Comfortable Words
Readings: Genesis 24:34-48, 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18; Romans 7:15-25a; Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30
Jesus is in a pensive mood. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we wailed, and you did not mourn,” he says, and then goes on to reflect on the life of John the Baptist as well as his own situation. John the Baptist lived simply, practicing ascetic behaviour that put him at odds with society. Jesus points out that because he wouldn’t dance he was considered to be a madman.
Jesus, on the other hand, lived life and laughed and welcomed all kinds of people. He ate and drank with outcasts and sinners. Yet his Jewish contemporaries condemned him. Because he didn’t mourn with them when they “wailed” they wrote him off as a glutton and a drunkard.
“You just cannot win,” Jesus seems to be saying. And we can all relate. We have all felt that way at one time or another. We do everything we can and find ourselves being criticized. It happens in family relationships. It happens in our work. It happens in churches. It happens when society looks at the church and finds it wanting, considers it hypocritical. Jesus is feeling down about it, but not for long. There comes a change of tone. How did he chase the blues away? How did he bring things back into perspective?
It seems to me that it happened through opening himself up to the wider mission, to the larger picture as he considered the task God had in mind for him. And from his prayerful reflection came a newfound awareness of the state of the human condition. He perceived the heavy load that we carry as a result of our humanity. He understood the sense of loss that we all feel.
That is what is reflected in the words that follow. "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens,” Jesus says, “and I will give you rest." 'The comfortable words' we call them in the Book of Common Prayer. And on the surface they are comfortable, for with them Jesus extends an invitation to us. It is an invitation that offers fulfillment. It is an invitation to unload the heavy burdens we carry. Or if not to unload them, at least to have someone share in bearing the load. Who has not felt at one time or another the cares and burdens of life? Finding our way through life is tiring. We suffer through no fault of our own. From unemployment, unexpected expenses, marital discord, depression, illness, loss, fear! We can easily become overwhelmed with life.
On the other hand, many people go through life carrying heavy loads of their own making. They let life make them weary. They remember everything that ever happened to them. They remember the harm and damage done to them far better than the joy and affirmation they received. They won't eat macaroni and cheese because it reminds them of tough times when that was all they had to eat. They don't relate to certain groups of people because once long ago someone said something or did something to harm them. They end a friendship because of some little thing that happened. Years later even though they have forgotten the details they avoid that person. They are in fact a terrible burden both to themselves and to those around them. They never forgive; they never forget.
All of us know such people. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been there. There is something of them in each of us.
We also know people who are able to overcome great suffering and turn it into powerful ministry. We know that they have not had an easy time. We have heard bits and pieces of their story. They have overcome great obstacles in their own lives. Yet they have time for a cup of tea with a friend. They have time to listen to the pain of others. They may not have much to say, no great words of wisdom. But they are the ones to whom we turn when we need a listening ear. Henri Nouwen, theologian and writer, calls them the “wounded healers” of our world.
What do such people possess that helps them not only to deal with what happens to them in life, but to reach out to others with the love of God? They have allowed themselves to be touched by Jesus. They have given the heavy burdens of life to him to carry. They have found rest for their souls.
There is a scene from the movie The Mission that speaks to me of that need to rid ourselves of our burdens. It is the story of the Jesuit mission in South America. The movie is about their mission to the Guarani, a tribe the Spanish are attempting to wipe out. One of the central figures in the movie is Mendoza, a slave trader who makes his living trapping these same people. After he kills his brother in a flash of anger, he yearns for redemption. The missionaries assign him a penance. He must climb a huge cliff by a steep waterfall, dragging behind him a net filled with armour. Again and again he attempts to scale the cliff only to have the net drag him down. In the end it is one of the Guarani, who cuts the heavy weight from his back. The anger drains from him and he collapses in a fit of laughter freed by the very people he has persecuted.
Many of us go through life without ever letting go of our burdens. We get used to the weight. We become somehow attached to them. Imagine yourself trudging along a road. The air is stifling hot. You are weighed down by a heavy backpack. With every step you take you wonder if it will be your last. A car stops beside you. A friend offers you a lift. You gratefully get into the car but you never remove the backpack. You continue to bear the full weight of the load even when you are in the car.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? Yet when we are offered forgiveness we often choose to hang on to guilt. When we are offered help we often choose to go it alone.
If you are experiencing loss and grief, is there some way God wants to use your experience to bring life to others? If your life is going well, how can you give a little bit more of your time, treasure and talents to ease somebody else's pain? It begins by turning your burdens over to Jesus, by leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Life will continue to put obstacles in the way. Life is like that. To be human is to suffer. But yoked to Jesus we will be better off. His yoke will be lighter in the long run than the one we are carrying. It will mean the end of much of the tension and depression that weighs us down. It will end the discouragement and negativity under which we live. With our burden lighter, we will travel lighter and breathe more easily. It is so much easier to carry our burden when someone is sharing the load.
What is the yoke that we will be taking up? Is it the world with all of its problems? The starving, the deprived the oppressed! It is difficult to imagine that such a yoke could be easy. But it is the yoke of our Lord, the yoke he asks us to take upon ourselves. Taking up that yoke, we can lay claim to his promises that we will find rest for our souls. Amen.
Showing posts with label Forgiveness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Forgiveness. Show all posts
Saturday, July 8, 2017
Saturday, July 5, 2014
4th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 14, Year A
Stress Management
Readings:
Gen 24:34-38, 42-49. 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18, Rom 7:15-25a; Matt 11:16-19, 25-30
"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." 'The comfortable words' we call them in the Book of Common Prayer. With them Jesus extends an invitation to each of us. It is an invitation that offers fulfillment. It is an invitation to unload the heavy burdens we carry. It is, if you will, Jesus’s pep talk on Stress Management. Who has not felt at one time or another the cares and burdens of life? Finding our way through life is tiring. We suffer through no fault of our own. From unemployment, unexpected expenses, marital discord, depression, illness, loss, fear! We can easily become overwhelmed with life.
On the other hand, many people go through life carrying heavy loads of their own making. They let life make them weary. They remember everything that ever happened to them. They remember the harm and damage done to them far better than the joy and affirmation they received. They won't eat macaroni and cheese because it reminds them of tough times when that was all they had to eat. They don't relate to certain groups of people because once long ago someone said something or did something to harm them. They end a friendship because of some little thing that happened. Years later even though they have forgotten the details they avoid that person. They are in fact a terrible burden both to themselves and to those around them. They never forgive; they never forget.
All of us know such people. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been there. There is something of them in each of us.
We also know people who are able to overcome great suffering and turn it into powerful ministry. We know that they have not had an easy time. We have heard bits and pieces of their story. They have overcome great obstacles in their own lives. Yet they have time for a cup of tea with a friend. They have time to listen to the pain of others. They may not have much to say, no great words of wisdom. But they are the ones we turn to when we need a listening ear. Henri Nouwen, theologian and writer, calls them the “wounded healers” of our world.
I have such a friend. It often seemed to me when I first met her that she was not for real. She is the embodiment of selfless love. She never has a bad word for anyone. In fact she finds a way to excuse bad behaviour. I thought mistakenly that she must be from a sheltered background, but that is far from the case. She grew up with abuse, with being told that she was stupid, useless and a financial burden.
I asked her how she kept such a positive outlook on life, so free of bitterness. “I left home at sixteen,” she told me. “I started to become bitter, but then I decided to forgive my parents every day. I think that is what has made the difference. Even though I have lived apart from them all these years, I still keep in touch and try to keep the lines of communication open. There is no point in bitterness.”
Another such story is that of a friend of mine. She and her husband waited until quite late in life to begin a family. Early in the pregnancy they learned that the child would be born with Downs Syndrome. Abortion was suggested as an option, but it was not an option for them. Instead they learned everything they could about Downs. Because there were few resources in their small town, they turned to the church. Through their congregation they set up a support group. When their little girl was born they loved her and helped her to live to her full potential. They continue to support others in their community. In the process they have learned the joy of having a special child in their life.
What do such people possess that helps them not only to deal with what happens to them in life, but to reach out to others with the love of God? They have allowed themselves to be touched by Jesus. They have given the heavy burdens of life to him to carry. They have found rest for their souls.
That is what Jesus offers us in the reading today. “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Jesus offers himself to us as the ultimate focus of our life’s longing and searching. He is the bread we hunger for. He is the ultimate relationship we seek. It is the lovely truth at the heart of the Gospel.
“For my yoke is easy,” he continues. “My burden is light.” The yoke was commonly used in Jewish writings as meaning obedience to the law. Jesus is offering an alternative to the often legalistic and harsh adherence to the 'yoke of the law'. A yoke should not be oppressive. After all a yoke is made to ease the task of carrying a heavy load. Had Jesus, the son of Joseph the carpenter, helped to make yokes? They were 'made to measure' for a particular ox. The carpenter would rough out a yoke and then the ox would be brought in to the shop for a fitting. Jewish law had become a burden to people. Jesus offers to make the burden bearable, to lighten the load. His yoke is easy not because it makes lighter demands, but because it brings you into a relationship with Jesus who is gentle of heart.
Yet many of us go through life without ever letting go of our burdens. We get used to the weight. We become somehow attached to them. Imagine yourself trudging along a road. The air is stifling hot. You are weighed down by a heavy backpack. With every step you take you wonder if it will be your last. A car stops beside you. A friend offers you a lift. You gratefully get into the car but you never remove the backpack. You continue to bear the full weight of the load even when you are in the car.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? Yet when we are offered forgiveness we often choose to hang on to guilt. When we are offered help we often choose to go it alone.
If you are experiencing loss and grief, is there some way God wants to use your experience to bring life to others? If your life is going well, how can you give a little bit more of your time, treasure and talents to ease somebody else's pain? It begins by turning your burdens over to Jesus, by leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Life will continue to put obstacles in the way. Life is like that. To be human is to suffer. But yoked to Jesus we will be better off. His yoke will be lighter in the long run than the one we are carrying. It will mean the end of much of the tension and depression that weighs us down. It will end the discouragement and negativity under which we live. With our burden lighter, we will travel lighter and breathe more easily. It is so much easier to carry our burden when someone is sharing the load.
