Sharing as an act of worship

 

'Uchiki kuri' squash

Many churches in the UK are preparing to celebrate the annual Harvest Festival in a few weeks, in which they will give thanks to God for his blessings on the land and in their lives, and also share with others. Traditionally, people bring vegetables and other produce to church on Harvest Sunday as an offering to God and to be distributed among the community; it's also common to bring tinned food to donate to food banks or collect money for people in need.

The book of Hebrews says such sharing is one of two acts of worship: 'Through Jesus, therefore, let us offer to God a sacrifice of praise -- the fruit of lips that confess his name. And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased' (13:15-16).

In other words, worship consists of two dimensions, 1) our offerings to God, such as praising him and confessing Jesus' name, and 2) our offerings to others through doing good and sharing with them, which pleases God.

These two dimensions resemble the great commandment, which Jesus teaches is the summary of the Law: that we are to love God with all that we are and love our neighbour as ourselves.

This also resembles what James writes in his letter, that faith in God (the vertical dimension) is completed by good deeds (the horizontal dimension), without which our faith is dead.  

This surprises me because when I think of worship, I usually only think of the vertical dimension. I'm not downplaying that dimension; it is essential. However, our worship is empty if we do not also perform acts of mercy to the people in our communities. If we love God, then we will honour him by loving our neighbours as well, who are made in God's image.

Thus, there is potentially no separation between the spiritual and the material, between the sacred and the secular, between holiness and everything else. All of these categories can be holy altars if, through Jesus, we bless God by offering ourselves to him and to others. 

For example, a few years ago, our church at the time celebrated the Harvest Festival by hosting a ceilidh open to the community, free of charge. (Ceilidh is the Gaelic word for 'visit'; traditionally, it meant gathering to share local news and music, but now it's associated with Scottish folk dancing.) A live folk band and caller performed and led folk dances for over fifty people. Volunteer cooks also brought casseroles, pies, stews and other warm meals for everyone to share. 

I didn't make this connection at the time, but looking back, that ceilidh was an act of worship because we were sharing with one another in Jesus' name, which (I hope) blessed God. 

If worship is a ceilidh, then Jesus is the caller, at the center of it all directing the music and dancing. The book of Hebrews uses different language, saying Jesus is our high priest. Further, he leads by example, modelling for us sharing as an act of worship. Throughout his earthly life, he shared his power with others by feeding, healing and teaching them. Through offering himself on the cross, he shared with the world his very life, making us holy by his suffering. Now he leads us in worship at the heavenly altar, sharing his life with us through interceding for us, praying that we may endure our trials and join him in his perfection.

During lockdown, our local church regularly collected offerings for some of the nearby food banks. The pandemic has increased many peoples' need for support from food banks, due to their being let off work and other economic hardships. Thus, even while public worship services were prohibited for several months this summer, the church continued its worship through sharing food and resources. But the work continues; food banks warn that they are expecting an increase in clients this coming winter because of financial-support schemes ending and continued economic downturn.

When I worked at a food bank a few years ago, one of the recurring statements I heard from people donating money or food was 'I could just as easily be in such need'. Such donors were humbly sharing out of solidarity and the realisation that we are all connected. 

In addition to compassion, I think we are called to give for the simple reason that it blesses God. Sharing is an act of worship, putting us in touch with our primary identity as worshippers of God. Father Alexander Schmemann says it this way: 

"Homo sapiens," "homo faber" . . . yes, but first of all, "homo adorans." The first, the basic definition of man is that he is the priest. He stands in the center of the world and unifies it in his act of blessing God, of both receiving the world from God and offering it to God -- and by filling the world with this eucharist, he transforms his life, the one that he receives from the world, into life in God, into communion with Him. (For the Life of the World)

In other words, all people are called to be priests, blessing God through receiving his gifts and then offering them back to him. One way we bless God is sharing with our neighbours.

