Chalking the Door

Today is Epiphany, also know as Little Christmas (charming); Theophany (the manifestation of God); Denha (Syriac for "Sunrise" and connected to Jesus' baptism); or Reyes / Three Kings Day (not the Mark Wahlberg, Ice Cube, George Clooney film).

It is the real conclusion of Christmas in the Christian calendar, the end of those 12 Days from that interminable song about recklessly impractical gifts.

It may seem like a quibble, but if we want to get back to the "real meaning of Christmas" then perhaps we should pay some attention to the ancient Christian feasts, fasts, and traditions. These exist to remind us in season of eternal, divine truths, whereas the worldly Christmas/Holiday marketing exists to remind us to open our wallets.

One tradition with which I was entirely unfamiliar is "Chalking the Door" on Epiphany. This means graffittying your door with symbols like this:

20 † C † M † B † 19.

The 20 and 19 refer to the calendar year, while the C, M, B are the first initials of the traditional names of the Magi (Caspar, Melchior, Balthasar) and a Latin blessing, : Christus mansionem benedicat (May Christ Bless this House).

It is an invitation to God to be welcome in one's house for the next year (of course, in Scotland landlords used this same method of door-chalking to evict tenants, which follows the pattern of "the corruption of the best becomes the worst.")

I'm about to go out and chalk my door. Not because Christ isn't already welcome in my house, or that he would be unwelcome if I didn't chalk the "magic" symbols, but because I wish to align myself with my sisters and brothers throughout the centuries who knew it was good to be reminded of hospitality. These chalk symbols will remind me that every time a knock comes at my door - and it happens a lot - I am to rejoice that another opportunity has arisen to welcome the Christ. Visitors are a gift, and they come bearing gifts, rather than a burden. Help me to remember, O Lord.

Five Things for Which I Rejoice (as of time of writing)

These are five things for which I am rejoicing, these first five days of 2019:


1. Our new puppy, Chewy (Chewbarka). He is energetic and playful and willful and bitey, and he remembers to pee where he is supposed to at least half the time.


2. Our visiting friends, Mark and Angie, from Belfast. They have been a wonderful blessing to us, and made us dinner last night in the form of pork and spuds, which were delicious.


3. The writings of Gregory of Nyssa. I am doing something of a deep dive into Gregory's On the Meaning of Man, and so far he has presented a vision of humanity's creation that beautifully highlights our created purpose, in a way that our modern theology and philosophy and science has just failed to do.


4. The writings of Karl Barth. Starting to really dig into Church Dogmatics, which he first began publishing in 1932. Aside from everything else, Barth understood a proper understanding of theology as a bulwark against the growing fascism he witnessed in Europe.


5. Our family's time of reflection last night. I had set us some homework to help us recall, rejoice, repent and reboot with a year-end Awareness Examen (hat tip Pete Greig). We went through this last night, and heard some deep moments of rejoicing and some honest admissions of repentance and desire to make amends. Lots of hope for the coming year as well.

"As then painters transfer human forms to their pictures by the means of certain colors, laying on their copy the proper and corresponding tints, so that the beauty of the original may be accurately transferred to the likeness, so I would have you understand that our Maker also, painting the portrait to resemble His own beauty, by the addition of virtues, as it were with colors, shows in us His own sovereignty."

-Gregory of Nyssa, On the Meaning of Man, V.1


What a beautiful depiction of God's loving creation of humanity. We are God's self-portrait, painted with virtues to resemble his beauty.

You have wearied the Lord with your words.


“How have we wearied him?” you ask.


By saying, “All who do evil are good in the eyes of the Lord, and he is pleased with them” or “Where is the God of justice?” (Malachi 2:17)



Imagine wearying the Lord? That seems like it would be difficult to do, long-suffering lovingkindness and all. But here the people of God manage to do it not just by engaging in evil acts, but by calling this evil good and then loudly wondering why justice was taking so long. God was tired of it.


Do we have the temerity to call evil, evil? Yes, within certain lenses we are very happy to ascribe evil. Structurally we are quick to identify evil, or with people who are our socio-political opposites. Yes, we are bold enough to call things evil if they are outside of us or the things we cherish.


But what about personal evil? What about among the people we call friends, or who seem to be on "our" side of the fence? Are we wearying God by calling evil good? By excusing our own evil or that of the people we otherwise like? And are we further wearying God by wondering where justice may be when we are actively engaged in things that he has called unjust?


I lost friends once by preaching about both systemic and personal sin. It was at a justice gathering, and everyone was fine with the systemic take down. The problem was that we had a hard time identifying ourselves as part of the system, with our personal licentiousness contributing to the sin.


I say none of this lightly, nor from a position that is immune from prophetic denouncement. I am part of evil systems, and I have compromised and contributed personally. I don't say that with justification or resignation, but with contrition and the hope of repentance and amendment.


But I will also say that someone is not loving me if they call my evil actions good, or justifiable, or not so bad, or ambiguous. They are not helping me, but rather enabling me to walk further into disobedience and away from the Lord. Let's love one another better.

Terry Pratchett: A Dissenter's View of Faith

I just finished reading another Terry Pratchett book from the Discworld series to my boys, this one entitled "Men at Arms". I think it's probably the 15th book I have read to them, and I have read the entire series through personally.

