Truth and Reconciliation
Readings: Isaiah 40:20-31; Psalm 19; Philippians 4:4-9; John 1:1-18
Today is the summer solstice, an appropriate day on which to celebrate National Aboriginal Day in Canada. It has been celebrated on this day for many years, but this year with the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission there is hopefully a poignancy, an urgency, a sense of renewed commitment to join our First Nations People in the celebration. We in Port Hope live, as many Canadians do, on Treaty land. Port Hope is part of Treaty 20 known as Surrender M. It consists of almost two million acres of land for which the British paid $10 dollars in goods to each person. And so I begin this sermon by acknowledging the First Nations in whose territory we live and express my thanks for this opportunity to meet here today. And I put before you two questions. How will we in this parish share in the ministry of truth and reconciliation? And more importantly what does it even mean?
I have encouraged people to listen to the stories posted daily. That is the ‘truth’ part of the equation. I have received feedback, most of it encouraging, but – and I must say, not from this parish – some of the old clichéd, stereotypical responses that people love to trot out about the First Nations People. You know what I mean. Lazy! Welfare bums! Drunks! Dirty! What I hear most of all is that it was a long time ago. “It has nothing to do with me!” they will tell me. “Besides, the Church has already paid out compensation. That should be the end of it.” But here is the difficulty for me. It took generations to make the mess; it will take generations of truly listening to the stories and making amends to undo the problems that were created by our racist attitudes.
In the Old Testament reading Isaiah is speaking to a people in exile. They have spent two generations away from their homeland. Their faith has been eroded. They are tired. Tired of the distance. Tired of the yearning for what was. Tired of feeling powerless, of not knowing if they will ever return to their homeland, to their roots.
As I have listened to the stories of truth I hear that same fatigue. Our First Nations People are tired. They are tired of yearning for what was. They are tired of feeling inadequate. They are above all tired of feeling powerless to bring about change.
I want to share a little of my story, my truth, and of some of the steps that I have taken to reconciliation. My first year of teaching was at St. Philip’s Residential School in Fort George, Quebec, on the Quebec coast of James Bay about two hundred air miles north of Moosonee. It is now called Chisasibi; it is where the James Bay Power Project went in. It was, when I taught there, a rather isolated village. Except for the six weeks or so of freeze up and whatever time it took for the break up, there were three planes a week if the weather cooperated. I was asked by a “veteran” teacher – I was seventeen years old – if I was a “reject” or a “misfit”. Although I do not believe either of those words describes my reason for going north, I certainly had an idealized view of what it meant to be an “Indian”. My concept of our First Nations People came from the pictures of cute little pig-tailed Aboriginal children on the mission boxes that we got at church. I decided it was my mission to go north to teach.
There were seven classes in our school. Not all of the children lived in the residence. Perhaps a third of the children lived in the village. It was made clear to all of us that we were there to teach the children English, in fact to turn them into white children. They were not to speak their language. If we heard them speak we were to correct them. I had one little girl, Dora Ekumiak, an Inuit, who, while she did her work just fine, would not say a word. She finally spoke to me out in the schoolyard towards the end of the year. After that she never stopped. I suspect she was simply waiting until she got it right. The children were quiet and very respectful. There was never any need for discipline.
There was not enough room for all of the teachers to have their own apartment in the Teacherage, so two of us, the youngest, had rooms in the residence. We were directly under the primary girls’ dorm. It is heart breaking to me to remember the sobs that I often heard at night as the children settled down to sleep. I know that I felt lonely and isolated away from family for the first time. And I had chosen to be there. How much more those little ones must have felt in that strange environment without the comfort of parents and siblings! I have learned that brothers and sisters were often split up and sent to different schools. Many would not see a single family member for years.
What I remember most about teaching the children was their creative ability. They were wonderful artists. Supplies were often unavailable, and so I would beg my family to send me paper. They sent rolls of wallpaper, which became wonderful murals on the classroom walls. I also got them to send me bars of ivory soap so that the children could carve them like soapstone. The results were amazing.
I had to laugh hearing one man’s story this past week about how much time was spent in prayer. I put together a little choir that sang on Sundays and sometimes in the chapel in the morning. I never could get them to sing up to speed, but they enjoyed it, especially if I accompanied them on the wheezy old pump organ.
Although it was discouraged, I did get to know a family and spent a week during our Easter break on their trap line. It was a life-changing experience, one that I cherish. But on our return, the Principal called me into his office, and threatened me with being fired if I ever did anything like that again.
