The Fallout from 9/11 – Faith and Cynicism

It was a Tuesday morning, I was just heading out to our Lutheran Ministerial meeting (a monthly gathering of local Lutheran clergy). I happened to have the television on, and there it was – an image I will never forget – the World Trade Center twin towers on fire, and then collapsing into a cacophony of images, sounds and confusion. Prying myself away from the news coverage I made my way to the ministerial meeting where there was only one topic discussed – the attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, and how we as clergy could respond to this devastating day.
  

  
Now fourteen years later as I reflect on the changes 9/11 has brought to our world, I think not only of the increased security measures, a futile misguided war in Iraq, and an endless emphasis on the fight against terrorism – I also think of how it has eroded faith.
   

Since 9/11 we have seen a rise in cynicism, an eroding of faith people had in something larger than themselves – whether that be institutions, governments, or even God. More and more people do not trust the narratives that have been told to them, the over-arching narratives that unify our nations, our culture, our communities. This cynical attitude creates in its wake an “every man for himself” mentality. When I was a teenager we had a saying “Never trust anyone over 30”, now it could be rephrased “Never trust anyone, especially those with any kind of authority”. Churches have been caught in this undertow of distrust, as more and more people simply turn their backs on anything that claims any type of authority, including religious authority.
  

How did 9/11 lead to this growth in cynicism? One simple phrase answers that question: Building 7.

Two years ago it was reported that:

a new national survey by the polling firm YouGov reveals that one in two Americans have doubts about the government’s account of 9/11, and after viewing video footage of World Trade Center Building 7’s collapse, 46% suspect that it was caused by a controlled demolition.

It is noteworthy that almost half of Americans do not believe the official story about what caused the collapse of Building 7. If one in two people have trouble believing the official account about Building 7, then it would suggest that a significant percentage of people would also have reason to doubt the official narrative for the whole of the 9/11 incident.
  

Conspiracy theorists are a dime a dozen these days, and the internet helps them spread their deconstruction of official narratives to more and more people. The seeds of doubt are planted, and soon it seems safer to distrust all traditional sources of authority rather than accept the narratives that have been proclaimed through the government and corporate spokespersons.
  

It is no surprise that religion wouldn’t be immune to such rising cynicism, especially with high profile cases of religious hypocrisy being regularly revealed to a world happy to knock down straw men.
  

Since the grand narratives can no longer be trusted by a cynical society, we can no longer rely on such narratives as created by Christendom. Instead we must once again return to our roots, to the simple narratives of our individual lives. Trustworthy truth will be found in an authentic living out of a life of faith and love, in small but meaningful acts of peace making and justice seeking carried out in our local communities. But perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing, after all, isn’t that exactly what Jesus did?

What Madison Avenue Can Teach Us About Sabbath

My first spoken word, according to my mother, was “Coke”.  Apparently I was watching the television and during a Coca-Cola commercial I repeated after the voice on the TV “Co… Co…” (I wasn't able to make the ‘k’ at that stage). How sad that rather than saying “Ma” or “Dada”, either word indicating the significance of my parents and their care and love for me, I instead reflected the corporate message machine with my first word. Coke has been an ever-present part of my life since then.  I am constantly reminded of this soft drink – advertising for Coke abounds. Knowing that this sugary drink is not good for my health I keep making attempts to cut it out of my life, but it’s hard to ignore it.

What advertisers know is that in order for their message to shape people’s lives, the message must be continually reinforced, repeated and referenced.  It is not enough to hear a message once in order for it to influence our behaviour, it requires repeated listenings. Thus the advertisers make sure the message of Coca Cola is repeated over and over, the slogans may change with the passage of time, but the underlying message is hammered home.  This is what Madison Avenue can teach us about Sabbath.