In addition to physical provisions, we can share our time with people. When I first visited Iona Abbey as a guest, I had a conversation over lunch with an older woman who told me that Iona had taught her how to take the time to be with and pay attention to other people, rather than pass them by or take them for granted. The greatest gift we can share with others is our time, she said, recalling how her grandmother, at the end of her life, only wished that she had more time to be with others. 

I close with words from a sermon by St John Chrysostom that clarifies all I have said with an image of two altars at which we worship: the first is the Lord's table, where we receive the body and blood of Christ through Communion, and the second is the table of the poor, in whom we also find Christ: 

This [second] altar may thou everywhere see lying, both in lanes and in market places, and may sacrifice upon it every hour; for on this too is sacrifice performed. . . .  When then you see a poor believer, think that you behold an altar: when you see such an one a beggar, not only insult him not, but even reverence him, and if you see another insulting him, prevent, repel it.

In light of this, I ask, who are the poor in my communities? How might we worship God through doing good and sharing with others in Jesus' name?

Christ overcomes our fear of death

 

Autumn approaches the Furness Peninsula

Autumn comes: I feel the crisp bite of cold in the air, and see the bracken on the hills and some of the trees beginning to brown. In our garden, the sugar snap peas have long slowed their production, and the vines are drooping and yellowing, soon to be pulled up and thrown into the compost bin.

Autumn is usually a season when I think of death to a small degree, but even more so this year. I was recently telling someone about how the coronavirus has highlighted to me my own mortality. For most of my life I've known that I will die, but it's easy to push that thought aside, distracted by daily business, entertainment and other things. However, reading news reports about rising infection rates and death tolls and seeing photographs of people of all ages and fitness levels in hospital beds connected to ventilators has reminded me of how I could just as well be in their position, and that at some point death waits for us all, whether or not we're ready for it or expecting it.

I don't think I have thought about death this much since middle school. At one point, I was ill for several weeks, and while at home recovering, I thought much about death -- my own and that of my loved ones -- which caused prolonged sadness. After I recovered, I didn't think about death as often (partly because I had other things going on, like being at school rather than at home alone), but at times the weight of fear and sorrow would return.

The summer of my first year of high school, I grew deeply in my faith in Christ, and I learned much about God through praying and reading the Bible. That summer marked a turning point for me in many ways, one of which was that I was filled with joy and hope. I had my low days, but never like those weeks in middle school when I was ill and some time afterwards, when the fear of death preoccupied me. I still knew that death was coming, but I no longer dreaded it because I also knew that Christ was with me.

The Letter to the Hebrews says that Jesus shared in our humanity 'so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death -- that is, the devil -- and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death' (2:14-15). 

To some degree, this describes what I experienced. During those middle-school years, I was in bondage to my fear of death, but this changed when I understood that Christ conquered death by dying and rising from the dead, pioneering the way for those who follow him to our own resurrection after we die.

However, I am aware that, while I have confronted my fear of death, I have not yet faced death itself. In these days of the pandemic, thinking about death more often, I ask myself how truly I do trust in Christ to save us from death, to meet us on the other side. When death is staring me in the face, will my faith in Christ be firm? Will I be afraid then?

I want to be like the saints and martyrs who bravely stood firm in their faith, even when it meant they would be executed, who in some cases welcomed death because they considered it an honour to suffer for Christ's sake, knowing it would unite them with him. I believe that for such Christians, while death has been something to both acknowledge and respect, by the power of the Holy Spirit, it has not been something to fear.

Jesus says, 'If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it' (Luke 9:23-24).

Following Jesus, therefore, means dying small deaths every day so that we may partake of his life. This little dying is like practising for our physical death. It means turning away from our selves, our passions and our sins, and turning towards God. Paradoxically, it is only in losing ourselves like this that we are found in God, restored to our full humanity, fully alive.

That first summer of high school, I let go of who I thought I was at the time and discovered that I was becoming a new person in Christ -- a truer version of myself, this time not burdened by fear. This process has continued ever since, one in which I am coming closer to the truth about myself and about Christ.

When I take the time to sit quietly, shedding distractions, I realise that it is my deepest desire to meet with Christ because he is my life, a life that is stronger than death.

