New Perspectives

How do you feel about the state of the world today? Do you feel the world is improving, or do you believe that it is sliding inexorably into chaos and evil? These are important questions. Our answers determine how we relate to this world, how we interact with others - particularly those who are different - and how we understand the role of our faith in our earthly existence.

Unfortunately, too many of us see the world extremely negatively. We have been taught that the world is going to get worse, until the time when it is ultimately destroyed and when we are evacuated to another realm called heaven. And so we look for - and find - evidence that evil is winning the battle over this planet. We see our faith as an insurance policy that guarantees our salvation when God finally swoops in and destroys it all in a final conflict with the forces of darkness.

But, I’m not sure that this is a biblical perspective. In fact, the story I read in Scripture is almost the exact opposite! What I see in the Bible is God creating a world and pronouncing it “very good” (Genesis 1:31). I see human struggle and brokenness often bringing pain, but also human nobility - given and inspired by God’s Spirit - bringing goodness, healing and restoration. I see Christ proclaiming that God’s reign is among us in this world, and teaching us to pray that God’s reign would come more fully to earth and work among us here (Matthew 6:10). I see a purpose in history in which God teaches us and challenges us to become more compassionate, more generous, more selfless and more attuned to God’s presence and purpose for creation. And, within the evil and pain of our world, I see this glorious vision being played out. In this scenario, faith is the commitment to live according to this glorious vision of God. It is not a guarantee of safe evacuation, it is a recruitment call to service here and now.

There are a number of spiritual practices that help us to get God’s perspective on the world, and that empower us to live from this new perspective, but perhaps the primary one is praise. The practice of praise is a simple, but powerful activity. Praise can be spoken or sung; offered in silence or in sound; enacted or simply imagined. However we may choose to express our praise, though, we can never engage in this activity without being changed.

Praise requires awareness and reflection. The heart of praise is the recognition of who God is. When we take the time to slow down, and focus our awareness on God, to open the eyes of faith to God’s presence and purpose, to reflect on God’s attributes and actions, we are inevitably filled with a vision of God and God’s reign. And then our hearts cannot help but cry out in awe and wonder, in adoration and in surrender to the mystery. As we regularly open ourselves to the praise experience, we enter the world with open eyes and hearts, and we cannot help but see God’s presence and activity everywhere. And then, the ultimate act of praise happens - we choose to participate in God’s saving, beautifying, restoring, glorifying work.

How we see the world - what perspective we have on it - is a direct reflection of how committed we are to the discipline of praise. And if the world needs anything right now, it is people who bring hearts of praise into every situation and moment. May we be those people!
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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.

Nourishing The Body

Although many people have told me they find this difficult to believe, I am both an introvert and something of a loner. I’ve always needed long periods of time on my own to be healthy, and I enjoy working on my own even when I’m contributing to a collaborative project. But, I also know that I need other people. I need those who will support and encourage me, and I need those who will question and challenge me. I need friends to play with, colleagues to work with and family to love with. And I have discovered that often the best way to connect with others is over a meal.

A few months ago on my blog I spoke about an old Jewish friend of my father’s who used to come to dinner at our house from time to time. Solly was a gregarious, outspoken gentleman who would passionately debate pretty much any subject with my father. One evening, something he said stuck in my soul. “Sharing a meal,” he explained, “is not about the food. It’s about the discussion, the ‘talking Torah’ that happens over the food!” I believe he was right, but I would expand what he said beyond just the talk. Sharing a meal is not just about the food; it’s about the community that is built and nourished over the food.

The Scriptures refer to the community of Christ-followers as the ‘Body of Christ,’ and, in the same way that our physical bodies are nourished by the food we eat, so the Body of Christ is nourished by the connections and conversations, the laughter and debates, that happen over the food. When we share a meal we nourish our bodies, and together we nourish Christ’s body!

Have you ever noticed that when you visit a really poor community, the first thing they want to do is feed you? I believe the reason for this is that when someone is able to offer hospitality, however little, they nourish their own dignity, and they give the gift of welcome, of community, to those they invite. Here, again, the food that is provided is unimportant. It is the shared recognition of one another’s humanity, and the nourishing of our togetherness that counts.

Which is probably why Jesus chose a meal to be remembered by. Jesus was committed to bringing people together. Just a quick look at his disciples – a volatile combination of fisherman, tax collectors, religious elite and freedom fighters (oh, and two brothers with a bad case of sibling rivalry) – shows that Jesus held reconciliation, peace-making and community-building as high priorities. He regularly shared meals with people from all walks of life and used these times to teach and challenge those who ate with him. For Jesus a meal was not just a routine to keep body and soul together. It was an opportunity to nourish a community of faith and shared life.

This opportunity still remains for us today, in the simple, ritualised meal we call Holy Communion. It is impossible to really draw close to God alone. Spirituality always requires a community for it to be real and transforming. And spiritual communities are nurtured by sharing meals – even sacramental ones. And so here is an invitation: if your soul needs feeding, if you need a community to journey toward God with, if you long to contribute to something bigger than yourself and you want to find a way to nourish your own journey and the community which welcomes you, why not take your place at God’s table? As you share in this sacred meal you will not only nourish your own soul and body, but you will be part of nourishing the body of Christ.

