned inside out;
      specters of death have me down.
   I shake with fear,
      I shudder from head to foot.
   "Who will give me wings," I ask—
      "wings like a dove?"
   Get me out of here on dove wings;
      I want some peace and quiet.
   I want a walk in the country,
      I want a cabin in the woods.
   I'm desperate for a change
      from rage and stormy weather.

 This isn't the neighborhood bully
      mocking me—I could take that.
   This isn't a foreign devil spitting
      invective—I could tune that out.
   It's you! We grew up together!
      You! My best friend!
   Those long hours of leisure as we walked
      arm in arm, God a third party to our conversation.

And this, my best friend, betrayed his best friends;
      his life betrayed his word.
   All my life I've been charmed by his speech,
      never dreaming he'd turn on me.
   His words, which were music to my ears,
      turned to daggers in my heart.

As some of you may remember from a couple of weeks ago, that this season of Lent we will be journeying to those social deserts, those places we never want to talk about.  And today, we will be discussing domestic violence.  The words that I read, they are words of pain and sorrow.  The author was betrayed by someone they loved, and so they live in a world of fear, as words of music became words of death.  The poet cries out to God, saying “Don’t pretend you don’t hear my cries, O God!  Take me away from this terror, give me the wings of a dove, let me go to some place where I can escape this.”

I cannot even begin to imagine what the experience is like, and I won’t pretend to.  But words like this seem to carry something within them, something that resonates, something that cries out through the author.  Listen again.

Re-read words.

Has anyone heard this poem before?  Or possibly read it? This past week I have been reading a lot of poetry written by women survivors of domestic violence.  Many of the authors cry out for people to hear them.  Many of the authors try to grapple with why someone who claims to love them, could do something so horrible.  They evoke a sense of betrayal, a sense of fear and loss.  At times they bring forth feelings of anger and vengeance.  They are wondrous words of lament.  I was not sure about sharing someone else’s words around so intimate a subject, so instead I chose this poem.  I chose this poem because it is from Psalm 55, from the Message translation, and it carries with it all the same themes that kept showing up in every other poem I read.

Re-read a few selections.

A few facts about domestic violence.  First off, what is it?  This definition is taken from the FaithTrust Institute (http://www.faithtrustinstitute.org/), as are all the statistics I’ll give you.  “Domestic violence refers to a pattern of violent and coercive behavior exercised by one adult in an intimate relationship over another. It is not marital conflict, mutual abuse, a lovers quarrel, or a private family matter. It may consist of repeated, severe beatings or more subtle forms of abuse, including threats and control.”

It is reported to occur in 28% of homes.  These, however, are only estimates based on reports and surveys.  The number is probably higher.  By far, the majority of victims of domestic violence are women.  1 in four women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime.  Witnessing domestic violence in the home, is the strongest risk factor in transmitting violent behavior on to children.  Boys who witness domestic violence are twice as likely to abuse their own partners and children.  Sexual violence and child abuse, are very much related to Domestic Violence, though each could have a sermon to themselves.

For a long time, our scripture, our church has not opposed these horrible crimes.  At best, we have just remained silent, turning our backs on the issue, not offering ears to those whose voices cry out.  At worst our sacred texts, our Gospel story has been used as a weapon against victims.  Perpetrators, or clergy will cite the bible to ensure women believe they are subservient to men, or to force them to stay in abusive relationships.

These I think are misappropriations of scripture and theology. But the Bible still in places seems to condone a violent theology.  These are referred to as “texts of terror”, they highlight a theology of atonement, of sacrifice, they place women as subservient to men, they say that violence is ok.  Each example could receive a sermon to themselves.  I won’t make excuses for them.  They are there, and they need to be dealt with.  But those passages from scripture which can be pulled out from here or there, contradict with the great Gospel message. 

This is the message that we hear spoken in the words of lament from Psalm 55, and Psalm 22 that we read earlier today.  This is the Good news that echos throughout every single one of the Old Testament Prophets, and is woven in and out of the New Testament Epistles.  It is the Good News that walks with the Hebrews out of slavery, throughout their captivity, and cries forth from the apocalyptic book of Revelation.

The Good News that God is on the side of the oppressed.  The Good News that God created us to love us.

You cannot pull out enough one liners from scripture that will contradict the Easter story of Christ which we are leading up to this season.  This is the image that lies at the heart of the Christian faith.

