Thanksgiving and Las Vegas

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

Originally, I was planning to write this column about the upcoming Thanksgiving weekend and celebration. Then Las Vegas happened. It’s another horrific instance of the kind of ugliness we human beings perpetrate on one another. It seems to happen with increasing frequency.

How do we reconcile these two things? How can we give thanks in this kind of world?

After the massacre in Las Vegas, someone asked me, “How could God permit this kind of horrific thing? Why didn’t God stop the gunman?”

My answer is that God can’t stop it. Many Christians believe that God is omnipotent and all–powerful. For me, that belief no longer holds true. If God could stop this gunman, then why didn’t God do so? If God could stop the wildfires, or if God could stop hurricanes and earthquakes and tsunamis and floods, or if God could stop all the ugly ways in which we try to hurt one another—and then chose not to, for whatever reason, wouldn’t that make God a monster?

As an analogy, parents teach their young children that it is dangerous to touch a hot stove or that they shouldn’t put a fork or knife into an electrical outlet. If you simply stood back and watched as your toddler did either of those things without stopping them, you could be charged with child abuse.

Over the centuries, Christians have made many attempts to explain the existence of evil. Since they affirm a loving and powerful God, how could evil like this exist? How could natural disasters ruin the lives of so many people?

Many Christians do read the Bible as if it were a portrait of an all–powerful God. Such a God would have controlling power over human beings and also the forces of nature.

Along with many other Christians, I read the Bible differently. Theologian Thomas Jay Oord puts it this way: “Instead of thinking about God as having controlling power (which the Bible never explicitly supports), Christians should think God expresses uncontrolling love.”

The essence of love is that it doesn’t seek to control. If God is love, which the Bible explicitly asserts, then by definition God cannot control.

This way of reading the Bible makes so much more sense to me. Many will disagree with me. They rely on some of the classical arguments about why evil exists:

1) God does control what happens, and therefore God is responsible for both peace and pain.

2) Even though God could stop evil, God allows it. People who accept this argument will thank God for good and benevolent acts, but they blame free agents or natural forces for evil acts.

3) Atheists will claim that there is no God. There is no holy reality, either controlling or not. Giving thanks to God is simply a way of saying that life is not entirely within our control.

4) What I’m proposing is this quite new understanding which says that God always gives freedom to creation. We are free to act as we choose. And because God’s essential nature is love, God cannot override that freedom to act. But at the same time, God cannot and does not withdraw from us. God remains with us and interacts with our lives.

This way of reading things suggests to me that our loving Creator always empowers and inspires us to love, to reach out for what is best, to deal with each other in compassion, to seek reconciliation and grace. At the same time, this uncontrolling and loving God does not step into our lives to stop us from acting in ways contrary to God’s love. We can act in harmful and dangerous ways, but the responsibility for those actions and decisions are ours. God is not responsible for those ways of being. We are.

I don’t know what motivated the gunman in Las Vegas, or Omar Mateen to kill 49 people at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, or Adam Lanza to kill 20 children in Sandy Hook, or Eric Harris and Dylan Kiebold to murder 12 students and one teacher in Columbine. I don’t get it. I can’t put myself into that kind of place, that kind of darkness.

Neither do I know enough science to be able to explain climate change so that it makes enough sense to explain the wild weather our poor, fragile planet has been experiencing, from wildfires to hurricanes and earthquakes, tsunamis and floods.

But I do know this—God is not to be blamed for human actions. God is not to be blamed for  human inaction, in the case of climate change. Those are our choices.

And I also know that I trust this uncontrolling God. God’s uncontrolling love holds me close. Therefore, even in the aftermath of Las Vegas, I continue to thank God for being the source of good. I don’t hold God culpable for causing or allowing evil. I thank God for inspiring and empowering us all to act in love, peace and beauty.

This Thanksgiving, even after Las Vegas, I remain grateful.

Blessing all of Creation

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

About eight hundred years ago, a man named Francesco di Bernardone scandalized the church by taking the teachings of Jesus seriously. For him, it was a matter of renewal and transformation. He took vows of poverty, and refused to believe that being a follower of Jesus had anything to do with wealth or success.

Although he was born into the family of a wealthy cloth merchant, he renounced the wealth and prestige of his family at the age of 25 to embrace a lifestyle of simplicity, poverty, and grace. His father couldn’t understand it. He took his son to the town magistrates, complaining that Francesco was disregarding his responsibilities. The son agreed with his father and renounced all claims on his family. In front of the court, he stripped naked, placed his clothes at his father’s feet and said that from then on, God would be his father. He declared himself “wedded to Lady Poverty”, renounced all material possessions, and devoted himself to serving the poor.

