Occasional Reflections

Easter 2010

Tue, 23 Mar 2010 08:41:40 -0700

Easter. Only English, via Anglo-Saxon, and German use this form of language to describe Easter, the feast of the resurrection; most other languages either use some derivation of the Hebrew for Passover, Pesach, or language that refers to the significance of the occasion (“great day,” or “great night,” or “resurrection,” for example). In some ways this is a pity, because imbedding a reference to Passover into the name of the Easter feast is a reminder that it is about a new form of Passover, and a way of connecting our celebration of Christ’s Passover with its roots in our heritage of Jewish faith. Although Christians celebrate the resurrection of Jesus at Easter, it is an event that was framed for his followers by the Passover festival, and not just because of its proximity in time, but because of its connection theologically to Passover as precursor to resurrection: fresh life plucked from old.

Last November, as part of our centenary worship, the Coastal Sound Youth Choir sang a song called, “In Remembrance.” The composer of the song, Dr Jeffery L. Ames, is the director of choral studies at Belmont University in Nashville, Tennessee. When Dr Ames lived in Florida, two of his students were killed in a car accident. He struggled to cope with the pain of that experience, ultimately turning to his music as a way of expression. The song begins with sadness and despair, echoing the words from Psalm 22 that Jesus spoke from the cross: “My God, why have you forsaken me?” But the song moves on to hope, concluding with the words from another Psalm (30): “Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning,” and ultimately conveys the message that even at our lowest point, God is with us and joy will return.

This is resurrection at work in life. It is the spirit of claiming new life from old pain, suffering, disappointment and sadness. It is not just a matter of blithely turning away from loss (for example) with a shrug, as if we are supposed to cast off our past with ease or disregard. It is a case of integrating the experience of the past into a hopeful and reclaimed future. The resurrected Jesus bore the scars of his crucifixion. Equally, although stated less obviously in the post-resurrection gospel accounts, Jesus bore the emotional scars of his abandonment by most of those close to him. Those scars did not disappear, but were part of the new life revealed in Jesus after the resurrection. For us, the spirit of resurrection is alive and vital in us when we take our history, personal and collective, and allow all the broken parts therein to become part of the foundational fabric for something new and fresh. At the core of life being recreated in the framework of resurrection is the need to deal with what has happened in the past: how to deal with our scars. And that, in turn, is associated with how we receive and practise forgiving.

The aphorism, “forgive and forget,” is not really helpful. It is difficult to forgive, truly, if we forget. Forgiving is about remembering and accepting; a matter of acknowledging all that has “injured or offended,” to quote the Litany for Lent in the BAS, and allowing it to pass into memory while reforming the bonds of love around the scar that remains. This is the rebuilding that Jesus undertook with his followers after the agony of his emotional and physical crucifixion – a rebuilding that even began on the cross, when the first words that Luke records after Jesus was nailed and hoist up onto the beam, were, “Forgive them.”

Lewis Smedes, in The Art of Forgiving, captures the essence of this: “Forgiving does not erase the bitter past. A healed memory is not a deleted memory. Instead, forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future.” Thus resurrection inspires us to be a part of God’s continual process of creation by taking what has happened, learning from it, taking what fuels love from it, and rebuilding life with something more positive, such as the fruits of the Spirit described by Paul in Galatians 5:22-23: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

Easter is about a particular resurrection – that of Jesus – but is also about a more general resurrection, something that takes place in the life of the church and the lives of its members. Easter is the celebration of a particular event, but also the celebration of a process that is embodied in the life of all people.

This is the connection to Passover. The beginning of the Exodus was the end of the conflict between the enslaved people of Israel and the leadership of Egypt, culminating in the series of plagues experienced by those living in Egypt. The people of Israel were spared from the final plague, the death of first born sons, and then left in haste while Egyptians grieved. It is a sad story, and regardless of its historical accuracy, it undoubtedly has truth: all too often in human relationships stubbornness, intractability and pride has resulted in loss, pain and grief.

Jewish people are encouraged by scripture and tradition to practise remembering the story of the Passover. (This is something in which we can participate through a Seder meal, for example.) In prophetic utterances, God reminds the people of Israel not only of their spiritual ancestry (“I am the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob”) but also of God’s active participation in their history (“I brought you out of Egypt. I freed you from slavery.”). This is the opposite of “forgive and forget:” it is “remember and accept being forgiven.”