That is the ‘truth’ part of the story. I would not trade that teaching experience for anything. Yet I lost it! When information began to emerge about abuse in the schools I was horrified, especially when teachers were blamed for the children’s loss of language and culture. I avoided telling anyone about my experience. Then I went to a conference. I found myself signing up for a workshop on the Healing Circle. It was led by an elder, and was attended by about a dozen or so First Nations women and me. We sat in a circle. The elder explained the process. She would pass a feather around the circle. When it came to us we could hold it as long as we wished. We could speak whatever we wished to say. When we were finished we could pass it on to the next person. As it was passed around the circle, most of the women told stories about the residential schools, and about the abuse they had endured. I planned to just sit there without speaking, but when the feather got to me, I heard myself telling them my story. I told them about the children in my class and how much I had cared for them. I told them how ashamed I felt now, but also how I had lost that precious time that was so pivotal in my teaching career. I expressed my sadness at their pain. I passed the feather on to the next woman. Suddenly there was a loud ‘Whoop!’ They all joined in. The elder thanked me and said that I was their sister. That is reconciliation.
Back to Isaiah! In faith it is the capacity to look at the vast expanse of the world with a sense of awe and wonder that lifts us to new heights. Seeing things with eyes of amazement, seeing ourselves in the context of being part of a majestic creation gives our faith the “wind beneath our wings” to soar, to “mount up with wings like eagles, to run and not be weary”.
That sounds very much to me like the spirituality of our First Nations People. God speaks to them through all of creation. The rocks are grandfathers, rock solid, dependable, ancient. The moon is the grandmother, source of life, controlling the waters of the earth, bringing about life. The feather speaks of gentleness, of the ability to go with the flow. It symbolizes reverence for the Creator and all of life. It is time for us to start listening to our First nations people. It is time to walk with them. It is time to hear their stories and learn from them who God is and how to worship.
My hope is that we will listen to the truth, hear with our hearts, and stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters. Let us put our minds together in Thanksgiving. In Ojibway, “Chi-miigwech”! “Thank you very much!”
Saturday, June 20, 2015
Saturday, May 23, 2015
Pentecost, Year B
We Haven’t Even Gotten Up to Bat!
Readings: Ezekiel 37:1-14; Psalm 104:25-35; Acts 2:1-21; John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15
Ezekiel had a dream. In the Spirit, God lead him to a valley filled with the bones of dead soldiers slain in battle against the Chaldeans.
“Can these bones live?” God asked him. On that battlefield lay all the hopes and dreams of a nation. How could Ezekiel see anything there but disaster and defeat? The situation was hopeless. “Prophesy to them!” God continues.
“What sense is there in that?” Ezekiel may well have thought. Yet even though it doesn’t make sense, God calls him to take a risk.
“I will breathe life into them,” God promises. And Ezekiel prophesies to the bones. Bone by bone, those dry lifeless bones take on sinew, and flesh.
What a vision of hope it is! And the miraculous thing about it is that the nation of Israel did indeed rise up from that terrible defeat. Life was breathed back into that community. It lived and prospered.
Not forever, for Israel was again defeated, the next time by the Maccabees. That is where the story begins to intersect with our Christian story. Who could have prophesied that Ezekiel’s vision of life into dry bones would once again be fulfilled with the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost? For with that outpouring came, not only the hope of a nation, but also the hope of salvation for all nations, the Christian hope that exceeds all we can ask or imagine. That breath of life poured out at Pentecost is the source of hope in human experience. It renews us. It assures us of God’s presence with us.
I suspect that to truly experience that Pentecostal sense of renewal and life we need to become aware of the dry bones of our existence. We need, not only to be aware of them, but also come to have a true sense of hope.
G. K. Chesterton writes: “Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all. As long as matters are really hopeful, hope is mere flattery or platitude; it is only when everything is hopeless that hope begins to be a strength.
For us, living in a country of wealth and prosperity, it can so easily become exactly that, a mere platitude. To hear how often we use the word ‘hope’ one would think that we are the most hopeful of people. I hope you have a wonderful trip! I hope your examination goes well. I hope to see you soon. I hope you have a good day at school. For the most part it is easy for us to offer messages of hope. We live lives that, on the whole, produce hopeful people. We have expectations and desires for those we love, for our children. We hope for the best for them. And very possibly what we hope for will happen.
