Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

We are aflame but not destroyed - Kenneth Tanner

In firefighting parlance, the bush on Sinai is “fully involved,” it’s engulfed by flame, every branch, every stem, every leaf.

The bush is burning but it’s not being harmed. The leaves are not turning to ash, the branches are not becoming red coals, fallen to earth and aglow as they are consumed.

No, the plant is verdant, full of life, and moisture, not a cell is dead or damaged. It’s internal life-giving structures remain. There is therefore no smoke but there is somehow an inexplicable fire.

This is what turns the head of Moses and this would turn our head, too. This is not how it goes with the things of this world and fire. Fire destroys the things of this world but not *this* fire.

The first Christians see the Son of God in the bush, not only as the “angel” that speaks from its center; for them this tree represents the body of God in the humanity of Jesus and the sacred fire represents the divine life that suffuses his ordinary and frail human dust.

Jesus is human all-in and divine all-in: the human things he does reveal his humble divinity and the divine things he does reveal his vulnerable humanity.

The burning bush in this sense prefigures the transfiguration of Jesus, where a brightness unknown to this world engulfs the physical Christ, shining brighter than the sun in full strength, a bright sadness that reveals the cross as the crux of what it means to be human and what it means to be God.

The cross neither destroys the humanity of Jesus; nor his divinity. Instead the death of God in the human flesh of Jesus destroys death, not only for Jesus but for all who share human nature, making resurrection the end of every human and not the grave.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning writes that “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; but only he who sees, takes off his shoes.” Every bush. Ponder that.

By grace every human can become as the bush: engulfed by the fiery presence of God but unharmed, “fully involved” by flames that sanctify her, body and soul, burning away everything in her that is not of love.

The first Christians, some of whom, like Moses, dwelt in the desert, tell this story:

“Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, ‘Abba as far as I can I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?’ then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, ‘If you will, you can become all flame.’”

The angel that speaks from the midst of the bush identifies himself as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He tells Moses that this has been his name before any of these mere humans existed and will always be his name, for he is outside time and always simply the same God that appears to us whenever in time he appears to us.

Centuries later, Jesus—the “angel” who speaks to Moses from the fiery bush—gets into a conversation with the Sadducees, who denied the resurrection. Jesus goes all the way back to this story on Sinai:

“But now, as to whether the dead will be raised—haven’t you ever read about this in the writings of Moses, in the story of the burning bush? Long after Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had died, God said to Moses, ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.’ “So he is the God of the living, not the dead. You have made a serious error.” (Mark‬ ‭12:26-27‬ ‭NLT‬)

Moses, too, is now among these who ever-live, as the transfiguration of Christ reveals.

The deliverance that God accomplishes in the flesh of Jesus, by the Passover he endures on the cross—prefigured in the thorns of the engulfed-but-not-consumed bush—is the defeat of death that death might vanish from human nature like straw in flame (Athanasius).

When we ignore every satanic voice that hinders us from taking up our cross, we too with Jesus Christ become walking, talking trees of life, aflame with the fire of God but not destroyed, made ready to participate in his deliverance of those who all their lifetimes are enslaved by the fear of death, made ready to love our enemies, made ready to preserve the creation God loves. In our eyes every bush is afire with his energies, every patch of ground holy.

Image: “Holy Ground” by Mike Moyers.

Ron Dart on Canadian Conservatism (High Red Toryism) with Cornelius Christian

Turning Inward, Turning Outward--Wounded Healers or Wounded Hurters - Eddie Glaude Jr.

Certainty, Uncertainty and Wisdom: The Christian Tradition - Ron Dart

For now we see through a glass darkly
1 Corinthians 13:12
St. Paul

Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And Thou, O Lord, art more than they.

In Memoriam
Alfred Lord Tennyson      

Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise

Shakespeare                       

1. The Gnostic Temptation                   

We are living through yet another acute phase in the culture wars. The content does differ in many ways from previous ages however the means of engaging the hot button issues has a long line and lineage. The obvious and presenting issues tend to sharply divide the cultural Marxists, social justice warriors, woke ethos, #MeToo, Black Lives Matter, street activists, progressive leftist leaning liberals and new atheists from the alt-lite-new right, reactionary right, free speech leanings and various types of traditionalists and nationalist conservatives. Those who would toss paint on historic statues and pull them down inevitably birth reactionary law and order types. One extreme births the opposite.  Although the issues priorized and interpreted bring both tribes into inevitable collisions, both clans assume the sheer rightness of their positions and tend to demean the other and, worse yet, rhetorical flame throwing is common and cancel culture dominates. This obstinate and committed position of uncritical and uncriticized certainty is at the heart of the gnostic temptation of the simplistic and ideological left and right (and can be found within many religious communities also past and present).

There is a tendency to think Gnosticism was only an early church heresy in which spirit was opposed to matter, mind to time, the higher and eternal the good, time and history to be transcended as being evil. There is some truth, of course, in such a historic read of Gnosticism as a  challenge to the early church, but deeper than the content is the gnostic way of interpreting our all too human journey. The Gnostics, like the Manicheans, reduced complex reality to black-white categories, interpretations were right-wrong, truth-falsehood, certainty-uncertainty was the way of deciding who was in-out in the tribe and inner ring. The simplistic dualism cannot be missed. The gnostic way of seeing and interpreting spiritual realities (they saw themselves as the enlightened ones, the church more subordinate and of lesser insights) was one of certain knowing (gnostic tends to mean knowing of a higher and more certain level) that cannot be doubted. It is this gnostic appetite and desperate need for certainty that very much dominates the newest scene and act in the ongoing human drama of contentious issues in the culture wars, political correctness the new secular creed and dogma, those who differ branded as heretics to “the Cause”.    

I will briefly linger, using Eric Voegelin as a guide, on how the gnostic way is as much with us today as it was in the early decades of the church, the content different, the need for certainty the same. When Gnosticism is secularized, the certainty theme remains even though the literal gnostics of history vanish. Voegelin, in his updated notion of Gnosticism, The New Science of Politics and his smaller yet nonetheless poignant missive, Science, Politics and Gnosticism can be a valuable pointer on clarifying much on the perennial nature of Gnosticism. But, let us briefly return to the Patristic and Creedal era of the early church and ponder how they deftly avoided the gnostic temptation as a way of knowing and being.