Women and children are crucified everyday.  Crucified by those they love, those they have embraced and held close.  They cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Often they are abandoned by friends, by family, by churches who should be crying out with them, who should be attending and responding to the violence; people who instead fall asleep or deny, deny, deny.  Every time violence is committed in a household, every time abuse occurs, a cross is raised. 

Yet, in Christ we hear God say, “I have been there, I am there, and I will be there with you tomorrow.”

This powerful image of the cross responds directly to the violence of the world.  It says without reservation, that though crosses will be raised up, though the violence of the world will try to reign, though the powerful may try to claim control over things.  They will not win.  Easter Sunday, the story of the Resurrection answers violence, answers oppression, answers abuse, with a resounding “No!” from God, who says “I control life!  Not you and your forces!  And as you have seen from my life on Earth, I am on the side of those who are wounded.”

Domestic violence is NOT the cross people are asked to bear by God, rather it is the cross upon which God joins them.

No one ever deserves to be the victim of abuse.  There is no excuse that can ever be made to make an act of abuse, or a system of abuse acceptable in any way shape or form.  It is the fault of the perpetrator, the one who may try to wash their hands of it, the one who drives in the nails.  It is their responsibility to repent, to change their lives, and that is a whole other sermon. 

God does NOT want us to be crucified.  God does NOT condone abuse.  God who knit us together in our mother’s wombs, God who hovers over us as a hen over her chicks, God who would choose to join us in our flesh, in our skin, who would live intimately with us, only wants love for each and every one of us.

This is the Good News that we must proclaim as the Body of Christ, as the people of the Way.  We are called to not only proclaim with our words, but with our hearts and with our actions, that we will stand with victims and survivors of domestic violence, of child abuse, of sexual violence.  That we will openly resist any system which says that is ok, that says women and children are subservient to men.  We must say that those who commit such acts must turn their lives around, and they must accept that they are responsible for their actions, that they must make amends and will face consequences, if they truly seek sanctification.  We must embody that same compassion that God holds for each and every one of us, share that same love, offer words of hope that things do not have to be this way.  As people of Christ, how can we do anything but?

Sermon for February 26, 2012 - Lenten Wilderness and Taboo

The scripture reading for this Sermon is: Mark 1:9-15

My family has a cottage on Georgian Bay in Ontario.  I remember as a child growing up, we would spend a lot of time up there over the summers.  Heading up for weekends, and the occasional full week.  I don’t know if I ever told my parents, but I always got a bit scared about going up to the cottage.  Even though it was well constructed, it had electricity and running water, I always felt exposed up there.  As I recall it, I would get nightmares far more regularly at the family cottage.

I had a similar feeling when I moved out to Strathclair.  The utter lack of people, made me feel very exposed, very vulnerable.  I can’t explain it.  It was not overwhelming by any means, but it was certainly there, in the back of my mind, a constant nagging anxiety.  I have been told by many people here that they get a similar feeling when they go into cities, a different sort of vulnerability, but a vulnerability none the less.  Or perhaps it is that same feeling I have often heard expressed by prairie folk about mountains.  It’s not a hatred, but a discomfort that grows the more time is spent hemmed in by the enormity of their reach.

Wilderness can have many different images.  I think depending on where you were born, the word “wilderness” will call to mind many different scenes.  For us in Canada, I think wilderness might best be interpreted by the forest.  This could be imagined as the Canadian Shield, with the massive rocky outcrops, or possibly the Old Coastal Forests of British Columbia.  The wild growth of trees, the mess of shrubs, the unseen noises which resonate throughout the woods. I find in the woods, there is that sense that something just beyond my control is at play in the wilderness. 

Other areas of the world probably perceive of wilderness entirely differently.  I would imagine in northern Canada, the tundra evokes similar feelings.  Perhaps those who are familiar with the jungle might express similar feelings of powerlessness.  Mountain ranges, Savannah, wild ocean waves all could carry with them those fears and trepidations.  For the Jews living in the Promised Land, the wilderness was often imagined as the desert.

In the desert where a storm of sand can whip up out of nothing, where you can suddenly find yourself without water; in a forest, where every tree could look like the last one, where every snap of twig signals something that is far worse in our imagination than what is beyond our sights; in the ocean where waves can capsize boats, where hurricanes are born and raised; in mountains where avalanches are possibilities, where people get lost for days, not knowing what even to eat; these are the places of wilderness in our world.  These are the places where we are at some level, afraid to go.  These are the places where, when we truly immerse ourselves in them, we lose even the illusion of control.  These are the places where we feel exposed, where we feel vulnerable, where we feel powerless.