Lewis Smedes also wrote: “We cannot really forgive ourselves unless we look at the failure in our past and call it by its right name.” I would argue that we cannot really receive God’s forgiveness unless we acknowledge and accept it. In turn, this means that we have to accept our own failures, and our own contributions to our brokenness. This process of acknowledging, receiving and accepting is what transforms shards of broken past life into building materials for a hopeful future. We can participate in this on a daily basis, not just by going through the motions in weekly confession as part of our liturgy, but by making it a part of our regular prayer life. Resurrection is a process in the life of the church, not just an event in its history. New life is available to us day-by-day in our lives, continually refreshing who we are and what we do as channels of God’s justice, healing and love in the world.

This is resurrection as it applies to life in the body of Christ in the context of our ongoing, present moments. But resurrection, like the New Testament creative tension around God’s now-and-not-yet “kingdom,” for lack of a better term, applies also to a future vision of life in the presence of God. This is a concept with which numerous people have wrestled, because it is not well defined in scripture, nor, to be honest, completely understood. The cultural preoccupation with details, specifics and precision is not well served by the mysteries of faith nor the mystical aspects of our relationship with God. Nevertheless, scripture does point to some sort of culmination of our association with God in the future: a climax of resurrection in which we are invited into the presence of life with God. (Please note that this has nothing to do with the nonsense promulgated about the “rapture.” That is a different subject, fabricated from the imaginations of fictional writers.)

In the penultimate verse of William Walsham Howe’s hymn, “For All The Saints,” there are words that anticipate this: “But lo, there breaks a yet more glorious day – the saints triumphant rise in bright array …” This is resurrection taken from Christ’s invitation to participate in a process of partnership in creation, and refreshed life in our current existence, to a glorious finale, to which all will be invited. At Easter, we celebrate this aspect of resurrection, too: it is the hope imbedded in the funeral liturgy, in which “in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to almighty God” those from whom we are separated by death. We also celebrate this in our Eucharist, for example, when we thank God for Jesus, and say “by raising him to life you give us life for evermore.” That “life for evermore,” is something that we can spend a lifetime trying to understand (and many have done so). Perhaps a more constructive approach to resurrection is to embrace its spirit into our current lives, and trust God with the details of its final, ultimate expression. Some gifts are worth waiting for.

May the spirit of resurrection be present in your Easter/Passover celebrations, and in your lives.