This, I think, is what St Simeon experienced when he met Jesus. Simeon had been told by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before seeing the Messiah. At last, he met Jesus as a baby in the temple, and he held Jesus in his arms, praising God in prayer.

Simeon's prayer (with which I end this post) is remembered by Christians in various worship services. When I worked at the Iona Abbey, we would recite his prayer to conclude the Sunday evening quiet service. In the Anglican tradition, his prayer also ends the evensong service, and similarly in the Orthodox Church, it is prayed towards the end of the vespers (evening) service. It is fitting that each of these services takes place at night, since night often symbolises death, but perhaps even more significant that for the Hebrews and the ancient Church, evening marks not the end but the beginning of the day. Although the rest of the world sees death as the end, we who are in Christ face it as the beginning of our life. 

Further, that Simeon's prayer concludes worship suggests that in our daily lives, as we die to ourselves, offering our bodies to God as living sacrifices through our worship and service, we too encounter the Messiah.

When I am staring death in the face, and even now as I seek to take up my cross daily so that I may more fully live, I hope to join in Simeon's praise for having found, or rather for having been found in Christ, knowing that through death I will see Christ's own face.

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,

now dismiss your servant in peace.

For my eyes have seen your salvation,

which you have prepared in the sight of all people,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles

and glory to your people Israel.

Take courage!

Strengthen the feeble hands,

steady the knees that give way;

say to those with fearful hearts,

'Be strong, do not fear;

your God will come'.

Isaiah 35:3-4a

A bee regathering its strength on a hot day

Towards the beginning of lockdown, I read some thoughts written by a pastor about the pandemic. He recalled advice given by a sports coach: 'Fear no one, but respect everyone', and applied that to COVID-19, aiming to live bravely in face of the virus without being reckless.

That advice rang in my mind the first time I shopped for groceries during lockdown. Now, months later, I've plucked up more courage to go out and do such things. But among many of us, myself included, courage is still needed to face these times. 

Of course, we are not the first to live in a time of uncertainty. It seems courage has always been required. In the Gospel of John, for example, soon before Jesus is arrested and crucified, he tells his disciples, 'In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world' (16:33b). 

Jesus knew the trouble his disciples would face, not only in the short-term when they would feel lost without him, but also in the long-term, after his resurrection and ascension, when they would face persecution. The disciples' uncertainty was unlike ours in many ways, yet they too needed courage to endure their trials.

They would remember Jesus' words, 'Take heart!', encouraging them to faithfully witness to the truth they had learned about him, even though it would cost many of their lives. ('Take heart' means 'Take courage', since 'courage' comes from the Latin word for 'heart'.)

They would remember his words, 'I have overcome the world', reminding them that even though the authorities would use their power to try to crush them, all authority in heaven and on earth ultimately belonged to Jesus (Matt. 28:18).  

Thus, it takes courage to have integrity, to live in accordance with what is in one's heart, especially when other people or forces oppose one. Facing that opposition requires courage. In other words, it takes courage to tell the truth, both with our words and our actions. Perhaps we are courageous only by living truthfully. 

Jesus' word to his disciples -- 'Take heart!' -- applies to all who seek to live truthfully, all who seek to love God with all their courage (Mark 12:30), in a time when fear can tempt us to surrender to death instead.

It takes courage to trust in God's love for us when we are suffering.

It takes courage to love other people when doing so involves swallowing our pride or sacrificing something of ourselves.

It takes courage to live with integrity when it's easier to blur the truth instead.

It takes courage to do what we know is right when we fear the consequences.

It takes courage to carry on when the future looks bleak.

Though it may not seem like it, Jesus is Lord -- even over the coronavirus, even over the leaders of the nations, even over death itself. 

It takes courage to live in faith that this is true.

'Take heart! I have overcome the world.'