We encounter these in our daily lives.  All of us have taken steps into the wilderness.  Whether it is dealing with a death that has greatly affected us, whether it is extreme financial hardships, whether it is the end of a relationship, or perhaps some great emotional turmoil we all have gone there.  These are places no one wants to go to, but where we end up through the natural course of life. These times can be isolating, they can be terrifying.  They fully embody that sense of powerlessness, that loss of control.

Often people end up in a wilderness that is dark and almost incomprehensible to anyone who has not gone there.  Drug addiction, or any addiction for that matter, violence and abuse, depression and mental illness.  These are some of the wildernesses that people walk through regularly, and yet where many of us are afraid to go.  And I don’t mean to participate, I mean we’re very often afraid to even talk about them.

One of our past Moderators in the United Church of Canada, David Giuliano, uses the image of the wilderness guide in his understanding of ministry.  As a protestant denomination, I think this goes beyond the calling of those who are simply in ordered ministry.  As members of the priesthood of all believers, in many ways, it is the call of all Christians to be willing to travel to those places where others might be afraid to go.  To meet people there, and to walk with them through that wilderness.

I like to think of the desert surrounding the Promised Land as a character in and of itself in our scriptures, in our stories of faith, in the history of salvation we read about in the Old and New Testaments.  It is through the desert that the Hebrews wandered for forty years, before being forged into a nation.  It was into the desert that Elijah ran, and there that he encountered God in a whisper.  It was in the desert where Ezekiel had his vision of bones growing flesh and being filled with the breath and life of God.  It was in the desert that David had compassion on his enemy, Saul who was trying to kill him.  The desert resonates throughout the book of the Psalms and the various prophets.  And in the New Testament, it is to the desert that John the Baptist calls us to transform.  And as in today’s reading, it is in the desert where Jesus encounters the devil and comes away prepared for his ministry, speaking of the kingdom of God.

I love that biblical metaphor of wilderness.  Maybe that’s why I preach on it regularly.  It is in the wilderness of our lives that we long for comfort.  It is in the wilderness of our lives where we long to know the Divine Love.  It is in the wilderness of our lives where we long to feel held by God. 

In the bible, the wilderness is often an agent of transformation. The wilderness transforms, the wilderness changes.  The wilderness creates.  To say that we are wilderness guides means that we are willing go to the wilderness, and show that God is present even there.  To go to the wilderness and say, even in this dark and painful place, you are not alone.  To go to the wilderness and walk with people helping them to grow within it, to become remade in God’s image.

I remember as a kid, I went white water rafting in Nepal.  It was a terrifying experience.  There were times when I was very scared.  But I certainly remember the feeling I got when I was done.  A sense of accomplishment, a sense that I had gotten through it.  I was sad it was over by the time our few days were done.  I have a picture at home of me in my life jacket, with a puffed out chest in a very manly and triumphant pose.  A gawky awkward, kind of doofy teenager.  And standing beside me was our guide, Hamish.  Chest just as triumphantly puffed out.  He got us through.  Sometimes he had to yell, sometimes he had to take control, sometimes he would sit back and let us do the work.  He knew the river, he knew the way the water worked, he knew the rocks and the undercurrent.  He knew all that because he had been there, he had been down that river, or other rivers, and he was willing to go there again with all of us. 

I think that is what it means to be a wilderness guide.  The church, a mish mash collection of all sorts of people, all of us with our different experiences.  All of us with our struggles in the wilderness.  Subsequently, all of us with our collected wisdom.  Imagine that church being willing to go to the wilderness with others.  To help them get through.  To tell them they are not alone.  To become the Body of Christ.  To show that God is present even in the midst of such struggle.

A note of caution; I am not by any means saying that we need to have certain wilderness experiences to develop our relationship with God.  We should not all go out and get an addiction of some kind just so we can try to meet God.  We should not become abusive or allow abuse to continue simply to meet the Holy One.  We should not be hoping for death, or for pain.  They are going to happen to us, we don’t need to go looking for them.  What I am saying, is that even those dark places, those places where we are vulnerable, where we are out of control, those places of wilderness in our lives, can be redeemed by God.  They can be wielded by the Holy One to create something new.

Over the course of Lent we’re going to explore a few different taboo subjects.  Subjects that may make us uncomfortable; subjects that we don’t talk about often enough in church; subjects that perhaps deserve to be explored.  These are wilderness subjects.  They happen across the world, and they happen here within our communities.  And for those who are experiencing them they are incredibly painful.