The Pastor & the President – Reflections on the Implosion - Brad Jersak

The Pastor: A Crisis

Paul Young and I have just released our novella, The Pastor: A Crisis (Capella Books 2020). The story features the dramatic meltdown of a fundamentalist pastor whose ministry of condemnation and moralism turns out to be a mask for his own deep wounds and their shameful consequences. Forced to face his ‘demons,’ the question is whether this tragic figure can yet find redemption.

When asked if the central figure represents Paul or I, the answer is No. The Pastor is actually a fictional composite that reflects real situations we’ve encountered, but we can certainly both relate to the damage done by religious abuse, harms we’ve experienced and the hurt we caused others in our own unique brokenness. And really, doesn’t that describe the human condition? In the great cosmic bus crash, we were all on board—it’s just that some folks (like me) found themselves in more privileged seats as others went through the proverbial windshield face-first.  

Back to our story: egoism and self-will love to flow through religiosity, inevitably expressed in the oppression of others. Of course, that’s contemptible. What’s less obvious in the headlines is how perpetrators may be projecting and paying forward their own traumatic backstory at others’ expense. That doesn’t make it okay, but neither does ignoring that reality solve the problem. Cycles of abuse aren’t arrested through retribution—true justice that restores lives and societies only comes via the hard work of pursuing restorative paths for everyone involved.    

The President: An Implosion

By unhappy coincidence, The Pastor is being released the same week as Jerry Falwell Jr.’s scandalous implosion splashed its way across the front pages of every news outlet in America. The parallels to our story are significant – fundamentalist religion, moral hypocrisy, sexual deviance—the juicy stuff that feeds our craving for karmic blowback. The sad truth is that while you can make this stuff up, it’s a gut-punch when fiction is revealed as truth. But what is the truth? What are we meant to see through the swirling haze of another tabloid-worthy scandal? Here are a few takeaway reflections viewed through my study of the Gospels, my experience as a pastoral burnout and as co-creator of The Pastor.

1. “Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again” (Matthew 7:1-2 KJV).

Jesus’ ominous warning (doubly so in ye olde English) should have been sufficient to humble his followers for all time. We should note that he is not issuing a divine threat so much as describing the nature of reality and the structure of society. In other words, I don’t read these verses as Christ’s intention—as in, “I’m going to pay you back in kind, you rotters.” He’s already rejected eye-for-an-eye payback earlier in this very sermon.

Rather, I hear Jesus talking about what typically happens in real life to those who are heavy-handed in their condemnation of others. Those who apply harsh standards inevitably break their own standards and then get judged by those same standards, whether by the culture or their conscience.

In the world we live in, the same activities Falwell is being condemned and cancelled for are continually normalized and even glorified on my Netflix menu. So, in our post-monogamous, anything-goes hook-up culture, why should he be singled out for condemnation?

Jesus explains it perfectly—Falwell was not so much judged for his actions but for his judgments and by his judgments, in the same measure as his judgments. That indicates to me that authentic repentance could start with his judgments and hypocrisy, rather than the ways he embarrassed his school or church’s image.

The irony is that our first temptation is to pick up the same stones Mr. Falwell has just dropped and feel justified in our heady new role as his judges. I stand warned by the same words of Christ. Which leads me to my next reflection.   

2. I need to examine my schadenfreude

^3 “And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? ⁴ Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? ⁵ Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.”

Schadenfreude is a German term that literally means “pain-joy.” It is the odd feeling of satisfaction people derive from seeing someone else’s misfortunate—usually someone we hold in contempt. It’s that twinge of pleasure we feel when the proud man falls.

My son Stephen told me about a scientific study that suggested all but two of our emotions are experienced in one region of the brain: the exceptions are envy and schadenfreude. It made us wonder if they are emotions at all—and how the two vices are related.

I found myself instantly face-to-face with schadenfreude at the news of Falwell’s demise. I also knew from hard experience the importance of immediately resisting it. My greatest failings have been consistently treated with empathy and mercy—how dare I play the role of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:21-35). But I also felt it necessary to examine the temptation instead of burying it in denial. Whence comes the schadenfreude? What is it about? What is it up to?

I saw how my truest self—“the better angels of my nature” or my true self-in-Christ—instinctively prayed, “Lord, grant Mr. Falwell the same mercy I’ve received.” After all, I can’t expect to live in the land of grace while consigning him to the land of the law. I can’t expect God to correct me with a feather while demanding the hammer drop for the other.

Simply and selfishly put, “Release him with the kindness I want for myself.” Or in a more Christlike vein, “Father, forgive him. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.” But Brad, his sins were not in ignorance. They were deliberate. Deliberate yes, as are mine, but do we truly know what we do? We rarely understand the breadth of shrapnel and depth of damage we inflict when we entitle ourselves to transgress others and imagine we’re getting away with something. And no, that doesn’t disqualify us from forgiveness or exempt us from forgiving. But I won’t impose forgiveness on others who must live with pain they continue to endure. I’m only examining my own beam here.

I wonder too if schadenfreude is the shadow side of something right gone wrong. Is the satisfaction somehow also related to the exposure and expulsion of something we already intuited as rotten? When we know fundy-guilt-alism is a toxic counterfeit of authentic faith that has sabotaged millions of ex-vangelicals, we feel in our bones a certain rightness when the curtain is pulled back and the fraud is revealed.

The Psalmist, inspired by the Spirit, invokes curses against such men, even beseeching God,

¹² Let there be none to extend mercy unto him: neither let there be any to favour his fatherless children… ¹⁵ Let them be before the Lord continually, that he may cut off the memory of them from the earth.

Are these verses a revelation of God’s heart? Christ rejects cursing our enemies when he calls for blessing and prayers for them. Maybe the true inspiration here is that in God’s presence, David’s schadenfreude is honestly expressed so it can be thoroughly expunged, and all malice neutralized. Nevertheless, we are grateful when deception is finally seen for what it is and comes to a terminus.