What is the yoke that we will be taking up? Is it the world with all of its problems? The starving, the deprived the oppressed! It is difficult to imagine that such a yoke could be easy. But it is the yoke of our Lord, the yoke he asks us to take upon ourselves. Taking up that yoke, we can lay claim to his promises that we will find rest for our souls. Amen.
Readings:
Gen 24:34-38, 42-49. 58-67; Psalm 45:11-18, Rom 7:15-25a; Matt 11:16-19, 25-30
"Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." 'The comfortable words' we call them in the Book of Common Prayer. With them Jesus extends an invitation to each of us. It is an invitation that offers fulfillment. It is an invitation to unload the heavy burdens we carry. It is, if you will, Jesus’s pep talk on Stress Management. Who has not felt at one time or another the cares and burdens of life? Finding our way through life is tiring. We suffer through no fault of our own. From unemployment, unexpected expenses, marital discord, depression, illness, loss, fear! We can easily become overwhelmed with life.
On the other hand, many people go through life carrying heavy loads of their own making. They let life make them weary. They remember everything that ever happened to them. They remember the harm and damage done to them far better than the joy and affirmation they received. They won't eat macaroni and cheese because it reminds them of tough times when that was all they had to eat. They don't relate to certain groups of people because once long ago someone said something or did something to harm them. They end a friendship because of some little thing that happened. Years later even though they have forgotten the details they avoid that person. They are in fact a terrible burden both to themselves and to those around them. They never forgive; they never forget.
All of us know such people. If we are honest with ourselves, we have all been there. There is something of them in each of us.
We also know people who are able to overcome great suffering and turn it into powerful ministry. We know that they have not had an easy time. We have heard bits and pieces of their story. They have overcome great obstacles in their own lives. Yet they have time for a cup of tea with a friend. They have time to listen to the pain of others. They may not have much to say, no great words of wisdom. But they are the ones we turn to when we need a listening ear. Henri Nouwen, theologian and writer, calls them the “wounded healers” of our world.
I have such a friend. It often seemed to me when I first met her that she was not for real. She is the embodiment of selfless love. She never has a bad word for anyone. In fact she finds a way to excuse bad behaviour. I thought mistakenly that she must be from a sheltered background, but that is far from the case. She grew up with abuse, with being told that she was stupid, useless and a financial burden.
I asked her how she kept such a positive outlook on life, so free of bitterness. “I left home at sixteen,” she told me. “I started to become bitter, but then I decided to forgive my parents every day. I think that is what has made the difference. Even though I have lived apart from them all these years, I still keep in touch and try to keep the lines of communication open. There is no point in bitterness.”
Another such story is that of a friend of mine. She and her husband waited until quite late in life to begin a family. Early in the pregnancy they learned that the child would be born with Downs Syndrome. Abortion was suggested as an option, but it was not an option for them. Instead they learned everything they could about Downs. Because there were few resources in their small town, they turned to the church. Through their congregation they set up a support group. When their little girl was born they loved her and helped her to live to her full potential. They continue to support others in their community. In the process they have learned the joy of having a special child in their life.
What do such people possess that helps them not only to deal with what happens to them in life, but to reach out to others with the love of God? They have allowed themselves to be touched by Jesus. They have given the heavy burdens of life to him to carry. They have found rest for their souls.
That is what Jesus offers us in the reading today. “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls." Jesus offers himself to us as the ultimate focus of our life’s longing and searching. He is the bread we hunger for. He is the ultimate relationship we seek. It is the lovely truth at the heart of the Gospel.
“For my yoke is easy,” he continues. “My burden is light.” The yoke was commonly used in Jewish writings as meaning obedience to the law. Jesus is offering an alternative to the often legalistic and harsh adherence to the 'yoke of the law'. A yoke should not be oppressive. After all a yoke is made to ease the task of carrying a heavy load. Had Jesus, the son of Joseph the carpenter, helped to make yokes? They were 'made to measure' for a particular ox. The carpenter would rough out a yoke and then the ox would be brought in to the shop for a fitting. Jewish law had become a burden to people. Jesus offers to make the burden bearable, to lighten the load. His yoke is easy not because it makes lighter demands, but because it brings you into a relationship with Jesus who is gentle of heart.
Yet many of us go through life without ever letting go of our burdens. We get used to the weight. We become somehow attached to them. Imagine yourself trudging along a road. The air is stifling hot. You are weighed down by a heavy backpack. With every step you take you wonder if it will be your last. A car stops beside you. A friend offers you a lift. You gratefully get into the car but you never remove the backpack. You continue to bear the full weight of the load even when you are in the car.
It doesn’t make sense, does it? Yet when we are offered forgiveness we often choose to hang on to guilt. When we are offered help we often choose to go it alone.
If you are experiencing loss and grief, is there some way God wants to use your experience to bring life to others? If your life is going well, how can you give a little bit more of your time, treasure and talents to ease somebody else's pain? It begins by turning your burdens over to Jesus, by leaving them at the foot of the cross.
Life will continue to put obstacles in the way. Life is like that. To be human is to suffer. But yoked to Jesus we will be better off. His yoke will be lighter in the long run than the one we are carrying. It will mean the end of much of the tension and depression that weighs us down. It will end the discouragement and negativity under which we live. With our burden lighter, we will travel lighter and breathe more easily. It is so much easier to carry our burden when someone is sharing the load.
What is the yoke that we will be taking up? Is it the world with all of its problems? The starving, the deprived the oppressed! It is difficult to imagine that such a yoke could be easy. But it is the yoke of our Lord, the yoke he asks us to take upon ourselves. Taking up that yoke, we can lay claim to his promises that we will find rest for our souls. Amen.
Friday, March 8, 2013
The Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year C
Our Prodigal God
Readings: Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 34:1-8; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 22-32
All of us have key moments in our lives when we realize who we are and what we must do. All of the Scripture passages this morning illustrate such times. It is a new beginning for the people of Israel. They are poised between the wilderness and their first conquest in the new land. As they make the transition to their new life, they begin by taking the time to observe their traditions. For the people of Corinth it is a time of decision as Paul calls them to further their relationship with Christ. He wants them to understand what God has done for them. In the Gospel, Jesus tells that wonderfully familiar parable of the prodigal son, speaking to us of those moments of self-realization in our lives when we move from flight to return, from abandonment into discovery, from dying into living.
The parable is a familiar one. Yet in its familiarity it continues to speak to us on a deep level about our own lives and our relationship with a loving God. If we examine our lives we can see ourselves in the characters in the story.
There is first of all the younger child, the prodigal son. He does something unthinkable in a Jewish family. He demands that his father give him his inheritance. Think about it! What he is saying to his father is, "I wish you were already dead.'' He wants what is coming to him, and he wants it now. He wants to have it all now. He wants to see it all. He wants to explore it all. He wants all of life, and he wants it now. He has no regard for the consequences to his family. He is thinking only of himself. By his actions he cuts himself off from his whole family and even from the community. He severs every relationship in his life. And then he skips town with his new found wealth. He wants to get going, no matter where as long as it is away from home.
The story gets even more shocking. He is wantonly wasteful. He squanders his whole inheritance. He leads a dissolute life. In his new found sense of freedom, he goes all out. He spends money lavishly. He becomes a slave to his appetites until there is nothing left.
Just when you think things cannot get any worse for the son, they do. A famine hits the land. He has no money. He has no job. He has no prospects. He has no friends or relatives to fall back on. He hires himself on to the only job he can get, the lowest of jobs, this young Jewish man, feeding the pigs. He even envies the pigs their carob pods; the only time pigs will eat them is when there is nothing else to be had. He is totally lost.
Then he comes to his senses. Not that he is thinking about anyone else! He is still thinking only about himself. This is not a point of conversion in his life. It is simply a realization that there may be a way out of his troubles. He might even be able to maintain a sense of dignity and pride through it all. He will return home and offer himself as a servant. He is willing to work, grant you, but only on his own terms. He will save himself. He will have to ask for forgiveness, but he doesn’t need to mean it. Let us be clear about it! He is not repentant. At least not yet!
That brings us to the father. It is not until his father comes running out to him, arms open in forgiveness, that there is a change of heart in the son. “Father, I have sinned against you and against heaven,” he says to him.
And the father forgives him. Don’t we all expect something quite different to happen? Aren’t you just waiting for the father to pounce? Jesus audience would have been startled by the father’s behaviour. They would have been hanging on every word that Jesus spoke, certain that the young son was about to get everything he deserved and more. They fully expect to hear that the father has banished him forever, given him his just desserts. Yet where they expect judgement the father shows love; where they expect condemnation he shows compassion. This is, after all, no ordinary father. This is the prodigal father. Without any hesitation, he can forgive the wandering child and welcome him home. As his son was lavish in living, so the father is lavish in love. He is prodigal in mercy, and in grace. What a transforming gift that is for the son!
The father’s mercy extends to the older son as well. Truth to tell, he does not come up smelling like roses in the story. His younger brother spends his inheritance having a good time while he has been taking care of the family business. Then when he returns home, he gets all the attention. What about reaping what you sow? It just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t he be paying for his sins instead of having a party?
The older brother asks for nothing. He wants nothing. He also enjoys nothing. He devotes himself to his father’s service. He never disobeys. Yet he is the centre of his every thought. He reacts with jealousy. “This son of yours…” he says. He is disappointed, to say the least. He fails to experience the loving relationship of a loving parent.
We may see ourselves like the younger son, wanting to live life recklessly. We may drift away from the faith. As the family grows up, somehow we get out of the habit of going to church. We intend to go. We sometimes yearn for the sense of community that we once had. But at the same time, it seems impossible to go back. We feel unworthy. We do not feel as if we belong. We do not see ourselves as beloved children. And so we stay away. That is somehow easier. For by staying away, we don’t risk being rejected. But if we go back, the parable assures us, God receives us back.
We may be rather like the older son, carrying resentments and jealousies. Here we are trying to serve God. Trying to do God’s work. Then the homeless, the addicted, the downtrodden, the hopeless sinners, get all the attention. “If I hear one more sermon about domestic violence or abuse!” “Where is the justice?” We ask. “Don’t I deserve more?”