Paul +

The Year in Review: 2009

Sat, 6 Feb 2010 14:17:45 -0800

In reviewing 2008, and in anticipation of our centenary celebration year, I wrote about the importance of working on our own discipleship as a foundation for building a healthy and thriving parish. I wrote: “… we can face the future (and the present) confident that we inherit a mantle of faith with a spiritual foundation that is steadily grounded in the resilience of those who went before us … we do our best to be effective and efficient disciples of Christ.”
We have spent a year celebrating, in different ways, the legacy of the past and the way in which the spirit of Anglican Christianity in Port Coquitlam has been, and is, manifest through the people of Saint Catherine’s. Our ACW has celebrated its own centenary in parallel with the rest of the parish. What we have done has been engaging and energizing. It has also left some feeling as though they would like a rest!
Yet time keeps flowing. The day after the centenary was the first day of the 101st year of ministry of Anglicans in Port Coquitlam. People still come to the soup kitchen to be fed. We still worship every week. Our programs continue. The first century was a foundation, upon which we are still building.
We have accomplished much during the past year, and the reports of the wardens and others give testimony to this. In addition to the special activities that marked our centenary celebration, we have maintained our presence in the community, and worked hard at meeting the needs of those around us, while offering opportunities to develop as disciples. We have weathered a financial storm, as you can see from our treasurer’s report, largely because the members of Saint Catherine’s meet their commitment to support their parish – not only financially, but with time and talent, too. We have been blessed to evolve from Arlene Sturn’s graceful, interim leadership of our music ministry to the arrival of the talented and energetic Kevin Wong as music director.
Messy Church has begun well, as a way of bringing the presence and gospel of Christ to a broader congregation, and is a strategic investment for the parish. If we are successful, we will create a new community attached to Saint Catherine’s. We may not see more people at our regular worship services, but that is not the goal of Messy Church. Rather, our intent is to create a Christian community attached to Saint Catherine’s, that is a part of our part of the body of Christ, but distinct and independent: and that will, eventually, become self-supporting.
In fact, the past year has been quite an adventure for us.
In 2009, PIXAR released a film called Up. It was an animated feature with an unlikely set of characters, including Carl Fredicksen, a widowed, 78-year-old, retired balloon salesman, whose lifelong dream was to have adventures with his late wife Ellie. Faced with the prospect of being required to move to a retirement home, he attaches thousands of balloons to his house, which flies to Paradise Falls, an unfulfilled dream destination for the couple. This, by the way, is not the plot. That is rather more compelling, even if it is whimsical, involving an 8-year-old boy, a dog with a collar that allows him to talk, and a huge, colourful bird. However, there is a scene in which Carl sits in his chair, next to the chair in which Ellie no longer sits, and flips through her childhood book of adventures. He stops, as he has before, at the page labelled, “Stuff I’m Going To Do.” Apparently, Carl believes that the rest of the book is empty. But this time, something catches his attention, and he discovers that Ellie has pasted pictures of their whole life together in the following pages. At the end, she has written, “Thanks for the adventure. Now go and have another one.” He does.
It is, to some extent, a slightly sentimental story, and I suppose that as we grow older and sophisticated, we are supposed to become inured to sentimentalism: there is a tendency for cynicism to increase with age. Nevertheless, a story can convey a fundamental truth, even if it is in a rather sentimental form. So I am quite unapologetic about finding, in an example of fictional grieving and acceptance, a message about moving on. In any case, the idea of releasing a loved one from perceived bonds, giving permission to move on and live afresh is not new to the world of fiction, in print or film. It is certainly at the heart of the Christian gospel of renewal and resurrection.
“Thanks for the adventure. Now go and have another one.” After a heady year, in which we have remembered the adventures of getting to this point as the people of Saint Catherine’s, and enjoyed the adventure of our centenary year, we need to turn our gaze from a wistful look at the past to an intent gaze upon the present and a hopeful peer towards the future.
Looking ahead, what do we expect the future to unveil? What adventures does God have in mind for the people of Christ in Port Coquitlam? I suspect that God's answer would be a question: “What do you want?” Part of the gift of life is the gift of self-determination. We have opportunities to develop in numerous ways: in ministry, in worship, in music, in youth drama, in education and learning, in stewardship – all ways in which the body of Christ can be enriched. We have opportunities to cultivate and enrich the relationship that we have with Trinity United Church, and with the other Anglican churches in our region, especially with Saint John’s in Port Moody. However, we cannot do everything at once. We will need to be judicious stewards not only of the financial resources bestowed upon us, but of the time and talent with which we have, collectively, been endowed. This will draw upon the skill and expertise mustered in the parish council for the next year. They in particular, and all of us in general, need to continue to hold at the heart of our life in Christian community the spirit of discipleship, and focus on becoming more efficient and effective disciples of Christ.
In particular, this is a good time to remember that we have been beneficiaries of the investment of previous generations, who have invested the stories of their lives to create the story of Saint Catherine’s, as well as investing materially in the church. Now it is our turn to create a legacy for future generations. Given our situation, on the leading edge of discovering that there is much more to a church than its building, we will be called to explore various options for the best legacy for the future.
As I come to reflect upon what is written above, there is one thing that merits change. Given the commitment of the people of Saint Catherine’s, their steadfast support of one another and their church, and the spirit of endurance that is part of the church's history and tradition, we can face the future not with a hopeful peer, but with a confident gaze.
Thanks for the adventure in discipleship. Now, let’s go and have another one.
Paul +

Patience and Hope: Advent/Christmas 2009

Mon, 14 Dec 2009 00:31:16 -0800

“The doctrine of the Second Coming has failed, so far as we are concerned, if it does not make us realize that at every moment of every year in our lives [John] Donne’s question ‘What if this present were the world’s last night?’ is equally relevant.”  [C.S. Lewis, The World’s Last Night.]

“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.”  [From “Closing Time,” by Semisonic (1998)]

I recently attended the funeral for a lady who was born in Saskatchewan in 1915, and who grew up in rural Manitoba. As her eulogy was delivered, I wondered how those of us born after 1950 can have any true appreciation of the way of life experienced by those now in their nineties, whose childhood in rural Canada was a way of life far removed from anything we have known. The closest we can come is to hear and read the stories of our families and friends who lived so differently from us, and then to try to engage our imaginations.

One aspect of life in rural Canada in the early part of the twentieth century seems to have been an affinity for the ways of the land, and an accommodation for the seasons of the year. In essence, there was an underlying element of patience required: living on the land, and living off it, requires a degree of acceptance for the ways of nature: one cannot – or could not – force things to grow or to come to harvest before the weather and the natural process of maturity allowed.

