Just a little further down the rabbit-hole

Back in 1967 Pierre Trudeau, then Minister of Justice in Canada, made his famous statement “The state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation.” Taken literally, of course, it’s a silly comment; there are many bedroom activities, from molestation to mayhem, in which the criminal law, and thus the state, has every place. But the matter at hand was a bill decriminalizing certain sexual behaviours between consenting adults, so we all know what he meant. Regardless how offensive we might find it, no sexual activity between consenting adults should be a matter for the criminal code.

Today, most people in Canada would probably affirm this view as far as it went in 1967, but time marches on. A few weeks ago I heard, on CBC radio, a discussion of incest; not the ugly child molesting kind, but that between consenting adults. They pointed out that consensual incest between adults is not a crime today in Spain, Portugal, or the Netherlands, and it has not been a crime in France for 200 years. In Norway siblings are permitted to marry and Romania is considering following suit. So check out the podcast "Decriminalizing Incest"

Perhaps I’m just getting jaded in my old age, but I must confess that I’m taking things in stride much more than I used to. Though I do think we’re headed for disaster, it’s much easier to watch when you don’t feel responsible to fix, tend, explain or account for it all. These days I’m rather like a country boy who finds himself trapped on a runaway munitions train in downtown Toronto. It seems that I should bury my face in my hands, but instead I just gawk in wide-eyed amazement. Would never have imagined in a million years that a hayseed like me could end up in a big accident like this.

What do you think?

If you’re going to blow it, BLOW IT!

1 Cor 14:8-9 ...if the trumpet does not sound a clear call, who will get ready for battle?

One evening a few days ago I fell into that Internet sinkhole called Youtube. By the time I dragged myself out I’d watched about two hours of old movie clips, vaudeville routines, classic TV ads, dumb pet and people tricks, and about an hour and a half of George Carlin. Now, some of you may be surprised that a Christian pastor and preacher would watch an hour and a half of George Carlin, but I want to let you in on a little secret; most of the preachers I know, particularly those my age and younger, love George Carlin.

I’m tempted to say that we love him in spite of his foul language and outrageous ideas, or that we overlook his anti-religious and anti-establishment rhetoric for the sake of his art, but we all know you can’t separate things out that way. An artist is a whole package, an integrated experience. And an extreme artist like Carlin is like winter on the Canadian prairies, or on the coast of Newfoundland. For those of us who love these things the shock and discomfort are an integrated part the whole. You can love just the pleasant weather of course, and some people do, but they don’t really love the place. First chance they get, they move to Miami or Victoria.

To state the obvious, most preachers love language and believe it can be powerful. But, tragically, less obvious is the fact that we have a God-given reverence for unvarnished words, and a deep distrust of euphemism. And why don’t most people know this? Because we’re sinners, rascals, scoundrels, cowards, people-pleasers, afraid to speak clearly.

We lack the resolve, the audacity, the courage, to do the work we’re called to do. So God, in his grace and wisdom, raises up from time to time, a Dostoevsky, a Solzhenitsyn, a Gandhi, a Malcolm X, a George Carlin, with a gift, not so much to see more clearly than we do, but to speak more clearly than we dare. And for a few moments, days or even weeks, the rest of us have the courage to speak and hear with a little more clarity.

All who seek to fearlessly declare what they know, or even think they know, stand in the tradition of the biblical prophets; a preposterous and audacious heritage. And every now and then we need someone to blow the trumpet clearly: any melody, any call, any note, just so long as it is clear. We’re in a war, sleepwalking into battle, vaguely aware that someone, somewhere, once hummed a few bars of reveille or whistled a bit of the call to arms. Please God, find us a bugler.

“Who are you?”, the captain asked.

“John Updike, Sir.”

“Can you blow a horn?”

“Yes Sir! What would you like to hear?”

“Just anything you know, but loud and certain, like a cannon, like a church bell.”

Seven Stanzas at Easter by John Updike

Make no mistake: if He rose at all

it was as His body;

if the cells' dissolution did not reverse, the molecules

reknit, the amino acids rekindle,

the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,

each soft Spring recurrent;

it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled

eyes of the eleven apostles;

it was as His Flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,

the same valved heart

that — pierced — died, withered, paused, and then

regathered out of enduring Might

new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,

analogy, sidestepping transcendence;

making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the

faded credulity of earlier ages:

let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,

not a stone in a story,

but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow

grinding of time will eclipse for each of us

the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,

make it a real angel,

weighty with Max Planck's quanta, vivid with hair,

opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen

spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,

for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,

lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are

embarrassed by the miracle,

and crushed by remonstrance.

Hope Easter was, for you, as: preposterous, unacceptable, astounding, ridiculous, absurd, amazing, obvious and unbelievable as it was, again this year, for me.

