Nov 19
To say that the library at the jail has an eclectic mix of reading material would be to put it mildly. Relying on donations, as we do, we get everything from Joyce Meyer books on the habits of a godly woman to decades-old biblical commentaries to Nick Vujicic’s biography to Paul Tillich. Throw in a smattering of stray Buddhist and Muslim resources and the inmates have a rather bewildering array of options. Read more
I was recently leading a discussion with a group of young adults. We were talking about the Sabbath, about what it is, what it isn’t, etc. We were looking at the story from the twelfth chapter of Matthew’s gospel where Jesus healed the man with the withered hand on the Sabbath. We looked at his confrontation with the religious leaders, and pondered his famous words, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” Read more
One of my main tasks each Sunday during worship is to pray. Some Sundays, I pray extemporaneously; other Sundays I like to have something more formal, a scaffolding upon which to hang the various things we wish to bring before God and one another during worship. Last Sunday, for example, I used a formal prayer from the back of our hymnal. It was a good prayer. It covered a lot of territory from the global to the personal. It highlighted various aspects of God’s nature and character. It contained the familiar refrain, “Lord, in your mercy… hear our prayer.” Good stuff. Read more
Woe to you who strive with your Maker,
earthen vessels with the potter!
Does the clay say to the one who fashions it, ‘What are you making?’
— Isaiah 45:9
“Do you think it’s true, what that verse from Isaiah says? That God just does with us whatever he wants?” The guy sitting across from me in the prison interview room shuffles in his seat nervously. Eye contact is sporadic at best. He has a few nasty scars on the side of his face. He seems either suspicious or really shy. I can’t quite make out which and am not quite sure which direction to steer the conversation. “Tell me a bit about your background,” I say. “You know your Bible pretty well; you must have been raised in the church.” He looks at me blankly before responding, “No, nothing, I’ve just been in here a bunch of times and when I’m in here, I read the Bible.”
Among the readings I encountered during morning prayer today was Psalm 17:1-7. It is a plea for divine vindication, protection, blessing, and favour from the pen of David. I have long had something of a complicated relationship with the Psalms. I know that the Psalms are the prayer-book of the church, that really smart and spiritual people pray them every day. And they do express the full range of human emotion. And they do contain some of the most beautiful and exalted language in all of Scripture. But sometimes the implicit theology doesn’t land. It strikes me as true-ish, but not true enough. Read more
I occasionally remark somewhat playfully (but only somewhat) to my congregation that they are saddled with quite possibly the least “Mennonite” pastor in our denomination. They usually laugh politely and hope I’ll move on. Why do I say this, you may be wondering? Well, let me count the ways. Read more
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading James K.A. Smith’s new book How to Inhabit Time. Smith describes the book as an “exercise in spiritual timekeeping,” learning how to recognize how our histories interact with our presents and our futures, and how God might be present and active throughout it all. Read more
When I was (much) younger, I played bass guitar in a worship band. We would play in churches, camps, youth events, etc. The band was ok even if the bass player was terrible. One of my enduring memories of that period of my life was the emotional intensity of some of the worship gatherings we participated in. There were hands raised, eyes closed, impassioned prayer, occasionally even tears. There was often an enterprising youth pastor-ish kind of speaker who would ride the wave of feelings produced or enhanced by the music (some of which, it must be said, and which I thought even at the time, was rather lyrically vapid and theologically suspect). If I’m honest, even though I had a few reservations even then, it felt kinda good to look out and see the effect that our music was having upon people! Clearly God was present. Undeniably, the Spirit was at work! We were just humble vessels. Read more
My heart sinks a little each time I see *Richard walk through the chapel door at the jail. He’s unsettling and more than a little awkward in group contexts, and this is saying something in a place where there are very few people who don’t struggle at least in some way with mental health issues or all the unpleasant and difficult-to-manage effects of coming off hard drugs. Read more
Is it morally permissible to be happy in our world? This is a question that I encounter in some variation or other with some frequency. Sometimes it is young adults bemoaning the “state of the world” they’re inheriting (climate change, high cost of housing, bleak employment prospects, depressing dating scene, etc.) and vowing never to bring a child into such a terrible world (I often tell these young adults that they might profit from reading a bit more history). Sometimes it’s activists who look around and see only racism or economic inequality or all the structural barriers preventing this or that marginalized group from flourishing. Sometimes it is people faced with a crushing decision or living in the immediate aftermath of terrible loss. Sometimes it’s people who are depressed, addicted, or anxious. Sometimes it’s people who are simply worn out by life. Read more
A single word cuts through all the noise and bustle and bravado around the circle at the jail. It’s prayer time and the guys aren’t super focused. A few talk about upcoming court dates and girlfriends in rehab and various health concerns over the humming, buzzing banter. I’m loudly repeating the requests, struggling a bit to maintain control of the room. The word is spoken softly by a young man to my immediate right. He’s been a regular ever since he arrived on the remand unit. He has an intense curiosity about him, always leaning forward on his knees, always paying careful attention, always asking questions. He’s often one of the cheerier guys in the room, but he’s not smiling right now. He looks, I don’t know, thoughtful, pensive, a little sad as he speaks the one word that reduces the room to silence.