We know him better now as St. Francis of Assisi. From that time forward, Francis saw his life’s work as waking people up so that they would focus on the pure and simple gospel and follow Jesus simply.

Francis took literally the words in Matthew’s gospel, “Preach as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of Heaven is at hand.’ … You have received the Gospel without payment, give it to others as freely. Take no gold, or silver, or copper in your belts, no bag for your journey, no spare garment, nor sandals, nor staff.” (Matthew 10: 7–10)

He and his companions would have no money and no property, individually or collectively. Their task was to “proclaim the good news, using words if necessary,” and declaring in word and action the love of God in Christ. Francis of Assisi had a profound respect for all life, experiencing all of God’s creation as sacred.

In the early 13^th century, the traditional religious way to seek God was to turn inward. Those following a religious path would live in a monastery or a cloister, seeking to transcend this world and spend their lives in contemplating God.

Francis chose a different route. Instead of turning inwards, he turned outwards. The world was shot through with God’s glory. Francis discovered God’s presence and love everywhere he looked. God was to be found in the midst of this world, in the everyday moments of life, in the midst of a bountiful and wonderfully varied creation. Rather than fleeing the world to find God, God is to be found right here, in the physical, material world.

The paradox of Francis’ life is that although he gave up material possessions, he valued the material things of the earth more completely. He treasured people who worked with their hands — farmers, craftspeople, artists, bakers — and he valued the fruit of their hands. He esteemed material things not as having intrinsic worth in and of themselves, but because they displayed the immense variety and wonder of God’s creative imagination.

Francis had a remarkable belief in the universal ability and duty of all creatures to praise God. His famous Canticle of the Creatures includes the words, “All praise be yours, my Lord, through Brother Sun … Sister Moon and Stars … Brothers Wind and Air … Sister Water … Brother Fire … Sister Earth … Sister Death. All praise be yours, my Lord, through all that you have made. Happy those who endure in peace.”

Many of the stories that surround St. Francis deal with his love for animals. He died on October 4, 1226. That became the feast day for this saint, since that was the day he was born into glory.

We will celebrate St Francis at Christ Church Anglican this Sunday. We invite you to join us on Sunday, October 1, at 2:00 pm for a blessing of the animals. Bring your animals and pets with you to church that afternoon for a special blessing. In the spirit of Francis, who called the animals his brothers and sisters, we celebrate the goodness of God, who calls us to live in peace with all creatures, and indeed with the whole of creation, treasuring it as God’s wonderful gift to us.

In this year, when we have tasted the fear and anxiety about the wildfires burning all around us, it is good to remember once again that all of creation is precious. Regardless of your faith stance, it is true that we all are charged with taking care of the beautiful world in which we live. We share time and space with creation. In blessing the animals, we bless all of creation, and make a new commitment to caring for the world in which we live.

I Believe …

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

Christians around the world often talk about what we believe. Some churches say a creed regularly in worship, which usually begins “I believe …” Believing is an important part of our faith.

But what does that mean, to believe? The most common understanding today is that it means to give mental assent to a certain set of beliefs, or a series of propositions. A large segment of the church in North America understands believing in this way. To believe means to agree with the truth of a set of doctrines.

In the early 20^th century, a set of “Five Fundamentals” was published to try and define what it meant to be a Christian. You have to believe 1) that the Bible is the inerrant Word of God; 2) in the Virgin Birth; 3) that Jesus died because of us; 4) that Jesus rose bodily after his death to heaven; and 5) that Jesus is God.

In this understanding, belief becomes a litmus test. If you believe these things, you’re a true  Christian. If you don’t, then (as one website puts it) “those who disagree with any of the above doctrines are not Christians at all. Rather, they are true heretics.” By that test, I am condemned.

However, this isn’t the Bible’s understanding of what it means to believe, or to have faith. Belief as mental assent is actually quite a new meaning in human history. Faith is not a head trip. It is about so much more than giving mental assent to a set of statements.

In her book “The Case for God”, Karen Armstrong offers a helpful overview of the word “believe”.

The New Testament, written in Greek, uses the noun “pistis” or the verb “pisteuo”, which means “trust, loyalty, commitment, engagement”. Jesus wasn’t asking anyone to “believe” in anything. He was asking for commitment. He invited people to walk in the way he was walking. Jesus wanted disciples who got involved, who would be engaged in his mission—to feed the hungry, set the oppressed free, clothe the naked, care for the “least of these my brothers”. He invited people to trust God deeply and radically. He called people to follow, to spread the good news of God’s love to everyone, even the prostitutes and tax collectors and losers. He called people to live with compassion and radical freedom.

About the year 400, St. Jerome translated the New Testament into Latin. Pistis became “fides” which means “loyalty”. For the verb form, Jerome used “credo”, which means “I give my heart”.