3. “Moral outrage is a form of confession.” –Archbishop Lazar Puhalo

Finally, for a seasoned confessor like the monk Lazar Puhalo, nothing that went down with Mr. Falwell and Liberty University (as a multi-generational fundamentalist system) was a surprise. To Lazar, the moralizing message and ministry of condemnation is the surest sign and symptom of deeper, repressed passions Mr. Falwell was suffering. Those briefly released IG photos and videos were a confession dying to happen—‘dying’ because Falwell’s sloppiness signals the wear and tear of chronic guilt. Beneath the licentious behavior, Lazar saw (years ago) a soul who was suffering the corrosion of his own corruption and who projected his affliction in escalating xenophobia. The secret pain that energized his attacks is now public.

At least that’s how Abp. Lazar would diagnose him from afar (because who in his inner circle is up to it?). I’d call his assessment generous, because he’s seeing past the acting out behavior to the troubled heart of a real person. In confession, Lazar never asks, “What sins have you committed?” He always, always begins, “What is troubling you?” And his agenda is to bring the gospel to the heart of that trouble. That’s the mercy I’ve known throughout my own troubles. I hope that kind of love will penetrate Jerry Falwell Jr.’s heart and extend to all those damaged by the same system he both propped up and that became his cruel millstone.

In that sense, though Paul Young and I wrote the first drafts of The Pastor: A Crisis some years ago, I do see our book directly addressing both the dark shadows of this moment and, Lord willing, shining a healing light into it.

Can the West Be Converted? The Call to Authentic Christian Discipleship - Andrew Larsen

Introduction: Niche Discipleship and Mercenaries of the Church

    When I served as a missionary in “world missions” I was a hero of the church by crossing a body of salt water and reaching a foreign people for the Gospel. Missionary service was often heralded as the epitome of the greatest sacrifice one could make as a disciple of Jesus Christ. I cut my teeth on biographies of mission pioneers, some of them who were martyred in the cause of Christ. The great exploits of missionaries (and me by following their example) accomplished, and the costs paid in commitment to the cause--like leaving home and family, crossing borders and immersion in a new culture for the Gospel--put us all in the “exceptional” category of Christianity. It is not my objective to denigrate what missionaries do or have done. I was one of them. However, I have come to conclude, the result of this whole system has made the mission of the church an adjunct activity and clearly extra-curricular in Christian discipleship. Along with this approach to world missions, the journey of discipleship in the broader church of modern Christianity, endorsed acceptable tiers of commitment and faithfulness. There were the radical disciples¹ and all the rest—mostly standard church goers.

     This endeavor of crossing boundaries in mission was a unique calling, exotic and romantic to my supporters. It also encouraged a system that accepted the bifurcation of engagement in this kind of work from standard Christian discipleship. There is another consequence that I see at this juncture. Discipleship has become extremely watered down and Christian identity, especially of the evangelical brand, has become fused with certain ideological tenets of conservatism that rarely align with Jesus’ teaching on the Kingdom of God. The task of calling people today, for instance, to the important work of the Kingdom or the ethics of Jesus, like racial reconciliation, peacemaking, advocacy for Black and Brown lives, and an array of many other social justice issues is often met with a blind stare, or direct opposition. There may be some mental ascent in some churches to these activities, the stuff that radicals engage in, but you do not necessarily have to sign-up to do anything about it. Efforts to try and make a difference in the world outside the four walls of the church, especially in suburbia, are behaviors taken up by a select few, or they find expression by supporting a very narrow agenda in the culture wars and voting for the right candidate. Supporting a World Vision child or giving to the World Relief offering every Thanksgiving are the high bar in expectations but even optional.²

     There is another consequence of this way of thinking and behaving. Besides objectifying the people who are carriers of the “mission endeavor” (missionaries), those on the other side of the mission-sending and mission-receiving enterprise become opaque, at best pictures we hang on our refrigerator, images of people in need of our benevolence and financial contributions. When I was a missionary for over many years, we would often talk about people, or regions we serve on the field as targets and we developed strategies for reaching them. Sadly, in this construct, I served as a mercenary for the church. I was the designated specialist who trained for years, learned a foreign language, raised money for the mission work God had called me to, and went out for sequential “terms of service.” This all subverted the mission of the church under the banner of missions.

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NOTES:

[1] And we even have our specialized devotionals like “Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals” by Shane Claiborne, Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and Enuma Okoro. Zondervan. 2010.

[2] Many of these premises derive from the juxtaposition of serving as a missionary to Mexico for 10 years, followed immediately by serving as a Pastor of Missions and Outreach in a suburban church for 5 years. The tragedy of 9-11 occurred 2 years into the second season of ministry and formed some of my sense of the conclusions I have drawn in this paper, or at least observations that give me pause and force me to dig deeper.

 

Andrew Larsen is a peace activist serving principally to build bridges of understanding and collaboration between Christians and Muslims. He works directly as a consultant in peacemaking with Serve Globally and Love Mercy Do Justice, national departments of the Evangelical Covenant Church. His extensive travels to the MENA region, specially to Israel/Palestine have given much fodder for two movies on peacemaking in the I/P conflict, “Blessed Are the Peacemakers: One Man’s Journey to the Heart of Palestine,” and “Make Hummus Not Walls.” Andrew is an accomplished photographer, having been published in the Nat’l Geographic Traveler Magazine and considers photography a piece of his contemplative lifestyle, seeking to be present to God’s beautiful creation as well as the peoples and stories he encounters in his peacemaking work. For more stories, pictures and prompts for the inward-outward journey see his blog http://worldlyholiness.com/

Movie links can be found here: http://worldlyholiness.com/movies-study-guide-from-peacetalkers-to-peacemakers/

 

Sources of Contemporary Genocide by John Bart Gerald

A radical look at indications of contemporary genocide, focusing on the United States, Canada, France, Myanmar, Libya, Guatemala, South Africa, Sudan, Greece, Central African Republic, Ukraine, Israel/Palestine, Cameroon, Haiti, Democratic Republic of Congo, Venezuela, among other countries, and how the risk of genocide has become normalized in our thinking. These sequences of history further the recognition of genocide so we might avoid complicity and confront the atrocities of our times. An abundance of endnotes helps verify facts which history may try to suppress to hide evidence of crimes. The Convention on Genocide has no statute of limitations. Inexpensive e-book versions of the work are available through most book services.