This kind of patience is not prevalent today. Nowadays, we take it for granted that we can jump into our cars and drive to whichever store we prefer (not necessarily the closest one), regardless of the environmental or economic cost of doing so, to buy whatever we need at a moment’s notice. It is so easy for us to get almost anything that we want whenever we want it that we have lost – or are at risk of losing – that characteristic of patience, of being willing to wait for things to arrive in due course. Instead, we live in an era of instant gratification, becoming impatient when we have to wait to satisfy our desires.

My grandmother in England ordered her week’s groceries from the local town, and then sent my grandfather to collect the box from the bus when it stopped at the top of the drive on a Saturday morning. It meant that she had to plan ahead for a week, and generally live with what she had ordered. The greatest degree of deviation from that would be whatever she could carry home on the bus in her own shopping bag. She could not afford to make half-hearted lists, or none at all, and then jump into a vehicle to go and remedy any omissions. I suspect that our family is hardly unique in being well removed from such practices: far from making just one visit to the grocery store each week, sometimes we make more than one trip in a single day. No wonder vehicle emissions are an increasing cause of pollution and climate change.

In contrast, patience and planning are virtues that are embodied in the traditions and scriptures of our faith. The Advent readings and music, that for Christians anticipate the arrival of the Christ, consist of prophetic utterances that spanned several centuries, with a number of reminders for the people of Israel. First, their actions had consequences, especially if they drew the people away from God’s will. Secondly, God would remain faithful to covenants and promises made, despite the fickle and inconstant nature of the people. Thirdly, God’s purpose would be fulfilled in the world, even though the divine gift of human free will would frequently be used in ways to thwart that purpose. Fourthly, God could work quite comfortably with even a small minority, or remnant of faithful people: a small branch of the tree of Jesse, for example. Finally, all this meant that there was ultimately hope for the people, even though it might take God’s time to come to fruition.

These prophetic writings did not anticipate a speedy accomplishment. Those who read them in their synagogues, year after year, saw them as a signpost to the eventual fulfillment of the divine purpose. The lens of Christian faith sees these signposts pointing to Jesus, but this is not the whole story. Just as birth is only the beginning of life, so the life of Jesus is just the birth of the new age: it still has to come to maturity. In both cases, we are supposed to understand that God’s justice is a long-term project.

Of course, this means that there is a process of waiting and a requirement for patience.
We are involved in this in two ways. First of all, our willful use of freedom of choice often means that we slow the process of bringing to harvest the seeds of Christ’s reign. This is partly why God’s project is a long-term one. Secondly, we can, if we use our free will to participate in the purpose of God, be part of the process of germination, ripening and bringing in the harvest of that reign. However, the culture of instant gratification erodes our ability to look into God’s purpose as a long-term project, and leads us to make decisions that are satisfying in the short term but leave long-term results further afield.

The lifestyle of rural Canadians of the early twentieth century offers a spiritual metaphor for the process of living in the now-and-not-yet paradox of Christ’s kingdom. We can benefit from a willingness to accept the long-term nature of accomplishing God’s will, and we can gain from a sense of humility in understanding that we play rather small parts in that accomplishment. Those who live on farms know that many apparently small tasks can be crucial for the well-being of the farm as a whole.

In an extension of this, God’s willingness to participate in the intimate relationship with humankind that the incarnation demonstrates tells us that even our rather small parts are important to God, and that we who play them are of great value to God.

This is, or ought to be, a source of hope for us. To be of great value to the divine creator of a vast universe might be improbable, but it is what countless generations have experienced as they engage in God’s world and find God’s presence. To be of great value to such a creator gives us disproportionate worth, together with a responsibility to live up to the creator’s faith in us. To be valued in this way engenders respect for one another and the need to build relationships of trust, compassion and love that help to complete God’s will for truth, justice and peace in the world.

It might seem paradoxical to suggest that at Christmas we celebrate the world’s last night. We are used to celebrating it as a beginning. On the other hand, we do celebrate the last night of the world as it was before the arrival of Jesus, the Christ, in human form. As the song says, every beginning comes from some other beginning’s end. As people living after this end-that-is-beginning, we are challenged to let each night be the world’s last night; or conversely, we are challenged to let each night be a new beginning as we prepare to welcome the incarnate Christ into our lives, to be the beginning of new life that ends the era of darkness and sinfulness in our lives. This is a constant process of renewal, empowered and supported by the presence of the Spirit within us, resisting the swirling tide of darkness around us. This is what the “second coming” of Jesus really means: there may eventually be some concluding event in which history culminates, but in the mean time we live in a constantly evolving beginning of the “second coming” in which our efforts and actions play a small but important part.