1000 years later, when the Bible was translated into English, they used the word “belief”. In King James English, however, belief meant “trust in God” or “to be loyal”. It had to do with walking in the way of Jesus. It meant “I give my heart to…”; “I commit myself loyally to …”; “I give my allegiance to …” In old English, the word “believe” is closely tied to the word “belove”. To believe is to give your heart to one whom you love.

Then about 300 years ago, when the scientific method became the dominant way of viewing the world, scientists and philosophers began to use the word believe in a different way. It was no longer a matter of commitment and following. To believe now meant to give “intellectual assent”.

300 years ago may seem like a long time ago, but in the grand sweep of history it really isn’t. For 1700 years, “to believe” meant to make a commitment to living with God’s compassion. All of a sudden, in a brief moment, our understanding of scripture was changed … because the meaning of an English word was changed.

Christian faith is not about giving mental assent. The heart of faith is to give our heart to God. It has to do with making a commitment to walking in the way of Jesus. It’s a daily renewal of our loyalty so that we live compassionately and justly. We renew our love affair with God, and with God’s world and all its creatures.

To believe involves taking a journey to the heart of our faith, which is a journey towards our deepest and best selves.

I believe. I give my heart. I renew my loyalty. That’s the work, and the gift, of faith.

Not a head trip. A renewal of the heart. A transformation of our lives.

Jis’ Blue, God—A Lament

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

I came across an amazing poem published some 90 years ago. It’s called “Jis’ Blue, God”, and it was written by African American teacher, poet, and children’s book author Henrietta (“Etta”) Oldham (1888–1975). It is written in African American Vernacular English, which according to Wikipedia is “a variety of American English spoken by urban, working–class and middle–class African Americans.

“Jis’ blue, God,

Jis’ blue.

Ain’t prayin’ exactly jis’ now—

Tear–blind, I guess,

Can’t see my way through.

You know those things

I ast for so many times—

Maybe I hadn’t orter repeated like the Pharisees do;

But I ain’t stood in no market place;

It’s jis’ ’tween me and You.

And You said, “Ast” …

Somehow I ain’t astin’ now and I hardly know what to do.

Hope jis’ sorter left, but Faith’s still here—

Faith ain’t gone, too.

I know how ’tis—a thousand years

Is as a single day with You;

And I ain’t meanin’ to tempt You with “If You be …”

And I ain’t doubtin’ You.

But I ain’t prayin’ tonight, God—

Jis’ blue.”

It’s a remarkable lament in which Etta gets real with God. She lays all her frustration out before God, giving voice to her depression and pain, her doubt and sorrow. The poem struck me all the more forcefully this week because of my column last week about my own depression many years ago.

One of the healthiest ways to deal with depression is to give it voice. To speak it out loud. But it’s so hard to do that. Our natural inclination is to keep it to ourselves, to try and tough it out, to work it out on our own. Or to just give up. I know that from my own experience. The shame can be so very deep, not to mention the fear of being stigmatized.

But if we’re ever really going to deal with the epidemic of depression and suicide in our country and around the world, we are going to have to speak up. In Canada, death by suicide accounts for 24% of all deaths among 15–24 year olds. It is the second leading cause of death for Canadians between the ages of 10 and 24.

Statistics like this show just how important it is for us to work together and speak of this pain, this hurt, this sense of absolute impotence. We need to stand together and provide a safe place where people who are at the end of their rope can simply fall, knowing that someone is there to catch them.

“Jis’ Blue, God” gives voice to that pain. It falls in the tradition of the biblical practice of lament, of praying out your sorrow and giving it voice. God desires this kind of emotional honesty from us. God delights in our forthright relationship, whether we give voice to delight and praise or to sorrow and complaint.

Etta’s language sometimes may seem sharp. Her language is much milder, however, than some of the laments we read in the Psalms (read Psalm 88 and 109, for example). Or read some of the passages in which Job wishes he were dead, and ends up blaming God for the horror of his life. Or remember the words of Jesus on the cross when he quotes Psalm 22 and accuses God of having abandoned him.

At the heart of lament, writes J. Todd Billings (professor at Western Theological Seminary), is a deep trust which “throws God’s promises back at him when it seems as if God is not keeping those promises.” Because of their deep faith in God, the Psalmists and Etta have high expectations of God; they take God’s promises seriously, and so they lament and protest and complain and accuse when it seems that God has broken the promise.

If you are a person of faith, it is perfectly acceptable to simply give voice to your depression and fear. “Jis’ blue.” “So blind with tears, I can’t see straight.”

Lament is one of the ways in which Christians pray their suffering, their pain, their depression. It’s a necessary and helpful way to be. Lament takes God about as seriously as you can.