So here is what the next few weeks will look like.  After I’m back from my study leave we’re going to explore four different subjects through the lens of what I see as Christian faith.  That will get us up to Easter, and then throughout Easter and Pentecost, we’ll explore a few others, but on less of a rigid schedule.

Some of the issues we’ll explore are domestic violence and abuse, addictions, depression and mental illness, and finally, on Passion Sunday we’ll look at sex and sexuality.  Just a heads up, that last one will not be a how-to-guide, if you need tips and pointers I’m sure you can get those from the community centre or Dora’s.  Though I have to confess, I find it tragically funny when religions try to dictate proper technique.  You won’t get that from me, mostly due to ignorance on my part. But also because there are far more interesting things to talk about when it comes to God, Christ, and sex.  After that, if anyone has other subjects they’d like to talk about, feel free to let me know.

My intent is not to condemn, my intent is not to promote.  All I hope to do, is to show that even in the midst of the unmentioned, in the midst of such taboo, in the midst of suffering, in the midst of tragedy, and in the midst of ecstasy, God is there.  It is those very wilderness aspects of our lives that can inform and develop our relationship with God. My prayer is that just by talking about these issues shows that we are willing to at least start the journey into the wilderness. 

Jesus begins his ministry, his mission of redemption by heading out into the desert.  I think it is important for us as the Body of Christ to continue that mission and follow him there.

Sermon for February 19, 2012 - Pilgrimage and the Way

Scripture Reading for this sermon is: Mark 9:2-9

Christianity has gotten pretty easy.  It requires only an hour of our time on Sunday morning.  You just need to show up once to get baptized.  It doesn’t really demand too much of us.  Just believe a few things that don’t have too much of a bearing on our lives.  And very often those things that we are asked to believe will change depending on our life and politics.  We have misinterpreted what it means to be inclusive.  Where inclusivity should mean, if you want to join us all are welcome regardless of race, gender, orientation, or ability; we have used it to become a fast food drive thru with an “order what you want “ mentality.  These are just a few of the ways that Christianity has gotten easier.  It fits nicely into our culture of ease.  We want spirituality, to experience relationship with God, right now with minimal effort on our part. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

In our scripture reading for today, we read about the Transfiguration of Jesus.  It is the story of Jesus up on a mountain, conversing with Elijah and Moses.  While he is there, he seems to undergo a radical change in front of his inner circle who have climbed the mountain with him.  A cloud descends upon the mountain, the voice of God rings out, “This is my Beloved Son!  Listen to him!”

As I reflected on this story, I read something proposed by the theologian Helmut Thielicke that the transfiguration event does not happen to Jesus, rather it happens to the disciples instead.  This story is not about Jesus, he remains as always the incarnation.  This story is about the experience of the disciples. Up on the mountain, it was something inside of them that changed.  They were shaken, they were rattled, and they saw Jesus in his fullness.  They experienced it only for a moment, but even in that moment, Peter knew he wanted it to last longer.

It is no coincidence that this happened up on a mountain.  Throughout the history of human myth and religion, mountains have become symbolic as seats and homes of the divine, where people encounter the holy.  In Judaism, Moses encountered God and received the Law on Mount Sinai.  In Greek Myth, it was Mount Olympus that was the home of the gods.  In Hinduism there is Mount Meru, the seat of Brahma, and the centre of all things.  Mount Kailash in Tibet is another Holy site for Hinduism, as well as for Jainism and Buddhism.  Mount Kailash is so holy, in fact, that it has never been climbed.  And in Islam, it is in the mountains outside of Mecca, where Muhammed received the revelations from God that would become the Koran.

Mountains reach up to the very heavens, and to ancient people it only makes sense that these would be the seats of heavenly beings.  Trying to climb these vast and mighty peaks would have been daunting, a rare occurrence if it ever even happened.

Even today, they are not climbed half heartedly.  People die every year on the great peaks.  And getting within a stone’s throw of the summits does not guarantee reaching them.  Mountains are intimidating, though awe-inspiring.  They are terrifying while beautiful.  But it was when these three disciples climbed one, Peter, James, and John, that they encountered something marvelous, something inexplicable.  It was through this unknowably difficult journey up the mountain that they experienced God.  This was their pilgrimage.

And that’s the way that Christianity should be.  It should be difficult, because it is difficult. 

What do you know about the practice of pilgrimage?

