Ambassadors of a Kingdom of Hope - Michael Gerson

“When we are caked with the mud of political struggle, and tired of Pyrrhic victories that seed new hatreds, and frightened by our own capacity for contempt, the way of life set out by Jesus comes like a clear bell that rings above our strife. It defies cynicism, apathy, despair and all ideologies that dream of dominance. It promises that every day, if we choose, can be the first day of a new and noble manner of living. Its most difficult duties can feel much like purpose and joy. And even our halting, halfhearted attempts at faithfulness are counted by God as victories. 

God’s call to us, while not simplifying our existence, does ennoble it. It is the invitation to a life marked by meaning. And even when, as mortality dictates, we walk the path we had feared to tread, it can be a pilgrimage, in which all is lost, and all is found. 

Before such a consummation, Christians seeking social influence should do so not by joining interest groups that fight for their narrow rights and certainly not those animated by hatred, fear, phobias, vengeance or violence. Rather, they should seek to be ambassadors of a kingdom of hope, mercy, justice and grace. This is a high calling and a test that most of us (myself included) are always finding new ways to fail. But it is the revolutionary ideal set by Jesus of Nazareth, who still speaks across the sea of years.“

Michael Gerson

Knowing You, Knowing Me, Knowing God

We have arrived at the end of the TRC official ministry year (ministry never stops, but programs do!) after this Sunday’s eucharist. It is time to take some deep breaths, find some quiet spaces, let the warm air caress our skin, and notice things peculiar to the summer season. I spoke with an old friend yesterday who lives out of province, and he said he wanted to meet the people of TRC sometime, because he knew that it would give him more insight into who I am. I liked that idea - the people I hang out with will help him to know me better. He went on to say that the only thing that is going to save us in this mad world is small communities of resilience, where people are known, and where they hold each other in high regard, and are intent on experiencing God’s presence together. I want him to meet you all, and I want you to meet him. But this should be true for us all - right? Who would you like to introduce to TRC so they might know you and God better? Something to ponder as we consider who we will spend time with this summer, and how we will make space for God to speak steadfast love and faithfulness amongst us all. GS

(PS The Blog will return in September.)

Christians Need Other Christians

“Help must come from the outside...God has willed that we should seek and find God’s living Word in the testimony of other Christians, in the mouths of human beings. Therefore, Christians need other Christians who speak God’s Word to them. They need them again and again when they become uncertain and disheartened because, living by their own resources, they cannot help themselves without cheating themselves out of the truth...The Christ in their own hearts is weaker than the Christ in the word of other Christians. Their own hearts are uncertain; those of their brothers and sisters are sure.” - Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Richard Beck: Thoughts on Thoughts and Prayers

From Richard Beck’s blog:

The grooves of social media commentary are fairly predictable. In the aftermath of the horror in Uvalde, TX we're back to debating the value of sending "thoughts and prayers" to the victims of tragedy. 

So, three quick thoughts on "thoughts and prayers."

First thought.

I think most of the criticism directed at "thoughts and prayers" isn't religious but political. And as political criticism I sympathize with the objections. Specifically, those objecting to the uselessness of "thoughts and prayers" are directing those criticisms toward political leaders who send statements of concern, condolences, and solidarity out on social media and who are perceived as taking no material, political action to prevent such tragedies from happening in the future. For example, politicians send out "thoughts and prayers" to the families of Uvalde but take no meaningful action on gun control. 

The problem here isn't with prayer. The problem is the dislocation between prayer and moral action. Christians are well aware of this dislocation. James says, "Faith without works is dead." The same could be said of prayer.

Second, different thought. 

As I describe in Hunting Magic Eels, life demands hallowing, and we feel this perhaps most acutely during times of shared suffering and trauma. And like it or not, prayer is how we hallow. When we suffer, we turn to prayer. Always have, always will. Sorry post-Christians, but nihilism in the face of suffering just isn't a good look. And I think a lot of post-Christians feel stymied and frustrated by this, when they look at their metaphysics and recognize they have no non-religious response to suffering as profound, human and hallowing as prayer. This frustration manifests itself in a defensive lashing out at prayer. If you can't match prayer, you can disparage it.

It's irritating to be a post-Christian person when the entire world becomes a church service. Suddenly, everyone is praying. And the reality settles in: We're never going to get rid of prayer. God just won't go away.

Last thought.

For those who doubt the power and effectiveness of prayer, don't be an idiot. Don't let your skepticism make you look like a fool. Yes, I understand your metaphysical questions about if my prayer here in Abilene for the families of Uvalde will make any material difference. I share those same questions about petitionary prayer. 