The Power and Pain of Depression

“Where does depression hurt? Everywhere.”

“Who does depression hurt? Everyone.”

Truer words were never spoken. These television ads point to the desperate struggle that some people have with depression and its tragic consequences.

There used to be a significant stigma attached to depression or suicide or any form of mental health. There still is, a little bit, but people are learning to speak more openly about their struggle with mental health issues. Slowly, oh so slowly, the shame is easing as we realize how many people there are who struggle with this disease.

As people begin to speak about their struggle with depression and suicide, they say waking up every day is a struggle. That it’s like fighting a battle day–in and day–out. That often the hardest part is trying to hide it, because you just know deep inside that people will look at you differently if you admit to being depressed.

But they’re speaking out. Celebrities and athletes and other people in the public eye are talking about the pain. Clara Hughes, Ryan Reynolds, Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus, Gwyneth Paltrow, Howie Mandel, Ellen Degeneres, Brad Pitt and many others are speaking out.

So am I. I have also been a victim of depression. In late 2000, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. How could this happen to me? I was supposed to be a helper, not someone who needed to help. I was supposed to be a paragon of faith.

But I wasn’t. I was a priest, for God’s sake, so I tried to keep it private. I just couldn’t let anyone know about how deeply I was struggling to make sense of it all.

Then it all came crashing down around me. I couldn’t hold it together anymore. My whole world became a black hole, sucking my very soul from me. So I made a plan to say goodbye to it all. Literally. I made a suicide plan, and I was this close to carrying it out.

It was only by sheer grace that someone found me in time and called the police who took me to the Mental Health Ward of the hospital in Regina. I was involuntarily committed. For 72 hours, nurses watched me carefully. All I had was some loose–fitting hospital pajamas and booties. I couldn’t go anywhere without permission. I wasn’t allowed to do anything without being watched.

For me, a large part of the problem was that stigma about mental health. It was ok to admit that you’ve got a broken leg, to get it looked after and wear a cast. But it was not ok to admit that your thoughts and your emotions are spiralling out of control. So I hid it. I tried to deal with it all on my own—which is exactly the worst thing to do when you’re depressed.

But when I could no longer avoid admitting that I needed help, the first thing I experienced was a profound sense of relief. I wasn’t alone anymore. I didn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances. My dark secret was out in the open.

Guess what? The world didn’t end. Quite the opposite. A whole new world was born. People sat with me in the darkness of my depression, and told me that I was loved and that I had value as a human being.

As time went on, I began to get the help I needed from some caring, compassionate and tough psychiatric nurses, as well as family and friends. Once I had admitted in that moment of desperation that I couldn’t do it by myself, the healing began.

It wasn’t easy. It’s pretty scary to admit our need and to become vulnerable. But I also know that’s the moment when my life began again. And to be completely honest, I still don’t have it all together. And that’s ok.

I know what the dark abyss looks like. I have danced on the edge of that abyss. I came this close to throwing myself over the edge.

My depression seduced me. It offended and teased me. It frightened me and drew me in. It tempted me with its promise of sweet oblivion and squirmed past my defenses. I couldn’t choose a healthier way because depression had invaded my tired spirit. It took me over, so that I could hardly imagine what it was like to live without it … or to imagine that I might ever live that way again. It becomes familiar. All of a sudden, I found myself enslaved to the very thing that terrified me the most. Everything else slides—your friendships, your marriage, your work, your self–worth, but I scarcely noticed. To be depressed was to be half in love with disaster.

I’m not alone. Neither are you.

The Canadian Mental Health Association is holding a Vigil this Sunday at 8 pm in front of the Dairy Queen to mark World Suicide Prevention Day. The theme is “Take a minute, change a life.”

Please come. Join me and others as we remember. Take a minute. Think. Pray. Light a candle. Change a life.

And if you are struggling with depression and suicide, please come. Talk with someone who understands, someone who can help.

On Statues, Idols and History

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

I’m going to weigh in on something that has been in the news quite a bit lately. It is very prominent in the southern US, with reports of the removal of statues of Confederate generals as a way of trying to deal with the legacy of slavery.

But it’s not just an American thing. It has also been happening in Canada, dealing largely with monuments and buildings honouring people who played a shameful part in the legacy of our treatment of indigenous peoples.

Most recently, teachers in Ontario have approved a motion which they hope will open up a wide–ranging conversation about buildings and other public monuments honouring John A MacDonald. But there have been other protests. Mi’kmaq groups have long protested the statue of Edward Cornwallis in Halifax, and argued that it should be removed. In June, Prime Minister Trudeau renamed the Langevin Block; it’s now called the Office of the Prime Minister and the Privy Council Office.