Sabbath is a reminder that in order to not be overwhelmed and unduly shaped by the messages of the culture around us we need to regularly hear a different message.  There are few places in our current culture that encourage a life of loving others, rather than being self-focused and self-serving. Advertisements tell us “Do this for you” or “Buy this because you deserve it”or most insidiously “Become the you that you want to be.” More for you, YOU, YOU, YOU – that’s what it’s all about. At the same time advertising is designed to make us feel inadequate, putting us in a state of perpetual disappointment, and susceptible to retail therapy. This is the message that surrounds us most of the time.

In order to not be consumed with this approach to life we must take time, regularly, not occasionally, to hear some good news – thus a weekly Sabbath. It is not enough to hear once and a while that meaning is found in a lived out life of discipleship, that we are called to a higher purpose than gluttonous consumerism. This is a message that needs to be received on a regular basis in order to counteract the other voices trying to influence us. Sabbath, one day in seven, is a chance to reset our direction, rest from the grind of trying to keep up with the expectations of a stressed and hyper culture. Sabbath is a chance to hear ‘the old, old story’ once again, and have it draws us back into relationship that restores and revives us, regardless of what surrounds us.

A Risky Good Friday Remembered

This weekend I found myself thinking about a unique Good Friday experience from a few years ago. This unusual way of commemorating Good Friday was the brainchild of Robert W. Leeson, or as he was better known, Pastor Bob. I was fortunate to have served in a pastoral team with Bob Leeson for 27 years. Bob always was a bit of a renegade, doing ministry in a way that made sense to him, even if it was not what people were used to. So when he suggested to the pastoral team in the spring of 2008 that we should hold a Memorial Service for Jesus on Good Friday I wasn’t totally surprised. Pastor Bob was in charge of Pastoral Care throughout his time of serving at Christ Lutheran – funerals and memorial services were his area of expertise. So to Bob it seemed like a natural fit, Good Friday and a Memorial Service. There was some risk in this, people might find it offensive or think it was being disrespectful, but in spite of the risk of negative public reaction Bob pressed ahead with his idea.
 

Somehow Bob was able to get the local newspaper to include the following notice on the obituary page:

Jesus of Nazareth - A memorial service for Jesus Josephson, late of Nazareth, will be held at 11 AM on Friday, March 21, 2008 at Christ Lutheran Church, 4825 Dewdney Ave. Regina, SK. Pastor Bob Leeson will officiate. Jesus met an untimely death through Roman execution and is deeply missed by his mother, Mary, his family and friends. Jesus was a good carpenter by trade and was also a Rabbi who did not always see eye to eye with his contemporaries. In lieu of flowers donations may be made to the charity of your choice. For more information phone 352-4832.

So it came to pass that on Good Friday that year we held a Memorial Service for Jesus. Pastor Bob (who led the service as Nicodemus) and members of the congregation who took on the roles of Jesus’ followers and friends, shared with us their remembrances of Jesus. The congregational members who participated created their own remarks based on the person from the Biblical story they were representing – these included Mary the mother of Jesus, John the Disciple, Lazarus the brother of Mary and Martha, Zacchaeus the Tax Collector and Andrew the Disciple.
 

That Good Friday we had the largest attendance in a long time, the church was packed. The remembrances written and spoken by the members of the congregation were thoughtful and touching. Pastor Bob preached a sermon as Nicodemus. There were some scripture readings and hymns as well, but the overall form of the service remained true to a Memorial Service format. Folks who came just because they were curious left saying it was the most memorable Good Friday service they had ever been to. Others expressed appreciation for the way this service seemed to bring the death of Jesus into our current reality. Overall it was well received, and deeply meaningful for many.
 

It won’t happen again, at least not in the same way. We found out through the grapevine that the person at the newspaper who allowed this notice to be included as a regular obituary was sternly reprimanded. Part of the reason it worked so well is because people around here had never experienced anything like it – but now they have and so to repeat it wouldn’t have the same impact. Finally, it really was a Bob thing – unique to his personality and approach to ministry. He could pull it off as sincere and respectful, because that is what it was for him. Sadly Pastor Bob passed away in 2013, and so we are left with not only the memory of this unique Good Friday service, but also with the memory of Robert W. Leeson.
 