In 2001 Gerald began writing the three thousand page nightslantern.ca, a website for the prevention of genocide where much of this work appears as sequential entries searching for why genocides occur. Maas's images come from her notebooks of drawings and sketches for etchings and paintings through the years. In 1989 their small press of Gerald & Maas published the United Nations Convention on Genocide with supporting documents when it was out of print at the U.N.

The Canadian revised edition appeared from Ottawa in 1996 and remains available online at no charge. Gerald's early work appeared as novels with Viking and F.S.&G., and widely anthologized antiwar stories. His teaching has included two years as a Briggs Copeland Lecturer at Harvard. Maas's artwork appeared with WIN (WRL) where she was an art director during Vietnam, FOR, Sesame Street, Scholastic, Beacon Press, Atheneum, Harcourt Brace, Knopf / Random, and Gerald & Maas. From N.Y.C., both now live and work in Montreal.

Sources of Contemporary Genocide, by John Bart Gerald, graphics by Julie Maas, Imprint Gerald and Maas Montreal / Tablo Pty Ltd. Melbourne, 2020. ISBN 9781922439604 paperback 458 pages. ISBN 9781922439598 e-book.

John 8: The Perennial Challenge of the Sanhedrin-Pharisees: Truth and its Fragments by Ron Dart

John, the Contemplative Theologian
John 8 and the Perennial Challenge of the Sanhedrin-Pharisees:
Truth and its Fragments by Ron Dart

Professor Ron Dart gives his fifth lecture in a series of lectures titled John: Contemplative Theologian. In this lecture, Dart expands his discussion on the challenge of interpretation and the tendency for humans to form Sanhedrin's who strenuously defend a given interpretation, often times to the peril of the essence of the tradition itself. Hence, there is a need for a degree of humility in our given interpretation that finds a middle way between relativity and certainty. Dart couches the lecture in the Greek word used for truth in this context, aletheia (ἀλήθεια), and contrasts it with the Greek word used for stone in this context, lithos (λίθος), to illuminate the message of unconcealing and openness to Being.

The Alpine Guide: A Parable - Ron Dart

Once upon a time, there was an Alpine Guide who had spent a delight of a day under the blue canopy on a generous summit. The early afternoon joined him and he began the lengthy descent to the valley floor. He met on his way downwards a variety of people and groups winding their way to the upper ridges. Each and all told the Guide they were going to spend the day on the mountain top and take the chair lift down.

The Alpine Guide told them there was no chair lift down, they were starting too late in the day, it was a long journey to the peak and the weather was deteriorating. Most ignored what the Guide said and he continued the remainder of his journey to the village in the valley.

Dusk, then dark, inevitably brought the day to a close, winds whipped up, the cloud ceiling dropped low, whiteout conditions prevailed and a late-season snowstorm buried the mountain in white.

Search and Rescue teams were sent out searching for those on the mountain. Few were found, most perished. And, sadly so, some Search and Rescue members also died.

Ron Dart

The Dreams I Dream - Brian Zahnd

 

Jacob’s Dream by Marc Chagall, 1966

The Dreams I Dream
Brian Zahnd

And it shall come to pass afterward
That I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh;
Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
Your old men shall dream dreams,
Your young men shall see visions.
-Joel 2:28

The prophet Joel says the outpouring of the Spirit results in dreams and visions. They’re similar, but not exactly the same. Visions are prose and need a plan; dreams are poetry and need only be dreamt. Visions are still a little bit tethered to what we tend to think is possible; dreams are a portal to a world where all things are possible. Dreams are truly transcendental — we are free to dream of that which we have no idea how it could come to pass. I’m not talking about daydreams, pipedreams, idle dreams; I’m talking about Spirit-inspired dreams. As I open to the Spirit — the agent of all possibility — I’ve dreamed some dreams about a future church.

I dream of a church that is a house of love, a city of refuge, a shelter from the storm.

The beleaguered souls in the house of fear desperately need a house of love. The accused, canceled, and set upon need a city of refuge. The weary and worn, exhausted from the constant strain of caustic culture wars, need a shelter from the storm. This is precisely what the church is called to be. Sunday morning should be a weekly leave from the constant battle of life. The password in our churches is the exchange of peace: The peace of Christ be with you. And also with you.

I dream of a church that is a pioneer in the way of peace and never again a chaplain to the masters of war.

The greatest infidelity of the church has been to serve the masters of war. In the hagiographic legend, Constantine on the eve of the battle for the Milvian bridge saw a cross in the heavens with the words, “In this sign you shall conqueror.” That was the beginning of killing in the name of the cross — a grotesque departure from the nonviolent peace tradition the church had held for three centuries. At the Milvian Bridge, a deal was made with the devil that eventually led to the two world wars in Europe where baptized Christians slaughtered one another by the millions in the name of national allegiance. The future of the church is found in its primal past of renouncing war and waging peace.

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Jacob’s Dream by Marc Chagall, 1966

The Dreams I Dream
Brian Zahnd

And it shall come to pass afterward
That I will pour out My Spirit on all flesh;
Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,
Your old men shall dream dreams,
Your young men shall see visions.
-Joel 2:28

The prophet Joel says the outpouring of the Spirit results in dreams and visions. They’re similar, but not exactly the same. Visions are prose and need a plan; dreams are poetry and need only be dreamt. Visions are still a little bit tethered to what we tend to think is possible; dreams are a portal to a world where all things are possible. Dreams are truly transcendental — we are free to dream of that which we have no idea how it could come to pass. I’m not talking about daydreams, pipedreams, idle dreams; I’m talking about Spirit-inspired dreams. As I open to the Spirit — the agent of all possibility — I’ve dreamed some dreams about a future church.

I dream of a church that is a house of love, a city of refuge, a shelter from the storm.

The beleaguered souls in the house of fear desperately need a house of love. The accused, canceled, and set upon need a city of refuge. The weary and worn, exhausted from the constant strain of caustic culture wars, need a shelter from the storm. This is precisely what the church is called to be. Sunday morning should be a weekly leave from the constant battle of life. The password in our churches is the exchange of peace: The peace of Christ be with you. And also with you.

I dream of a church that is a pioneer in the way of peace and never again a chaplain to the masters of war.