Why these protests and changes? Langevin and MacDonald were two of the primary architects of the Indian Residential School system (IRS) which stripped indigenous peoples of their identity and culture. The stated purpose of the IRS was to “beat the Indian out of the child”, and engage in a process of assimilation. Residential schools stripped indigenous children of their heritage, ripped them from their families and forced them to become little white boys and girls.

It’s a shameful legacy. Two years ago, after listening to countless painful stories, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission called on all Canadians to begin a process of repenting of our past mistakes and to move into a new future marked by reconciliation with our indigenous brothers and sisters.

Cornwallis was a British military officer who founded Halifax. As governor of Nova Scotia, he issued a bounty on Mi’kmaq scalps in response to an attack on colonists. Some Mi’kmaq leaders have called his actions a form of genocide.

The conversation the Ontario teachers were looking for is beginning. It promises to be a loud and vociferous debate. Many voices are being raised against removing these statues or other memorials. We can’t forget history, they say, or erase it. We can’t change history, and these statues and memorials remind us of our history. One historian reminds us that “we have to view the past through the eyes of the past, not through today’s different standards of what is right and what is wrong.”

I disagree. It’s not a matter of forgetting, or changing, or erasing history. It’s about whom we choose to honour and memorialize.

In 2011, as part of the School District #5 Aboriginal Education Enhancement Agreement, Mount Baker school mounted the name of the school in the Ktunaxa language. Some people wondered out loud why we had to spend the money doing that. The reason is very simple—we live in the territory of the Ktunaxa Nation, and in this way, we honour our relationship with our Ktunaxa brothers and sisters. This public act is a very important symbol of cultural respect, collaboration, and a small step on the road to Reconciliation.

That leads me to the heart of why I agree with the removal of public memorials to people who acted in ways we now know to be wrong.

Let me use an analogy from the Bible. At the beginning of Exodus, we read that the Hebrews were enslaved in Egypt. They were forced to build supply cities for the Egyptians. Part of their work was to erect giant statues of gods, kings and queens who stared down at you from impressive heights. Think Sphinx.

Now what would it have been like to be a Hebrew slave looking up at these images? Not just the ones they had to build, but the images that surrounded them day in and day out. Everwhere they turned, another statue came into view, and each statue of a god or a king or a queen looked like the Egyptians, not like you. The statues were a mute witness to the power dynamic which was that the kings and queens of Egypt were placed in power by their gods. The statues were a daily reminder of the legitimization of the status quo. If you were a Hebrew slave, well your life just doesn’t matter.

When those Hebrew slaves escaped, and made their way to Sinai, the story goes that God told them not to build any statues or images. God said to them, “I don’t need your statuary.” Why not? Because God didn’t want to be tied to the political leaders. God didn’t want to be remade in the image of the ruling class. After all, human beings were made in the image of God, and God just didn’t want to take the chance that people might misunderstand and turn that equation around. If you want to see God, look at your neighbour.

Statues and monuments like this are not so much about “history”. They are expressions of power. They are a public statement that this is how things are, and this is the way things have always been meant to be.

Monuments honouring MacDonald and Cornwallis are memorials of a power structure which is no longer in play. We live in a different time, and there is much we can do to work towards being reconciled with our indigenous neighbours. They are a daily reminder of the cultural genocide sparked by leaders like them.

Some people say, “So take them down and put them in a museum.” I’m fine with that. Let them gather dust somewhere, along with the other idols to petty tyrant gods and egocentric rulers. Let children on field trips pass by them and wonder what spiritual power they had over those who created it.

And let those children know as well that they and all people are made in God’s image, and that no ruler, no petty god, can take their freedom from them.

Love and Community in Action

I heard a remarkable story from a friend this week. She, her husband, and her two young sons were visiting in Vancouver several years ago and doing the tourist thing. They had been to Gastown, and now they were walking on the edge of the downtown eastside.

If you don’t know this location, it is a hard place. Most of the residents here are poor. Thousands are addicted to drugs and/or struggling with mental health issues. On any given day, you can walk past the alleys and see residents smoking crack or buying and selling a pharmacy of illicit drugs. On every street corner, you can witness sex workers ply their trade, or women selling their bodies to buy the drugs they crave. This area is notorious for the level of crime, homelessness, poverty, drug use and sex work. It is a hard place.

My friend and her family were aware of this history, so they stayed away from the centre and stayed well to the edges of the region. They decided they wanted to visit the Vancouver Police Museum—but unless they wanted to make a very long detour and deal with what would by then be two very cranky and tired young boys, they had to go through the downtown eastside to get there.

So they made the choice to walk through the area. They became hyper–alert as they started to make their way. They started to hear the sound of whispers ahead of them—“Children coming!” My friend became even more alert, wondering what they had gotten themselves into, wondering what kind of awful mistake they had made, wondering whether they would get out of this intact.