But go to Uvalde, or any place of human suffering, and tell me that prayer doesn't make a difference. 

Prayer has and will always make a difference. 

Richard Beck - Experimental Theology

For She Survived: Beatitudes for a covid outbreak in long-term care

This week our learning room on the book The Artists’ Rule: Nurturing Your Creative Soul With Monastic Wisdom, by Christine Valters Painter, came to a close. We celebrated our five month journey together with sangria and chocolate – a journey in which we shared our art work, insights, some tears, and much laughter. Through the author’s suggested contemplative practices and creative explorations and subsequent sharing we encountered presence, found beauty, and experienced growth and healing. There were many memorable moments during this course –  one of them being when my sister shared the beatitudes she wrote while processing her time working in long-term care during Covid. As many of you know she left her job at Riverside Glen last spring when the outbreak there was declared over. She was exhausted, burnt out and traumatized. 

For She Survived: Beatitudes for a Covid outbreak in long-term care

Blessed are those who told an elderly man that they tested positive for Covid and watched the fear register in his eyes for they will both survive

Blessed are those who donned full PPE for a third time in 15 minutes to bring Ruth extra cream for her coffee for they will one day find the perfect coffee themselves when they need it the most

Blessed are those who paced up and down corridors helplessly listening to people cough for they will learn to embrace their own breath deeply

Blessed are those who were caught in a system that could not provide basic care to the vulnerable and dying for they will learn new tools to care for themselves

Blessed are those who cried themselves to sleep and woke up exhausted from nightmares for they will understand the true meaning of rest

Blessed are those whose hands became raw, cracked and rashed for their mother will give them Avon Calming Relief and their brother will buy them Calamine lotion

Blessed are those who feel like they completely lost themselves for they will rediscover themselves with paint

Blessed are those who were in self isolation week after week not seeing their family, friends or partner for they will know the delight of being hugged, cuddled and caressed

Blessed are those who hear call bells and cries for help in their sleep for they will understand the true beauty of silence

Blessed are those who were exposed to Covid day after day living with the fear of getting the virus and passing it on to those they loved for they will receive the first vaccines

Blessed are those who held phones and tablets so families could see faces and hear voices for they will know the joy of doing that for their own father one day

Blessed are those that showed up everyday even though they were overwhelmed, exhausted and broken for their nervous system will one day start to repair and they will understand the meaning of the word regeneration

Blessed are those who were trapped in situations of moral injustice for they will find places of safety

Blessed are those that spoon fed liquid goop into dried blue lips for they will be nourished by food anonymously left on their porch and secretly left in their empty lunch bag 

Blessed are those who felt like they had nothing left to give for they will know abundance

Blessed are those whose eyes became perpetually red and sore from sanitizers, goggles, crying and nightmares for they will discover new vision to see beauty

Blessed are those who cleaned up the bodily fluids of the dying for they will find comfort in the cycles of nature and the waxing and waning of the moon

Blessed are those who feel like the forgotten casualties of the pandemic for they will understand forgiveness and letting go

Blessed is the woman who lived through a covid outbreak in long-term care for she will find healing, peace and wholeness again

For She Survived was shared with permission from Tracey. After writing these beatitudes her nightmares stopped. She recently started a new job as a volunteer coordinator for an organization that works with children. Those of us involved in this learning room did not want it to end as it was a profound experience for all of us. But with the bonds of friendship that formed and strengthened, we will continue to encourage each other on this path of creating a life filled with richness and possibility.  DV with TV

Reading Rumi

Earlier this week I was reading some poetry by Rumi, a Persian mystic poet from the 13th century. Although he was Muslim, his poetry often draws on the Christian story, and he speaks of the Divine in ways that resonate across religions. So I wanted to share two short excerpts with you:

Jesus sat humbly on the back of an ass, my child!

How could a zephyr ride an ass?

Spirit, find your way, in seeking lowness like a stream.

Reason, tread the path of selflessness into eternity.

Remember God so much that you are forgotten.

Let the caller and the called disappear;

be lost in the Call.

This poem/prayer struck me both for its naming of contradictions and tensions - Jesus has been a mystery throughout the ages! - and for the longing it expresses for what in the Christian tradition we might call union with God. There is a deep desire here for an intimate relationship with God that makes everything else fade, and experience of Love in which we are freed from the self-focus that follows us everywhere we go. The second excerpt is a type of invocation or invitation. When I read it, I imagined hearing it on a Sunday, at the beginning of our Liturgy. I hope as you read it (perhaps out loud), you hear the hope, the forgiveness, the welcome of God.