The greatest infidelity of the church has been to serve the masters of war. In the hagiographic legend, Constantine on the eve of the battle for the Milvian bridge saw a cross in the heavens with the words, “In this sign you shall conqueror.” That was the beginning of killing in the name of the cross — a grotesque departure from the nonviolent peace tradition the church had held for three centuries. At the Milvian Bridge, a deal was made with the devil that eventually led to the two world wars in Europe where baptized Christians slaughtered one another by the millions in the name of national allegiance. The future of the church is found in its primal past of renouncing war and waging peace.

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On Michael Grunwald's article "He's destroyed conservatism" - Wayne Northey's response

Wayne Northey reflects on Michael Grunwald's Poltico article "He's destroyed conservatism: The Republican Case against Trump's GOP."

Wayne Northey: The article speaks for itself. As I write, I am reading: Jesus and John Wayne: How White Evangelicals Corrupted a Faith and Fractured a Nation by Kristin Kobes du Mez.

When I think that in excess of 80% of American White Evangelicals stillsupport Trump–arguably the most immoral, narcissistic, corrupt, lying President in history (Trump ever brags about his superior . . . well everything, so he’ll no doubt own any noun following “the most” 🙂 ), and claim that his is the way of Jesus, God’s man for this hour, God’s chosen vessel, on and on ad nauseum, the nausea does make one want to throw up–for a long time, multitudes of times . . . 

As one looks above at one such instance of oh so pious and holy Religious/Alt Right (deplorable) supporters praying over the President, my mind fills with images: images of children ripped from their families some never to be reunited; of DHS and other elite trained thugs creating violent mayhem in the streets against protesters; of support of brutal Philippine dictator Duterte found guilty of war crimes, and Trump as full accomplice found likewise to be a war criminal according to a ruling from the International Peoples’ Tribunal on the Philippines; etc., etc., etc., one at once wants to scream bloody murder (literally!), cry out in righteous fury, and call the God-Damned (for so they all are in their unwavering blind-leaders-of-the-blind support of Trump!) religious leaders such as sickeningly pictured here, and multiplied millions more . . .  every epithet in the book–finishing off with “war criminals and blasphemers all”. Blasphemers for their gargantuan sin of taking God’s name–endlessly!– in vain vis à vis Trump; their idolization of the military and of preemptive militarism; their total embrace of an abusive masculinity and attendant ruthlessness, etc., etc., etc.  . . .  (See on some of this Chapter 7 of du Mez’ book, “The Greatest American Hero”, pp. 118ff.)

There’s that old politician saying: “The voters/[White Evangelicals] have spoken, the bastards.”—Stuart Stevens

What one wants to do . . . I want to do . . . is scream from the housetops to White Evangelical America: Your “god” is an all-consuming Moloch who represents everything contrary to the Way of Jesus; to the “better way”  of Paul; to the bar-none central organizing theme of peace and peacemaking in the New Testament! . . .  (See on this last (my book review of) Willard Swartley’s magisterial Covenant of Peace: The Missing Peace in New Testament Theology and Ethics, Willard M. Swartley, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006.)

If I had majority White America alone to go on (and much of similar ilk in Canada), then theologian Walter Wink is searingly right in declaring: “against which the revolt of atheism is pure religion!” God bless this vision of America?! Not on your (eternal) life! Hell, even hell frozen over, is the most blessed choice  . . .

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Blind and Deaf - Bob Ekblad

Lately, I have been compelled to keep an eye on current events, during what feels like particularly dangerous times. Partisan divisions, fear about the pandemic, the economy and anger in the face of visible injustices contribute to a climate of deep insecurity.

 

Recently I was praying and journaling, asking God for deeper discernment and clearer discernment—to see under surface appearances what the Spirit wants me to know.

 

I went to sleep and in the early morning hours I had a vivid dream that a child came to me and prophesied, saying: “You are blind. You are deaf.”

 

In the dream I was struck by how confident the child was, and began to question this as over-confidence. But then I thought of Jesus’ call to welcome the children, and decided to receive this word and ponder it.

 

When I woke up I began thinking about the divisions that I myself participate in. Truthfully, I think I see more clearly than those I disagree with– who also seem way too confident that they see more clearly than me.

 

I then remembered the words of Jesus:

 

“For judgment I came into this world, so that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind” (John 9:39).

 

If I do not see, that is, if I am in fact blind– only then do I stand to “benefit” from the judgment that Jesus brings into the world. If I claim that I see, then Jesus’ judgment for me is to “become blind.”

 

The child’s confident declaration: “you are blind, you are deaf!” then is very good news, because it positions me to benefit directly from Jesus’ ministry: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for he has anointed me to proclaim…. recovery of sight to the blind” (Luke 4:18).

 

As I continue to notice my lack of sight, I can cry out in desperation like the blind man at the entrance to Jericho, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” and wait for Jesus to speak to me like he did that humble man: “What do you want me to do for you?” And I can say “Lord I want to regain my sight!” and position myself to receive my sight.

 

I can see though that I carry within myself the attitude of the Pharisees, when I view myself as an exception, as one who is uniquely seeing– prophetic, unlike those with whom I disagree.

 

In fact, I too protest as they did: “We are not blind too, are we?”—me, Gracie and our like-minded friends?! And Jesus tells me:  “If you were blind, you would have no sin; but since you say, ‘we see,’ your sin remains.”

 

I most certainly do not want to say “I see,” or even believe that I do secretly, while I claim to confess my blindness. No! Instead I want to benefit from Jesus coming to me, opening my eyes– which according to this text requires I truly acknowledge my very real blindness.

 

Let us be careful not to justify an attitude like that of the Pharisees, who say “we see.” This is the dominant attitude visible in our country today, with people pitted against one another, informed by our opposing media sources, claiming to “see” clearly what’s really happening. There’s a widespread lack of humility these days, and Christians often spout viewpoints that differ little from the mainstream media (right wing or progressive/left). What is the Spirit saying to the churches?

 

I long for greater clarity, and want to be guided forward in alignment with God’s will, speaking and acting in agreement with God’s Living Word for now—stripped of ideology, politics and personal bias.