"Surely not I, Rabbi?"

Early in the Gospel of John we read about a political and religious leader named Nicodemus who came, under cover of darkness, to check out the new rabbi everyone was talking about. Nick was a Pharisee (Separated One), and Pharisees were well known for the distance they kept between themselves and everything that was not Jewish. So it must have come as a bit of a shock when Jesus told him, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life”, and then went on to insist, “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him.” John 3:16-17

But this is the Gospel in a nutshell, or a mustard seed so to speak: At Christmas God entered his world in the form of a human being, took on all our frailties and infirmities, our limitations and vulnerabilities, and even bore our sin, and then walked out a thoroughly human life right through Good Friday; from the manger to the grave. He was not afraid, or at least when he was afraid he didn’t allow his fear to deter him. He went all the way, sharing himself with everyone; his healing, his purposes, his forgiveness, his suffering, his love.

Along the way he gathered up disciples; folks like you and me, with the same frailties, infirmities, limitations and vulnerabilities. And, on the cross, he poured out his blood (his life) for us, even into us, as his communion meal implies. He did this so that, in some mysterious way, each of his disciples might become a kind of mini-Jesus, living in this world, sharing God with everyone; God’s healing, God’s purposes, God’s forgiveness, God’s suffering, God’s love. He shares his life with us that we might share his life with everyone.

Unfortunately, however, there is a bit of a snag in all of this. It shows up right in the story of Jesus’ first disciples. Some of those who were following Jesus did get afraid, just as we do, and they did let their fear deter them, just as we do.

Matthew 26:20-23, 25 When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve. And while they were eating, he said, "I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me."

They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, "Surely not I, Lord?"

Jesus replied, "The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. ..."

Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said, "Surely not I, Rabbi?"

Jesus answered, "Yes, it is you."

SURELY NOT I (Matthew 26:22)

Now, there once was one who was called one day,

To take up his life and throw it away,

And turn his back on his treasures and plans,

And place himself in the Masters hands.

But his palms grew moist, and his mouth went dry;

O, who is this bird, too afraid to try,

To spread his wings and mount the sky?

Surely not I, Lord; surely not I?

And there once was a judge who faced, one time,

A man accused of a terrible crime,

And even he could clearly see

This innocent man should be set free.

But his palms grew moist, and his mouth went dry,

And he left that man with the mob to die.

O, who was he forsaken by?

Surely not I, Lord; surely not I?

For, if he’d called me, on that long-ago day,

You wouldn't have seen me turning away.

And if I’d been that judge, you understand,

I'd have never forsaken an innocent man.

But that was a simpler time, you see,

Of clearer truths and certainty.

Does he still call some so insistently?

And expect them to follow relentlessly?

To give up all they have longed to be,

In exchange for a dream only he can see?

O, perhaps some saint in a monastery,

But surely not you; O, surely not me?

© Dan Colborne/4/92

The Tipping Point

Next Sunday is the 6^th Sunday of Lent, aka Palm Sunday. It commemorates the day when Jesus, seated on a donkey, entered Jerusalem in procession with his disciples. His fans greeted him with great enthusiasm, to the consternation of his religious and political opponents. But organized religion and partisan politics are formidable enemies. By Friday, working together, they had managed to turn the tide. Popularity is really no match for a solid coalition.

There are two opposing lessons in the events of Palm Sunday, rather like a coin; tails (fans are fickle), heads (love never fails). The questions we are left with in the end are; Am I a fan or am I a lover?, Dare I flip the coin? and, better yet, Do I have the courage to simply set it down heads up?

LOVE NEVER FAILS. 1 Corinthians 13:8

When Jesus rode into Jerusalem that day the people greeted him with palm branches and cries of “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Jesus mania? Yes, to some extent. But it was more than that. The palm branch was a symbol of the Maccabean revolt (about 165 BC), which was the last time the nation of Israel had been free. And the words they were chanting are from Psalm 118, one of the six great psalms of Passover, the great celebration of the founding of the nation.

The people are clearly calling upon Jesus to lead them in revolt against Rome. But Jesus enters the city and ransacks the Temple rather than the Palace. (Matt 21:12) The cheers soon become jeers, and the cries of “Blessed is he...” become “Crucify him! Crucify him!”.

I once heard an athlete asked the question “How do you cope with the fear of failure?” He replied, “I simply remind myself that, no matter what happens, the people who loved me before this event will still love me after.”

When the multitudes didn’t get what they wanted from Jesus they didn’t stop loving him, they just stopped cheering; they’d never loved him. And this is the test of our love too. We praise him when he’s doing what we want, but what happens when the way gets frightening and painful? And what do we do when he kicks over the tables in our little temple instead of dealing with our boss, or our parents, or our kids?

At supper he told them, “One of you will betray me”. Ever wonder if you might be the one?