If we accept our responsibilities as members of the body of Christ, if we place those responsibilities in the context of the prophetic witness, and if, as Micah instructed, we love kindness, do justice and walk humbly with our God, we may find our lives enriched. We may find our decisions reflect longer term plans than the distorted priorities of instant gratification. We may find ourselves looking at the world as God’s planted crop, with ourselves as humble workers in the harvest, willing to play our part, and willing to act as faithful stewards of a small piece of God’s grand design.

As Advent proceeds towards its conclusion, and we relive prophetic messages of anticipation and hope, let us prepare ourselves for the world’s last night of darkness. Of course, the light that we welcome into the world at Christmas will still take time to penetrate the darkness of a sinful and broken world, as even those of us committed to promoting its harvest fall short of our potential, fail to live up to the responsibilities attached to God’s investment of love and care in us, and simply make mistakes and exhibit human frailty. On the other hand, the ancient messages of hope, refracted through Christmas, tell us that despite our shortcomings, Jesus has been born, has lived, and has overcome the brutality of those who would misguidedly try to impose peace through force and violence. Christ continues to live in our world through however many of us remain faithful to our calling as the heart, hands and body of Christ (and the prophets tell us not to worry about counting numbers).

As we celebrate the birth of Jesus, good Christmas prayers will draw their roots from the preparation of Advent, and will include submission to God’s plan, a request for Jesus to be born in our hearts and brought to renewed life in our lives and actions, and a desire to be effective but patient workers in God’s harvest. May that be the form of our own and our collective Christmas prayers as we embark upon our 101st year as the people of Saint Catherine’s Anglican Church in Port Coquitlam.

I wish you the Christmas blessings of the ending of darkness and the beginning of light in your lives.

Paul +

Reflections - Centenary of Saint Catherine's

Wed, 4 Nov 2009 08:54:21 -0800

According to the diary of John Smith, one of the founders of Saint Catherine’s, the original church building, on the old Dewdney Trunk Road (now Kingsway) was dedicated on November 28, 1909. The church register for the period in question is difficult to read, a newspaper article from 1912 refers to the dedication of the church in 1910 (a reminder that what appears in the press may not always be wholly reliable!), and other than this we have scant information, except for John Smith’s diary. I have pondered the implications of having to resort to scouring diaries of former parishioners to verify information concerning the anniversary of our centenary.

What we might draw from this are two things. First, in the divine scheme of things, the precise date of dedication of the church building might be less important to the history of the congregation than the overall nature of the Anglican presence in Port Coquitlam; perhaps God is reminding us that who we are and what we do is more important than when it happened. This does not mean that we should not celebrate a major anniversary in parish life, just that we should keep things in perspective.

Secondly, time after time, it is the ordinary individuals of Saint Catherine's who turn out, through God's grace, to have an extraordinary effect upon its development. After all, how much more ordinary can a name be than 'John Smith?'

Reflecting upon one hundred years in the life of Saint Catherine’s in Port Coquitlam, it is striking how much movement and change has been a part of the identity of the parish. The first church site lasted just a little more than 20 years as a place of worship, and then the building was moved. One has to be respectful of a generation of church builders who constructed a building that was mobile and robust, and a subsequent generation of church leaders willing to embrace the challenge of moving a building, including a river crossing. The prospect of moving most of the buildings of the past twenty years seems highly unlikely.

The original church building was replaced, and its replacement lasted just thirty years before succumbing to the unseen forces of water moving beneath the earth: something that sounds as though it comes from the Old Testament. To put myself in the right frame of mind to write this, I went down to the car park on McAllister Avenue that now occupies the site of what we have come to call “the old Saint Catherine’s.” Without pictures, it is hard to envisage a church there, and without the knowledge of the underground water-course and its half-metre erosion of the church foundations, the surface appears quite safe and stable. Appearances can be deceptive. What is on the surface can mask what is below, and the church building came down.

The people of Saint Catherine’s evidently did not unanimously embrace this development as being good news, and the experience of worship in a couple of congregations numbered in hundreds became a memory preserved by a smaller parish. But appearances can, indeed be deceptive: and beneath the surface of attrition in the membership of the church there flowed a healthy torrent of passion and commitment, and out of the shattered remains of a building grew a community willing and eager to move onwards.

