Beltane Reflections

The lectionary reading for this Sunday is the closing passage of Matthew's Gospel (28.16-end). The disciples, now reduced to eleven, travelled to Galilee as they had been instructed. There they encountered the risen Christ who gave them what we often call the Great Commission: "Go therefore and make disciples of all nations..."

These are the final words of Matthew's Gospel. Matthew could have ended with worship, reassurance, or celebration. Instead, Matthew ends with movement. Jesus sends them out.

Yesterday, at the community’s retreat I talked about wildness and cultivation. There is a balance between the two. It is not wildness or cultivation but wildness and cultivation. 

Wildness brings surprise, creativity, spontaneity, beauty, cultivation adds order, productivity, sustainability, consistency. This is reflected in nature, in our gardens. But also in our spiritual lives, ministries, friendships, relationships and communities.

When the disciples were called to follow Jesus, it was a moment of wildness. Something happened that caused them to leave their families, their livelihoods, the homes and follow this unknown person.

Then for three years the disciples have been in a kind of spiritual garden. They were being cultivated. They have been, taught, corrected, encouraged, challenged, pruned and nurture. This is exactly the language of cultivation.

Then suddenly, in Matthew's final scene, Jesus does something remarkable. He lets them go; he sends them out. No instructions how to do this, just the command to go. The freedom to be wild, to be creative, to be spontaneous, to be surprised.

It is worth noting where Matthew places this event. "The eleven disciples went into Galilee, to the mountain where Jesus had appointed them." (17)  They were not in Jerusalem, not in the Temple, not in a place of religious security.

They have returned to Galilee. The wild place where it all began, the place of fishermen, villages, ordinary life. But Matthew doesn't end with them staying on the mountain. The mountain is the launching place.

For three years Jesus had been cultivating them. They had learned, stumbled, argued, misunderstood, failed and grown. Peter had been impulsive. James and John ambitious. Thomas doubtful. All of them had moments when weeds seemed to tangle them up. 

Yet Jesus did not discard them because of their imperfections. Jesus stayed with them through it all working with them, teaching them and cultivating them. But cultivation was never the final goal. Gardens should not be cultivated simply so that plants remain safely in the greenhouse.

Throughout this retreat we have reflected on blossoming, flourishing, joy, creativity, and the life that emerges when conditions are right. We have talked about what flourishing looks like. Flourishing is not simply about becoming healthy ourselves. Flourishing is about relationship, attention, participation. Flourishing is always generative.

Healthy plants flower. Flowers produce seed. Seeds travel.

Although the Gospel of Matthew ends before Pentecost, we know that was the next thing in the lives of these cultivated disciples. And it is wonderfully wild.

The cultivated disciples become Spirit-filled apostles. They spill beyond Galilee and Jerusalem into the wider world.Encountering people on roads, on ships, in prisons, in marketplaces and in homes. Unexpected encounters where the Spirit seems remarkably unconcerned with staying inside carefully managed boundaries.

Perhaps I can say, Jesus cultivated them and Pentecost unleashed them with Wildness.

Sometimes it is easier to be more comfortable with one side.

Some people love wildness, spontaneity creativity, freedom while others are more comfortable with structure, discipline, formation. But healthy spiritual life, ministry, friendship, relationship, community requires both. Without cultivation, growth may be shallow. Without wildness, growth may become stagnant. The disciples needed to be cultivated for three years with Jesus. But then they also needed to leave the upper room.

I also want to draw attention to one important line in the text. "When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted." (17) What an extraordinary sentence to include in the final chapter of the Gospel. Matthew could have presented a scene of certainty and triumph. Instead, he gives us something much more human.

This resonates with me. After three years of cultivation some still had doubts. It is encouraging that this final commissioning wasn’t given to those who had reached some kind of perfection but to people still carrying uncertainty.

The disciples were blossoming but that does not mean perfection. Flowers don’t wait until they are flawless before they bloom. And there is beauty in that 

Healthy flowers do not bloom for themselves. They bloom for the life around them. They feed bees, produce seed, and prepare the next generation.

Perhaps that is what Jesus is doing in this final scene. After years of cultivating the disciples, he releases them into the wildness of the Spirit. Not because they are finished. Not because they are perfect. Because growth ws never meant to end with them

The purpose of cultivation is fruitfulness. The purpose of blossoming is generosity. The purpose of every Beltane is eventually to become a Lammas, feeding life beyond itself. 

 

What is the "Cash Value" of Ascension?

The seventh Sunday of Easter is also Ascension Sunday. Normally, I remain with the lectionary gospel reading, but today, I want to think about the passage in Acts which describes the ascension (Acts 1.6-14). Although I am only focusing on this account, I do want to note that the Gospel of John presents a rather different understanding of ascension.

Before I look at the text itself, I want to begin with a question I have been musing on.

How does the ascension affect me?
What does it mean for me, right here in 2026?

If Andy were posing the question, he would probably quote one of his favourite philosophers, William James, and ask, “What is the cash value of ascension?”

I think these are important questions to ponder.

But first I want to look at the text itself, especially in the light of what I reflected on in my last blog — that these words were penned for people living under severe persecution. Acts is generally dated somewhere between 65 CE and 85 CE, during the brutal periods associated with Nero and later Domitian. That matters. Words are always heard through the lens of current circumstances.