The practice of pilgrimage has been a part of religious custom since long before Christianity. It is the practice of going on a long journey to some far off destination.  There is the Hajj, the pillar of Islam that calls for Muslims to journey to Mecca at least once in their life if they are able. Mount Kailash is in one of the most isolated areas of the already isolated Tibet, where Hindus and Buddhists make a pilgrimage to.  In medieval times, Christian pilgrimages were common, venturing to the Holy Land, or to a relic site was often considered an act of penance.

Pilgrimages are difficult.  It is in their very challange that they are transformative.  If I just had to cross the street to get to the Santiago Cathedral, El Camino, that famous pilgrimage through Spain, would not be a pilgrimage at all.  It would not have any effect on me whatsoever.  If I could just get in my car and drive past Mecca as I look out my window, how would that effect me?  My pilgrimage will cost me something.  My pilgrimage will not be easy.  It is trial.

This is wisdom that we all know.  Certainly for myself, as I look back at my most trying times, those are the times that forged me.  This past year, though very difficult on a personal level, has greatly effected and strengthened my faith; though I may not always have said that as I went through it.  Anyone who has been through a 12 steps program and met with some success will tell you that it is not easy, but out of it they were transformed.  We are not made, we are not transformed in times of relative ease and abundance.  We are created out of the difficult.  I’m a big Calvin and Hobbes fan, and I always love how every time Calvin goes through something that is tough, his dad shouts out that he is building character.  There is truth to this.

This is the pilgrimage.  This is the journey up the mountain by the disciples.  This is exactly what Christianity should be.  This is how we should be looking at our faith.  As a pilgrimage. 

Christianity must reflect that fundamental truth of life, that out of struggle comes growth, out of fire comes steel, out of death comes resurrection.  That is the great pilgrimage of life that is reflected in our faith.

Christianity should not become a faith that says life is tickity boo.  Any time we try to make our faith easier on people, we are re-enforcing the lie that everything can and should be easy.  We are nodding our heads along with the culture, which tries to sell us that garbage.  And which, we all want to agree with, which we all want to believe for obvious reasons.  But deep down inside, we know it is not true.  We know it is not true because all of us have experienced trial and tribulation.  All of us have experienced suffering and pain. 

And so, if we want our faith to be true, if we want our faith to be deep, and transformative, we need to struggle for it.  It must honestly reflect that reality of life, otherwise it loses all credibility.  It must mimic the trial, the challenge of life, and all the while say to us God is present.  The incarnation exists even in times of difficulty, and it will transform us to new life.  Christianity must challenge us, it must call us to live that eternal cycle of life, death, and new life, resurrection.

For the month of February, our book club is reading Karen Armstrong’s The Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life.  Since selecting this book, I have had a number of people come up to me and tell me how difficult it is.  More than that, some of the steps that she says are a part of the journey to becoming more compassionate are tough.  Certainly the last step, Love Your Enemies, that same commandment from scripture, is not easy.  I have had numerous people express to me how intimidating this book is, and how intimidating the work she asks of us is.  And to all of that, I say, Good.  It is not an easy book, and the path she invites us to, is not an easy path.  It is hard.  But I find it tremendously praise worthy that everyone who has come to me and said, “this book is hard” or “I really am struggling with this idea”, has also said to me “but I really want to read it.”  What I hear when this is said “I am willing to do the hard stuff… I want to walk the path towards compassion.”  That’s a good thing.  This is a wonderful example of what Christian faith looks like.  Pushing our boundaries, experiencing ideas that may make us uncomfortable and trusting that we will somehow experience God along the way.

And so let us abandon the idea that religion is simply a set of beliefs someone has.  Instead let us see it as a journey.  Christianity is the path we tread, it is the climb up the mountain, it is the pilgrimage we take throughout our whole lives.  One of the earliest names for Christians was “People of the Way”.  It wasn’t “People who believe certain things”.  It was people of the Way.  And as we find out in our Gospel reading, for Christians, that Way, that holy journey, that walk up the mountain, is called Jesus, the Beloved of God, who God tells us to listen to.  God doesn’t say, “Believe this about Jesus”, God says “listen to him.”  Even when the bible uses the term “believe” a more accurate interpretation would be “trust”.  Listen to Jesus, trust in his way, follow him.  As Christians Jesus is our path of pilgrimage.