Attrition has had an important part to play in the history of Judeo-Christian faith. A recurring theme in scripture, the story of the relationship between God and humankind, is the identification of the people of Israel as those who survive. Israel is defined by God's repeated elevation of minority remnants – what we might call "stump theology" after references to the "stump of Jesse," a reference to the writing of the prophet Isaiah and its application by Christians to Jesus as a branch springing from the roots of Jesse (the father of David), a messianic vision. Time and again in the story of Israel, it is the remnants who continue the relationship and covenant between God and people. We are the people whose faith has been preserved in ‘left-overs’ – and when we remember that there have been times when the membership of our church appeared to prosper more than it has recently (in the context of one hundred orbits around the sun), we might recall that it is from small remnants that God has raised great accomplishments.

When we celebrate our centenary in worship, on 22 November 2009, there will be an underlying theme of movement from past, to present, to future. We will use a form of liturgy that springs from revisions of the 1970s, but based upon a form of worship devised for Anglicans in the sixteenth century, and with much earlier origins; our music will span several centuries. We will worship in a building that is barely forty years old, and that we do not own. Our patron saint, Catherine of Alexandria, whose story is even more historically vague, in truth, than the origins of the church that bears her name in Port Coquitlam, although the meaning in her story is relevant to the modern church: bearing witness in the face of adversity.

We are, as we have always been, a church in transition. Growth cannot occur without change, and without growth, the church, like any living organism, will die. As we look ahead, we face intriguing opportunities and questions. Our relationship with Trinity United Church has blossomed into more of a partnership in ministry than a tenancy, and both parties now appear willing to develop that relationship further. We intend to cement this relationship in words by producing a statement of mission that both congregations share, preserving our independent denominational traditions and preferences, but recognizing our common vision of Christian presence in the community.

The outreach ministry that has become an important part of our identity (and one which we increasingly share with Trinity) has blossomed and is meeting genuine needs, with food bank, soup kitchen and cold-weather emergency shelter. This will draw upon the energy and time of both congregations. There are numerous ways in which this ministry can develop and expand; we will need to be good stewards of the resources at our disposal, and make the best us of them (which means not over-burdening enthusiastic volunteers).

Will we remain at the corner of Prairie Avenue and Shaughnessy Street? Will we be able to maintain our more traditional forms of worship while complementing them with innovation? Will we be able to find ways of communicating our spiritual experience, telling the stories of our faith, within a culture that is increasingly unfamiliar with Christian traditions and practice? We benefit from the legacy of investment of time, talent and treasure by previous generations: what will be the legacy that we, the centennial congregation of Saint Catherine’s, leave to future generations of people of Saint Catherine’s?

This is not intended to be a history of Saint Catherine’s. Others are producing that. It is, perhaps, more of a gospel of Saint Catherine’s, in the same way that the biblical gospels tell the good news of Christ’s presence, ministry, teaching and resurrection, without intending to be biographies of Christ or historical records of his life. Besides the history of Saint Catherine’s, there is good news to be told about our presence in the community, our ministry and teaching, and the resurrection that keeps taking place in the life of this parish.

When all is said and done, God must want Saint Catherine's to be here, because despite – and in some cases because of – trial and tribulation, we persist as an active and committed Christian presence, with ordinary people doing extraordinary things through God's grace. This is indeed good news; it is also a blessing, for which we should be thankful as we move ahead on our journey.

Paul +

Taste And See

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 00:23:32 -0700

The words of the psalm appointed for 25 October (Psalm 34:1-8) say: "Taste and see that the Lord is good." The words conjure up culinary images, and I wonder how they compare to our experience of the divine. When we tell someone about a new restaurant, we usually express our feelings in a tone of enthusiasm. Phrases such as, "outstanding service," "wonderful atmosphere," "delicate flavours," and "divine food" can be found in many restaurant reviews, and when speaking of dining experience we can use tones of voice that convey delight and wonder. Are we able to convey the same tone of voice and passion in our experiences of faith?

The other readings appointed for this day (Job 42:1-6, 10-17; Psalm 34:1-8; Hebrews 7:23-28; Mark 10:46-52) are about God’s work of restoration and healing. Job comes in humility before God and repents even of asking about the reason for his suffering; and God gives him abundant rewards. The letter to the Hebrews describes the role of Jesus as a high priest to end all high priests; the one who takes the concept of sacrifice beyond the job description of the traditional priests of Israel, and makes the ultimate sacrifice of himself, and having done so remains present with us in a way that no other priest could do, to work constantly as an intermediary for us. And Mark writes of the healing action of Jesus, who responds to a blind man’s request for assistance, and instead of giving him money, which is what would have been expected, asks what he wants, and gives him what he needs. All these writings invite us to “taste and see” that God is good.

