Inviting people who cannot invite us back

A couple of Miriam's Thanksgiving pies
Photo credit: Momiji S.

Although US Election Day is on many peoples' minds -- even here in the UK -- there is another day coming up in November associated with the US. 

Miriam and I had been looking forward to inviting some family around for a Thanksgiving meal at our place (one of my American cousins also lives in the UK), but the recent COVID-19 restrictions may change those plans.

When we lived in Manchester, every year we were invited to a Thanksgiving dinner by a couple originally from the US. My being an American was a prerequisite for being invited. Over the years, their Thanksgiving gatherings of American ex-pats and their families has grown. Folks pitch in the usual food: turkey, stuffing, sweet potatoes and green beans, but the highlight is the variety of pies. Miriam would prepare apple pie; cherry and pumpkin pies were also regulars; and it was at these gatherings that I was introduced to the sweet frozen peanut-butter pie.

Jesus teaches about the importance of inviting people over to dinner. However, he adds a twist: rather than inviting people who have the means to pay us back, Jesus says to invite 'the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you; for you shall be repaid at the resurrection of the just' (Luke 14:13-14).

Jesus is, I believe, teaching us one practical way to seek the kingdom of God, and one way to become signposts of the kingdom. 

This teaching reminds me of a church I used to be a part of in San Diego, which every year hosts a Thanksgiving dinner for the local community. The church, in a low-income neighbourhood, opens its doors and serves anyone who comes in -- some of whom they never meet again, except perhaps for the following Thanksgiving dinner. 

The pastor of the church, Steve Rodeheaver, explains how this meal serves as a signpost of God's kingdom: 

Jesus as well as the prophets before Him compared the coming of the Kingdom to a great banquet. . . . The reality was hitting home that our feast to end all feasts didn't end anything, especially hunger. But for one night, for one meal, [they] all were satisfied. . . . We reminded them of the future. They participated in a picture of the Kingdom. . . . For one night, for one meal, for one moment, folks of all ages, races, incomes, and backgrounds entered into the Lord's house and banqueted together at His tables. And they all were satisfied. (Snapshots of the Kingdom)

Jesus' teaching challenges me to consider who are the vulnerable people I know personally or who are in my community -- the people who cannot invite me back -- whom I can invite into my life. 

Although I can't think of many examples of my actively following this teaching, one memory does persist in my mind. One evening at our church in Manchester, I was teaching a workshop. I had spent nearly a year thinking about, planning and preparing this course, and was excited to begin leading it. Like any good workshop leader, I made sure there was plenty of coffee, tea and biscuits for everyone, and I felt encouraged when a few people arrived and settled in. 

Then, towards the beginning of the workshop, someone else walked in through the front doors of the church. 

'I saw [one of the workshop attendees] hobble in and the light was on, so I thought I'd drop in', he said.

It was T., one of the regulars at our weekly allotment project, where some volunteers from our church and from a homeless charity in the city centre would work together growing vegetables in our church's garden. The purpose was to give work skills, experience and confidence to those volunteers transitioning off the streets into stable housing.

Normally T. was friendly, so I was glad to see him -- if not also slightly surprised, since I only saw him during the allotment project, whose season had long ended for the winter. But then he interrupted me as I was teaching. His glare did not have the usual vacant look; there was an edge to it. I don't remember what he said exactly, only that he was mostly unintelligible. After responding to him, I returned to my talk, only to be interrupted again soon after.

I realised T. was drunk and that his presence was bothering the other attendees. However, they were extremely patient and would quietly wait for me to finish speaking with him before resuming the workshop. At one point, I moved over and sat next to him and said he was welcome to stay but that he needed to stop interrupting me. I thought this would work, but several minutes later, his banter returned.

For some reason, I strongly felt it would be wrong to tell him to leave; something inside of me would not allow me to do that, so I simply trudged through the rest of the workshop. It ended fine, but I felt disappointed because of the distraction T. had been to the group. I wondered if I should have firmly asked him to leave for the others' sake.

Afterwards, while I was washing the cups, T. came up to me and explained that his friend had recently committed suicide. That explained why T. had been acting so aggressively. Although I still felt upset with him, it helped to know more of the reasoning behind his behaviour. We spoke for a little bit before he left. I reminded him that when spring came around, our allotment project would start again and we hoped to see him there. 

A few months later, when our allotment project began its new season, T. came as usual, and this time he was his normal self, wearing bright eyeglasses and a crooked smile. He remembered how he had behaved that night and apologised. I was relieved we hadn't asked him to leave. 