“Children coming!” Her head swiveled from side to side even more forcefully, alert to any danger which might present itself. She and her husband held one child each more firmly by the hand, determined to do whatever they had to in order to avoid danger or any form of damage.

“Children coming!” To her amazement, what started to happen was that those who were dealing drugs, or injecting themselves with drugs, put their drug paraphernalia away. Those who were engaged in illicit sexual activity stopped, or moved elsewhere. The language of the streets became a little cleaner. Drunks slid their bottles inside their coats. The residents of the downtown eastside made way for this family.

For a brief moment, these two children became the focus of the streets. The need for drugs to keep themselves numb from a life which had gotten too hard was pushed aside. The desire to satisfy lust was pushed down. The urge to drink was squelched. There was an unspoken urgency to protect these children from the ugliness of this slice of life.

When my friend told me this story, I could only marvel. I would not have thought that there would be such a protective instinct on the mean streets of the downtown eastside. I lived on those streets for a weekend at the beginning of my training for ministry—and that was way back in 1978. Those years looked tame compared to today. But even then they were horridly frightening to a very naïve theology student from the safe suburbs.

I could only marvel that in the midst of this fragile community which lived on the edge of disaster, there could be a safe space for a moment. I could only marvel that these residents who lived daily with danger could make a cocoon of safety for this family to walk through. I could only marvel that these people who suffered the apathy of their wealthier neighbours in Vancouver would be aware of the needs of a frightened, young, white family. I could only marvel that these people, whom we would pity or overlook, showed a sense of compassion which would put many of us to shame.

As we continued to talk about this event, I began to wonder if multi–billionaires would make time to be aware of children in their midst as they went about their daily round of making even more obscene amounts of profit at the expense of the poorest in our society. Children coming!

I began to wonder if the high and mighty and the powerful ones in our society would even notice the children in our midst as they came, and make a safe cocoon for them to travel. Children coming!

I began to wonder if the politicians who are entrusted with developing and implementing policy for all of us would notice the children whom they are charged to protect as they continue to bicker in their partisan one–upmanship. Children coming!

And then I remembered Trump speaking to the annual Boy Scout Jamboree in West Virginia just a month ago and abused them with his political rhetoric and blatant lies. Children were present, and Trump without being bothered by any display of conscience or good judgment—which are becoming hallmarks of his presidency—subjected them to this display.

In the past few weeks, I have been writing about the gospel being defined by love. Here is an instance of the kind of love which I meant. That fragile community on the downtown eastside looked beyond themselves for a moment. They sacrificed their immediate needs in order to meet the needs of a family of complete strangers. For a moment, they formed a new community. For a moment, they lived with love.

Eclipses, End Times and Growing Violence

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

This week, I’m writing about two unrelated things—the upcoming solar eclipse, and the tragedy in Charlottesville, Virginia. While they may be unrelated, there is a common thread in the comments made about both of these events by so–called Christian celebrities (I hesitate to call them “leaders”).

Many of know that we are expecting a solar eclipse this Monday (August 21) in mid–morning. The moon will pass between the sun and the earth, and cast a large shadow. Many people are making plans to travel to the USA where they will be able to view the total solar eclipse. A recent news report stated that hotel rooms in these places are going for as much as $1000 a night!

Throughout much of history, eclipses were treated as portents. They were seen to be omens of an impending disaster of cosmic significance. It’s not hard to understand why that is. The ancients didn’t have our scientific understanding of how things work. They couldn’t peer into space with telescopes, or track the movements of the sun and stars and planets. With such limited knowledge, for the sun to go completely dark in the middle of the day could be a frightening prospect. The cosmos was not working the way it should. Something terrible must be about to happen.

These days, we understand that eclipses are completely natural and repeated events. They can be predicted, and a quick Google search finds a schedule of upcoming total solar eclipses—in July 2019, December 2020, December 2021, April 2023, and even as far away as September 2099. Book your hotel room now, so you won’t face such horrendous rental charges!

In the face of all this, it comes as a shock to find some Christian celebrities who are claiming that this eclipse is a message from God. Anne Graham Lotz, the daughter of Billy Graham, tells us that “Jewish rabbis have historically viewed solar eclipses as warnings from God to Gentile nations. Therefore, my perspective on the upcoming phenomenon is not celebratory. While no one can know for sure if judgment is coming on America, it does seem that God is signaling us about something. Time will tell what that something is.”

At least she has the humility not to claim to know the mind of God exactly. Others, however, are not quite so circumspect. Pastor Gary Ray claims that this is a sign that the so–called “Rapture” is quickly approaching. The rapture is a non–biblical doctrine which claims that Jesus is coming back soon, and that believers will be whisked up into the sky to avoid the coming “tribulation”. Ray writes, “We think it’s God signaling to us that he’s about to make his next move.”