The healing story is out of place in Mark’s gospel. Generally, Mark has the miracle or healing stories elsewhere – together. But if you look at this one, it’s right after the disciples have - first - expressed astonishment about Jesus’ teaching concerning the place of the rich in the kingdom of heaven; second - failed to pay attention when Jesus tried to tell them again about his impending fate; and then because of that - third - they had a big argument about who was most important, and had to be corrected and reminded that to be first, they had to serve, and place themselves last.

In contrast, Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, had the vision to answer Jesus’ question about what he wanted, had the faith to believe in the healing power of Jesus, and even more important, in the last sentence of this passage, "followed him on the way," because of his faith. And for Bartimaeus, Mark uses a Greek word for "made you well” that is the word that means "being saved." For Mark, it was only after the crucifixion and resurrection that the disciples gained their sight - being saved by Jesus' sacrifice. True vision could only come after the disciples had passed through the crucifixion and rebirth. True healing – saving – can only come when we are ready for it, and often requires a form of death and rebirth.

All the scriptural examples are cases where we can "taste and see" that God is indeed good. But how do we "taste and see" that the Lord is good when things don't go well, when life is hard, when we have problems in our families, our jobs, our own lives; when we, or those close to us, become sick and ill, or die? How do we "taste and see" that God is good in the midst of suffering? What about when bad things seem to happen to good people? How do we explain such horrors as the holocaust? How do we explain the brutal acts of genocide in Rwanda? Where is the justice in cases like these? Where is healing?

This has challenged Christian thinkers and writers for centuries: how to define a theology of suffering? The letter to the Hebrews, part of which is included in the lectionary for this day, takes a longer term view. Basically, the writer argues that this life is not all; that payback will come in God's terms and in God's time – for both good and bad. This idea of some form of divine judgement that transcends this life seems to have had its origins in Judaism during the time of the Maccabean uprising, when those who offered themselves for the sake of Israel suffered a fate that threw into question the idea that God would reward those who were faithful: how to make sense of suffering by the good? Jesus is the pinnacle of this idea: he is the best good person, who suffers the worst fate, and thereby proves the point in the resurrection that God will have the last word, and justice will ultimately be dispensed. In other words, payback in this lifetime does not always happen - for which we should generally be glad, because as we frequently pray in our liturgy, we are not really deserving of the good that God lavishes upon us.

Incidentally, it is for this reason that many find the end of the book of Job suspicious: they contend that it seems almost as if someone was embarrassed at God's awkwardness, and felt obliged to show God in a more positive light, by adding a happy ending. Personally, I don’t believe God needs this kind of excuse, or apology (in either its contemporary or classic sense) and while some scripture shows definite signs of have been tinkered with, this is harder to see in the ending of the book of Job.

So … What can we do, as we wrestle with tasting and seeing a lot that is not good, and trying to reconcile this with a faith that tells us that God is good? One thing is to celebrate what good we find in our lives. This means that we may have to look for the good to celebrate , and sometimes it’s hard to find it, but that may be because we look for the wrong things.
The book group of Saint Catherine’s is reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society which includes references to prison camps during World War 2, and the almost unthinkable and inhuman treatment of the inmates. And yet, there is an incident in which one of the inmates of Ravensbruck camp leads another to show her a beautiful sunset. It is an illustration of how some were able to find solace in even those horrific circumstances.

We have to be careful about using examples of how others have negotiated their way through suffering. It is unhealthy and unhelpful to engage in comparative suffering. When I see people who suffer, I have to focus on the absolute fact that they suffer. There’s no point in trying to make a kind of "pain scale." There’s no point in trying to equate one kind of suffering with another, or playing a game of "mine's bigger than yours." All that brings is more hurt, because in a way it is to deny or minimize the suffering experienced by someone, which, regardless of how it matches up against the experiences of others, is still very real.

Indeed, how would we equate our own suffering with, for example, the people who were detained in prison camps in World War 2 – subjected to cruelty and pain, and stripped of their dignity, their hope – and, in many cases, their lives? Most of our suffering would fall far short of that if we were to indulge in this kind of comparison. To quote examples like this to people who experience genuine pain or suffering can seem to belittle their own feelings of pain, or grief, or loss.

