Cooking and sharing with the Poor

In Luke 14 Jesus tells us when you cook a really good meal or banquet then invite the poor, the disabled and the blind and you will actually be blessed.  Dont just invite your friends and family.  

Those listening to Jesus knew that to share a meal or be invited to a meal was to become a friend. Because of the cleansing rituals, it was almost entering into a covenant with another. a special relationship between those at the dining table. 

So Jesus, by suggesting that the meal be shared with those who are struggling and living on the margins,  is asking us to pull down a wall and open up our hearts and our homes to those who have been disadvantaged through poverty or because of a disability.  It is an invitation for friendship with the other as Jean Vanier insists in his excellent little book, Encountering the Other. This is the very heart of the gospel - it moves us from simple generosity and giving towards a more powerful way of entering into relationship with the other.  It dissolves the gap between the giver and the recipient and says 'Come join me at my table'.

I'm Afraid of Me

In 2010 I was ordained.  Ordained as a Pastor, Minister of Religion, Reverend, or member of the clergy. Whatever you want to call it.  To be ordained didn’t seem very significant actually.  It didn’t change anything.  I still did the same tasks, mixed with the same crowd, and cleaned the same house. I struggled for a while. Had I earned it?  At one point I made the decision to just accept it. The small print says that it is indeed a spiritual gift, not of any earthly worth, but given by God in order that I might equip others.

So I began to look instead at honouring the ‘badge’. Ensuring that I represented my ‘uniform’ well. I was to spend time straining to act justly, to love mercy and to try to walk humbly (Micah 6).

Then we moved out of pastoring within a church. We planted ourselves in Vancouver. Here, my pastoral landscape is very different. I don’t serve a particular congregation. I don’t work within the walls of a church. But I have found a new parish. A new set of pews. My parish-in-ers have become more like parish-out-ers.

My pulpit became the street, the bus, my desk, my neighbourhood and anywhere I find myself with other humans.

I have called many of my old practices into question. I am like a Neurosurgeon trained in traditional surgery who now recognises that the key-hole method is the way to go. More organic and gentle. Less brutal. So I am trialling new ways of demonstrating Jesus. Some work – some don’t.   Some believe me, some walk away, some grip my hand and beg me to walk with them.

I have become acutely aware that I am surrounded by a common humanity – we are all in this together.  We are all God’s children – I am just fortunate enough to have been personally introduced – and somehow have sustained a robust belief in the source of that humanity – Christ.  I am called to become deeply affectionate towards all of life.  Called to treasure those that God has made.  Wanting the best for them.  This must be the Love.

The lines in the sand are faint now – I am less sure of who is in and who is out – we are all being pushed forward in this wave of life.  I surely just want to point others towards hope. I want those around me to see the Jesus that I love.

I am, however, afraid of me. Afraid of my own ability to fail in this. I often turn bad. No-one is looking. My tendency is to draw those lines of judgement again.   My religious bigotry lurking nearby. It’s tough. I’m still a pastor.  A very ordinary one.