This, and every Easter we celebrate the promise of the resurrection, and that we will all be reunited one day. And then there will be no more need to remember, for we will be experiencing the fullness of the promise and presence of God in the company of all the saints – including Saint Bob.

Holy Space

Today, after a three year hiatus, I made my way out to Qu'Appelle House of Prayer. QHP holds a special spot in my heart - it was a place of healing when my spirit was deeply damaged many years ago. It is a place of inspiration as well - many ministry ideas have their roots there, many artistic ventures were first sparked there. It was good to return. Shortly after arriving this morning I wrote this poem which I have titled Holy Space.

A cold, clear February day
The sun streams in through tall windows
I close my eyes
Embraced by the gentle warmth

Breath of peace
Breath of love

Colours shift behind my closed eyes
This is Holy Space
Wholly mine at the moment
Quiet joy

Stillness of air
Stillness of mind

Let the sun burn off the mists of worry
Let the light fill my weary soul
Let the rays illumine my path
So that God's vision, God's dream, becomes mine

I surrender to this space
My need for control.

Maranatha!

The Call - a Story

Today I shared some stories in my sermon - it just so happens that two of the scripture readings for this Sunday were the basis for a couple of stories I wrote a few years back. One, called The Pessimist I have posted earlier on this blog - you can find it here. The other is one I titled The Call. Both these stories are part of a published collection of stories and dramatic readings for use in worship. This book, called New Circles was put together by Rev. David Kaiser and myself. There may be copies still available at the Augsburg Fortress Canada store, or you can contact me directly to get one. And now to the story...

The Call

Shalom. It is good to be here today, to share with you a bit of my story. I am getting old and shaky, and my voice is not as strong as it once was. I hope you can hear me at the back. It is important that you are able to hear.

My name is Eli. You probably know me because of my connection to Samuel. It was I who helped him hear when God called his name. It was I who gave him the words to say, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” Samuel was a good boy, with a good heart and a strong faith. Not like Nahshon. His was another story altogether!

You haven’t heard of Nahshon? Well, Nahshon was my young helper before Samuel came.  But he was not like Samuel and he left my service while still young. Perhaps that is why you have not heard of him. Let me tell you his story.

Many years ago there was a woman who believed in God. She believed in God even when God didn't seem to answer her prayers. The talk about the town was that God was angry with her, that she must be a sinful person. For this reason people mostly ignored her.

Rather than curse and turn her back on God this faithful woman continued to pray and hope that God would soon grant her request. Her prayer was a simple one; she wanted a child.  For years this prayer remained barren, as if not heard at all. This, even after she made a vow to God, a vow that promised that if she was given a child, she would dedicate that child to God's service… life-long service in the Temple.

God, who is a God of surprises, answered, “Yes!” to the woman's prayer. Much to the surprise of all she bore a son. Great was her joy! She named her child Nahshon after one of the early leaders of Israel.

After a few years, when Nahshon was able to live without his mother's care, she took him to the Temple and presented him to me. I was thankful to God for this young boy, for now there was someone to help me with the various tasks around the Temple. I was well aware of my failing eyesight, weakening body, and shaky hands. It was good to have this young boy there as a helper. I taught the young boy many and various things, from the simple everyday maintenance of the building to the wonderful Word of God written down in the scrolls.

For seven years I taught Nahshon, who, at first, eagerly learned everything I shared with him.  Then things began to change, Nahshon seemed uninterested or distracted much of the time.  At first I decided it was just a stage, just part of the boy's growing up and there was nothing I could really do about it but wait for the stage to pass.