The book of Acts opens by telling the reader there had been several post-resurrection appearances over a period of forty days. Today’s reading describes the final one. Then comes a very telling question addressed to the resurrected Christ:

“Is this the time you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”

What lies behind that question?
What are the people still hoping for?

It is striking that right at the beginning of Acts, this group of followers — named disciples alongside other women and men — are still hoping for a revolutionary leader who will free them from their political oppression.

They had witnessed Jesus’ life and miracles, heard the teaching, lived through the trauma of crucifixion, encountered resurrection appearances, and still they hoped for political liberation.

The resurrected Christ does not dismiss the longing. There is no rebuke. Instead, the response is simply that the timing rests in the hands of G*d.

Then comes the promise that they will receive power and that this small, fragile movement will spread “to the ends of the earth.” (8)

And then the ascension itself:

Christ is “lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.” (9)

I think that detail becomes especially significant when interpreted in the context of persecution. These were people facing fear, violence, imprisonment, and sometimes martyrdom. Even after hearing resurrection stories, perhaps they still needed reassurance that death was not the end. That suffering and empire would not ultimately triumph.

The story continues that while they stood watching, two people in white robes appeared and spoke with them. The imagery echoes both resurrection morning and the transfiguration. Once again, heavenly messengers appear in moments of fear and uncertainty.

So, this becomes a powerful opening to Acts.

A reaffirmation that life continues.
A reaffirmation that empire is not ultimate.
A reaffirmation that G*d remains present even when Christ is no longer physically visible.

And perhaps that brings me back to my original question.

What is the “cash value” of ascension for me now?

I do not think it is primarily about geography, as though heaven were “up there” somewhere beyond the clouds. Nor do I think the story is asking me to spend my life staring upwards waiting to escape the earth.

Perhaps ascension is instead about trust.

Trust that the way of Christ continues even when certainty disappears.
Trust that love and justice still matter in violent times.
Trust that death, oppression, and empire do not have the final word.

The disciples eventually stop staring into the sky and return to Jerusalem where they begin the difficult work of building community, sharing possessions, feeding people, resisting fear, and carrying hope into a wounded world.

Maybe that is the true meaning of ascension.
Not escape from the world, but the courage to remain fully present within it.

 

Holding Steady in a World That Is Not Safe

Today’s lectionary text is a rich and difficult passage (John 14;1-14). 

I think it is key to remember that this was penned to a community under threat. It is not a comfortable fireside conversation but encouragement to those being persecuted who were seeing family and friends killed for their faith.

The passage starts with the admonition, “Do not let your hearts be troubled.” (1) This is one of the well-known lines in the gospel. It is often read at funerals, often softened, almost sentimental. But I wonder if, in doing that, the edge has been lost.

Because it cannot be forgotten that this phrase was written to a community living with fear, exclusion, persecution, violence and the real possibility of death. This is not a gentle reassurance spoken into a peaceful world. It is a strong word spoken into anxiety, uncertainty, and danger.

So, when Jesus says, “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” it is not denial about circumstances. It is defiance.

It is a call to hold steady when everything happening around is suggesting that the community should be falling apart. 

Over the centuries, this text has been turned into a kind of romantic vision of heaven, rooms prepared somewhere beyond the clouds. Interestingly, the text never actually uses the word “heaven.”

So perhaps this is less about geography and more about relationship. A place is prepared not because it is architecturally impressive, but because it is relationally secure. The message is you belong, you are known and you are not abandoned.

For a persecuted community, this would matter far more than imagery.

Jesus speaks repeatedly about relationship with the Father-Mother. It is not about distance, nor hierarchy, but intimacy. “I am in the Father-Mother, and the Father-Mother is in me.”

And then, notably the invitation is extended. Anyone who shares this relationship will do the same works. The same relational flow, that same mutual indwelling, is what the community is being drawn into.

And then comes something that, if I am honest, feels deeply uncomfortable:

“Ask whatever you ask in my name… and it will be done.” (13)

This is to a community being imprisoned, tortured, even martyred. They asked, they prayed, they suffered. And they died.

So, what do I do with this?

I think I have to resist the temptation to read this as a transactional promise. This is not, ask correctly and you will be protected.

If it were, then the history of the early Johannine community, and indeed the history of the church, simply would not make sense. Perhaps, the key lies in that repeated phrase: “in my name.” I have spoken many times about the importance of a name.

In the ancient world, a name was not just a label. It was essence, character and presence. So, to ask “in the name” is not to add a formula at the end of a prayer. It is to align oneself with the way of Christ. To ask from within that relationship. To ask shaped by that life. To ask as one who participates in that same love.

And when I think of it that way, the promise shifts.

It is not that every request will be granted in the way the asker imagines. It is that the work of love, of justice, of healing, the very work of Christ, will continue through the community, even under persecution.

So, when I think about this text I’m not asking, “Why didn’t Gd answer their prayers?” I am asking “What does it mean to remain in relationship, to live and act in that name, when the world is not safe?”

And I find myself wondering about contemporary times, personally, locally, nationally and internationally. These are troubling times. 

So, what does it mean for me not to let my heart be troubled? Certainly not because everything is fine but because I am held in something deeper than circumstances.

And what does it mean for me to ask in that name?  It can’t be to control outcomes, but to participate in that same flow of love that cannot be extinguished even by violence.

I don’t think today’s lectionary text offers easy reassurance. I think it is something more demanding, and perhaps more real. A call to trust relationship over outcome, to value presence over protection and love over certainty.