All that happens, if we try to make comparisons, is that we draw ourselves towards becoming blind to the feelings of others. Then we can become blind to what God has done for us, and what God offers to us for us do.

When all is said and done, we have to return to the roots of suffering to understand why it exists and how we can reconcile it with a God whom we are supposed to "taste and see" is good. As many others have written and said, I suspect that a lot of human suffering finds its roots in one of two places. One is human free will, through which God allows us to make choices that are not the best for ourselves or for others. A lot of what causes us grief can be traced back to choices we have made; it’s interesting how blind we can be to previous decisions that come back to haunt us later on. It's interesting how many "acts of God," for example, can be traced to bad decisions about where to live, how to build, how much to spend, and so on. And how many times have we had opportunities and failed to seize them, only to rail at God afterwards because having allowed something to slip through our grasp when its accomplishment would have been ordinary, we expect God to make it happen in circumstances that are extraordinary or miraculous?

The other dominant cause of suffering is human selfishness, which puts our goals and agendas, that are usually about ourselves, above those of God, which are usually about collective justice and peace. When we complain to God that we don’t get what we want, perhaps we should consider what our priorities are, where they originate, and how they compare to the standard of God's plans.

Of course, it is all very well to explain and rationalize the causes of suffering, but in the end, none of this, really, alleviates the feelings that we have when we experience loss, pain, illness, grief, and so on. But it might help us to look beyond the ends of our individual noses towards God's grander plans, most of which, like Job, we simply cannot expect to understand. We are at our closest to God when we are able, like Job, to come before God and simply say: "I'm sorry for all my questioning and lack of vision." And as Job didn't have to do, because he was unswerving in his commitment and devotion to God, we have to add: "I'm sorry for my doubt, my selfishness, my surly, pouting, sulking, petulant refusal to let go of my own devices and desires, and my general sinfulness." When we can let go of all that baggage, and approach God in true humility, we bring ourselves as close as we can be to God.

Think for a moment what it would be like if two people were to fall into a loving relationship, with an imbalance between their love for one another. One of them is deeply in love with the other, is constantly craving their presence, desolate when apart, ready to make any sacrifice for their beloved. The second party to this loving relationship is much more diffident – has a heart that is much more steely. They can survive quite nicely without the other person who loves them. They may love, but there is an independence or detachment about their love. Occasionally, when particularly lonely or hurt, they will reach out to the person they love, but otherwise they are a lot less intense. Now, without passing judgement on what is the "right" kind of love, what are the prospects for such an imbalanced relationship? Would it make for a stable, harmonious marriage? Or would one of these two people eventually start to feel neglected or even abandoned, used or even abused? Would one of them perhaps feel smothered?

I wouldn't want to bet on the prospects of success for such a relationship in human terms. But what I have just described is the relationship between most human beings and God. God loves us unswervingly, without restraint, unconditionally and abundantly, and desires our presence and attention. We, on the other hand, tend to be a lot less intense. We like to act independently a lot of the time. Then, when we are hurt, or particularly lonely, we remember to seek God's attention. I know that this happens, because I have done it myself. I'm sure that I'm not the only one.

Fortunately for us, God is not like any human being. God may feel abandoned or neglected; God may even feel used or abused; but God will never react to such feelings in a typically human way. God will go on loving with infinite abundance, waiting patiently for us to return, and not being petulant, surly or punitive if or when we do return, but simply rejoicing that we have done so.

Loreena McKennit sings a song adapted from an Irish poem called Raglan Road. In it are the words:  For I loved too much; by such and such,
Is happiness thrown away …
And it concludes:
For I have wooed, not as I should,
A creature made of clay.
When the angel woos the clay, he’ll lose
His wings at the dawn of [the] day.

It is the nature of our God to be willing to love too much and risk throwing happiness away on us; it is the nature of our God to love the creatures made of clay, and risk losing more than angel's wings, as demonstrated at Calvary.

It is this unswerving love that we need to taste and see … and that we need to invite others to taste and see, with far more enthusiasm than we can muster for our new favourite restaurant.

And then, what else can we do?
Well, following as best we can the obedient path that Jesus mapped for us, we can at least do our best not to add to suffering – and to contribute positively to God's world by using the gift of our own lives for the benefit of those whose lives are touched by ours. And by so doing, we can let them taste and see that God is good through the windows of our lives.

Paul +