 

In my blind and deaf state, I am drawn to being part of the adventure of faith, a member of the company of God’s people who are led forward by the Lord, as stated in Isaiah 42:16.

 

“I will lead the blind by a way they do not know, in paths they do not know I will guide them. I will make darkness into light before them and rugged places into plains. These are the things I will do, and I will not leave them undone.”

 

Being led by Jesus by a way a do not know excites me and gives me hope. So today I am reflecting on this, trying to acknowledge that I myself am like the people the Lord addresses in Isaiah 42:18.

 

“Hear, you deaf! And look, you blind, that you may see. Who is blind but my servant, or so deaf as my messenger whom I send? Who is so blind as he that is at peace with me, or so blind as the servant of the Lord? You have seen many things, but you do not observe them; Your ears are open, but none hears.”

 

As the Lord’s servant who I hope to be, I want to acknowledge my deafness, my blindness, and then respond to the command “hear!” and “look!”

 

I want Jesus to notice me, like he did the blind man at the beginning of John 9, and I welcome him anointing my eyes with his spitty mud— at least I think I do.

 

I ponder the command of Jesus to the blind man to “go and wash in the pool “Siloam,” (meaning “sent”)– to himself find his way there in the dark, where he washed off his muddy eyes. It was this act of humble obedience and trust that resulted in him coming back seeing (John 9:7).  I wonder what the equivalent of Jesus’ command would be for me– today, tomorrow and on into this Fall and Winter and beyond—to walk forward blindly to the place Jesus sends me—to wash, and see. Will I be attentive and responsive? I think of the prophet Isaiah’s later word and want to obey (literally hear) the voice and trust.

“Who is among you that fears the Lord, that obeys the voice of his servant, that walks in darkness and has no light? Let him trust in the name of the Lord and rely on his God” (Isaiah 50:10).

May we enter into a healthy, redemptive blindness, letting Jesus open our eyes and help us see clearly in these dark times.

 

Check out upcoming webinar courses through The People’s Seminary HERE.

 

 

Rediscovering the well-worn Way - Jonathan Parker

Rediscovering the well-worn Way

Quarantine has brought a newfound clarity and beauty to being part of Christ’s global church for our family. On Sunday mornings, we eat pancakes, read scripture, and take Eucharist with our two older kids, as our one-year-old cheers along from his highchair. It’s never perfect, but it’s one of the most beautiful rhythms of our week.

For years, my generation has been accused of leaving the church or walking away from the faith, but it’s quite the opposite. We’re not walking away, but towards something better, richer and fuller.

This isn’t deconstruction. It’s rediscovery. We’ve been tired and exhausted and defeated from the devastating cycle striving and shame creates. And worse, we’ve seen the long-term effects a lifetime of trying to maintain faith out of sheer will and human ingenuity has had on generations before us.

They don’t seem particularly joyful, hopeful or loving—marks of those that have encountered the living Christ. In fact, they seem burnt out and ready to pass onto the next life—as if the Kingdom of Christ only exists after death.

How can we embrace a theology that claims all of humanity was worth Christ dying for, but isn’t worth us caring for?

And so, we’ve begun our trek towards a greater hope, not blindly, but following the well-worn road of countless other saints that believed Christ came to usher in a new Kingdom—here and now.

We’re journeying along hand-in-hand-in-hand with the Father, Son and Holy Spirit in relationship, trusting that we are loved greater than we could ever fathom.

We’re asking—not demanding—that our children join us in each step as we learn to live by faith and not sight. This isn’t brand new territory as we’ve learned by digging deeper into the treasure trove offered to us by St. John, St. Athanasius and many others.

We’re seeing the Word Made Flesh with fresh eyes and clearer hearts and trusting that the Good Shepherd will never leave us or abandon us.

We’re letting our hearts savor the rest that comes from taking on a yoke that’s easy and light.

We’re coming to see that relationship trumps retaliation. Every. Single. Time.

We’re embracing the dying words of our Savior—said in unison with the Father and Spirit—that we are completely forgiven through His finished, self-giving death on the cross.

We’re reading and re-reading Jesus’ sermons and are convinced He meant every word and that taking up our cross and following Him means not only helping the poor and the sick and the needy, but knowing their names, just as He does.

We’re trusting that the Ascended Son of God embraces and empathizes with all human experience and so we can cast our cares and anxieties on Him.

We’re not afraid because we’re retracing the steps of Jesus, who hasn’t left us wandering alone, but offers His hand and His heart to guide us along the way.

We’re believing that we can entrust our whole hearts and the whole of humanity to the Three that hold all things together.

For so long, many of us believed God felt nothing but anger, resentment and rage towards us and that if we escaped His great wrath, it would be only because He killed His Son instead.

We never stopped to question this equation, we just followed until ...

Until we had children of our own and peering into those eyes, knew deep down that there was nothing that could separate them from our love. And if that was true of human parents, how much higher and deeper and loving are the ways of the Three who brought all of humanity into being?

So have we rejected the faith or walked away from the church? Perhaps the modern telling of it, but for our part, we’re actually pushing in closer to sit at the Master’s feet to listen and learn and love. 

Mostly, we’ve decided we—and our children—deserve a life filled with wonder and awe in the presence of a God greater than we ever dared to dream

What is lost will always be found - Jonathan Parker

What is lost will always be found

My children love playing hide and seek. Their hiding spots are rarely hard to find, but that’s the point. Their favorite part is being found.

In the larger human experience, our game of hide-and-seek is no longer playful but rooted in deep shame and self-hate. We make a mistake—sometimes a grave one—and unless we’re extremely healthy and whole, we run and hide, from anyone and everything, especially God.

Depending on the degree to which we view God as angry judge waiting for a chance to pounce, our hiding becomes more complex, but even in the midst of our unworthiness, we cling to the hope of being found—and sometimes—found out.

And the track record of God in Three on finding the lost, hiding in fear and perceived rejection, is perfection. The Father is a master restorer and reclaimer.

For biblical reference, consider just a handful of instances: He calls Adam and Eve out of the bushes and out of shame, He sends a messenger for Gideon cowering away from trouble, the Savior calls the demonic on the seashore by name, and Jesus crosses into Samaria to redeem a woman living in complete rejection.