This story doesn't perfectly illustrate Jesus' teaching. We didn't host a dinner (although we did have refreshments, as is expected of a church function), and we didn't invite T. to our gathering. However, because of our relationship with T., he felt that he would be welcome and accepted at the workshop even without having received an invitation simply because our doors were open and he recognised some of the people walking in. 

T. knew that we loved him, and in this case, that was invitation enough.

Seeking God's kingdom through lamentations

One of the two Discovery apple trees Miriam and I planted in a church garden in Longsight, Manchester in 2018
(Photo credit: Jane G.)

Soon before we moved out of Manchester, the church we had been serving in gifted us with money to buy fruit trees. Now that we have a garden, and now that the season for planting new trees has arrived, at last we have ordered them: a Discovery apple, a Charles Ross apple and a Blue Tit plum tree. They're supposed to arrive sometime in mid-November, though we don't know when. Soon, I need to dig holes and fill them with horse manure -- but it's still a little early for that. For now, all we can do is wait.

To a small degree, waiting for the trees reminds me of waiting for the kingdom of God. Like the trees, we don't know when the kingdom of God will come, but we wait for its arrival and the life and joy it will bring. 

Last week, I wrote that we are called to become signs of God's kingdom. Perhaps it's no surprise, then, that this week I have been thinking about a passage in the Gospels where Jesus says, 'Seek first the kingdom of God, and [your daily needs] will be given to you as well' (Luke 12:31; Matt. 6:33). 

There are many ways we can seek God's kingdom, but today I want to illustrate such an orientation through a passage from the book of Lamentations. 

The book of Lamentations was written by the prophet Jeremiah, it is believed, in about 587 BC, when Jerusalem was destroyed and the Israelites were taken to Babylon in captivity. 

The passage below is the high point of the book, at the heart of five laments that describe Israel's destruction and destitution. Here, Jeremiah remembers the compassionate faithfulness of God, looking forward in the hope of God's salvation:

I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, 'The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him.'

The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly 
for the salvation of the LORD.

Lamentations 3:19-26

I have much to learn from these words about seeking God's kingdom. But first, the question may arise: how can we compare our situation today with Israel's defeat? For Israel, children and babies were strewn about the streets (2:11), women ate their own children to survive (2:20), those who were once wealthy became destitute and homeless (4:5), and it became normal that women were violated, authorities were humiliated and young men were forced into harsh labour (5:11-13). 

Though for many of us, today's situation is not as devastating as Israel's was, the pandemic has still brought our world much suffering. Not to mention those infected and dying from the disease, the knock-on effects include people losing work, being alone, not having practical support and feeling hopeless. This past week, some UK news articles have featured the deterioration of mental health among children, university students and inmates, to name a few examples.

I think Jeremiah teaches us that we need to grieve -- and that in the midst of our grief, we must hope in God's kingdom. We must remember that God will save us from this pandemic. 

We don't know what the short-term future holds. We may become infected with the virus; we may even die of it. We may, like Jeremiah and the Israelites, lose our possessions, honour and identity. But even if so, we must remember that in the big picture, in the long-term future, God's kingdom is coming to save us, even from suffering and death.

I'm not saying we shouldn't help those in our lives who are vulnerable; this is required of us. Nor am I saying we shouldn't trust scientists and doctors; I believe God uses their knowledge and work for our healing. 

But we also have to learn to wait, to be still and return to God. 

As I wait for the three fruit trees, I focus more on the garden. The more I anticipate their arrival, the more important they become for me. Similarly, the more we wait for God's kingdom, the more it becomes a priority for us. This can embolden and prepare us to do the life-giving work God has for us to do, both in the future and in the present (I have written an introduction to this life-giving work here). 

Perhaps through lamenting and putting our hope in God, COVID-19 can be a tool for our salvation, turning us away from our passions and redirecting us to seek first the kingdom of God; or in Jeremiah's words, this crisis is an opportunity to remember God's great love, compassion and faithfulness, and to turn back to God and wait quietly for his salvation.

Restore us to yourself, O LORD, that we may return. (Lam. 5:21)

Are we signs of the kingdom of God?

A nearby tree begining to turn

Across from our house, sycamore, oak and maple trees are turning yellow and gold: the clear sign that autumn is here and more change is coming. 

It reminds me of the spectacular change of seasons I witnessed when I lived in Indiana, each autumn observing birch, oak, ginkgo bilboa and other trees turning brilliant red, orange and yellow. When I moved from Indiana to a tiny island off the west coast of Scotland, it took me two months to realise why the setting felt so different: Iona has very few trees -- a few dozen, mostly clustered in the village. Without trees, it was more difficult to mark the passing of time and the changing of the seasons.