In retreat a man was meditating on the story of the prodigal son. He used an etching Rembrandt once made of it with the father embracing his lost and found son. The man strongly identified with the younger son. It brought him with a jolt to the sudden realization that God forgave him. Even more he understood that God loved him. Then he had a further insight. It moved him to tears. He realized that the young son forgave himself. He accepted his shadow side and decided to do something about it. He loved himself as the father loved him. It lead him to the realization that he needed the same sense of forgiveness.
It is a profound learning. It is difficult to forgive others; it is much more difficult to forgive oneself. That is why it is one of the greatest gifts of healing that we could possibly receive. The sense of divine acceptance is so radical and sweeping that sometimes people cannot wrap their heads around it. It angers them. Like the older son they are filled with resentment and rage at a God who could possibly be so unfair as to offer forgiveness and grace so freely.
How like God! God gives us dangerous freedoms. God allows us to live our own lives. God entrusts the world into our hands, knowing that we are capable of destroying the wonderful work of creation. God welcomes sinners to the table. God offers us salvation, not because we deserve it. Not because we have earned it. Simply because God’s mercy extends to each of us.
This is a story that has the power to shock us. It has the power to offend. That is because it speaks to us of God’s free gift of grace. Grace not only has the power to offend us; it does when it is exercised. Let’s face it. Most of us want some assurance that our obedience and good behaviour and faithfulness to God actually count for something. We do not like to see someone get away with bad behaviour. The notion that God simply graces us, all of us, bothers many people. That is because we fail to understand the idea of free grace, of undying love.
At every turn God surprises us with grace. God is merciful and loving beyond all reason. The salvation that God offers us is more than a legal transaction; it is a loving relationship. Our prodigal God rushes out to meet us, bless us, reinstate us, and call us God’s own.
Readings: Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 34:1-8; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 22-32
All of us have key moments in our lives when we realize who we are and what we must do. All of the Scripture passages this morning illustrate such times. It is a new beginning for the people of Israel. They are poised between the wilderness and their first conquest in the new land. As they make the transition to their new life, they begin by taking the time to observe their traditions. For the people of Corinth it is a time of decision as Paul calls them to further their relationship with Christ. He wants them to understand what God has done for them. In the Gospel, Jesus tells that wonderfully familiar parable of the prodigal son, speaking to us of those moments of self-realization in our lives when we move from flight to return, from abandonment into discovery, from dying into living.
The parable is a familiar one. Yet in its familiarity it continues to speak to us on a deep level about our own lives and our relationship with a loving God. If we examine our lives we can see ourselves in the characters in the story.
There is first of all the younger child, the prodigal son. He does something unthinkable in a Jewish family. He demands that his father give him his inheritance. Think about it! What he is saying to his father is, "I wish you were already dead.'' He wants what is coming to him, and he wants it now. He wants to have it all now. He wants to see it all. He wants to explore it all. He wants all of life, and he wants it now. He has no regard for the consequences to his family. He is thinking only of himself. By his actions he cuts himself off from his whole family and even from the community. He severs every relationship in his life. And then he skips town with his new found wealth. He wants to get going, no matter where as long as it is away from home.
The story gets even more shocking. He is wantonly wasteful. He squanders his whole inheritance. He leads a dissolute life. In his new found sense of freedom, he goes all out. He spends money lavishly. He becomes a slave to his appetites until there is nothing left.
Just when you think things cannot get any worse for the son, they do. A famine hits the land. He has no money. He has no job. He has no prospects. He has no friends or relatives to fall back on. He hires himself on to the only job he can get, the lowest of jobs, this young Jewish man, feeding the pigs. He even envies the pigs their carob pods; the only time pigs will eat them is when there is nothing else to be had. He is totally lost.
Then he comes to his senses. Not that he is thinking about anyone else! He is still thinking only about himself. This is not a point of conversion in his life. It is simply a realization that there may be a way out of his troubles. He might even be able to maintain a sense of dignity and pride through it all. He will return home and offer himself as a servant. He is willing to work, grant you, but only on his own terms. He will save himself. He will have to ask for forgiveness, but he doesn’t need to mean it. Let us be clear about it! He is not repentant. At least not yet!
That brings us to the father. It is not until his father comes running out to him, arms open in forgiveness, that there is a change of heart in the son. “Father, I have sinned against you and against heaven,” he says to him.
And the father forgives him. Don’t we all expect something quite different to happen? Aren’t you just waiting for the father to pounce? Jesus audience would have been startled by the father’s behaviour. They would have been hanging on every word that Jesus spoke, certain that the young son was about to get everything he deserved and more. They fully expect to hear that the father has banished him forever, given him his just desserts. Yet where they expect judgement the father shows love; where they expect condemnation he shows compassion. This is, after all, no ordinary father. This is the prodigal father. Without any hesitation, he can forgive the wandering child and welcome him home. As his son was lavish in living, so the father is lavish in love. He is prodigal in mercy, and in grace. What a transforming gift that is for the son!
The father’s mercy extends to the older son as well. Truth to tell, he does not come up smelling like roses in the story. His younger brother spends his inheritance having a good time while he has been taking care of the family business. Then when he returns home, he gets all the attention. What about reaping what you sow? It just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t he be paying for his sins instead of having a party?
The older brother asks for nothing. He wants nothing. He also enjoys nothing. He devotes himself to his father’s service. He never disobeys. Yet he is the centre of his every thought. He reacts with jealousy. “This son of yours…” he says. He is disappointed, to say the least. He fails to experience the loving relationship of a loving parent.
We may see ourselves like the younger son, wanting to live life recklessly. We may drift away from the faith. As the family grows up, somehow we get out of the habit of going to church. We intend to go. We sometimes yearn for the sense of community that we once had. But at the same time, it seems impossible to go back. We feel unworthy. We do not feel as if we belong. We do not see ourselves as beloved children. And so we stay away. That is somehow easier. For by staying away, we don’t risk being rejected. But if we go back, the parable assures us, God receives us back.
We may be rather like the older son, carrying resentments and jealousies. Here we are trying to serve God. Trying to do God’s work. Then the homeless, the addicted, the downtrodden, the hopeless sinners, get all the attention. “If I hear one more sermon about domestic violence or abuse!” “Where is the justice?” We ask. “Don’t I deserve more?”
In retreat a man was meditating on the story of the prodigal son. He used an etching Rembrandt once made of it with the father embracing his lost and found son. The man strongly identified with the younger son. It brought him with a jolt to the sudden realization that God forgave him. Even more he understood that God loved him. Then he had a further insight. It moved him to tears. He realized that the young son forgave himself. He accepted his shadow side and decided to do something about it. He loved himself as the father loved him. It lead him to the realization that he needed the same sense of forgiveness.
It is a profound learning. It is difficult to forgive others; it is much more difficult to forgive oneself. That is why it is one of the greatest gifts of healing that we could possibly receive. The sense of divine acceptance is so radical and sweeping that sometimes people cannot wrap their heads around it. It angers them. Like the older son they are filled with resentment and rage at a God who could possibly be so unfair as to offer forgiveness and grace so freely.
How like God! God gives us dangerous freedoms. God allows us to live our own lives. God entrusts the world into our hands, knowing that we are capable of destroying the wonderful work of creation. God welcomes sinners to the table. God offers us salvation, not because we deserve it. Not because we have earned it. Simply because God’s mercy extends to each of us.
This is a story that has the power to shock us. It has the power to offend. That is because it speaks to us of God’s free gift of grace. Grace not only has the power to offend us; it does when it is exercised. Let’s face it. Most of us want some assurance that our obedience and good behaviour and faithfulness to God actually count for something. We do not like to see someone get away with bad behaviour. The notion that God simply graces us, all of us, bothers many people. That is because we fail to understand the idea of free grace, of undying love.
At every turn God surprises us with grace. God is merciful and loving beyond all reason. The salvation that God offers us is more than a legal transaction; it is a loving relationship. Our prodigal God rushes out to meet us, bless us, reinstate us, and call us God’s own.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Third Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 11) Year C
Spreading the Right Rumours!
Readings: 1 Kings 21:1-10, (11-14), 15-21a; Psalm 5:1-8; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3
Rumours! We live with them every day. The internet, it seems, is a great medium for spreading rumours. Well meaning people send you the latest misinformation about how some terrible virus is about to attack your computer. While most rumours that spread over the internet are harmless, some that involved personal attacks particularly on young people have had disastrous consequences, leading even to suicide.
The problem with rumours is that it is difficult to overcome them. They seem to take on a life of their own. Church communities adopt rumours about themselves. Take our congregation for example. When I came here there were a few rumours that this parish had accepted about themselves. “We have a revolving door when it comes to clergy!” I was told. And another big one was, “The bishop says that we are the most unfriendly parish she has ever been in.”
Rumours, it seems, have always found voice, sometimes with dire consequences. Take for example the Old Testament lesson for today. Naboth has a vineyard. It has been in his family for many generations. It is a lovely vineyard right beside the palace of King Ahab. Ahab wants it for his own. He requests to purchase the vineyard from Naboth in exchange for either another vineyard or money. Naboth sees it as belonging to God. He does not believe that he has the right to sell what God has given him. He refuses the offer. Ahab understands, but he still covets it, pouting like some petulant child.
His wife asks him what is wrong. He tells the story, leaving out the rather crucial information that it is Naboth's inheritance. “You're the king,” she says to him. “You should have whatever you want.” She hires some thugs to start a rumour about Naboth that he has cursed God and the king. He is taken out and stoned to death. Ahab's pouting leads to the telling of half truths. That leads to manipulation and finally to plotting, murder and theft. The real hero of the story is Naboth who realized that any power or security that he possessed was a gift from God that he could not afford to sell at any price. It cost him his life.
The gospel is another story about rumours. The rumours are about an unnamed woman. There was a party given by a rich Pharisee in honour of Jesus. While they were reclining around the table, the woman, uninvited, and about whose life there were many rumours, all of them bad, came in and began to wash Jesus' feet with her tears. She dried them with her hair, kissing his feet and pouring precious ointment on them. Simon was appalled that Jesus would allow her to touch him in this way. "Can he be a real prophet," he wonders, "if he does not even recognize what kind of a woman she is."