Gaps in the resume/CV

I know some people who have recently lost their jobs. I write this blog post with them in mind, along with any others who have transitioned into a new and uncertain chapter. I think most of us understand this uncertainty, whether or not we're unemployed, because of the pandemic affecting us all. My goal is simple: to encourage us. I recognise that everyone's circumstances are different, and that I have been fortunate to have had support from family and friends during the gaps in my employment. Also, while I write from a Christian perspective, I hope people of all faiths or none can find something helpful here. 

When I graduated from university, I expected I would easily find full-time work shortly afterwards. Although I did find part-time work here and there, and I was also busy with internship duties at a church, these were not enough to support myself long-term. That year of looking for full-time work often felt dry, like wandering through a desert. I found certain things helpful in keeping me going: gardening, for instance, and meeting regularly with friends and other folks from church. It helped to spend time with people in a similar situation as mine.

The next gap in my resume occurred after I graduated from seminary, when I lived at home with my parents while looking for work. Although I was thankful for their support and for a period of rest after a season of intense study and work, I also felt that ache of uncertainty and of not being able to support myself right away.

Again something that boosted me was the presence of friends and my church community. During this time, some of us from church had begun meeting every couple of weeks for a meal, and this routine gave me something to look forward to. Eventually this morphed into a weekly Bible study where we learned and prayed together. These gatherings reminded me that there was more to life than my unemployment status.

My most recent season of being in-between jobs was when my wife and I decided to move out of a large city to settle in the countryside near family. It was the right decision for us, but it meant leaving meaningful work and a caring community behind and living with and looking after an elderly family member until we could support ourselves again.

I saw this as an opportunity to establish a rhythm that I had been unable to form in my previous work. This routine morphed, but it involved physical fitness (walking or running), praying, Bible reading and writing--all of which I tried to do regularly. I also resumed my latent desire for gardening. I saw myself as a kind of soldier or athlete training to be fit for God's use, and that chapter as a spiritual boot camp, as well as a retreat to gain a wider perspective on my life.

Job coaches usually advise us to gloss over or explain away the gaps in our CV so we don't look unproductive or questionable in our career development. This is useful advice, but on another level, such gaps have not been empty for me, but rather seasons of opportunity to encounter God more deeply and reconnect with what I consider most important.

These 'gaps' have also prepared me spiritually so that when I started working again, I could better hold onto what Jesus says is our priority, seeking God's kingdom and righteousness, assuring us that when we do this, God provides for our needs (see Matt. 6:25-34).

A year after leaving my meaningful job in the city, when my wife and I were more established again, I looked back on that transition as one of opening myself so that God could begin a new work in me. I also found the gap in St Columba's 'resume'--his self-exile from Ireland--a helpful model for what I had experienced.

St Columba had been a priest in Ireland, founding monastic communities and proclaiming the gospel. However, he became involved in a dispute that some say resulted in a tragic battle in which thousands died. Feeling partly responsible, he exiled himself from his native land, along with twelve of his followers.

They paddled east in a boat on the Irish Sea until they found an island worthy to become their home. The story goes that they settled on this island because there they could no longer see Ireland. However, it is also likely that, like other Celtic pilgrim-saints choosing their destinations, St Columba discerned that this was where God was leading him, the land where he would eventually die and await the day of the resurrection. There they established a monastic community, which would become the base from which St Columba and his monks would enlighten Scotland with the love and truth of Jesus Christ. This, if you don't already know, was the Isle of Iona, and the legacy of St Columba's work there endures even to this day.

Although St Columba's situation is unlike what we are facing today in most ways, it encourages me that even in uncertain times, when we have been released from one responsibility, God is still calling us--like he called St Columba, and like he calls all people--to wholly serve and follow him.

In this season we are in, what new work might God be doing in us for the sake of his kingdom?

Our hidden life in God

Because we moved into our house in winter, many of the plants in our garden were (at least to me) mostly blobs of leaves and branches. But when spring came, patches of colour began emerging, eventually stunning us with beauty: red-orange tulips, bluebells, creamy yellow azaleas. 

