Taking Notice

Soon after my wife, Debbie, and I had started dating, we drove together from Grahamstown, where we were both studying at Rhodes University, to Port Elizabeth to stay with her parents for the weekend. I had not driven in a city for a while and so I was quite nervous navigating the busy roads. After turning off the main highway, we had stopped at a traffic light controlling a large intersection. When the light turned green I started forward and was just beginning to relax when Debbie suddenly shouted, “John!” I hit the brakes and spun my head around looking for whatever the danger was that had caused her outburst, but could find nothing to avoid. Then I noticed her pointing, and as I followed her finger she smiled and exclaimed with joy, “daffodils!”

Through the years of our marriage I have learned a valuable and life-giving lesson from this woman who would stop me in the middle of traffic to celebrate the beauty of a flower. I have learned to take notice, to stop and really see the world around me and the glory and beauty that peeks out from every corner. And as I have learned to do this, my life has become richer, filled with a sense of wonder and gratitude that I had not discovered before. I have also noticed how easy it is to miss the glory and fall into a life of dreary routine and careless monotony.

In the old movie Joe Versus The Volcano, Tom Hanks plays a worker in a dull, gray factory, where he falls into a deep depression. His life has no meaning and he finds himself always feeling sick and tired. Then, he is diagnosed with a terrible disease – a “brain cloud”, the doctor calls it – and given only a short time to live. But, his fortunes change when a millionaire offers to give him anything he wants, if only he will promise, after a short time, to jump into a volcano to satisfy the local inhabitants of an island that provides a valuable resource for one of the millionaire’s businesses. Hanks’ character agrees, and finds himself surrounded by luxury, beauty and experiences he had never before dreamed of. And, amazingly, he begins to feel better than ever. Of course, he later discovers that the “brain cloud” was a hoax thought up by the wealthy man to con him into giving his life to save the man’s business. But, in the journey he has learned that he needs to recognise life’s joys and beauties in order to feel whole.

This is true of all human beings. When we fail to notice the beauty, the glory and the creativity around us, we grow tired, joyless and unmotivated. But, when we make the choice to open our eyes, see the beauty that is everywhere, and take the time to enjoy it, we are changed. Life becomes vibrant and exciting and we feel more fully alive. Even more, when we learn the habit of taking notice, we begin to recognise the evidence of divine activity in our lives and our world. We start seeing God’s fingerprints everywhere, and we begin to know, even the difficult times, that God is with us and is actively working.

So, how do we learn to open our eyes to the glory around us, and the divine activity that is always present in our lives? Every week, as we gather for worship, we share in the act of giving thanks – and it is this that teaches us to take notice. It is impossible to give thanks without recognising the glory and grace that surrounds us. It is impossible to give thanks without noticing God’s creative work in our world. It is impossible to give thanks and remain unmotivated and lifeless. As we engage in this weekly practice, we begin to develop thanksgiving as a habit, and every time we are touched by beauty or goodness or truth, we automatically breathe a prayer of thanksgiving. And when that happens, we find ourselves in an upward spiral in which we notice more grace, which leads us to give more thanks, which opens our eyes to even more goodness, which creates more gratitude.

The act of saying “thank you” costs us nothing, but it brings us wealth beyond measure. We need only take the time to notice.
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John van de Laar is a Methodist minister, liturgical consultant and the author of the book Food for the Road – Life Lesson from the Lord’s Table. He holds a Master’s Degree in theology from UNISA, and is the founder of Sacredise.com, an international worship training and resourcing ministry. John is married to Debbie, and they have two sons.

Visit www.sacredise.com for more articles by John, as well as resources for personal and public worship – music, prayers, liturgies, images and drama scripts.

Washing Hands

In my opinion one of the most powerful depictions of Pilate’s encounter with Jesus is the scene from the 1973 movie of Jesus Christ Superstar. Yes, there are liberties taken with the Gospel narrative, and there are some theological perspectives that I find unhelpful (“Everything is fixed and you can’t change it...” for example), but the interplay between the two men, and Pilate’s emotional turmoil is shown with rare energy and insight. As Jesus arrives in Pilate’s court, the Governor meets him with the expected dismissiveness. “So, this is Jesus Christ. I am really quite surprised. You look so small. Not a king at all...” But, as the trial continues, after Jesus returns from Herod, Pilate becomes increasingly afraid and unsettled. What begins as another day at the office - find some pretext for the death sentence, sign the decree and move on to the next task - turns into a searching interaction in which the judge becomes the questioned and the victim becomes the (compassionate, even here) judge.

Finally, unable to find a reason to execute Jesus, certain that Christ is innocent but too scared to follow his conviction and risk losing his power and his favour with Rome, Pilate simply hands him over to be crucified. He checks out and allows the people to do what they want with Jesus. In Matthew’s Gospel (and in Jesus Christ Superstar) he even washes his hands to absolve himself of the responsibility.