Even before Simon can give voice to his sentiments Jesus addresses him. He doesn't let the rumours influence him. Rather he sees past the rumours to the real person. He sees her loving nature. “Her sins which were many have been forgiven,” he says. The rumours may be well founded, but it is Simon who needs to learn about God’s love. She already knows. That is what has brought her to Jesus. That is what has prompted her acts of kindness and love. She knows that she is a sinner, but she also knows that God loves her. She knows what it means to be loved. That experience of unconditional love has enabled her to become a loving person.
To love as God loves is the Christian call. It is a call to "do" acts of love. We all know that. But let's face it; most of the time, doing the loving thing does not come easily or naturally. It does not always leave us with warm or peaceful feelings. Truly, it is often the way that requires the most effort to accomplish. It is far easier to find other ways to get people to do as we think they should. Fear, punishment, manipulation, even abusing power come to mind as pretty normal tactics.
Don’t you just hate to hear someone say, “I’m only telling you this out of love”? Or even worse, “God told me to tell you…” You know that the ‘advice’ comes with an expectation that you will not only listen to what is said, but you will change, even if it is based on rumour. How different it is when people do act out of love, for true acts of love are responses to the unconditional love of God. They come from our utter dependence on God who is love.
Most of us put conditions on love. If he weren’t so stubborn … If only she would stop nagging … If only I could get them to clean their rooms …
And truly, we live in a materialistic society where nothing is unconditional. We become suspicious if something is offered to us for free. We ask, “What will it really cost?” And when we look into it, of course, we find that our suspicions are well founded.
Paul knew that God's love was unconditional. He knew that it was not by keeping to the letter of the law that we please God. “How is it possible”, Paul responds, “for a human being to stand before the throne of God, perfection itself, and have any hope of being accepted?” The wonder of it is that we are justified through the grace of God who offers us unconditional love. Forgiveness depends on our faith in God’s compassionate love, and not on how righteous we may strive to be.
It is difficult for us to even conceive of that. How can we be expected to understand a God who loves unconditionally? It isn’t how we experience life. We expect to have to earn our way. And the wonder of it is that God does not accept us on some basis by which we can never be acceptable. God does not listen to the rumours about us and judge us on the basis of what is said about us. God does not grade us with some pass/fail system. God does not expect perfection. We are judged by whether we have loved or not. We are judged by whether we do the loving thing. Because we know God’s love, we know that we are forgiven. Because we know God’s love, we are able to reach out in love to others.
So we need to be able to say for ourselves, “God loves me”, knowing that it is not because we deserve it. It is not because we have earned it. It is not because we are clever. It is not because we are attaining perfection. To be able to say “God loves me” and stop there is the beginning of knowing God’s grace at work in our lives. It is the beginning of knowing that we are forgiven, reconciled people of God. It brings us to the understanding that we are created by a loving God who continues to find us precious and valuable.
That is what the unnamed woman did. She said to herself, “God loves me.” She knew it to be true. And so she did a remarkable thing. She wept, knelt at Jesus feet, anointed them with oil, and wiped his feet with her hair. She became a healing presence.
So the real question for me comes back to the rumours. How do we change the rumours about ourselves. In our personal lives it is about telling ourselves that God loves us. It is about saying it over and over again until we believe it.
We can do it as a community as well. In recent years I have not heard you say that St. Francis has a revolving door. You have pretty much dispelled the myth that you cannot keep a priest. As for being the most unfriendly church in the Diocese, that too is pretty much dispelled. But what other rumours have we adopted along the way? I think there is a rumour in this congregation that we are a poor community that simply survives. I think there is a rumour that we can never grow. I for one do not believe the rumours. I want to start a few of my own. This is the congregation that can open its heart to the community around it. This is the congregation that prays for one another and expects God to answer our prayers. This is the congregation that is diverse and youthful and full of life and joy and peace. This is the congregation that is Christ in Meadowvale.
Believing that God loves us is just the beginning, you know. We are called to share that message with others, to reach out with that same loving spirit. Become a healing presence. See Christ at work in others. Share the love of God with those in need. Pass on that message of love. It is a message that is sorely needed in our world. So let us share that all important rumour. God loves us. Amen
Readings: 1 Kings 21:1-10, (11-14), 15-21a; Psalm 5:1-8; Galatians 2:15-21; Luke 7:36-8:3
Rumours! We live with them every day. The internet, it seems, is a great medium for spreading rumours. Well meaning people send you the latest misinformation about how some terrible virus is about to attack your computer. While most rumours that spread over the internet are harmless, some that involved personal attacks particularly on young people have had disastrous consequences, leading even to suicide.
The problem with rumours is that it is difficult to overcome them. They seem to take on a life of their own. Church communities adopt rumours about themselves. Take our congregation for example. When I came here there were a few rumours that this parish had accepted about themselves. “We have a revolving door when it comes to clergy!” I was told. And another big one was, “The bishop says that we are the most unfriendly parish she has ever been in.”
Rumours, it seems, have always found voice, sometimes with dire consequences. Take for example the Old Testament lesson for today. Naboth has a vineyard. It has been in his family for many generations. It is a lovely vineyard right beside the palace of King Ahab. Ahab wants it for his own. He requests to purchase the vineyard from Naboth in exchange for either another vineyard or money. Naboth sees it as belonging to God. He does not believe that he has the right to sell what God has given him. He refuses the offer. Ahab understands, but he still covets it, pouting like some petulant child.
His wife asks him what is wrong. He tells the story, leaving out the rather crucial information that it is Naboth's inheritance. “You're the king,” she says to him. “You should have whatever you want.” She hires some thugs to start a rumour about Naboth that he has cursed God and the king. He is taken out and stoned to death. Ahab's pouting leads to the telling of half truths. That leads to manipulation and finally to plotting, murder and theft. The real hero of the story is Naboth who realized that any power or security that he possessed was a gift from God that he could not afford to sell at any price. It cost him his life.
The gospel is another story about rumours. The rumours are about an unnamed woman. There was a party given by a rich Pharisee in honour of Jesus. While they were reclining around the table, the woman, uninvited, and about whose life there were many rumours, all of them bad, came in and began to wash Jesus' feet with her tears. She dried them with her hair, kissing his feet and pouring precious ointment on them. Simon was appalled that Jesus would allow her to touch him in this way. "Can he be a real prophet," he wonders, "if he does not even recognize what kind of a woman she is."
Even before Simon can give voice to his sentiments Jesus addresses him. He doesn't let the rumours influence him. Rather he sees past the rumours to the real person. He sees her loving nature. “Her sins which were many have been forgiven,” he says. The rumours may be well founded, but it is Simon who needs to learn about God’s love. She already knows. That is what has brought her to Jesus. That is what has prompted her acts of kindness and love. She knows that she is a sinner, but she also knows that God loves her. She knows what it means to be loved. That experience of unconditional love has enabled her to become a loving person.
To love as God loves is the Christian call. It is a call to "do" acts of love. We all know that. But let's face it; most of the time, doing the loving thing does not come easily or naturally. It does not always leave us with warm or peaceful feelings. Truly, it is often the way that requires the most effort to accomplish. It is far easier to find other ways to get people to do as we think they should. Fear, punishment, manipulation, even abusing power come to mind as pretty normal tactics.
Don’t you just hate to hear someone say, “I’m only telling you this out of love”? Or even worse, “God told me to tell you…” You know that the ‘advice’ comes with an expectation that you will not only listen to what is said, but you will change, even if it is based on rumour. How different it is when people do act out of love, for true acts of love are responses to the unconditional love of God. They come from our utter dependence on God who is love.
Most of us put conditions on love. If he weren’t so stubborn … If only she would stop nagging … If only I could get them to clean their rooms …
And truly, we live in a materialistic society where nothing is unconditional. We become suspicious if something is offered to us for free. We ask, “What will it really cost?” And when we look into it, of course, we find that our suspicions are well founded.
Paul knew that God's love was unconditional. He knew that it was not by keeping to the letter of the law that we please God. “How is it possible”, Paul responds, “for a human being to stand before the throne of God, perfection itself, and have any hope of being accepted?” The wonder of it is that we are justified through the grace of God who offers us unconditional love. Forgiveness depends on our faith in God’s compassionate love, and not on how righteous we may strive to be.
It is difficult for us to even conceive of that. How can we be expected to understand a God who loves unconditionally? It isn’t how we experience life. We expect to have to earn our way. And the wonder of it is that God does not accept us on some basis by which we can never be acceptable. God does not listen to the rumours about us and judge us on the basis of what is said about us. God does not grade us with some pass/fail system. God does not expect perfection. We are judged by whether we have loved or not. We are judged by whether we do the loving thing. Because we know God’s love, we know that we are forgiven. Because we know God’s love, we are able to reach out in love to others.
So we need to be able to say for ourselves, “God loves me”, knowing that it is not because we deserve it. It is not because we have earned it. It is not because we are clever. It is not because we are attaining perfection. To be able to say “God loves me” and stop there is the beginning of knowing God’s grace at work in our lives. It is the beginning of knowing that we are forgiven, reconciled people of God. It brings us to the understanding that we are created by a loving God who continues to find us precious and valuable.
That is what the unnamed woman did. She said to herself, “God loves me.” She knew it to be true. And so she did a remarkable thing. She wept, knelt at Jesus feet, anointed them with oil, and wiped his feet with her hair. She became a healing presence.
So the real question for me comes back to the rumours. How do we change the rumours about ourselves. In our personal lives it is about telling ourselves that God loves us. It is about saying it over and over again until we believe it.
We can do it as a community as well. In recent years I have not heard you say that St. Francis has a revolving door. You have pretty much dispelled the myth that you cannot keep a priest. As for being the most unfriendly church in the Diocese, that too is pretty much dispelled. But what other rumours have we adopted along the way? I think there is a rumour in this congregation that we are a poor community that simply survives. I think there is a rumour that we can never grow. I for one do not believe the rumours. I want to start a few of my own. This is the congregation that can open its heart to the community around it. This is the congregation that prays for one another and expects God to answer our prayers. This is the congregation that is diverse and youthful and full of life and joy and peace. This is the congregation that is Christ in Meadowvale.