And it is hard.  It wouldn’t be true, it wouldn’t be relevant in the world, it wouldn’t be worth anything if it wasn’t.  Christianity is hard.  It is our long climb up the mountain.  And yet, it is through climbing the mountain that our eyes are changed to see the glory and wonder of the incarnate God.

Sermon For February 12, 2012 - Prayers of Petition

Scripture Reading for This Week: Mark 1:40-45

A couple of months ago I was having a conversation with my older sister, Steph, about praying to God for things that we want.  I asked her permission to share this story and she said yes.  A friend of hers had a family member, we’ll call him Dave, who was quite sick.  This friend asked Steph to include Dave in her prayers.  Steph really struggled with this idea, and so she asked me about it.  She said, “I don’t want to pray for something that isn’t going to happen.”  We had a really good conversation about it and it opened me up to a lot of my own questions about faith.

One thing that I do regularly on my job is pray, not only with, but for people.  I pray for people to be healed, I pray for people to be made whole, I pray for justice around the world, there are all sorts of things I pray for.  These are called Prayers of Petition.  But I think my sister’s anxiety, which she openly stated, poked and prodded at an anxiety, a question, which I have deep down inside; a question that I need to bring to the light.

What are we doing when we pray to God for healing, for ourselves, for others, or for the world?  What are we doing when we ask God for something?  I think we have two perspectives on this issue, represented by conservative and liberal Christianity.  And I think both are missing the mark; to quote Jim Wallis, “The right gets it wrong and the left doesn’t get it.”  Though he is talking about politics, I think the same can be said for prayer. 

Often, in conservative Christianity, there is the sense that God can heal, that God can make changes.  I think that is a solid belief, one that I hold – though sometimes it is one that I just want to hold.  But when we pray for, say, healing, for myself or for others, do we actually think we are swaying God?  Is God saying, “Well, I was going to let Joe die, but since you prayed, I guess I’ll give him a reprieve.”?  That God is kind of a jerk when you think about it.  And it is pretty arrogant to think we have power over God.

Liberal mainstream Protestantism doesn’t get off the hook either.  This is where the United Church of Canada often falls, and this is where I often fall.  Deep down, we are having a struggle with our faith.  What is termed, “functional atheism” has crept into our prayer life.  We’re not so audacious as to think we can control God, but we don’t really hold onto the belief that God can and will effect the world.  Anything that will happen is up to us.

Both perspectives offer something that is good to the conversation, but both sides miss something as well.  It seems to me like one side is trying to barter with God, in a sense trying to control God, and the other side leaves God right out of the picture.

So why do we make prayers of petition to God?  This is a tough question that gets to the core of our faith.  It forces us to ask what we are doing when we engage in that critical Christian practice of prayer.  Just a heads up, today we’re only talking about prayers of petition.  There are many other types and forms of prayer,  but today we’re just focusing on that one.

In our scripture reading, we hear about the leper coming to Jesus and asking for help.  He says to Jesus, “Listen, I know you have the ability to cure me.  And so I know, that if you choose to do so, you will.”  This is his last hope.  He has gotten on his knees, lost all sense of pride, and is begging Jesus.

How Jesus responds is actually up for debate.  In our reading for today it says he was moved by pity.  Many ancient sources, however, imply that it was not pity that moved Jesus, but rather, anger.  In many ways, this fits with the rest of the story.  But his anger is mysterious, what is he angry at?  Is he angry at the leper?  Is he angry at the leprosy, or perhaps a demon that was making him a leper?  Is he angry at the way the man has been cast out and forced to beg?  Is he angry that everyone seems interested in his healings and not in his message?  I don’t know.  It could be any of those, or it could be that the original author did, in fact, use the word “pity”. 

I think what is important in this story is that the man surrendered himself, and Jesus’ responded to that by saying “I do choose.”  The man is healed.  Yes, the leper then disobeys Jesus, and does not follow up with Christ’s prescription.  But for an instant there, for one instant, there is something very remarkable in this man, and Jesus responds.

This man, provides a wonderful example of a petitioner.  He is a wonderful example of someone asking God for something.  And I think that in his very petitioning of God, we get a sense of what it means to ask something of God.

One of my favorite stories in the bible is of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, and I look to this example as teaching us how to pray.  His words are very similar to the words of the leper.  “For you, all things are possible, remove this cup from me; yet not what I want, but what you want.”  “God, I know you could get me out of this if you choose.  It’s up to you.”  The difference in the two stories is simply that the Leper is healed and Jesus doesn’t get what he wants.