Therefore, he says, “My number one encouragement to people would be to just trust God. More importantly, to trust the right God.” He warns that those who do not believe when the day of the Rapture comes will be left behind to face the tribulations.

I have a hard time taking this stuff seriously. For me, people like Lotz and Ray will find any excuse they can to try and scare people into accepting their peculiar form of Christian faith. In fact, this is not Christian faith at all. It is nothing more than superstitious nonsense. They tend to see God in all kinds of natural events, and they view them as divine warnings and punishments.

It has happened before. Some of these preachers interpreted disasters or acts of violence as God’s punishment on a sinful people—the AIDS epidemic, or September 11, 2001, or Hurricane Katrina, or the tsunami in Japan.

It also happened with the recent violence in Charlottesville. More Christian celebrities took to the air to blame the violence not on the hatred and bigotry being spewed by the white supremacists at their rally, but on others who stood up to this increasing kind of ugliness. If only they hadn’t protested the white supremacists, everything would have been better.

Franklin Graham (Anne Graham Lotz’ brother) blamed the city politicians who issued permits to remove the statue of Robert Lee. He blamed city council for issuing a permit for a demonstration to defend the statue. Then he blamed the State Governor for not seeing that a powderkeg was about to blow up. Ultimately, however, “this boils down to evil in people’s hearts. Satan is behind it all. He wants division, he wants unrest, he wants violence and hatred. He’s the enemy of peace and unity.”

In other words, it’s everyone’s fault except those who actually fomented the violence with their anti–Semitic speech and slogans, their hatred and bigotry.

Donald Trump is not the only one who is blind and unwilling to call this kind of hatred what it really is. Others, who claim to speak in the name of God, are also empowering those who seek to spread hate.

It is time for people of good will to speak out against this kind of ugliness. Like 32–year–old Heather Heyer, the paralegal killed in Charlottesville, it may cost us dearly to do so. But if we don’t, our society will be in extreme danger … not because of an eclipse, but because hatred is growing among us like a cancer.

Wishy–Washy, Fluffy, Hippy Love

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

Last week, I wrote that I have come to believe that the gospel can be summed up very simply: “God is love. Full stop.” And, as I speculated in last week’s column, some Christians think that I have watered the gospel down. A few took me to task this week.

Some people suggested that what I wrote was nothing more than wishful thinking. I just wanted to soften the truth—which in their eyes is that God calls us to sacrifice ourselves in the service of the truth, that we have to measure up to God’s demands for righteousness, that we have to confess Jesus as our personal Lord and Saviour if we want to avoid going to hell. When I say that “God is love—full stop”, they tell me I just want to make the gospel easier and more palatable, that I am pandering to our contemporary wish to make life as easy as possible.

Someone else told me several years ago that this way of talking about the gospel is wishy–washy, fluffy, hippy nonsense! It all fits with the tie–dyed t–shirts which I like to wear.

Well, ok. If they want to believe that, they can go ahead and do so. I will bless their desire to live a righteous and faithful life. I wish them God’s deepest blessings as they seek to measure up to what they perceive as God’s demands.

All I ask for is that they bless my desire to live equally faithfully, even if it is with a different understanding.

The sad news is that they won’t do so. They tell me I have “betrayed the gospel”. Worse, I have “betrayed God.”

But let me talk a little bit about what I mean by love. How you define “love” makes all the difference.

For me, love is not a concept or a set of emotions. Love doesn’t mean having warm, cozy feelings. For me, love is exemplified in the life and death of Jesus of Nazareth.

In Jesus, I discover a sacrificial love. This kind of love reaches out to the unlovely and the unlovable. It is radically inclusive. It is a love which gives itself for the sake of the other. It is a painful love. It is a love which is willing to get down in the muck and mess of life in order to be with another.

That kind of love is not wishy–washy … or fluffy … or hippy nonsense. In fact, it is far from easy!

Do you know what is easy?

To sign a doctrinal confession, reducing Christian faith to a set of doctrines or beliefs.

To assert that there’s only one way to think about the crucifixion.

To tell people that they must “accept Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Saviour.”

None of those things are particularly difficult.

But to live as a child of the God who is love—that’s much tougher. To reorient your entire life towards radical, sacrificial, inclusive love—that’s more difficult. To commit yourself to being transformed in the way we live together and how we take care of the earth together—that requires a steadfastness which shows itself in countless daily acts.

As I was working on this column, a friend called me. We talked about this column, and she told me about a conversion experience she had many years ago.