Believing that God loves us is just the beginning, you know. We are called to share that message with others, to reach out with that same loving spirit. Become a healing presence. See Christ at work in others. Share the love of God with those in need. Pass on that message of love. It is a message that is sorely needed in our world. So let us share that all important rumour. God loves us. Amen
Friday, March 12, 2010
The Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year C
Our Prodigal God
Readings: Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 34:1-8; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 22-32
All of us have key moments in our lives when we realize who we are and what we must do. All of the Scripture passages this morning illustrate such times. It is a new beginning for the people of Israel. They are poised between the wilderness and their first conquest in the new land. As they make the transition to their new life, they begin by taking the time to observe their traditions. For the people of Corinth it is a time of decision as Paul calls them to further their relationship with Christ. He wants them to understand what God has done for them. In the Gospel, Jesus tells that wonderfully familiar parable of the prodigal son, speaking to us of those moments of self-realization in our lives when we move from flight to return, from abandonment into discovery, from dying into living.
The parable is a familiar one. Yet in its familiarity it continues to speak to us on a deep level about our own lives and our relationship with a loving God. If we examine our lives we can see ourselves in the characters in the story.
There is first of all the younger child, the prodigal son. He does something unthinkable in a Jewish family. He demands that his father give him his inheritance. Think about it! What he is saying to his father is, "I wish you were already dead.'' He wants what is coming to him, and he wants it now. He wants to have it all now. He wants to see it all. He wants to explore it all. He wants all of life, and he wants it now. He has no regard for the consequences to his family. He is thinking only of himself. By his actions he cuts himself off from his whole family and even from the community. He severs every relationship in his life. And then he skips town with his new found wealth. He wants to get going, no matter where as long as it is away from home.
The story gets even more shocking. He is wantonly wasteful. He squanders his whole inheritance. He leads a dissolute life. In his new found sense of freedom, he goes all out. He spends money lavishly. He becomes a slave to his appetites until there is nothing left.
Just when you think things cannot get any worse for the son, they do. A famine hits the land. He has no money. He has no job. He has no prospects. He has no friends or relatives to fall back on. He hires himself on to the only job he can get, the lowest of jobs, this young Jewish man, feeding the pigs. He even envies the pigs their carob pods; the only time pigs will eat them is when there is nothing else to be had. He is totally lost.
Then he comes to his senses. Not that he is thinking about anyone else! He is still thinking only about himself. This is not a point of conversion in his life. It is simply a realization that there may be a way out of his troubles. He might even be able to maintain a sense of dignity and pride through it all. He will return home and offer himself as a servant. He is willing to work, grant you, but only on his own terms. He will save himself. He will have to ask for forgiveness, but he doesn’t need to mean it. Let us be clear about it! He is not repentant. At least not yet!
That brings us to the father. It is not until his father comes running out to him, arms open in forgiveness, that there is a change of heart in the son. “Father, I have sinned against you and against heaven,” he says to him.
And the father forgives him. Don’t we all expect something quite different to happen? Aren’t you just waiting for the father to pounce? Jesus audience would have been startled by the father’s behaviour. They would have been hanging on every word that Jesus spoke, certain that the young son was about to get everything he deserved and more. They fully expect to hear that the father has banished him forever, given him his just desserts. Yet where they expect judgement the father shows love; where they expect condemnation he shows compassion. This is, after all, no ordinary father. This is the prodigal father. Without any hesitation, he can forgive the wandering child and welcome him home. As his son was lavish in living, so the father is lavish in love. He is prodigal in mercy, and in grace. What a transforming gift that is for the son!
The father’s mercy extends to the older son as well. Truth to tell, he does not come up smelling like roses in the story. His younger brother spends his inheritance having a good time while he has been taking care of the family business. Then when he returns home, he gets all the attention. What about reaping what you sow? It just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t he be paying for his sins instead of having a party?
The older brother asks for nothing. He wants nothing. He also enjoys nothing. He devotes himself to his father’s service. He never disobeys. Yet he is the centre of his every thought. He reacts with jealousy. “This son of yours…” he says. He is disappointed, to say the least. He fails to experience the loving relationship of a loving parent.
We may see ourselves like the younger son, wanting to live life recklessly. We may drift away from the faith. As the family grows up, somehow we get out of the habit of going to church. We intend to go. We sometimes yearn for the sense of community that we once had. But at the same time, it seems impossible to go back. We feel unworthy. We do not feel as if we belong. We do not see ourselves as beloved children. And so we stay away. That is somehow easier. For by staying away, we don’t risk being rejected. But if we go back, the parable assures us, God receives us back.
We may be rather like the older son, carrying resentments and jealousies. Here we are trying to serve God. Trying to do God’s work. Then the homeless, the addicted, the downtrodden, the hopeless sinners, get all the attention. “If I hear one more sermon about domestic violence or abuse!” “Where is the justice?” We ask. “Don’t I deserve more?”
In retreat a man was meditating on the story of the prodigal son. He used an etching Rembrandt once made of it with the father embracing his lost and found son. The man strongly identified with the younger son. It brought him with a jolt to the sudden realization that God forgave him. Even more he understood that God loved him. Then he had a further insight. It moved him to tears. He realized that the young son forgave himself. He accepted his shadow side and decided to do something about it. He loved himself as the father loved him. It lead him to the realization that he needed the same sense of forgiveness.
It is a profound learning. It is difficult to forgive others; it is much more difficult to forgive oneself. That is why it is one of the greatest gifts of healing that we could possibly receive. The sense of divine acceptance is so radical and sweeping that sometimes people cannot wrap their heads around it. It angers them. Like the older son they are filled with resentment and rage at a God who could possibly be so unfair as to offer forgiveness and grace so freely.
How like God! God gives us dangerous freedoms. God allows us to live our own lives. God entrusts the world into our hands, knowing that we are capable of destroying the wonderful work of creation. God welcomes sinners to the table. God offers us salvation, not because we deserve it. Not because we have earned it. Simply because God’s mercy extends to each of us.
This is a story that has the power to shock us. It has the power to offend. That is because it speaks to us of God’s free gift of grace. Grace not only has the power to offend us; it does when it is exercised. Let’s face it. Most of us want some assurance that our obedience and good behaviour and faithfulness to God actually count for something. We do not like to see someone get away with bad behaviour. The notion that God simply graces us, all of us, bothers many people. That is because we fail to understand the idea of free grace, of undying love.
At every turn God surprises us with grace. God is merciful and loving beyond all reason. The salvation that God offers us is more than a legal transaction; it is a loving relationship. Our prodigal God rushes out to meet us, bless us, reinstate us, and call us God’s own.
Readings: Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 34:1-8; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Luke 15:1-3, 22-32
All of us have key moments in our lives when we realize who we are and what we must do. All of the Scripture passages this morning illustrate such times. It is a new beginning for the people of Israel. They are poised between the wilderness and their first conquest in the new land. As they make the transition to their new life, they begin by taking the time to observe their traditions. For the people of Corinth it is a time of decision as Paul calls them to further their relationship with Christ. He wants them to understand what God has done for them. In the Gospel, Jesus tells that wonderfully familiar parable of the prodigal son, speaking to us of those moments of self-realization in our lives when we move from flight to return, from abandonment into discovery, from dying into living.
The parable is a familiar one. Yet in its familiarity it continues to speak to us on a deep level about our own lives and our relationship with a loving God. If we examine our lives we can see ourselves in the characters in the story.
There is first of all the younger child, the prodigal son. He does something unthinkable in a Jewish family. He demands that his father give him his inheritance. Think about it! What he is saying to his father is, "I wish you were already dead.'' He wants what is coming to him, and he wants it now. He wants to have it all now. He wants to see it all. He wants to explore it all. He wants all of life, and he wants it now. He has no regard for the consequences to his family. He is thinking only of himself. By his actions he cuts himself off from his whole family and even from the community. He severs every relationship in his life. And then he skips town with his new found wealth. He wants to get going, no matter where as long as it is away from home.
The story gets even more shocking. He is wantonly wasteful. He squanders his whole inheritance. He leads a dissolute life. In his new found sense of freedom, he goes all out. He spends money lavishly. He becomes a slave to his appetites until there is nothing left.
Just when you think things cannot get any worse for the son, they do. A famine hits the land. He has no money. He has no job. He has no prospects. He has no friends or relatives to fall back on. He hires himself on to the only job he can get, the lowest of jobs, this young Jewish man, feeding the pigs. He even envies the pigs their carob pods; the only time pigs will eat them is when there is nothing else to be had. He is totally lost.
Then he comes to his senses. Not that he is thinking about anyone else! He is still thinking only about himself. This is not a point of conversion in his life. It is simply a realization that there may be a way out of his troubles. He might even be able to maintain a sense of dignity and pride through it all. He will return home and offer himself as a servant. He is willing to work, grant you, but only on his own terms. He will save himself. He will have to ask for forgiveness, but he doesn’t need to mean it. Let us be clear about it! He is not repentant. At least not yet!
That brings us to the father. It is not until his father comes running out to him, arms open in forgiveness, that there is a change of heart in the son. “Father, I have sinned against you and against heaven,” he says to him.
And the father forgives him. Don’t we all expect something quite different to happen? Aren’t you just waiting for the father to pounce? Jesus audience would have been startled by the father’s behaviour. They would have been hanging on every word that Jesus spoke, certain that the young son was about to get everything he deserved and more. They fully expect to hear that the father has banished him forever, given him his just desserts. Yet where they expect judgement the father shows love; where they expect condemnation he shows compassion. This is, after all, no ordinary father. This is the prodigal father. Without any hesitation, he can forgive the wandering child and welcome him home. As his son was lavish in living, so the father is lavish in love. He is prodigal in mercy, and in grace. What a transforming gift that is for the son!