Like deciduous trees, key people in history have served as signposts of change. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus teaches a crowd, 'This is a wicked generation. It asks for a miraculous sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah. For as Jonah was a sign to the Ninevites, so also will the Son of Man be to this generation' (11:29-30).

Like trees in autumn pointing to change, Jonah was a sign announcing the coming judgement of God: in forty days, God was going to destroy Nineveh for their evil and violence. But the Ninevites humbled themselves and turned from their evil ways, and in response, God showed them mercy. 

As I have written before, God's judgement can be either destructive or life-giving, depending on how one is judged. In the case of the Ninevites, God's judgement was life-giving because they turned from their evil. 

Beyond being a sign of God's judgement, Jonah was a sign of God's coming kingdom. As Jesus says elsewhere, Jonah's spending three days and three nights in the belly of the fish foreshadows Jesus' spending three days in the heart of the earth before rising to life, winning the decisive battle against evil and granting the world entrance into God's kingdom. Jonah was thus a sign of God's kingdom because he was a sign of Jesus, that kingdom's King.

What about us? Are we signs of God's kingdom and of Jesus? What about our communities, whether our churches or towns, the companies we work for or even our nations? Like trees in autumn expressing the change to come, do we anticipate and reflect the second appearing of Christ, the coming day of God's judgement? Are we transparent to the light of the heavenly kingdom shining through us?

Let me give a few examples. This week is Anti-Slavery Week, ending on Anti-Slavery Day on 18th October. I first learned about modern slavery in university, when for a political science course I read Gary Haugen's Terrify No More. The book describes the International Justice Mission's work of partnering with law enforcement officers and holding traffickers accountable through the legal systems of each of the countries where they work, and delivering people enslaved in trafficking. I am proud of my university's own involvement in supporting vulnerable people, such as through its Beauty for Ashes Scholarship Fund, which helps survivors of human trafficking pursue a college education.

In the UK, over a dozen organisations are dedicated to supporting victims of modern slavery. Many such groups describe their motivation as being not only compassion for the specific people they support, but also their vision of a world in which slavery does not exist, where people do not exploit the weak for economic gain, where all can live up to their full God-given potential. Although not all of these organisations are Christian, they reflect God's kingdom to the extent that they offer a glimpse of God's justice over evil and mercy for the lowly. 

A more personal example: I was recently participating in a Christian worship service. In the midst of the singing and praying, I sensed that we were being transported to heaven, joining the worship that is taking place there (as I have written about briefly before). 

I share this only because this is the best personal example I can give of what I'm saying: the Church is called to be a sign of the kingdom of heaven, to be a community where, in its worship, people ascend to heaven, resulting in the transformation of everything they do 'down here' on earth. 

As theologian Alexander Schmemann writes of Christian worship,

The Eucharist is the anaphora, the 'lifting up' of our offering, and of ourselves. It is the ascension of the Church to heaven. 'But what do I care about heaven,' says St. John Chrysostom, 'when I myself have become heaven. . . ?' (For the Life of the World)

Although that specific worship service has ended, my brief experience has remained with me, renewing my spiritual vision to recgonise that 'the whole earth is filled with God's glory'. Although I already knew this to be true, I needed that experience in worship to remind me and to transform my vision again.

In her song 'Kingdom Comes', Sara Groves expresses other ways we let the kingdom shine through our lives:

When fear engulfs your mind
Says you protect your own
You still extend your hand
You open up your home

When sorrow fills your life
When in your grief and pain
You choose again to rise
You choose to bless the Name

That's a little stone, that's a little mortar
That's a little seed, that's a little water
In the hearts of the sons and daughters

This kingdom's coming

Schmemann has written (in his book Church, World, Mission) that most of Western society, especially the Church, has lost its orientation and rootedness in the ever-coming and already present kingdom of God. Instead of opening ourselves and our communities to being transformed into workers of God's kingdom, we have pursued our own agendas, seeking to transform the world based on our dreams of how it should be, apart from God and his power. Instead of being a people 'in, but not of, this world', we have remained both in and of this world, giving little thought or reference to the heavenly dimension.

Rather than trusting that Jesus will come again to unite heaven and earth, we can fall into the trap of thinking the task is entirely up to us. 

Like deciduous trees changing colour as a sign of the coming change, our work remains for us to be for our generation what Jonah was for his: a sign of the kingdom of God. We do this by proclaiming through our lives, both to ourselves and to the whole world, the message of Jesus: 'Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.'

Come, Lord Jesus!