Like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, like the leper, when we pray for world peace or when we pray for the healing of a loved one, we may not be expecting it to happen.  Instead we’re admitting to ourselves and to God, that it is beyond our reach, that it is out of our control, that we are, in essence, powerless.

And there is the word that makes Christians of all stripes shudder.  On one side there is the sense that if I just pray hard enough, or believe just the right stuff, God will change things.  It is, at its heart, an attempt to control things.  It is an attempt to get God to do what we want.  On the other side, the sense is very much, why would I pray to God about it, since God might very likely not do anything.  Anything that is done in the world is done by us, by humanity.  We are in control.

Prayers of petition are actually a counter-cultural act.  In a world that says we are powerful, in a world that says we control our fates, our destinies are entirely in our hands and in our hands alone, in a world that says we get what we pay for, what we deserve, what we have earned; prayers of petition say this isn’t about us.  Prayers of petition, when motivated by a sense of powerlessness, hand off any attempt of control.  We don’t have control, and we are admitting it.  It is a surrender.

Now, I am not saying that prayer cannot heal, that prayer cannot effect change.  I think it can, but we need to look at motivations.  If we are praying to try to maintain control, to try to get God to do something, to fix a problem for us, I think we are missing the point.  If we are trying to control things with prayer we are not surrendering.  We are not admitting that God has power over all things.  We are not joining with the Leper, joining with Jesus, embracing the words from the Lord’s Prayer, “Thy will be done…”

Semon for February 5, 2012 - Getting Away

The Scripture Reading for this Week is: Mark 1:29-39

Who knows what the fourth commandment is?

I have to say, I really feel for Jesus in our scripture reading for today.  His Sabbath day of teaching and exorcisms has ended.  No sooner does the sun set on his “day of rest” than people begin streaming towards Peter’s house where Jesus was staying.  They are pounding on the door, wanting to be healed, wanting to have demons exorcised.  The whole city was waiting for him, ready to run to him as they watched the sun.  As soon as it was below the horizon we can imagine them swarming to where he was.  Yelling, demanding, shouting, wanting him to work his power upon them.

It’s like getting back from a vacation to a mountain of work, to the phone ringing off the hook, to people knocking on your door.  We’ve all experienced that.  I think that is why much of the world hates Mondays, because they are forced to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.  For myself, I know after a vacation I need a day or two to catch my breath, to get rolling, to ease into things.  Even after a single day off, work is that much more exhausting and tiring.

So the people are knocking on the door, reaching out to him, begging him, crying for him.  And Jesus dives into the middle of the crowd.  He heals people to the left, to the right.  Moving slowly through the swarm as they cluster around him, as it pushes towards the centre.  They claw at him, they pull at him, they tug on him.

And he has to leave, he has to get away from it.  The story implies that he got a bit of sleep, but still, early the next morning, before the sun has even begun to rise, Jesus slips away.  In the darkness, when the rest of the town was asleep, Jesus leaves.

And he prays.  He gets away, to a deserted place.  No one else around, and he spends some time with God.  He prays.

Pause

But it isn’t long before his disciples find him.  They hunt him down, and explain to him that everyone is searching for him.  Everyone wants something from him.  He is being pulled back.

I love this story about Jesus.  He is so vulnerable in it.  I think we can all empathize with that feeling of being pulled in many directions at once.  It can be overwhelming, it can be exhausting.  I think we can all appreciate Jesus’ desire to throw up his hands and just get away from it.

This is one of those remarkable stories where we see that Jesus is not some super-human.  We see that Jesus, in his humanity is bound and constrained by those same limitations that we are all so familiar with.  I just feel for him in this, I think most of us can feel for him because we have been there.

Who here hasn’t at least once in their life, though likely more than that (possibly monthly or weekly) been pulled by many different people, by many different demands, by many different things to do?  All of us have.  All of us have experienced that.  And truthfully, all of us have been on the other side as well.  We’ve all demanded.

But God gets it.  God knows how it is.  After creating the world in 6 days, God rested.  Jesus was overwhelmed more than once after healing people, more than once while living out his public ministry.  In our scripture reading for today, Jesus knew he needed Sabbath, he needed his own rest in order to return to public ministry.

So the question I have is, “Why do we think we’re special?”  Why do we think we are better than God and Jesus, why do we think that we don’t need rest?  Why, when our world says “Go! Go! Go!” do we always respond with “Ok!”?  What has happened to our Sabbath?