The father’s mercy extends to the older son as well. Truth to tell, he does not come up smelling like roses in the story. His younger brother spends his inheritance having a good time while he has been taking care of the family business. Then when he returns home, he gets all the attention. What about reaping what you sow? It just doesn’t seem fair. Shouldn’t he be paying for his sins instead of having a party?
The older brother asks for nothing. He wants nothing. He also enjoys nothing. He devotes himself to his father’s service. He never disobeys. Yet he is the centre of his every thought. He reacts with jealousy. “This son of yours…” he says. He is disappointed, to say the least. He fails to experience the loving relationship of a loving parent.
We may see ourselves like the younger son, wanting to live life recklessly. We may drift away from the faith. As the family grows up, somehow we get out of the habit of going to church. We intend to go. We sometimes yearn for the sense of community that we once had. But at the same time, it seems impossible to go back. We feel unworthy. We do not feel as if we belong. We do not see ourselves as beloved children. And so we stay away. That is somehow easier. For by staying away, we don’t risk being rejected. But if we go back, the parable assures us, God receives us back.
We may be rather like the older son, carrying resentments and jealousies. Here we are trying to serve God. Trying to do God’s work. Then the homeless, the addicted, the downtrodden, the hopeless sinners, get all the attention. “If I hear one more sermon about domestic violence or abuse!” “Where is the justice?” We ask. “Don’t I deserve more?”
In retreat a man was meditating on the story of the prodigal son. He used an etching Rembrandt once made of it with the father embracing his lost and found son. The man strongly identified with the younger son. It brought him with a jolt to the sudden realization that God forgave him. Even more he understood that God loved him. Then he had a further insight. It moved him to tears. He realized that the young son forgave himself. He accepted his shadow side and decided to do something about it. He loved himself as the father loved him. It lead him to the realization that he needed the same sense of forgiveness.
It is a profound learning. It is difficult to forgive others; it is much more difficult to forgive oneself. That is why it is one of the greatest gifts of healing that we could possibly receive. The sense of divine acceptance is so radical and sweeping that sometimes people cannot wrap their heads around it. It angers them. Like the older son they are filled with resentment and rage at a God who could possibly be so unfair as to offer forgiveness and grace so freely.
How like God! God gives us dangerous freedoms. God allows us to live our own lives. God entrusts the world into our hands, knowing that we are capable of destroying the wonderful work of creation. God welcomes sinners to the table. God offers us salvation, not because we deserve it. Not because we have earned it. Simply because God’s mercy extends to each of us.
This is a story that has the power to shock us. It has the power to offend. That is because it speaks to us of God’s free gift of grace. Grace not only has the power to offend us; it does when it is exercised. Let’s face it. Most of us want some assurance that our obedience and good behaviour and faithfulness to God actually count for something. We do not like to see someone get away with bad behaviour. The notion that God simply graces us, all of us, bothers many people. That is because we fail to understand the idea of free grace, of undying love.
At every turn God surprises us with grace. God is merciful and loving beyond all reason. The salvation that God offers us is more than a legal transaction; it is a loving relationship. Our prodigal God rushes out to meet us, bless us, reinstate us, and call us God’s own.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
The Third Sunday of Lent, Year B
Passionate Living
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
We are part of a broken world. How evident that is as we read in the newspaper about war and conflict. Just to name a few of the terrible situations faced by people in our world, there is Darfur which has seen some 350,000 people killed and another 1.8 million displaced. There is the Civil War in Sri Lanka. There is the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan. There is the situation in Gaza. Peace and diplomacy so often fail to resolve conflict. What is the Christian way to view what is happening? How can God’s word speak to us in the midst of turmoil?
The Ten Commandments, God's covenant with Israel, speak to us at every level of human experience. They speak to us as individuals, as community, and as nation. They are moral guides to our growth as people who live in communion with one another and all of creation. They cover all aspects of life. They are summarized for the Christian in Jesus’ call to us to love God, and to love neighbour.
If we take the Ten Commandments seriously – and I certainly trust we do – we must surely be asking ourselves some difficult questions about the way we live our lives. What gods do we put before God? Where do we put all of our energies? In placing our energies, do we leave time for God? Are there any discrepancies between what we profess as Christians and how we act towards others? How do we keep Sunday holy when society demands that we work? What injustices do we see going on around us? Are we willing to speak out against them? Are we willing to do something about them? In this consumer society of ours, which causes us to covet from cradle to grave, do we stand up to the desires of the world and put God and neighbour before our own needs? The command to love God and love neighbour makes us responsible for the world in which we live. We are responsible to help those who live in poverty. It is our responsibility to care for the sick, to live in peace, to live out our ministry as servants in a broken world.
This is a time for passionate living. The symbol for this third Sunday in our Lenten series is fire. It gives light and heat. It can create atmosphere in a room. It purifies and refines. It can also destroy. The bush fires this year in Australia which destroyed animal habitat, people’s homes and even their lives are a testimony to that. Fire describes anger and revenge. It also describes love and devotion. For us during this Lenten season, fire is a symbol of the burning away of the old self. The mystery of fire brought the Hebrews to associate God’s presence with fire. Moses first encounter with God was through a burning bush. The people of Israel were led through the wilderness by a “pillar of fire”. As Christians it symbolizes the Spirit of God among us. At Pentecost, the Spirit descended as tongues of fire on the people of God. Fire symbolizes the Spirit of God among us. It is a sign of conversion, a symbol of the burning away of the old self. Conversion experiences test us. Something is burned off; what remains is stronger, purer. It allows us to live passionately. The Spirit is a fire that purifies, creates, refines, destroys and transforms if we let it. It allows us to live passionately.
And so in the Gospel today we see a Jesus who lives passionately. And yes, I admit it. I feel uncomfortable about his anger. That is because I can’t quite understand it. What was his objection? What was he thinking? It was business as usual, a normal day in a busy synagogue at a busy time of the year. Animals and birds were supplied for sacrifice. Foreign currencies had to be exchanged for the temple currency. The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! It was a deliberate and passionate act of protest. Was he protesting against the power and exploitation of the religious order of the day? That is certainly what it seems to me to be. He seems to be challenging the status quo. And it is bound to get him into trouble.
Jesus’ anger is a stumbling block to me in the same way that the cross was a stumbling block for the Jew. It seems foolish. However, what foolishness it is to buy into the nonsense that Jesus the son of a carpenter turned preacher could do any good! Yet that is exactly what I believe as a Christian. What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured violence-ridden world of ours; but I cannot help but see the hand of God in this world. What foolishness to believe that God can bring peace where there is enmity! Yet I believe it all passionately. I believe passionately that God can bring about peace. I believe passionately that my fervent prayers along with yours can bring wholeness to our fractured world. I believe that God can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
Fortunately throughout history there have been people passionate enough about the Christian faith to challenge the systems of the Church and the world. It has been said that if Jesus taught us anything it was how to die, not how to kill! Martin Luther King Jr. put it in the following way. "To our most bitter opponents we say: 'we shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We shall appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.'"
Oscar Romero, the Bishop of El Salvador became bishop because it was thought that he would not challenge the status quo. He had a conversion experience and because of it became a passionate advocate for the poor and underprivileged people of his country. He challenged both the state and his own church. In a sermon preached shortly before being gunned down in his church he said, "They may kill me, but I shall rise up in the people of San Salvador."
So how do we let the Spirit move us? Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems that exist in the Church? Are we passionate enough to change the injustices in the world? Do we believe that it matters? Do we believe that we can make a difference? Are we willing to work for justice for those who live in poverty? For the homeless and under housed? For those with mental illnesses?
Because it begins with changing ourselves and we know how difficult that is! We cannot hope to change the Church or the world if we are not willing to make changes within ourselves. We must allow the Spirit of God to work in our lives. That means not only being passionate, but being forgiving. It means accepting God’s forgiveness for the wrongs we have done and allowing ourselves to offer it to others.
The Gospel of repentance and conversion is proclaimed in the Eucharist and in the Sacrament of reconciliation. Sunday by Sunday we are called to renewed faith in God. We are called to be a reconciled community of faith. As we pass the peace after the absolution we accept God’s forgiveness. We reach out our hands to others in peace and in love. It is a response that deepens our faith. It is a renewing of our baptismal covenant. It is a new beginning. Let us passionately embrace God’s forgiveness and allow it to change our hearts. Let us carry it with us into the world. Amen.
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
We are part of a broken world. How evident that is as we read in the newspaper about war and conflict. Just to name a few of the terrible situations faced by people in our world, there is Darfur which has seen some 350,000 people killed and another 1.8 million displaced. There is the Civil War in Sri Lanka. There is the ongoing conflict in Afghanistan. There is the situation in Gaza. Peace and diplomacy so often fail to resolve conflict. What is the Christian way to view what is happening? How can God’s word speak to us in the midst of turmoil?
The Ten Commandments, God's covenant with Israel, speak to us at every level of human experience. They speak to us as individuals, as community, and as nation. They are moral guides to our growth as people who live in communion with one another and all of creation. They cover all aspects of life. They are summarized for the Christian in Jesus’ call to us to love God, and to love neighbour.
If we take the Ten Commandments seriously – and I certainly trust we do – we must surely be asking ourselves some difficult questions about the way we live our lives. What gods do we put before God? Where do we put all of our energies? In placing our energies, do we leave time for God? Are there any discrepancies between what we profess as Christians and how we act towards others? How do we keep Sunday holy when society demands that we work? What injustices do we see going on around us? Are we willing to speak out against them? Are we willing to do something about them? In this consumer society of ours, which causes us to covet from cradle to grave, do we stand up to the desires of the world and put God and neighbour before our own needs? The command to love God and love neighbour makes us responsible for the world in which we live. We are responsible to help those who live in poverty. It is our responsibility to care for the sick, to live in peace, to live out our ministry as servants in a broken world.