Come, come, whoever you are.

Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving.

It doesn’t matter.

Ours is not a caravan of despair.

Come, even if you have broken your vow

a thousand times

Come, yet again, come, come.

BF

Judging others makes us blind

"Judging others makes us blind, whereas love is illuminating. By judging others we blind ourselves to our own evil and to the grace which others are just as entitled to as we are.” 

― Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Lighting Candles

Do you think it’s time for more lighting of candles, and less cursing of the darkness? My energies are in short supply, so I know how I want to invest them. How about you? GS

Everywhere, All at Once

Earlier this week, I saw the movie Everything Everywhere All at Once. It’s an action comedy that finds a Chinese woman whose laundromat is about to be repossessed by the IRS thrust into the role of saving not only her entire world, but the infinite “multi-verse” of worlds around her. As the title suggests, she finds herself experiencing Everything, Everywhere, All at Once. 

We may not live in a multiverse (maybe we do!?), but we still experience more than one thing at a time. I’ve been thinking a lot about that this Easter season. If we separate out the four “big days” of Holy Week, we find quite a range of experiences: Maundy Thursday is a day of both intimacy and betrayal. Good Friday is a day of profound injustice and grief. Holy Saturday is a day of waiting and fear. Easter Sunday is a day of breakthrough and hope. 

In the rhythm of Holy Week, the narrative carries us through these difficult, often dark places. Each day comes to an end, and we know that the end of the story is a new beginning, an opening to something far bigger than the original characters expected. 

If only our own lives moved so smoothly. 

Instead, we may find ourselves sitting with the darkness of Holy Week, desperately wondering when Easter will dawn. We may find glimpses of hope and newness only to be thrust back into the waiting of Holy Saturday. We might find ourselves in a long Maundy Thursday, wondering what the outcome will be of a particular betrayal, abandoned by those closest to us. 

One of the things I find most compelling about Jesus’ story is that it contains everything. All of the emotions, all of the hardships – there is room for my sadness and suffering to be seen and held. 

It’s okay if I’m feeling a little bit of everything, everywhere, all at once. That’s Easter. When we look closely at the story of Easter Sunday, we see that it wasn’t an immediate resolution. There was disbelief and fear, and questioning and doubt – there was much that the disciples needed to work out. In the days and weeks following Easter, they had the chance to re-encounter Jesus, to make sense of what had happened as best as they could, to touch his side and confirm that this was real. 

For me, Easter is a season of hope. It is the foundation of my belief that love will triumph. It also offers space. It shows us that life contains multitudes of experiences, that doubt is normal, that hope breaks through when we don’t know what we’re waiting for. It reminds us that it’s okay to feel everything, everywhere, all at once.  Beth-Anne Fisher

We Can In Fact Be Happy

The Easter story proclaims the astounding truth that Jesus breaks through the death barrier rising to eternal, dynamic, abundant life—not only for himself—but for all of the daughters and sons of Adam who are receptive to the compassionate love of our Creator/Redeemer God. Instead of living with clenched fists in fear, anxiety, and restlessness, we can open our hands wide to receive Abba's love. Then life flows. In short, we are freed to be happy. Yes, even in our perilous days. In spite of all the world’s pain and tribulation we can live above the human overcast because of the smile of God’s grace.

Ronald Rolheiser underscores this fundamental truth writing,

The most incredible and challenging of all Christ’s teachings is that we can in fact be happy, that we can celebrate and enjoy life, even though we and the world we live in are far from perfect.

Yet, he plaintively rues, “Mostly we do not believe this.” Alas, we often prefer the baggage of ‘more and more’ physical, mental and emotional stuff to the freedom from the One who breaks through the bondage of death. May we free ourselves this week and move into the timeless abode of Abba’s mercy and everlasting kindness. 

From 'Musings on the Spiritual Journey’ by Alan Davey. 

Silent Saturday

It was only recently I learned that the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter is sometimes referred to as “Silent Saturday.” The day sandwiched between the Crucifixion and Resurrection where we read in Scripture that the disciples hid, in what I imagine to be stunned silence: the anguish and grief at the horrors of the previous day and the “now what,” confusion, and fears of what lay ahead. 

Unlike those first disciples, we know how the story ends. On Easter we will gather, as is our custom, where the Speed and Eramosa rivers meet, and loudly proclaim, “Christ is Risen! He has risen, indeed!” But perhaps we would do well to remember the Saturday in-between. We too have Saturdays, between despair and joy. Sometimes the temptation is to jump too quickly from Good Friday to Easter– spiritual bypassing, my sister likes to remind me– a means to avoid unresolved emotional issues or psychological wounds.