When Christ tells the powerful parable of the lost sheep, He’s simple explaining—in practical terms—the Father’s modus operandi. He will cross seas and valleys and the reach into our deepest darkness to reclaim those that are His—everyone one of us.

And deep down, we long for this, even in our shame and doubt and anxiety. We long for the Father to find us, wrap arms around us and whisper to us, “Welcome home. You belong with Us.”

And this is the reason Jesus came, a plan agreed upon by consensus vote of Three before the world was formed and Adam and Eve took that first bite from the tree.

I imagine the words, “When Our beloved hide from a false belief that there is something that can separate them from Our eternal love, We will come and find them in that lie and bring them home with Us.”

What if something is happening light years beyond our blind retelling of the story of God butchering His boy? What if we spent the rest of our lives believing the truth Paul is trying to hammer home: God was in Christ reconciling the world to Him? How would that change and reshape our view of an angry Judge to a loving Father—His true nature.

Doesn’t it allow us to not just view Jesus as the Good Shepherd, but to recognize that He is modeling the example of His Father? After all, Jesus only does what He sees His Father doing. And what does His Father do? Seek. Find. Save.

We will hide. They will seek. We will be found. For many, the reality feels terrifying, but in the face of a God of pure love, nothing could be more satisfying.
My kids are right—being found is the best part.

Barry Morris's "A Faithful Public-Prophetic Witness" - Review by Ron Dart

A Faithful Public-Prophetic Witness: 
Dynamics, Challenges, and Ambiguities of Success
in Urban & Community Ministries

Wipf & Stock: Eugene: Oregon, 2020

Barry Morris

Barry Morris is one of those rare yet needful ministers who not only have been faithful to urban and community ministries, but, equally significant and importantly so, he has judiciously wed substantive theology to such a vision and lived out such a knitting in inner-city urban and community ministries. This, the most recent book by Barry, fleshes out in greater depth and detail, his ongoing reflections on these multilayered issues.

A Faithful Public-Prophetic Witness begins with a thoughtful and engaged meditation on the challenges that will confront those who dwell in the midst of such a commitment. Then, true to form, Barry ponders three possible areas worth the turning to for wisdom and insights: “The Toronto Christian Resource Centre”, “Victoria BC” and “Vancouver BC’s Streams of Justice”. This timely and timeless book of sorts concludes, rightly so, with lessons learned from such in the trenches of urban life and an anatomy of “What Constitutes Success in an Urban Ministry?” The answer, needless to say, does hold before the reader and those in the thick of urban ministry a legitimate and perennial question mark. How, indeed, is such success to be measured within such a lived reality and is the notion of success a word worth using in such a context?

The three sites that Barry visits (Toronto, Victoria, Vancouver), although different in many ways, share certain affinities in their obvious challenges and each of these chapters does significant dives into the more demanding details of such lived communal realities (ideals held high but never easy to maintain over the longer journey).

Chapter four is particularly pertinent to the Lower Mainland and Vancouver area. There can be no doubt that Grandview Calvary Baptist Church (GCBC) has been at the forefront of being a public-prophetic witness at a variety of levels: educational and activist. The Streams of Justice (SoJ) group that has faithfully attempted to embody grassroots activism has, in many ways, significant affinities, as a Baptist congregation, with Tommy Douglass and Martin Luther King. Jr. Barry, to his credit, reveals to the interested reader, the journey of GCBC-SoJ as they have, in their faithful way and manner, lived an honest yet imperfect witness in the inner city of Vancouver (downtown Eastside a focus).    

The title of the book speaks much as does the subtitle. The urban church (particularly the urban church that works with those on the margins) is meant to be faithful but faithful in a way that is both public and prophetic—certainly not an easy vocation. And, the subtitle, rightly so, sums up such a reality---being dynamic, ongoing challenges and multiple ambiguities, success always, in many ways, protean and ambiguous, transient and fragile. There are, of course, many successful churches (if success is measured by numbers), but to be a successful public and prophetic church is yet a deeper challenge---much more maturity needed indeed. When success is measured not by numbers but by ethical and prophetic integrity, the numbers do dwindle to the faithful few (who are so often tempted by the demon of failure---a consistent tempter).

A Faithful Public-Prophetic Witness is a fine and needful companion read to Barry’s earlier must-read books: The Word on the Street (1991) and Hopeful Realism in Urban Ministry (2016). As mentioned above, Barry is one of those rare yet needful people who both are in the centre of the demanding fray yet also have the wits to reflect and ponder what makes for a meaningful exegetical and theological way to journey forward and onward. There are activists who tend not to think too deeply and intellectuals who never play chess games with ideas but rarely enter the fray. Barry, to his credit, has lived such a trying tension, and, in many ways, A Faithful Public-Prophetic Witness reflects such a tightrope walk well done.

Ron Dart        

Water to Wine: Johannine Hermeneutics & the Alexandrian Tradition (part 2) - Ron Dart

The End Is Love - Kenneth Tanner

You either believe that the end is the arrival of power, or you believe that the end is the arrival of nothing, or you believe that the end is the arrival of love.

A lot of people believe we are waiting for the arrival of nothing. At the end of their physical life the person they were is gone forever, disappearing as quickly as the brain cells die, never to return. This is also how they see the end of everything and everyone else. Sooner or later it's all going dark. No ultimate justice. No ultimate mercy. No ultimate meaning. Just nothing.

Many more people believe we are waiting for the arrival of power, a power that imposes its will on everything and everyone more or less the way that the worst sort of humans and dark spirits—both at present and in history—impose their will and power: by killing, by taking, by destruction. This is the work not of God but, as Jesus tells us, the work of the Enemy.

Whatever differences there may be in the story these believers tell about the final arrival of power across the religions and philosophies of the world the theme is more or less "our God (or idea) wins." And the way their God or idea wins looks a lot like the way a military power conquers and subdues. Their God is synonymous with Brute Force.

But there is another way, another vision, of the end. It is about the final arrival of Love. It is not about a power that triumphs but a love that converts. The weakness of this God is greater than human strength. The humility of this God is greater than human pretense. The vulnerability of this God brings our notions and idols and weapons of power to nothing.