Even now, in the middle of summer, we are surprised by flowers emerging where we had not expected them. One bush, which we had considered uprooting because of its blandness, has recently developed clusters of tiny white flowers that emit a vanilla scent. 

This revelation of something that has been hidden resembles what St Paul writes in his letter to the Colossians: 'your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory' (3:3-4).

We are like the summer blossoms: our potential is hidden until Christ appears, when we become fully known.

By 'potential', I'm not referring to talents or charisma. Although such gifts are good, St Paul is describing something deeper than our abilities: he's describing who we are becoming in God. Perhaps another way to say it is that our identity is hidden in God.

We see the connection between life and identity when Jesus calls his disciples to follow him. He invites them to receive eternal life, and this also means a change in their identity. In the case of Peter, James and John, they leave behind their identity as fishermen so they may learn how to gather people into the net of the kingdom of God. Their identity as disciples becomes their life.

We see the connection between identity and hiddenness in the Book of Revelation, which says those who overcome evil are given a new name which only they and God will know (2:17).

The significance of this name is unpacked by Metropolitan Anthony:

This name is not a label we are given and called by in this world. Our true name, our eternal name exactly fits us, our whole being. . . It defines and expresses us perfectly. It is known by God alone and he tells us what it is. No one else can know it because it expresses our unique relationship with our Creator. (Creative Prayer, 1987)

This eternal name hidden in God, therefore, describes our real identity, deeper than any other identity we may have.

I was recently filling out a form asking for various pieces of my identity: my name, date of birth, marital status, ethnicity and nationality, gender, medical history and so on. But what the form failed to realise is that, as a Christ-follower, I have a hidden identity deeper than any of these, which will only be revealed on the day of Christ's appearing.

The Transfiguration of Christ, in which he briefly revealed his divine glory to Peter, James and John

Although our identity in God is our most important identity, it can be easy to forget. Sometimes I would rather define myself another way, something more attractive or tangible. For example, when I studied writing as a form of ministry, I often tended to understand myself more as a writer than as someone who belonged to Christ. After all, wasn't writing the reason I was in seminary? 

Thus, I was surprised when one of my writing professors taught that one of the most important things about writing and ministry is following the leading of the Holy Spirit in every area of our lives, even if God calls us to a different form of ministry than writing!

It has taken me a long time reorienting myself away from primarily identifying myself as a writer, for instance, towards understanding that my identity is hidden deeper than that. Writing, like many kinds of work, is a tool Christ can use in us, but the tool is not as important as the Master who teaches us how to use it. 

This distinction is important because if I define myself primarily by my work, then I may forget why I'm doing that work. I can end up worshipping my work rather than God. However, if I remember that I belong foremost to God, then everything else falls into its proper place.

How do we remind ourselves that we belong to God?

I believe we can learn from the prophet Jonah here. In the midst of running away from God, Jonah was asked the following questions: 'What do you do? Where do you come from? What is your country? From what people are you?' (1:8). In other words, who are you? 

He could have answered by describing his work: 'I am a prophet', or his family reputation: 'I am son of Amittai', but at this turning point he confesses that his real identity is in God, saying 'I worship the LORD, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the land' (1:9). After defining himself as one who worships God, Jonah begins returning to God.

Like Jonah, we recall our life in God by worshipping him and prioritising that posture of worship. Our real identity is as worshippers of God.

I have recently written about various ways we worship God, such as obeying his commandments; serving him through our jobs; living righteously; forsaking love of the world; standing before God in the midst of hardship; and especially worshipping with the Church, whose worship joins the ongoing worship that is taking place in heaven.

I believe all these forms of worship can be summed into St Paul's urging us to 'offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God--this is your true and proper worship' (Rom. 12:1).

As we offer ourselves to God as living sacrifices, the life of Christ grows in us, transforming us so that on the day of his appearing, we may resemble him (1 Jn. 3:2). Although Christ's life is hidden in us, as we worship God, we begin to display beauty and emit a pleasing aroma to God, even in this life, just as Christ has done (Eph. 5:2).

Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, you also will appear with him in glory. (Col. 3:1-4)