I wonder if it worked. I wondered if he slept well that night, or if the knowledge of his collusion with the crowd plagued him. I wonder whether he was able to believe that he had no responsibility in the death of Jesus. I wonder if, in some way, his insistence that the sign above Jesus retain the words “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews” (John 19:19) was some small attempt to find redemption for himself. History, albeit sketchy, does seem to indicate that the death of Jesus haunted Pilate for a long time afterwards. One tradition has him committing suicide in remorse, while other, more reliable accounts, indicate that Pilate was eventually recalled to Rome for the harsh and insensitive manner in which he treated the people under his rulership. Certainly, the history of faith has not let Pilate off the hook so easily, and his hand washing has not freed him from being held responsible for Christ’s death.

It would seem, strange, then, that people who claim the name of Christ would so easily follow Pilate’s example. It’s like Good Friday has become for some of us a giant bowl in which our hands can be washed clean of any and every destructive and selfish act we do. Back when I was an avid Survivor fan, I was shocked when one of the contestants (who went on to win her season) laughed about the deception and broken promises she had employed to further herself in the game. After admitting to the camera (but no one else) what she had done, she shrugged and said, “I’ll just ask Jesus to forgive me and it will be ok”.

This attitude is all too prevalent in the Christian world. Rather than do the tough work of reflecting on our attitudes and actions, we simply do what we want and, if people are hurt in the process, we wash our hands, while claiming Christ’s forgiveness. Rather than face the genuine and serious damage that our faith has done to minorities, women and people of other religions, we simply wash our hands and claim Christ’s forgiveness. Rather than take responsibility for our brokenness and destructiveness - which would open us to the possibility of real transformation - we simply wash our hands and claim the forgiveness of Christ. It frightens me when Good Friday becomes the excuse which turns Christianity into an escape from responsibility and self-reflection.

This Holy Week I refuse to wash my hands. Rather, I will pray that God forces me to see whatever blood and dirt may be embedded in the cracks and lines of my skin. I will ask God to show me how I have contributed to the evil that continues to crucify innocent people on the altars of expediency, greed, power and self-righteousness. I will pray to be shown the places where I have colluded with corruption and where I have taken the easy way out. I will not try to save myself by working harder, but neither will I mindlessly dip my hands into the blood of Christ’s sacrifice and believe that I need do no more to be “saved”. Rather, I will ask God to burn the sight of the blood on my hands into my heart so that I am broken with the knowledge that I am part of the addictive system that kills the poor, the weak and the disconnected. And I will pray that the sight will lead me to tears, because only when I have taken responsibility for what is broken in me will I be able to receive the transformation - and embrace the pain of it - that God’s grace and God’s Spirit seek to work in me.

Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy
Lord, have mercy
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John van de Laar is a Methodist minister, liturgical consultant and the author of the book Food for the Road – Life Lesson from the Lord’s Table. He holds a Master’s Degree in theology from UNISA, and is the founder of Sacredise.com, an international worship training and resourcing ministry. John is married to Debbie, and they have two sons.

Visit www.sacredise.com for more articles by John, as well as resources for personal and public worship – music, prayers, liturgies, images and drama scripts.

The Way To Freedom

“If you forgive anyone's sins, they are forgiven. If you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven." John 20:23

One of the things I am most proud of, as a South African, is the Truth and Reconciliation Commission that was chaired by Archbishop Desmond Tutu shortly after our first democratic election. While it was not a cure-all for the struggles of our country, and it has been criticised in some circles, it did state loud and clear that a strong value in our nation is a belief in the power of forgiveness and it’s twin – absolution.

As much as the church of today appears to have lost some of its heritage of confession, it has also lost much of the practice of absolution that must accompany it. Confession is liberating and healing, and, by helping us to confront the darkness within us, it leads us to transformation. But, we do not become truly free until we know the joy of absolution. It can be an incredible thing to actually hear someone say, “you are forgiven” and know it to be true. It can change a life to have messed up and then discover that you have been released from carrying this burden for the rest of your life. When the weight of guilt and regret has been like a ball and chain, the lightness and joy when it falls away is a euphoric experience, and often leads us to promise ourselves that we won’t let it happen to us again. And so we are changed and made, not just whole, but better.

But, there’s another side to absolution. Receiving forgiveness is glorious, but giving it is even more so. When Jesus spoke about forgiving the sins of others, I’m not sure that he meant that for them their sin had disappeared. Many people who have been forgiven continue to face the consequences and guilt of their actions. But, when we forgive someone else, when we absolve another, they are forgiven for us. We no longer hold them accountable. We no longer require them to “fix things” for us. We no longer expect them to heal us or make us right. And this act of giving absolution is often the most liberating thing a human being can do.