The Gift of Lament

A while back I wrote about the little deaths we all endure, and how important it is that we face them head on, trusting in the resurrection which is sure to come. The problem with this is that we sometimes take faith to mean that we shouldn’t grieve, express doubts or acknowledge our pain. We seem to think that the truly faithful rise above these dark emotions and go through suffering with a blissful smile. I’m not sure where we got this picture from, but it wasn’t from the Scriptures.

In the Bible we discover a lot of grief and suffering, and often it is the most faithful, devoted people - the prophets and apostles - who face the worst of life. We might expect them to handle this calmly and gracefully, but instead what we find is a liberating honesty. These men and women of faith had no problem expressing their raw anger at God, their complaints and questions, their doubts and fears.

Take Jeremiah as an example. When faced with persecution for his message, he tries to keep silent, but finds that he can’t do it - which means that all he can expect is more persecution. He feels angry that he wasn’t told that it would be like this, and so he complains to God in Jeremiah 20:7-9, essentially calling God a liar! But God doesn’t strike him with lightning. Rather, Jeremiah’s faith remains strong, and he goes on to have one of the longest and most difficult ministries of any prophet.

Lament is a healing practice. Here the realities of our lives and the realities of our faith come together, and this always leads to a renewed faith. There are four basic parts to any true lament. First, a complaint is laid against God, expressing the details of the suffering being experienced. Second, God’s promises and previous gracious acts are remembered and offered to God as both the basis for the complaint (because God doesn’t appear to be doing what God promised) and the basis for hope that God will intervene. Third, a request is spoken for God to act on behalf of the suffering one and bring healing, liberation and comfort. Finally, a commitment is made to continue to trust, to hope and to praise God, no matter what the outcome may be.

It is unfortunate that worship has all too often been seen as nothing other than celebration. Joy and inspiration are emphasised and any signs of grief, doubt, pain or fear are to be hidden or left outside. The result of this is that worshippers are forced into a double-life in which their real feelings and experiences are either ignored or concealed. We get good at pretending that we are “blessed” on Sundays, and we cling to our faith with white-knuckles, hoping our grief won’t overwhelm and betray us - which it inevitably does.

Perhaps both we and our churches would be healthier if we just learned to lament more - to express our grief, to make our complaints against God, and to commit to faith even in the dark times. We all face both the little deaths and the big ones, and to try and deal with grief without the gift of lament is to rob ourselves of both healing and comfort. But, if we trust God enough to be honest about our pain, we will find the comfort we seek, and the light of hope will continue to shine in our hearts.

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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.

More Than Just A Meal

It was a tough time for the two men walking that long road that day. Their hopes and dreams had been completely devastated when their friend and mentor had been executed. They would never have believed it could end like this, but it did, and now they were lost, aimless and confused.

When the stranger started walking beside them, they may well have been tempted to ask him to leave them alone, but they weren’t so far gone that they couldn’t fulfil the basic requirements of hospitality. So, they talked, and since their grief was foremost on their minds, they couldn’t stop the conversation turning to recent events and their struggle to deal with it all. But then the stranger began to explain things to them. He made it sound like there was a purpose to everything that had happened, that it wasn’t the great failure they thought it was. In spite of themselves they were captivated by what he was saying – so much so that when it came time for them to leave the road and settle into their accommodation for the night, they invited him to join them.

Then, as they sat down for the meal, the stranger did an unusual thing. He took the bread and lifted it up, speaking a word of blessing and thanksgiving, and then he broke it. They had seen this before, and as they realised what he had done, they suddenly knew that this was no stranger. This was their friend, their mentor, alive and with them. Before they could say anything, he was suddenly gone, but they knew what they had experienced, and they were changed. They now knew there had been no failure, that death had not been able to silence the one whose words had made such a difference to their lives. And they also knew that they would be forever changed, because in that one miraculous moment when they had thought that all was lost, they had discovered, through a simple meal, that the Rabbi Jesus was alive and would be forever with them.

This story from Luke’s Gospel (24:13-34) demonstrates the significance of meals in the life and ministry of Jesus. We know more about what Jesus taught at the table, than what he said in the synagogue. Jesus enjoyed meals with the wealthy and the poor, with religious leaders and with sinful outcasts. In fact, Jesus enjoyed a good dinner party so much that some of his opponents even called him a glutton (Matthew 11:17,18). I suspect that Jesus knew how powerful meals can be in building relationships, in giving space for conversation and connection, and in opening us to new ideas and experiences. It’s hard to sit at the same table with someone with whom you are in conflict, or to share a meal with someone with whom you would rather not associate. But, it’s equally tough to write someone off when you’re eating with them. More than this, meals also provide a chance to really get to know someone. Watch how a person eats, how they interact with others at the table, and how they organise their space, and you learn an incredible amount about them.

Which is why the Scriptures remind us that the risen Jesus was often recognised at meals, notably here, in the Emmaus road story, and in the early morning fish breakfast in John 21:1-14. This is probably also why Jesus instructed us to remember him in a meal, and why one of the central acts of our worship is a meal called Holy Communion. If you long to know God better, if you’re yearning for a deeper connection with Christ, and with a community that follows him, perhaps you could begin with joining a meal at your local church. You’ll find that it’s more than just your body that gets fed, and it’s more than just people you’ll be sitting with.

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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.