She was involved in a 12–step program to deal with some of her issues. It’s the program used by people addicted to booze, or drugs, or any other form of addiction. They know that these 12 steps can be life–giving … and they are hard.

The first step is to acknowledge that “we are powerless over alcohol”, or any other addiction. My friend told me about completing Step 5, which is to “admit to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.” She found it a helpful and painful thing to do.

Then she got to Step 7, “humbly asking God to remove our shortcomings.” Her sponsor gave her a prayer to use which reads, “I am now willing that You should have all of me, good and bad. I pray that You now remove from me every single defect of character which stands in the way of my usefulness to You and my fellows. Grant me strength, as I go out from here, to do Your bidding.”

My friend said to me, “I couldn’t get past the first sentence of that prayer. It suddenly occurred to me that God loves me, that God loves all of me, both the good and the bad. All my life, I was taught that God loves the good in me and wants to amend the bad in me.”

After a lifetime of living in the church, of being a faithful church member, and serving the church as a minister, she suddenly knew deep in her gut the truth of the gospel: God is love. Full stop.

It was a conversion experience for her. Now, she’s busy living it out in the ways she deals with other people. She has experienced the deep truth of God’s love. Now she’s sharing it with other people.

Not wishy–washy, fluffy, hippy nonsense at all.

God is Love. Full Stop

Rev. Yme Woensdregt

As I grow older and (hopefully!) a little wiser, I become more and more convinced that the gospel can be summarized in a single phrase: God is love.

Full stop. Nothing else. No ifs, ands or buts.

I come up against this understanding again and again as I read Scripture, and as I ponder the theological implications of Scripture and in the works of the church’s theologians throughout the history of the church.

Now I know that there are some people for whom this is not enough. They will complain that it is too simplistic, too “easy”. It lets people off the hook. They say that the gospel needs to say something about human agency and human responsibility.

But in my opinion, the heart of Christian faith can be summarized very simply like this: “I am your God. You are my people. I will never stop loving you. I will never let you go.”

One of my theology professors used to remind us that “there is nothing we can do to make God love us more; there is nothing we can do to make God love us less. God doesn’t know what it means not to love, not to forgive, not to hold us gently and with compassion.”

God is love. Full stop.

Now you may consider that statement, shrug your shoulders and ask, “So what?” You may not think that this way of viewing the gospel is particularly thought–worthy or radical. You would not be alone. There are many people for whom this is not enough. As I look over the Christian landscape, particularly in North America, I hear a lot of people saying: “God is love, but …”

God is love, but most of humanity will suffer eternal torment.

God is love, but God demands a sacrifice in order to be appeased.

God is love, but you can’t be gay or lesbian or transgendered or queer.

God is love, but you have to believe in Jesus; if you don’t you’ll go to hell.

God is love, but it’s okay, really, to kill your enemies, and even more so to kill God’s enemies.

People have asked me, “What about God’s holiness, or justice, or wrath? What about God’s demand that we be righteous and holy? What about God’s demand for purity? Doesn’t that make it okay to exercise just a little bit of violence to make the world more pure? After all, Jesus’ death was God’s redemptive violence at work, wasn’t it?”

These questions show that how foreign this notion is to Christianity as it is being practiced in most of North America. They can’t accept that God is love. Full stop. There always needs to be something more. There is always something which qualifies God’s love.

I don’t believe that. As I’ve already said many times in this column, I have come to believe that God is love. Full stop.

God loves each of us. God loves all of us. It doesn’t matter to God who you are. It doesn’t matter what colour you are. It doesn’t matter what faith you espouse. Your sexuality doesn’t make any difference. It doesn’t matter what you have done or what you have left undone.

It might matter to us — but let’s be quite clear that it doesn’t matter to God.

The apostle Paul said the same thing in his letter to the church in Galatia. It was a church which was being torn apart by the rivalries of different groups. Some people were saying that in order to be a good Christian, you had to become a good Jew first. But Paul says quite clearly, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.”

What Paul is saying that all of our human distinctions count for nothing in God’s economy. In his translation “The Message”, Eugene Peterson translates it this way: “In Christ’s family there can be no division into Jew and non–Jew, slave and free, male and female. Among us you are all equal.”

In view of the questions contemporary church people ask (see the list above), it strikes me again just how radical a thing it is to say this. God is love. Full stop.

The word “radical” originally came from the Latin radicalis, which means “of or having roots”, “going back to the origins or essentials”. This way of viewing the gospel message is, in my view, simply radical. It drives us back to the roots of Christian faith in Jesus; it drives us back to our origins, in which Jesus came proclaiming a vision of the love of God for all people.

And if God is love … then 1 John 4 reminds us that to worship such a God requires of us that we also love all people, for “everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love.”

Here then, is the gospel.

God is love.

Full stop.