Many people who have been harmed find it hard to forgive. We refuse to speak absolution to another because we feel that it somehow violates our sense of justice. It let’s them off the hook and does not punish them or make them pay for what they have done. But, what we forget, is that, as long as we hold the other person accountable, we have chained ourselves to them. Our lives remain tethered to theirs and our healing lies in their hands – which means that we will never be free or healed. Absolution, whatever it may or not do for the other person, is the key for us to return to life. When we absolve someone else, we break the chains that bind us, and we set ourselves free from the other person’s control, influence or ability to keep us from life.

And, when that happens, we discover that in our healing lies the healing of our world. When we become whole and free, then all the people with whom we are in relationship enjoy the life that we bring. This may or may not include the one who hurt us, but it doesn’t matter. As our healing touches others, so the life, the freedom and the joy that we have allowed ourselves to receive can flow out from us like ripples in a pond.

This is why we come to worship. We come to confess that we are broken and in need of healing and forgiveness. And we come to acknowledge that we need to forgive others. Then, as we give and receive absolution, we learn the practices of freedom – how to really live and how to bring life to others. Now, that’s Good News!
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John van de Laar is a Methodist minister, liturgical consultant and the author of the book Food for the Road – Life Lesson from the Lord’s Table. He holds a Master’s Degree in theology from UNISA, and is the founder of Sacredise.com, an international worship training and resourcing ministry. John is married to Debbie, and they have two sons.

Visit www.sacredise.com for more articles by John, as well as resources for personal and public worship – music, prayers, liturgies, images and drama scripts.

A Clean Slate

According to theologian John Stott, Marghanita Laski, who had been a well-known secular humanist thought-leader and author, made the following surprising confession not long before she died in 1988: “What I envy most about you Christians is your forgiveness; I have nobody to forgive me.”

Anyone who has made an error of judgement or who has found themselves harbouring a shameful secret knows the sick feeling in the stomach and the sense of dread that comes when you face being found out. We all carry, in some measure, the fear that if our cupboards were flung open, and others knew the skeletons that we kept hidden there, that they would shrink away in horror and immediately shut us out of their lives. If they knew what really went through our minds they would be shocked. If they knew the secret temptations that we fight each day, they would never speak to us again. And so we live a double life, with parts of ourselves properly presented for public consumption, and other parts carefully hidden away.

But, some of us know another reality as well. It’s the surprising and liberating feeling of opening the doors to our cupboards and chasing the skeletons out into the open. It’s the freedom that comes when we know that we can hide no longer, and we begin to live an honest, integrated life, no matter the cost. And, make no mistake; there is a cost. Some people will turn away. Some relationships will not be able to bear the honesty. Some rejection is inevitable. But, the pain of living as a whole person, the pain of refusing to hide is far less than the pain of our secrets. And this is why we need to make confession a regular, spiritual practice.

In any surgery, healing can only come at the cost of pain. The surgeon must inflict a wound in order to heal, and the sick person must endure the agony, and take the necessary time to recuperate and restore. We can avoid the pain of the operation, but if we choose to do so, we will continue to live with a sickness that will only get worse. The work of confession is like this. We can choose not to undergo the painful work of honesty and openness. We can keep our shame hidden, and we can pretend that we’re fine, but we will know that inside of us is a cancer that will only grow until it consumes us. But, if we can find the courage to confess, we discover that there is healing to be found on the other side of the pain. We may be rejected or misunderstood, we may have to make amends and change our behaviour and choices, but we will know that the sickness has been removed and the healing has begun. And, when the pain has subsided, we know the glorious freedom of life with a clean slate.

This is why organisations like Alcoholics Anonymous insist that members admit that they have a problem – that they are broken and addicted – and that they “come clean” about it and make amends wherever they can. Sin that is brought into the open loses its power, but sin that is hidden is a formidable opponent.

There’s one more gift that confession offers. While some people, in their fear, will shut us out of their lives, we will find others – usually broken and recuperating themselves – who will welcome us, accept us and celebrate our healing. And when we look into the face of someone who knows our worst and loves us anyway, we discover to our joy, that we have looked into the forgiving face of Christ.
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John van de Laar is a Methodist minister, liturgical consultant and the author of the book Food for the Road – Life Lesson from the Lord’s Table. He holds a Master’s Degree in theology from UNISA, and is the founder of Sacredise.com, an international worship training and resourcing ministry. John is married to Debbie, and they have two sons.

Visit www.sacredise.com for more articles by John, as well as resources for personal and public worship – music, prayers, liturgies, images and drama scripts.