I you haven't read any Pratchett, do yourself a favour and pick some up.

One of the most interesting things about Pratchett, for me, is his view on faith. He certainly could not be described as a believer, and many of his characters in Discworld are functional atheists, even though they have rock-solid evidence that the gods exist (in that universe, if you are too noisy of an atheist you get zapped by lightning. I'm not saying that's a great thing for our universe, but it would definitely make the internet a slightly more civil place).

But Pratchett's take on religion is not quite so simple as mockery. Mockery there is of certain forms of religious belief, but there is also underneath it all a desire for the gods (or for God) to be more than what their or his or her followers reveal about them/him/her. The gods and their followers are mocked because they aren't as good or as loving or as kind or as compassionate or as holy as they could be. As they should be.

At one point Granny Weatherwax, the foremost witch in the Discworld and a very stubborn non-conformist, particularly when it comes to religion, tells an Omnian missionary (a very evangelistic religion) that if she thought there was a god out there who really cared about people, who really loved them like a mother and protected them like a father, and if she had really seen that god manifest as the Omnians claimed, then that faith would be burning in her like a white hot flame and nothing could put it out. She wouldn't be saying things like "well there's two sides to every story" or anything like that. She wouldn't just be nice. She would turn the world on its head.

When I first read that passage, and a few others like it in other of Pratchett's books, I was stunned. I had hardly ever read a better call to holiness and love in any Christian devotional book. Pratchett, it seems to me, was longing for a better God, as demonstrated by better followers. Now I know, we are all imperfect and broken, that is a big part of the story, I get it. But that imperfection and brokenness should not just lead us to compromise and weak witness. It should lead us to the deep humility, the deep poverty of spirit that begins to heal our brokenness and perfect our imperfection.

Faith is meant to be a flame that burns away the impurities in us, that burns up the compromises we make with a world that has lost its sense of beauty and holiness.

·        

      Movie Review: Wind River  

      Wind River (2017), directed by Taylor Sheridan and starring Jeremy Renner, Elizabeth Olsen, Gill Birmingham, Kelsey Asbille, Julia Jones and Graham Greene, is a staggeringly beautiful and brutally painful movie. It centres on the murder of two young, Native women in an Arapaho reserve, one two years previous and one fresh. The film manages to be a genuine Western-noir crime thriller, but is also mixed with an affecting story of parents and community processing (or not processing) grief. It is potently underscored by the scandalous reality of missing and murdered Native women in North America. 

      The story is told from a White perspective, but unlike many other movies it features many Native characters who are wonderfully filled out, not caricatures, but living, breathing, deciding humans living under shattering pain and a near-hopelessness that is represented by the bleak coldness of the surroundings.

      One man, the father of one of the girls who was killed, paints a “death face” for himself as he contemplates suicide. Renner's character asks how he knows what it is supposed to look like, and he responds, ”I don’t know. I made it up. There is no one to show me.” An earlier discussion between the two on what to do with pain and grief is remarkably insightful for a Hollywood movie.

      Director Taylor Sheridan (Sicario, Hell or High Water) is working in the vein of Clint Eastwood here, and doing it well. There are the familiar tropes of vengeance and karmic retribution, but at least they are acknowledged as "necessary" but imperfect.

      

I suppose I am back.

I have spent the last year writing a book, overseeing 24-7 Prayer Canada, and starting some engagement with International Association for Refugees Canada. All this after leaving my 14-year position as a pastor-in-community with 614 Vancouver of The Salvation Army.

Church-wise, The Salvation Army is all I have ever known, so this was a very big transition. But one that I knew was coming, and knew I needed to make. I had felt for a long time that I could not fulfill what God was asking of me from within the particular confines and structures of The Salvation Army. It is just possible that a long and difficult wrestling-match with the organisation could provide the space for that, but I have not the energy.

So, instead of attempting to bless from within, I decided to step away and try to bless from without.

This lead to some loss in terms of identity and purpose, but these are good losses. I should never attach my identity and purpose to an organisation or a position. So there is a freedom there, though it has been intermittently painful.

There was also a loss in terms of security. I gave up a salary and benefits, not a minor thing with a family, including one child with diabetes. This has not proven easy either, but we have been cared for by community, and provided for by God. I don't mind simple living, and there is a freedom in "poverty" (I render it in quotations because our "poverty" is still pretty safe, comparatively speaking.)

I have hope for this next season of my life. Certain fat has been trimmed from my life and offered to God (that was the theme God gave me for 2018) and I am stepping into a time of careful discernment (the theme for 2019). I want to see beyond the human structures and limits, beyond my own sense of wisdom, beyond good ideas and best-laid schemes of mice and men. I want to see something of the behind-the-scenes spiritual reality, even if it freaks me out or upsets my worldview, so that I know I am pursuing something real and good.

Where I am wrong, I want to know it and amend it. Where I am being faithful I want to know it too, so that I can face misunderstanding and accusation with meekness, contentment, and bold, uncompromising love. My self-applied prayer this year is that I would seek the face of God first and foremost, and not get distracted or swayed even by the things that look or sound good.

If you are journeying with me this year, please pray this for me, and let me know how I can pray for you.

Grace and peace,

Aaron