This is a time for passionate living. The symbol for this third Sunday in our Lenten series is fire. It gives light and heat. It can create atmosphere in a room. It purifies and refines. It can also destroy. The bush fires this year in Australia which destroyed animal habitat, people’s homes and even their lives are a testimony to that. Fire describes anger and revenge. It also describes love and devotion. For us during this Lenten season, fire is a symbol of the burning away of the old self. The mystery of fire brought the Hebrews to associate God’s presence with fire. Moses first encounter with God was through a burning bush. The people of Israel were led through the wilderness by a “pillar of fire”. As Christians it symbolizes the Spirit of God among us. At Pentecost, the Spirit descended as tongues of fire on the people of God. Fire symbolizes the Spirit of God among us. It is a sign of conversion, a symbol of the burning away of the old self. Conversion experiences test us. Something is burned off; what remains is stronger, purer. It allows us to live passionately. The Spirit is a fire that purifies, creates, refines, destroys and transforms if we let it. It allows us to live passionately.
And so in the Gospel today we see a Jesus who lives passionately. And yes, I admit it. I feel uncomfortable about his anger. That is because I can’t quite understand it. What was his objection? What was he thinking? It was business as usual, a normal day in a busy synagogue at a busy time of the year. Animals and birds were supplied for sacrifice. Foreign currencies had to be exchanged for the temple currency. The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! It was a deliberate and passionate act of protest. Was he protesting against the power and exploitation of the religious order of the day? That is certainly what it seems to me to be. He seems to be challenging the status quo. And it is bound to get him into trouble.
Jesus’ anger is a stumbling block to me in the same way that the cross was a stumbling block for the Jew. It seems foolish. However, what foolishness it is to buy into the nonsense that Jesus the son of a carpenter turned preacher could do any good! Yet that is exactly what I believe as a Christian. What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured violence-ridden world of ours; but I cannot help but see the hand of God in this world. What foolishness to believe that God can bring peace where there is enmity! Yet I believe it all passionately. I believe passionately that God can bring about peace. I believe passionately that my fervent prayers along with yours can bring wholeness to our fractured world. I believe that God can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
Fortunately throughout history there have been people passionate enough about the Christian faith to challenge the systems of the Church and the world. It has been said that if Jesus taught us anything it was how to die, not how to kill! Martin Luther King Jr. put it in the following way. "To our most bitter opponents we say: 'we shall match your capacity to inflict suffering by our capacity to endure. We shall meet your physical force with soul force. Do to us what you will, and we shall continue to love you. We shall appeal to your heart and conscience that we shall win you in the process, and our victory will be a double victory.'"
Oscar Romero, the Bishop of El Salvador became bishop because it was thought that he would not challenge the status quo. He had a conversion experience and because of it became a passionate advocate for the poor and underprivileged people of his country. He challenged both the state and his own church. In a sermon preached shortly before being gunned down in his church he said, "They may kill me, but I shall rise up in the people of San Salvador."
So how do we let the Spirit move us? Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems that exist in the Church? Are we passionate enough to change the injustices in the world? Do we believe that it matters? Do we believe that we can make a difference? Are we willing to work for justice for those who live in poverty? For the homeless and under housed? For those with mental illnesses?
Because it begins with changing ourselves and we know how difficult that is! We cannot hope to change the Church or the world if we are not willing to make changes within ourselves. We must allow the Spirit of God to work in our lives. That means not only being passionate, but being forgiving. It means accepting God’s forgiveness for the wrongs we have done and allowing ourselves to offer it to others.
The Gospel of repentance and conversion is proclaimed in the Eucharist and in the Sacrament of reconciliation. Sunday by Sunday we are called to renewed faith in God. We are called to be a reconciled community of faith. As we pass the peace after the absolution we accept God’s forgiveness. We reach out our hands to others in peace and in love. It is a response that deepens our faith. It is a renewing of our baptismal covenant. It is a new beginning. Let us passionately embrace God’s forgiveness and allow it to change our hearts. Let us carry it with us into the world. Amen.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Ash Wednesday
Ashes to Ashes
Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, is named for its primary symbol. Using ashes as a symbol of penitence is a custom which goes back over a thousand years and has its basis in Hebrew Scriptures. While we share in a very ancient ceremony, ashes have real meaning in our modern day world. What images emerge for you as you think of ashes? Perhaps it is the image of the World Trade Centre in the aftermath of the terrorist attack as Manhattan was blanketed with dust. Perhaps it is the devastation caused by the war in Afghanistan. Perhaps you see in your mind’s eye a picture of a child lying in a hospital bed, limbs blown apart by a bomb. Perhaps it is the image of our city blanketed in smog, the result of our careless stewardship of the earth’s resources.
Whatever the image, it is a symbol of death. Ashes remind us of the fragility of life, of how tenuous our lives really are. We may think back to the funeral of a loved one. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” we say at the committal as we toss the first handful of earth onto the casket. It is a stark reminder that we are committing the person who has died into God’s care. As we hear the words today as that smudge of ash is placed on our forehead, we are reminded that God created us from the dust of the earth and in death we return to that dust. And so today we are called to wear a symbol of our mortality right on our faces in plain view.
Given the world in which we live, given the ashen weight of the world’s pain and terror, ashes may be the last symbol we want to embrace. Why do we do this? Why do we begin our Lenten journey in this way?
Lent is a season of penitence. As the prophet Joel called the people of Israel to repentance, so we are called to repentance. They faced the devastation of a locust plague. They felt totally helpless. They saw only death and destruction around them. Joel called them to acknowledge that despite all appearances to the contrary, God was in control. He called on them to show God in some tangible way that they trusted in God’s promises, that they trusted that in the midst of death and devastation God would be with them. The people showed their faith by fasting and mourning. They rose above the ashes of their lives. The ashes of their fasting and mourning became a symbol of hope.
So it should be for us. That smudge of ash on our forehead is a symbol, not only of death and destruction. It is also a symbol of hope. Ash Wednesday offers us the grace to examine our lives with a sense of honesty. It challenges us to admit to our own sinfulness. How have we been complicit in the devastation around us? How has our sinfulness contributed to the brokenness of the world? More importantly, what are we going to do about it?
Lent is an opportunity to admit to ourselves that something is wrong with us, individually and collectively. On our own we will never fix everything. But as a community we can get down on our knees in prayer. We can resolve to begin anew. We can resolve to ask God’s forgiveness for our complicity in the state of the world. We can ask God’s grace in moving ahead, in accepting forgiveness. We can remind ourselves throughout these forty days through prayer, fasting, and study that we are determined to make things right.
Lent means springtime. The hope of Lent is that spring is coming. How do we bring hope to this day? A little Koala bear, affectionately named Sam, rather bewildered and quite badly burned emerged from the ashes of the bushfire in Australia. He became a beacon of hope in the midst of the devastation. A volunteer firefighter came across Sam cowering in a burned out section of the forest. He approached the terrified animal, offering it a drink of water. He talked gently to the animal until it trusted him enough to put a paw on his hand and begin to drink from his plastic bottle. The animal was taken into care and its burns treated. Another picture emerged. That of Sam recovering from his burns lying in a cage, another koala with a protective arm around him.
That is a good image for us of this season that begins with the ashes of Ash Wednesday, takes us to the devastation of the cross, and then to the glory of the Resurrection. Thanks be to God.
Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, is named for its primary symbol. Using ashes as a symbol of penitence is a custom which goes back over a thousand years and has its basis in Hebrew Scriptures. While we share in a very ancient ceremony, ashes have real meaning in our modern day world. What images emerge for you as you think of ashes? Perhaps it is the image of the World Trade Centre in the aftermath of the terrorist attack as Manhattan was blanketed with dust. Perhaps it is the devastation caused by the war in Afghanistan. Perhaps you see in your mind’s eye a picture of a child lying in a hospital bed, limbs blown apart by a bomb. Perhaps it is the image of our city blanketed in smog, the result of our careless stewardship of the earth’s resources.
Whatever the image, it is a symbol of death. Ashes remind us of the fragility of life, of how tenuous our lives really are. We may think back to the funeral of a loved one. “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” we say at the committal as we toss the first handful of earth onto the casket. It is a stark reminder that we are committing the person who has died into God’s care. As we hear the words today as that smudge of ash is placed on our forehead, we are reminded that God created us from the dust of the earth and in death we return to that dust. And so today we are called to wear a symbol of our mortality right on our faces in plain view.
Given the world in which we live, given the ashen weight of the world’s pain and terror, ashes may be the last symbol we want to embrace. Why do we do this? Why do we begin our Lenten journey in this way?
Lent is a season of penitence. As the prophet Joel called the people of Israel to repentance, so we are called to repentance. They faced the devastation of a locust plague. They felt totally helpless. They saw only death and destruction around them. Joel called them to acknowledge that despite all appearances to the contrary, God was in control. He called on them to show God in some tangible way that they trusted in God’s promises, that they trusted that in the midst of death and devastation God would be with them. The people showed their faith by fasting and mourning. They rose above the ashes of their lives. The ashes of their fasting and mourning became a symbol of hope.
So it should be for us. That smudge of ash on our forehead is a symbol, not only of death and destruction. It is also a symbol of hope. Ash Wednesday offers us the grace to examine our lives with a sense of honesty. It challenges us to admit to our own sinfulness. How have we been complicit in the devastation around us? How has our sinfulness contributed to the brokenness of the world? More importantly, what are we going to do about it?
Lent is an opportunity to admit to ourselves that something is wrong with us, individually and collectively. On our own we will never fix everything. But as a community we can get down on our knees in prayer. We can resolve to begin anew. We can resolve to ask God’s forgiveness for our complicity in the state of the world. We can ask God’s grace in moving ahead, in accepting forgiveness. We can remind ourselves throughout these forty days through prayer, fasting, and study that we are determined to make things right.
Lent means springtime. The hope of Lent is that spring is coming. How do we bring hope to this day? A little Koala bear, affectionately named Sam, rather bewildered and quite badly burned emerged from the ashes of the bushfire in Australia. He became a beacon of hope in the midst of the devastation. A volunteer firefighter came across Sam cowering in a burned out section of the forest. He approached the terrified animal, offering it a drink of water. He talked gently to the animal until it trusted him enough to put a paw on his hand and begin to drink from his plastic bottle. The animal was taken into care and its burns treated. Another picture emerged. That of Sam recovering from his burns lying in a cage, another koala with a protective arm around him.