I’ve heard it said about that fourth commandment, that it is no longer relevant.  Worse still, it is often argued that keeping a Sabbath is not practical or even possible any more.  That makes me sad.  More than that, I think we may have confused ourselves with what Sabbath actually means.  I think often we convince ourselves that we know what Sabbath is, and that we are honoring it to some degree.  We need to be careful about that as well.

Who knows what the word Sabbath means?  It comes from the Hebrew word Shabbat, which means not only rest, but also, cease.  Sabbath means, “cease”, to stop.  This is hard for us to understand because we are such a “doing culture”.  Sabbath means stop, it means “don’t do”.

How many of us actually take a day when we “don’t do”?  How many of us even take an hour?  What does that even mean, “to cease”?  Does running around and doing all those odd jobs that need to get done but have been put on the back burner because of work mean “to cease”?  No.  Does hanging out and watching TV mean we’re “not doing”?  I’d argue that it doesn’t.  Not necessarily anyways.  It certainly doesn’t mean that for me, in my life.

So, what is Sabbath? 

When I ask this question I look to Christ for answers.  Because this is a hard question.  He stops his work, moving away from all the demands the word is making on him.  He spends time with God.  I think these are the two key ingredients.  And they are huge. 

First, Sabbath is that time when we step away from the demands of the world.  Jesus slips out before the sun rises.  More than that when his disciples track him down saying the world is demanding his presence, he just leaves.  Stepping away from the demands of the world can be a difficult thing to do.  It is that time when we just stop, when we rest, when we have the strength to say to ourselves, “All those things I should be doing, I’m going to put on pause.”  All those things the world shouts at me, I’m going to tune out.  There are so many ways that this can happen, and I can’t tell you what they are.  They can be quiet and meditative, they can be active if we feel they need to be.

Every morning and night I try to take 15 minutes to do some yoga stretching.  This is hard for me.  It’s hard because in the morning, I’d either rather be sleeping.  If it is a really busy day, it is very easy to say to myself, “well I should be getting to work, I don’t have time for this.”  At night, I just want to goto sleep. And if I am too tired, it is very easy for me to convince myself that my mild yoga and meditation is not as important as sleep.  But, what I’ve noticed is that when I give myself this half hour every day, I am more energized and focused when I do have to do things.  And at night, I truly sleep better.  This has become a part of my Sabbath practice.  I’m not as good at it as I’d like to be, but I am starting to see the tremendous importance.  There are other practices that work, depending on our motivations and our mindsets.  Contemplative prayer, labyrinth walking, pilgrimage, even going for a run can be a Sabbath activity if it helps us pull away from the demands of the world.

Moving away from the demands of the world for a few moments or a day or a week of vacation does not just mean stopping work.  It is deeper than that.  It is allowing ourselves a chance to drop all those masks that we put up at the world’s request that hide our true selves.  For example, in a world that demands we be happy all the time with a smile on our face, Sabbath could simply be a moment when we let ourselves cry.

Secondly, Sabbath has to be about God. It is why Jesus didn’t simply sleep a bit longer on that early morning.  For his rest, for his ceasing, for his rejuvenation he needed God.  Jesus’ power comes from God.  His strength, his authority, his ability, all of that came from God.  We are no different.  I can’t tell you what it means to spend time with God.  I can’t tell you what it means to pray.  It is different for each and every one of us.  But somehow, our rest is tied to our admission, our conviction, that we are utterly dependant upon God for who we are.  This is where I struggle, and often my Sabbath days will consist of me confusing watching tv and playing video games with holy rejuvenation.  I’m not beating up on those things, we need to unwind, but Sabbath does not mean entertainment.  True rest, Sabbath rest must be cradled within the arms of God.

I cannot tell you what the key ingredient is to Sabbath.  I cannot tell you what you need to do to find this holy rest.  Church should not be a place which places more demands and strict orders on how you experience and encounter God, on following legalistic rites to enter into a time of Sabbath.  Church should be a place where we explore that together, where as a community we can bring our true selves forward, those selves we hide from the rest of the world, to explore how we rest in the presence of God.  If anyone is interested in exploring this, please talk to me.  I can think of nothing more joyous, more communal, more holy than sitting down with a sister or brother in Christ and asking what does it mean to rest in God.

Sabbath should be exciting.   It should be demanding, but paradoxically, it should also be easy.  It should be something that once we’ve experienced it, we can’t wait to experience it again, and again.  In a world that demands so much from us, we must learn to join with Christ when we take time to pull away from those demands.