The tension between the now but not yet is where we live. The pandemic has in many ways highlighted this liminal space of waiting and the unknown. How many of us sit somewhere between heartache and hope? How many of us have experienced what feels like the silence of God, or that there are no answers to our “Why’s,” or as Sufjan Stevens sings, no shade in the shadow of the cross. I appreciate that at Two Rivers we are not afraid of silence, and leave room in our gatherings for lament, questions, and doubt. 

Before the Hallelujahs of Easter morning, we might draw close to our own pain and sorrow or that of others: to remember the horrors of war in the Ukraine, to sit at the bedside of a loved one who is lost in the fog of dementia, to weep with those who want children but whose wombs remain empty. Perhaps the gift of silent Saturday and what Jesus modeled for us in his death and dying is to learn how to hold pain and let it transform us rather than transmitting it to others.

For me, one of the most compelling themes of the Christian message is God with us. God present with us in our suffering. Even if we feel abandoned and alone as Jesus did on the cross, it is a trust that we are being held in love. It is a hope that after death comes new life, that after injustice comes liberation, that after the darkness of the tomb and long silent Saturdays comes the light of morning. 

The dawn of a new day, where those of us who have been perplexed, beaten, and weighed down can raise our voices in joyful song. This coming Sunday at sunrise, with guitar in hand, Glen will lead those of us gathered at the converging rivers in singing my favourite Easter hymn: The strife is o'er, the battle done; the victory of life is won; the song of triumph has begun. Alleluia! Indeed, Hallelujah! Peace and love to you all this holy week.  DV

Lenten Thought

Lenten thought from Simone Weil:

”Those struck down by affliction are at the foot of the cross, almost at the greatest possible distance from God. It must not be thought that sin is a greater distance. Sin is not a distance, it a turning of our gaze in the wrong direction.”

To Turn Aside and See

Exodus 3:4 - When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.”

This verse came up in a Lenten devotional this morning and I was captivated by the sequence of events. God sees that Moses turns aside to see, which leads to God’s speech, and finally Moses’s speech of response. There is something important here for discipleship. First of all, there are burning bushes everywhere! They are usually in our peripheral vision, just hints of something unusual going on. But typically we have tunnel vision. Walking straight ahead, taking care of business. Moses turns aside to see, to notice something out of the corner of his eye. He alters his path. Isn’t that so critical a step into the fullness of life - to turn aside to see? It’s the first step to hearing! Once Moses's attention turns to the sacred, he was able to hear God calling his name; and a conversation that changes the world begins.

What Sustains the Church

Now, a certain set of virtues, rituals, and skills sustain the Christian way of life, not just privately and personally, but socially and politically too. They give ‘flesh’ to ‘conviction’. But if they detach themselves from their living, breathing centre in Jesus Christ, the Church falls ill, the illness spreads, and the body dies.

— Andrew Fullerton

A Megachurch Scandal and Lent

People have been asking me how I'm feeling about a current scandal regarding a popular mega-church pastor's indiscretions - sad would be the word. It's remarkable that we still feel shock when a popular figure goes down. It's an indicator of how much hope people still place in leaders to represent the faith, especially if they're cool and blessed with a charism of communication. We still eat that stuff up, because we are spoon fed celebrity culture from childhood. We can't break our addiction to projecting our hopes for the faith onto these people, or living it vicariously through them, and in the end many of them are not able to bear that weight. That’s not an excuse for abusive behaviour, people make harmful choices, there must be justice.

The whole thing points us back to why it might be important to take Lent seriously. Whether you're a celebrity pastor or a very average pew-sitter with no one asking for your autograph, dedicating some attention to the way of the cross will never exhaust its efficacy. Amongst other things, it asks us to walk the road with humility; to remind ourselves regularly that we are very susceptible to becoming intoxicated with people's admiration; and if people start believing everything we say, run, and fast.

Lent is not without grace. Indeed everything about the examined life must lead back to the mercy of God in Christ, who might be the only one who can bear our indiscretions without turning them into a new constellation of judgement and hurt. Grace is not a salve that gets poured onto our situations when a solution is needed, it is the air we breathe. It is the substance of God’s presence amongst us empowering us to endure the scandalous, heal the shame, and work together in God’s strength for the coming of the kingdom. GS

Dust to Dust

Last week a number of us at Two Rivers gathered at St. Andrew’s for an Ash Wednesday liturgy. I had the honour of greeting people at the door, inviting them to sit in the dimly lit sanctuary without speaking as gentle choral music played. It was moving for me to see people arriving from different parts of the city, slowly trickling in from the North, South, East and West.