That is a good image for us of this season that begins with the ashes of Ash Wednesday, takes us to the devastation of the cross, and then to the glory of the Resurrection. Thanks be to God.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Seventh Sunday of Epiphany, Year B
And God said "Yes!"
Readings: Isaiah 43:18-25; Psalm 41: 2 Corinthians 1:18-22; Mark 2:1-12
CTV news interviewed a Hockey Coach and the Team Captain of a winning Peewee team earlier this week. The team won without one penalty through the whole season. In fact, they were able to use their sense of fair play to their advantage. They attribute their win to their good sportsmanship. While the opposing team had players sitting in the penalty box they went on to score goals. The young team captain had an amazing sense of self. It was his proud smile that said it all for me. I can imagine him on the ice, making a triumphant gesture with his arm. “Yes! There! That is how it is supposed to be done! That was our very best!”
I can imagine God making such gestures as Jesus goes about healing, touching, forgiving. “Yes!” says God as Jesus reaches out to heal a blind man. “Yes!” says God, as a leper is cleansed. “Yes!” says God as yet another sinner receives forgiveness.
Yet I know that there are many times when we find it difficult to imagine God as really saying “Yes!” at all. We have a very negative view of God. We see God constantly saying “No!” to us. “Does God answer prayer?” we question. “After all, I prayed for healing for my friend when she got cancer, and she died.” “I asked God to help me get a new job, and I am still pounding the pavement.” But you know, God throughout history has affirmed humanity. God’s “yes,” affirms the possibilities there are for us in our personal lives and as a church. So how do we begin to hear God’s “yes”?
It starts by hearing God say “yes” to forgiveness. God’s “yes” is that God will not remember our sin. God will forget the past so that we can be open to the future. What a wonderful gift of grace that is! Isaiah reminded the people of Israel that it was God’s gift to them. “Don’t forget God’s saving acts from the past,” Isaiah says to them. ‘Forget the disasters that have happened. Don’t dwell on the past. Take responsibility for what has happened. But rely on God. Remember what God has done. God gave you manna in the desert. Water gushed from a rock! Remember what God has promised. Let your past experience of God carry you through your present difficulties.’
Paul too knew that we can depend on God’s affirmation. Circumstances had arisen and Paul had cancelled a scheduled visit to Corinth. The people were none too pleased to have received a letter instead of a personal visit. They saw it as a breach of trust. Paul reminds the Corinthians that it not about trusting him, but about trusting God. Paul is following God’s plan for his ministry. He never really answers their objection. ‘I don’t see a problem in changing my plans,’ he seems to be saying. ‘I did it to be faithful to God so that God can work in and through me.’ He has that sense of assurance that what he is doing is fulfilling God’s call. As far as Paul is concerned, God is saying “Yes!”
God said “Yes!” to the paralytic. It was not simply about healing. Forgiveness was the real gift. This is someone who didn’t even have the resources to get to Jesus himself. Even with the help of his friends he couldn’t get in the normal way. He couldn’t get through the crowded doorway. His faithful friends didn’t give up on him. They found a way, a pretty drastic way! They cut a hole in the roof and lowered him to Jesus on his bed.
What a great gift Jesus gave to the paralytic! “Your sins are forgiven,” he told him. What a great gift God gives us! “Your sins are forgiven,” God tells us over and over again. Wiped clean! Erased! A new beginning! A clean slate!
It is, after all, a common metaphor to link paralysis and guilt. That is not because we think that paralysis is caused by sin. It is because guilt can be like a paralysis in our lives. It can keep us from feeling truly free. It can keep us from realizing God’s continuous love and forgiveness. It is by freeing ourselves from that paralysis, by accepting God’s forgiveness that we are freed from all that paralyzes us. Then we can look back and see how God has been at work in our lives, how God has been saying “Yes!” We can look back and recognize the times when God has been most with us. We can remember the times that we have called out to God for help. It needs to be the ground of our belief that God will continue to be with us.
Forgiveness has to be the most difficult gift for anyone to really take in and accept. Let’s face it! Even on a human level it is pretty difficult to simply accept graciously. There is an episode of “Dharma and Greg” that illustrates that beautifully. Dharma says to Greg, “OK, let’s make up.”
“What?” says Greg.
“I’m done arguing. Let’s make up,” she says.
“But we haven’t resolved anything. Nobody won,” he says.
“Good point! You win.”
“But you can’t just do that!” he says.
“OK. I win.”
“No, you don’t!” replies Greg.
“Boy, you really love to argue, don’t you?” Dharma says to him.
“I do not.”
“Then stop it,” she says.
“But we’re not done yet.”
“Yes we are.”
“No we’re not.”
“I love you!” says Dharma.
“What?”
“I … love … you.”
“Oh man, you really don’t play by the rules, do you?” says Greg.
“Nope!”
Greg kisses her, “I love you, too.”
God doesn’t play by the rules. God doesn’t worry about whose fault it is. God loves us enough to simply to forgive us and to keep on forgiving. God’s “yes” comes when we finally get it, when we accept God’s forgiveness, accept God’s wholeness and move on in our lives. You are forgiven. You are healed. You are free. You are my children. Let us affirm God’s “yes” to us because we can be sure of it.
Readings: Isaiah 43:18-25; Psalm 41: 2 Corinthians 1:18-22; Mark 2:1-12
CTV news interviewed a Hockey Coach and the Team Captain of a winning Peewee team earlier this week. The team won without one penalty through the whole season. In fact, they were able to use their sense of fair play to their advantage. They attribute their win to their good sportsmanship. While the opposing team had players sitting in the penalty box they went on to score goals. The young team captain had an amazing sense of self. It was his proud smile that said it all for me. I can imagine him on the ice, making a triumphant gesture with his arm. “Yes! There! That is how it is supposed to be done! That was our very best!”
I can imagine God making such gestures as Jesus goes about healing, touching, forgiving. “Yes!” says God as Jesus reaches out to heal a blind man. “Yes!” says God, as a leper is cleansed. “Yes!” says God as yet another sinner receives forgiveness.
Yet I know that there are many times when we find it difficult to imagine God as really saying “Yes!” at all. We have a very negative view of God. We see God constantly saying “No!” to us. “Does God answer prayer?” we question. “After all, I prayed for healing for my friend when she got cancer, and she died.” “I asked God to help me get a new job, and I am still pounding the pavement.” But you know, God throughout history has affirmed humanity. God’s “yes,” affirms the possibilities there are for us in our personal lives and as a church. So how do we begin to hear God’s “yes”?
It starts by hearing God say “yes” to forgiveness. God’s “yes” is that God will not remember our sin. God will forget the past so that we can be open to the future. What a wonderful gift of grace that is! Isaiah reminded the people of Israel that it was God’s gift to them. “Don’t forget God’s saving acts from the past,” Isaiah says to them. ‘Forget the disasters that have happened. Don’t dwell on the past. Take responsibility for what has happened. But rely on God. Remember what God has done. God gave you manna in the desert. Water gushed from a rock! Remember what God has promised. Let your past experience of God carry you through your present difficulties.’
Paul too knew that we can depend on God’s affirmation. Circumstances had arisen and Paul had cancelled a scheduled visit to Corinth. The people were none too pleased to have received a letter instead of a personal visit. They saw it as a breach of trust. Paul reminds the Corinthians that it not about trusting him, but about trusting God. Paul is following God’s plan for his ministry. He never really answers their objection. ‘I don’t see a problem in changing my plans,’ he seems to be saying. ‘I did it to be faithful to God so that God can work in and through me.’ He has that sense of assurance that what he is doing is fulfilling God’s call. As far as Paul is concerned, God is saying “Yes!”
God said “Yes!” to the paralytic. It was not simply about healing. Forgiveness was the real gift. This is someone who didn’t even have the resources to get to Jesus himself. Even with the help of his friends he couldn’t get in the normal way. He couldn’t get through the crowded doorway. His faithful friends didn’t give up on him. They found a way, a pretty drastic way! They cut a hole in the roof and lowered him to Jesus on his bed.
What a great gift Jesus gave to the paralytic! “Your sins are forgiven,” he told him. What a great gift God gives us! “Your sins are forgiven,” God tells us over and over again. Wiped clean! Erased! A new beginning! A clean slate!
It is, after all, a common metaphor to link paralysis and guilt. That is not because we think that paralysis is caused by sin. It is because guilt can be like a paralysis in our lives. It can keep us from feeling truly free. It can keep us from realizing God’s continuous love and forgiveness. It is by freeing ourselves from that paralysis, by accepting God’s forgiveness that we are freed from all that paralyzes us. Then we can look back and see how God has been at work in our lives, how God has been saying “Yes!” We can look back and recognize the times when God has been most with us. We can remember the times that we have called out to God for help. It needs to be the ground of our belief that God will continue to be with us.
Forgiveness has to be the most difficult gift for anyone to really take in and accept. Let’s face it! Even on a human level it is pretty difficult to simply accept graciously. There is an episode of “Dharma and Greg” that illustrates that beautifully. Dharma says to Greg, “OK, let’s make up.”
“What?” says Greg.
“I’m done arguing. Let’s make up,” she says.
“But we haven’t resolved anything. Nobody won,” he says.
“Good point! You win.”
“But you can’t just do that!” he says.
“OK. I win.”
“No, you don’t!” replies Greg.
“Boy, you really love to argue, don’t you?” Dharma says to him.
“I do not.”
“Then stop it,” she says.
“But we’re not done yet.”
“Yes we are.”
“No we’re not.”
“I love you!” says Dharma.
“What?”
“I … love … you.”
“Oh man, you really don’t play by the rules, do you?” says Greg.
“Nope!”
Greg kisses her, “I love you, too.”
God doesn’t play by the rules. God doesn’t worry about whose fault it is. God loves us enough to simply to forgive us and to keep on forgiving. God’s “yes” comes when we finally get it, when we accept God’s forgiveness, accept God’s wholeness and move on in our lives. You are forgiven. You are healed. You are free. You are my children. Let us affirm God’s “yes” to us because we can be sure of it.
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