Accepting the present

A man of understanding sets his face before wisdom,
but the eyes of a fool are on the ends of the earth.
Proverbs 17:24

Looking ahead towards the Cumbrian Mountains

 

Often when I am working on the computer, I find myself remembering past seasons of my life. These feelings of nostalgia were especially strong during lockdown (as I wrote in a previous blog post). Perhaps since we weren't allowed to leave our homes, my mind became even more itchy for retreating into the past.

My father-in-law says the same thing happens to him when he is working long hours in the garden: memories resurface, seemingly from nowhere and for no apparent reason.

I am sure, to a degree, there is good reason for this. Metropolitan Anthony Bloom has written of elderly people that the past often haunts them, teaching them of some unresolved conflict they must make peace with: someone they wronged years ago, perhaps, or someone they need to forgive. 

But there is harm in dwelling too much on the past. I have sometimes caught myself living in the past -- on an ongoing basis, believing that a part of me still lives in a chapter of life that has already ended, preventing me from being fully present in the season I am living in now.

Differing greatly in degree, the strongest biblical example I can think of is when Israel is held captive in Babylonian exile. They long to return to their home, but the prophet Jeremiah tells them they must build houses, plant gardens, marry and have children (in other words, settle down) and seek the peace and prosperity of Babylon. Only after seventy years of living in exile will God return them to their home. Thus, they have to fully accept their present circumstances and make the best of their life in a foreign land; this, surprisingly, is what God intends for them.

Living in the past -- or anywhere other than our current setting -- can prevent us from living the life God has given us now. The Gospel of Luke tells us about a certain person who has the opportunity to follow Jesus, but then the person says, 'first let me go back and say good-by to my family'. 

Jesus replies, 'No one who puts his hand to the plough and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God' (Luke 9:61-62).

How often do my nostalgia or even dreams for the future distract me from the work God has for me here and now?

I think about the coronavirus pandemic, and how people say we have to 'adjust to a new normal' -- except this new normal remains unstable and uncertain, making it difficult to adjust to anything! Like the Israelites in Babylon, I long to return to the relative stability of the past, but there is no guarantee of that happening soon, if ever. 

But it is in these very circumstances that God is still at work, calling us to participate with him. I am not suggesting that God caused COVID-19; whether he did or didn't is beyond my understanding. I am also not saying we should surrender to our challenges. What I am saying is that God's kingdom is coming into the world even in the midst of our current crises, and perhaps we need to first accept our new situation before we can recognise God's activity in our midst and then participate with it.  

As essential as remembering the past is, and as important as planning for the future is, we can only receive the life Jesus gives us here, in the present, and it is only now -- every new day he gifts us with -- that we have the opportunity to again turn and follow Jesus, 'for the kingdom of heaven is at hand': even here, even today.

What is our evidence that God loves us?

 

Photo credit: Sarah S.

As I wrote three weeks ago, this Sunday our local church is celebrating the harvest. Traditionally, for the Harvest Festival people bring vegetables (usually gourds and marrows) to church, along with tinned food to be given to food banks. Last year in a different church, someone brought a large sack of hundreds of carrots from a local (Lancashire) farm to share with others.

The photos above are from Miriam and my wedding in 2016 (the anniversary of which we celebrated last week). One of Miriam's aunts arranged the vegetables from Miriam's dad's garden and polytunnel, and the church kept them there for the Harvest Festival, which occurred the next day.

The festival is an opportunity to give thanks for the gifts God has provided us, particularly the fruit of the soil. I am reminded of the tone of thanksgiving in Psalm 104: 

The earth shall be satisfied with the fruit of Your works.
You are He who causes grass to grow for the cattle,
And the green plant for the service of man,
To bring forth bread from the earth;
And wine gladdens the heart of man,
To brighten his face with oil;
And bread strengthens man's heart (vv. 13b-15).

We often show our love to people by giving them gifts, particularly food. People often invite other people round for hot drinks or a meal as a form of hospitality. During bereavements, people often cook a meal for the family grieving not only for practical aid, but also as a sign of support. Our neighbour recently gave us a large bowlful of Braeburn applies from her fully-laden tree, and we appreciated the gift and the bond it has strengthened. 

A friend recently described to me his crop of courgettes as blessings. It struck me to read his words because I don't always consider vegetables as gifts from God, but this time of year especially reminds me to give thanks where it is due.

Most importantly, the harvest points to the greatest blessing God has given humanity and the world: his Son Jesus.

As the Apostle John writes, 'This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him' (1 John 4:9). 