One night, long after all the duties for the day had been completed, I thought I heard something. Sitting up in my bed I listened carefully. Were there thieves in the Temple? Was someone having a nightmare? Or was it just my imagination? I strained my aging ears, listening to the night. At first there was nothing, then I heard it again. This time I could make out Nahshon’s name being repeated over and over. “Who is calling the boy?” I wondered.  Crawling out of my bed I made my way to the place where Nahshon was sleeping. The voice continued calling out the boy's name. I could hear the voice quite plainly now, but I couldn’t see who was calling, the room was empty except for me and the boy. Then suddenly I realized the truth; “God is calling the boy!” I made my way over to Nahshon’s bed and gently shook his arm to wake him.

With a prolonged groan the boy woke and whined, “What do you want? Can't you see I was sleeping?” I gently, but firmly told him the news, “God is calling you.”

Nahshon pulled the blanket around his shoulders and stared at me like I was crazy. “What are you babbling about?” he demanded. I simply repeated what I had said the first time, “God is calling you, listen!”

We both stopped talking and listened. There was nothing but silence. “I think you must have been dreaming” Nahshon asserted, “so go back to your room and let's both get some sleep.”  Satisfied that he had said enough Nahshon rolled over and within moments was once again asleep.

I began to wonder if my ears had deceived me, or if I had possibly dreamt hearing the voice.  Doubt began to creep all over me. Feeling rather disappointed, and a little out of touch, I made my way back to my bedroom.

No sooner had I sat down on my bed when I heard the voice again. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. “No, I'm not dreaming,” I concluded when I felt the sharpness of pain where my skin was wedged between my thumb and finger. Once again the voice was repeating Nahshon’s name. This time I hurried to the boy's room. “Wake up! Wake up!” I shouted at the boy, “God is calling you again!”

Still Nahshon slept. “Wake up and listen,” I urged as I shook the boy's shoulder for a second time that night.

“You again! I thought I told you I was sleeping!” he protested. I put a finger to my lips and urged the boy to be quiet. “Listen, God is calling you,” I whispered. However, when Nahshon finally did listen there was only silence once again.

“Now you listen to me old man… I've had enough of you and your crazy ideas,” he sneered back at me. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, but Nahshon wasn’t finished, “You're old and you must be going senile! I'll have you know that I don't appreciate you disturbing my sleep with your insane ideas of God talking to you.”

I tried to explain, “God wasn't calling me, God was calling you!” Nahshon just shrugged and growled, “Whatever! I don't care! Just get out of here and leave me alone.”

Shocked by Nahshon’s rudeness I could only shake my head. As I turned to go I told him, “You have changed so much in the last while, I think you are beginning to grow into a man.  But I do not think all the changes have been for the better.” He looked me straight in the eyes and proclaimed, “I don't care what you think!”

At that very moment the voice called out once again. “There! Listen! You must have heard that!” I insisted. The voice of God called out the name of the boy once more. I heard it clearly. I looked at Nahshon to see if finally he had heard the call. As I looked at the boy the voice called out a final time. Feeling reassured I said, “See, what did I tell you? God is calling you! Didn't you hear it?”

Nahshon replied, “I only heard the wind, or a wolf howling in the distance, or something like that… but I don't hear any God saying anything.” The tone of his voice was flat and disinterested.

What could I do? I sighed deeply and turned away. I slowly shuffled back to my room. My  excitement had faded into disappointment, and the disappointment wore me out. I did not sleep well that night.

After that night everything changed. In the following days Nahshon seemed less and less interested in my work, or in the things I would try to teach him. One day he simply packed his things and walked away. I never saw him again. It was a sad day, one of the saddest of my life. It was shortly after that when I met Hannah… but that’s another story.

I’ve often wondered why Nahshon couldn’t hear God’s voice. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to hear it, or perhaps he was so focused on his own wants and needs that he simply missed it. Dear people of God, may you always listen for the voice of God. May you always be open to God’s leading. May you be open and humble like young Samuel, and not stubborn and self-centered like Nahshon. May God’s Spirit keep your ears and hearts open to the voice of God which calls to you throughout your life.

Thank you for taking a few moments to listen to this old man.

Peace be with you. Shalom.