This God brings a fitting end to history by dying so that his creation and everything in it can be alive with the Spirit that in the beginning breathed the cosmos into existence from nothing.

The cross upon which we killed God, where God offers Godself for the life of the world, is the tipping point of history, where God brings an end to death that is also the end of all endings, and an Arrival—not of nothing, nor of power as humans comprehend power, but of everlasting life, the power of an inextinguishable and indestructible life. 

Yes, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father but this great moment that is coming is not about coercion, not about force, but about an untrammeled vision of Love that is so compelling and converting and wondrous that the only response is awe and worship and gratitude beyond any experience of joy the world of veils and tears can offer.

Simply stated, we will be overwhelmed by the generosity and beauty of the Love that is God.

You have to have a face for God to wipe away your tears, and you have to have knees to bow, and you have to have a tongue to confess. And the dead have none of these things, only the living.

I usually get impatient when people say that we know little about what the end will look like. Not so. We know that we will have eyes to see and ears to hear and knees to bow and tongues to confess.

And there will be so much more than this. The end is Love.

The End Is Love - Kenneth Tanner

You either believe that the end is the arrival of power, or you believe that the end is the arrival of nothing, or you believe that the end is the arrival of love.

A lot of people believe we are waiting for the arrival of nothing. At the end of their physical life the person they were is gone forever, disappearing as quickly as the brain cells die, never to return. This is also how they see the end of everything and everyone else. Sooner or later it's all going dark. No ultimate justice. No ultimate mercy. No ultimate meaning. Just nothing.

Many more people believe we are waiting for the arrival of power, a power that imposes its will on everything and everyone more or less the way that the worst sort of humans and dark spirits—both at present and in history—impose their will and power: by killing, by taking, by destruction. This is the work not of God but, as Jesus tells us, the work of the Enemy.

Whatever differences there may be in the story these believers tell about the final arrival of power across the religions and philosophies of the world the theme is more or less "our God (or idea) wins." And the way their God or idea wins looks a lot like the way a military power conquers and subdues. Their God is synonymous with Brute Force.

But there is another way, another vision, of the end. It is about the final arrival of Love. It is not about a power that triumphs but a love that converts. The weakness of this God is greater than human strength. The humility of this God is greater than human pretense. The vulnerability of this God brings our notions and idols and weapons of power to nothing.

This God brings a fitting end to history by dying so that his creation and everything in it can be alive with the Spirit that in the beginning breathed the cosmos into existence from nothing.

The cross upon which we killed God, where God offers Godself for the life of the world, is the tipping point of history, where God brings an end to death that is also the end of all endings, and an Arrival—not of nothing, nor of power as humans comprehend power, but of everlasting life, the power of an inextinguishable and indestructible life. 

Yes, every knee will bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of the Father but this great moment that is coming is not about coercion, not about force, but about an untrammeled vision of Love that is so compelling and converting and wondrous that the only response is awe and worship and gratitude beyond any experience of joy the world of veils and tears can offer.

Simply stated, we will be overwhelmed by the generosity and beauty of the Love that is God.

You have to have a face for God to wipe away your tears, and you have to have knees to bow, and you have to have a tongue to confess. And the dead have none of these things, only the living.

I usually get impatient when people say that we know little about what the end will look like. Not so. We know that we will have eyes to see and ears to hear and knees to bow and tongues to confess.

And there will be so much more than this. The end is Love.

The "Presence Within" Kingdom - Lorie Martin

This message was first delivered as a homily in July 2020.

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52 (NTE)

³¹ He put another parable to them.

‘The kingdom of heaven’, he said, ‘is like a grain of mustard seed, which someone took and sowed in his field. ³² It’s the smallest of all the seeds, but when it grows it turns into the biggest of the shrubs. It becomes a tree, and the birds in the sky can then come and nest in its branches.’

³³ He told them another parable.

‘The kingdom of heaven is like leaven,’ he said, ‘which a woman took and hid inside three measures of flour, until the whole thing was leavened.’

⁴⁴ ‘The kingdom of heaven’, Jesus continued, ‘is like treasure hidden in a field. Someone found it and hid it, and in great delight went off and sold everything he possessed, and bought that field.

⁴⁵ ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a trader who was looking for fine pearls, ⁴⁶ and who found one that was spectacularly valuable. He went off and sold everything he possessed, and bought it.

⁴⁷ ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea, and collected every type of fish. ⁴⁸ When it was full, the fishermen brought it to shore. They sat down and selected the good ones, which they put into a bucket; but they threw out the bad ones. ⁴⁹ That’s what it will be like at the close of the age. The angels will go off and separate the wicked from the righteous, ⁵⁰ and they will throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

⁵¹ ‘Have you understood all this?’ asked Jesus.

‘Yes,’ they answered.

⁵² ‘Well, then,’ he said to them, ‘every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like a householder who brings out of his storeroom some new things and some old things.’

It is puzzling for a reason. Jesus uses parables to get past our rational, judgemental, egoic minds. Parables are a language of the heart using symbolism and story to help us relate at a deep soul level. Jesus teases our minds into insight rather than communicating with simple illustrations and pat answers. We are invited to discover, and to own, what we find. In a sense, these are little mysteries where we notice the kingdom itself is also a Mystery and the central teaching of Jesus.

I wonder what we can unearth in this series of stories that each shed light on the “kingdom of heaven.” The kingdom of heaven is known as the “Kingdom of God” or the ‘‘Reign of God” which draws our hearts and our eyes from looking out yonder somewhere for a kingdom of heaven that will be fulfilled someday to notice the right-here, right-now, God-life that is with us – to the nearness and here-ness of God.

I think it is important to note that Jesus uses fairly common everyday experiences as well as some profound ones to show God at work on earth. He often conceals and then reveals. Jesus draws our attention to a tiny seed that grows into a nesting place, some yeast that leavens some bread, and an everyday fishing net, to the extreme experiences of discovering an unexpected treasure and a much sought-after jewel being found.

Each of these puzzles shows something that is concealed in the soil, the flour, the ground, and in the clam or the shop, where-ever the Pearl was waiting. The greatness of the Kingdom is concealed and then revealed in the small and in the grand things of life. I wonder what discovery or insight we may bump into today or may be found as a part of our search?