Beautiful lovely people taking time out of their busy week and possibly hectic day, to reflect on their mortality and receive the imposition of ashes. Fran and Kristen, Tracey and Tricia, remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

The symbol of the cross, marked in ashes on our foreheads, a stark reminder that each of us given a life to live must eventually die. Randy and Eileen, Sharon and Ellen, we are all in this together.

There is something profound in collectively acknowledging our frailty and woundedness, our weaknesses and limitations, all part of the human experience. Thomas and Elizabeth and Joel and dear, sweet Beth, you are not alone. We are not alone.

God is near to the broken hearted, those bowed down and humbled low.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. There is something liberating about those words. It is okay, Dan, to make mistakes, all my feeble attempts to love and be loved. All of our attempts to find meaning and make sense of this world. So much mystery, so much out of our control. All of us, just trying our best to make our way through life; Handsome Jim and capable Irene, you are enough and will be enough.

The ashes on our foreheads are created from the burnt palms of a previous Palm Sunday. An invitation to embrace beginnings and endings, rhythms of nature, and liturgical seasons. Life with its times of dreaming and creating, releasing and surrendering, so fleeting, yet glorious: each day, each hour, each moment a gift.

Worshiper or wanderer, the symbol of the cross points us to a deeper reality. Dearest Matthew and Doris and Kathryn and John know that you are marked with love. A love that is with us in our coming and going. A love that enables us to keep humming in the darkness. A love that holds us as we fall asleep and wake again when the sun rises.

I was honoured to welcome my friends that night, and remain honoured to hold these names, and all the others not written here, close to my heart through Lent and beyond.

Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. DV

Practicing Prayer

In this first week of Lent we began a Thursday Morning Prayer Office at St. Andrew’s Presbyterian at 7:00 AM - the sun was high enough on the horizon to welcome us! We were a small group of four at this initial gathering. It may never grow beyond four, which frankly doesn’t bother me one way or the other; this time is simply an attempt to illustrate that the church is a collection of practices lived out by those following in the way of Jesus. We want to model and offer ways of practicing the faith in life giving ways, and this particular one is establishing the practice of prayer. There are many ways to pray, but praying as a community is surely one of the most important ones in our formation as disciples. The morning office also connects us to Christians all over the world praying similar words at similar times. Knowing that disciples in Africa, Asia, and the Ukraine are praying the Lord’s Prayer together reminds us of our unity and solidarity with all those who still believe that the way of Jesus makes the most sense as a way of hope in a violent, disordered, and chaotic world. Attending this gathering will not get you a holiness badge, or may not stop a war, but it will shape and form your life into the way of Jesus and his coming kingdom, and may well bring you some joy as well! GS

Dr. Paul Farmer

Dr. Paul Farmer died this week, and many people made note of this in the media. He was a physician who did extraordinary work amongst the poor and suffering of the world in Haiti and Rwanda amongst other places. Once when he was asked by one of his admirers what had kept him in global health when so many people had become disillusioned or burned out, his answer was "Doing hard things with friends". I found that moving and inspiring. This month we are going to reflect on the concept of 'ministry' at Two Rivers. A definition of ministry is 'to serve, or attend to the needs of others'. Those are hard things to do, and the practice has fallen on hard times as we are more obsessed with our own needs, wants, desires, rights, and opinions than ever before. It seems to me that a defining mark of a healthy church is its willingness to do ministry together, or perhaps as Paul Farmer described it - do hard things with friends. Come and join in our conversations about these matters. GS

Sacred Stories

“Simply put, how you tell your story matters. And stories that connect your identity to the sacred--a transcendent narrative identity--imbue life with meaning-making powers that give life spiritual and sacred significance. This significance organizes your life goals, gives mundane, daily tasks sacred weight, and motivates and sustains moral action and exertion.”

Richard Beck

Courage and Discernment

The gospels show Jesus sending his followers into the world to participate in the kingdom. His instructions indicate the need for discernment and courage - these go hand in hand, and learning the balance is a lifelong practice. If you have an unmodulated amount of courage and blunder into situations and people with no discernment, you're more likely to cause harm and see minimal fruit. On the other hand if you are wise and discerning but hesitate to venture into the fray, your gifts will lay dormant and stagnant. I'm imagining that sweet spot of discernment and courage which opens up participation in what God is doing in mending the world. Christians are sent - how will we go? GS