The Wrapping - a Story

Over 3 decades ago, as a young intern at a gathering of Lutheran clergy, I shared this story I had written. It was met favourably by the group and over the years some have told the story as part of a sermon or at a retreat. I had pretty well forgotten about this story until Pastor Randy Faro sent me an email the other day saying he had used the story again recently and just wanted me to know. I thought this blog would be a good place to share the story with a wider audience - I guess it stands the test of time.

THE WRAPPING

Once upon a time, in a land maybe not so far away, there lived a big family. The father of this family was a loving and wise man, some say he was the wisest in the land and the love he had for his children was surpassed by no one. It is said that the father in his wisdom knew what was in store for his children in the years to come. So he would sit and think about how he would be able to help them.

One day he began to write down his thoughts, warnings and wisdom for his children; plans and promises that he had made. 

There was the mark of love in all that he wrote. 

Much later, after many days had passed, he finished writing all that he wished to say. He had many pages, so he gathered them together and bound them into a book. He placed the finished book on the table and then called all his children to him.

When they were all in the room he showed them the finished book. He told them it was for them, a book written especially for his children.

He said, "This book is very important for this family, for you children. I have written it that you could read for yourselves what I have said; it will be here for all to read."

The children said thanks, but it was more a polite response than true gratitude. A couple of the older children went over to the table and opened the book. They read a few lines on a few pages, but quickly turned to their father and said, "But Dad, we've heard all this before." And slowly the room emptied as the children all left to go back to what they had been doing.

The book sat unopened for weeks gathering dust on the table. The father was very sad. One winter day as he was warming himself by the fire, he thought about the book and how none of the children were interested in it. He was feeling so disappointed that he grabbed the book off the table and said to himself, "If this book doesn't serve one purpose, maybe at least it can bring some warmth to this house." And he threw the book into the fire.

As the flames danced around the book, the colours swirling about its binding, the wise father had an idea. He quickly salvaged the book from the fire. After seeing that only the edges were charred and that the inside wasn't damaged, he set off with the book in hand.

Many miles away he came to the place he was seeking; a store specializing in decorations and adornments. The father went in and when the storekeeper saw him he asked, "May I help you?" The father said, "I'm looking for something to wrap this book in. I want it to be something lively and nice." The storekeeper showed him many fancy things, but none of them were really what the father had in mind. 

Feeling discouraged, the father began to leave the store when in the corner, half hidden behind some boxes, was something that caught his eye. "It is beautiful!" he thought as he pulled it out. It had swirling lines and colours, oh so many beautiful colours that blended together in a harmony of expression. It seemed to breathe with a life of its own.

"What is this?" he asked the storekeeper. "I'm not really sure; it has been here as long as I can remember," the storekeeper replied. He continued, "I don't even know where it came from. In fact, I've never noticed how beautiful it really is until you held it up just now." 

"How much do you want for it?" the father asked. "I don't know; does it say anything on the box it was in?"  "No," replied the father, "it only has a single word, rather faded. I can only make out the first three letters ...M...U...S..."  The old storekeeper saw that the father was excited, so he said, "It is yours for free; a gift to you."

So the wise and loving father wrapped the book in this beautiful wrapping and headed home.

In the morning the children saw the beautiful package on the table and were all very excited. The wrapping was glowing, it seemed vibrant with life. The father said, "Go ahead, open it up and see what it holds." So the children opened the wrapping to find their father's book on the inside. The charred book seemed so special coming from such a beautiful package.

They opened the book as it laid in the wrapping; they turned the pages reading aloud. And as they read, the wrapping seemed to follow the words from the page to the air.

Now not only was the book surrounded by the wrapping, the spoken words were entwined in that colourful wrapping as they moved through the air. As more was read from the book, and the words were resounding throughout the room, the more the colour and line swelled and danced about.

The room filled with joy and warmth, with excitement and harmony. 

And that day, in that room, the children heard the wonderful words of their father as they had never heard before. For the room was filled with music, and their hearts were filled with love.