We often rightly consider how we humans might offer sacrifices to God, but in Jesus we find unexpectedly that God also offers a sacrifice to us. This sacrifice is himself a gift of food, the 'living bread that comes down from heaven,' as Jesus says of himself: 'This bread is my flesh, which I give for the life of the world' (John 6:51). 

Whereas we offer sacrifices of praise, thanksgiving and service to God to give worship where it is due, God the Father does not give us his Son to worship us, but rather so that we might receive eternal life and know his love for us.

However, we often first look elsewhere for evidence of God's love. During harvest season, it might be easy to look to the beauty and bounty of nature and say this is all we need to know God's love. Although we rightly give thanks for God's providing everything we need, the natural world is not always pleasant or nourishing. In it we also find decay, death and the limits of our control. It can be easy to 'feel' God's love on a sunny, early-autumnal day, for instance, but when we're exposed to driving wind and rain on the fells in winter, God's love is far from our minds. Further, the natural world, without Jesus, does not give us hope for union with a loving God beyond our death. Without that hope, what certainty do we have that God loves us?

Or, we might look for evidence of God's love in other people or in ourselves. However, like the previous example, this can cut both ways; even the people we look up to the most can disappoint us because no one can love as perfectly as God loves, and if I am honest with myself, even in my better days I am only a disfigured reflection of God's love (if even that), and in my worse days, I am far worse than that, to say the least!

In this case, we might say that the limited warmth we have experienced from other people can be a springboard or a foil, teaching us that God's love far exceeds the flawed love of humans. As true as I believe this to be, and as helpful as the comparison may be at times, it is not sufficient or objective evidence of God's love for us. Perhaps it proves more our ability to trust in the goodness of God than it proves his goodness itself. 

I'm not saying God doesn't express his love for us through providing for our needs or through other people. Rather, such gifts reflect the love he has fully revealed to us in Jesus, who became a part of the natural world and transformed it, and who transforms even us so that we may experience his everlasting life. He is the best assurance we have of God's love for us because in him, we receive life that we can receive no other way.

Jesus is a heavenly meal, one that far exceeds the annual harvest that is cooked and gone in a short time. Jesus explains that 'whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day' (John 6:54). The Church has from the beginning understood Jesus to be referring here to the Eucharist, or the thanksgiving meal that he introduced to his disciples, which the early Church participated in regularly and has continued doing through the centuries, a mystical feast through which Christ makes himself known to the Church.

The Church has also consistently fed on the presence of Jesus through prayer, learning from the apostles' teaching and the scriptures, sharing with one another and supporting people in need (Acts 2:42-47). 

If I want to know the love of God more closely, then, it would be wise to participate in the life of the Church, as it participates in the life of Jesus.

I have been blessed to have been a part of churches that live in love for God and for their neighbours, but even then, no church community perfectly follows Jesus. They can even do the opposite, harming people rather than being vehicles for divine healing. 

However, the Church is the bride of Christ, the beloved people entrusted with the Gospel message of God's love for the world in Jesus. Despite its failings, the Church is the community upon which the Holy Spirit was poured out on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2), empowering it to faithfully display God's love through God's power. The Church is the people called to embody and proclaim the love of God in Christ to the world.

God can use anyone, even those outside of the Church, to reveal his glory and love. Thus, we cannot say where God is not present. However, we can confidently say that Jesus makes himself known among the Church, the people who gather in his name and who walk in his light, who have been washed in his death and who receive the life of his resurrection.

Further, while our own individual walk with Christ is required, our participation with the Church is also essential because it is among the Church that we receive the fullness of the heavenly banquet at Christ's table, which strengthens us to serve God wherever we go in the world afterwards. As I have written previously, we cannot have Christ without the Church.

When I was a freshman at university, I took an introductory philosophy course. Although in retrospect I appreciate the new ideas I learned through the course, at the time I became confused, doubting not only the love of God but even his existence -- and even the nature of reality itself! 

That same semester, I began attending a church that would become my spiritual home for the next few years. I told my pastor some of my questions, and he said he could relate to them. He also encouraged me to keep coming to church and being involved there. 

At the time, I thought his reason for this advice was because of how important practice and discipline are despite our changing thoughts, feelings and moods; sometimes we have to carry on living as though we believe what we have believed in, until we believe again.

That can be true -- but again, it is not evidence that our beliefs are true. In light of the Apostle John's words, however, I also see in my pastor's advice the recognition that participating in the life of the Church is essential, especially when we feel far from God, because it is among the Church and the Church's work in the world that we expect to clearly encounter Christ, in whom we most assuredly know God's love for us.