“Forgiveness.” Read more
On Sunday morning, a few of us were going through some last-minute details in preparation for the service. Among these, was the addition of a slide to be projected during the sermon. The person who had requested the slide had it ready to go on a USB drive and was going to deliver it to the people responsible for making sure such things happen. I couldn’t help but notice that the USB drive had the logo of a certain political party on it. I made some offhand comment about it. This led to a bit of harmless political banter. “Better not use that drive when so-and-so is running the tech,” one person said with a wink. “Yeah, but other-so-and-so would love it” said someone else. And so and so forth. It was a light moment of brevity before worship, perhaps even an unwitting acknowledgement that even though we don’t all see things the same way politically, we can still come together in worship. Read more
The danger is not lest the soul should doubt whether there is any bread, but lest, by a lie, it should persuade itself that it is not hungry. — Simone Weil
“I wish the church could be more like an AA meeting.” The statement came from a friend and colleague over lunch last week as we were both kind of bracing ourselves for annual meetings in our denomination. It was followed by a sigh. The sentiment is not exactly a new one, but it’s no less important for its familiarity. It’s an expression of longing for the kind of vulnerability, honesty, community, and deep existential need that one often finds in twelve-step programs. And which is sometimes lacking in more institutional settings. Read more
“My cellmate said a wild thing the other day. He told me that the word ‘hate’ is in the bible, somewhere in the Old Testament. I told him he was full of s***. that God doesn’t hate he only loves.” This was the first comment that emerged around the circle at the jail recently when I opened the space up for anyone to share what was on their mind. Not for the first time, I thought, “Huh, didn’t see that coming.” How to respond? “Well,” I said, “your cellmate is right, the word ‘hate’ is in the bible (around 200 times, depending on the English translation). It’s often even used in connection with God.” He looked at me suspiciously before exhaling through his teeth. “Really? Man, that’s f***ed up!” Read more
I’ve written before about how Jesus’ parables sound different at different stages of one’s life. The story of the lost son, for example, is a story that seems to contain almost the whole of human failure and frustration, hope and longing, love, and desire. I have at various points in my life identified with the recklessly destructive younger son, the self-righteous older brother, and the heartsick father. I doubt I’m terribly unique in this. The story sounds different at forty-eight than it did at twenty-two. It’s the kind of story that can keep one company for a lifetime, opening new truths, unlocking new understandings, making sense of some of the terrain covered along the way. Read more
I hope you all enjoyed the holiday season and are manifesting a life giving 2024 for you and your loved ones.
So began an email that I received this morning. Which, I confess, kind of put me in a bad mood. What kind of an idiotic greeting…?! I spluttered in my brain. Whatever I was “manifesting” at the moment, it would likely not have been very life-giving for myself or for my loved ones. Hopefully nobody was within the blast radius of whatever corner of the universe my thoughts were commandeering at that moment. Read more
I recently sat with someone who was dying. Yes, I know we’re all dying, but in this particular person’s case, death had moved from the category of “abstraction” to “unavoidable reality.” Which is always a difficult movement, and one with no small amount of anguish attached to it. This suffering is not unto death. So said Jesus about Lazarus’s predicament to Mary and Martha, at least in his majesty King James’ version of the gospel of John. But so much suffering is. Unto death, that is. Or, at the very least, a reminder that it’s coming. Read more
Last year around this time, I wrote a short piece on my first Christmas at the jail, about how Christmas carols sound different surrounded by plastic and concrete than they do in candle-lit church sanctuaries, about how lines like “And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low” or “For sinners here, the silent Word is pleading” seem somehow more urgent or pressing or something here. The familiar words come crashing into the ugliness of the human condition from out there in “abstract theology land” with startling force. Read more
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