Contrast that, on the other hand, with what we see in the newspaper about other parts of the world. There are pictures sometimes that haunt, that we cannot get out of our minds. Think back to the pictures coming out of Nepal following the recent earthquake. People searching through the rubble for signs of life, searching through what used to be their homes for shreds of their lives, people running to the hospital with a stretcher, a look of horror and hopelessness on their faces. Such pictures cannot help but move us. They are not unlike Ezekiel’s dream, but there is no hope. There is instead a nation without hope.
It is difficult to understand when one views the horrible situations that go on in the world, why anyone in our country would lose hope. But so many people are without it. Hurt by life, in pain, suffering, lonely, disillusioned. Hurt that things have not happened as they had expected. Unable to cope with life's losses.
We hear that sense of hopelessness within the church. The church is in a state of decline. Ours is fast becoming a secular society where many have no faith at all. We mourn the church that used to be. Sunday Schools filled to overflowing with children! We mourn the time when Sunday meant going to church. It is so easy to lose hope.
Back to Scripture! "It is for your own good that I am leaving," Jesus tells his disciples. I am certain you have heard such words throughout your own lives. “It’s for your own good that you are being punished!” “It’s for your own good that you cannot go out with your friends on a school night!” “It is for your own good that we are splitting up!” I suspect that such messages in your lives did not exactly fill you with hope and confidence.
I can hear their response because God knows it has been my response. "How can it be? How can our lives possibly be better without you here with us?”
How wonderful it had been to have Jesus back. It had given them strength to face the days of persecution and terror. Just being in his presence again had given them such hope for the future. Without him the days would be bleak, lonely, hopeless. The very thought of being without him again filled them with sorrow! To lose him once had been bad enough. Now to lose him for the second time!
The fact is that what Jesus began the disciples were left behind to continue. But he left them with a promise. A promise that they would be fully equipped to do the job they were meant to do. The Spirit would empower them to continue. That was their great hope. And that is the hope that continues for us in all the situations of our lives.
If last week was about loss and promise, then this Feast of Pentecost is about fulfillment of that promise. Yet I know that in this parish on this Day of Pentecost you may not be feeling that sense of hope, that sense of fulfillment. Over the past few weeks this congregation has once again become very much aware of the dry bones of your existence. You may be feeling that same sense of loss, of hopelessness, for even in faithful communities like this wonderful, vibrant parish, you struggle to keep your doors open. It can sap you of energy. It can leave you with a sense of futility and hopelessness.
In all of our lives there are times like that when all we can do is wait and hold on to the wonderful promise of God. But hopefully sooner than later we will come to realize that we have a unique contribution to make, and the opportunity to do so.
On Pentecost, we celebrate the birthday of a church that is more than two thousand years old. And that is not just hopeful. It is amazing. An itinerant preacher and a ragged band of uneducated followers birthed a community of believers that continues through us.
Pentecost is a coming of age for us as it was for the disciples. It is a fulfillment of God’s promise to be with us, to be at work in our lives. A fire is loosed into the world. It is not always obvious how it works in our lives. But the Spirit is there. The fire in us waits to reveal itself. We become vehicles and channels of God's grace. We become the visible Christ in the world. We carry on the work. The Spirit brings about change and growth in our lives, often in ways that we could not have predicted.
A man was watching a little league baseball game one afternoon. He asked a boy in the dugout what the score was. The boy responded, "Eighteen to nothing! We’re behind."
"Boy," said the spectator, "I'll bet you're discouraged."
"Why should I be discouraged?" replied the little boy. "We haven't even gotten up to bat yet!"
So I challenge you today not to be discouraged. You haven’t even gotten up to bat. Today we celebrate God's Holy Spirit that gives hope to all of creation. The same Spirit that caused breath to enter the dry bones in Ezekiel's dream. That caused them to live. What an exciting vision that is. We, its members, can bring the Church back to life. It may look very different. Even at this moment God may be leading us in new and exciting directions.
I have no doubt that God will restore us to life and truth and joy and purposefulness through the Holy Spirit. We will be restored to the love and grace of God, given peace and joy, purpose and meaning and above all, hope. May God continue to breathe upon us with that holy fire! Amen.
Readings: Ezekiel 37:1-14; Psalm 104:25-35; Acts 2:1-21; John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15
Ezekiel had a dream. In the Spirit, God lead him to a valley filled with the bones of dead soldiers slain in battle against the Chaldeans.
“Can these bones live?” God asked him. On that battlefield lay all the hopes and dreams of a nation. How could Ezekiel see anything there but disaster and defeat? The situation was hopeless. “Prophesy to them!” God continues.
“What sense is there in that?” Ezekiel may well have thought. Yet even though it doesn’t make sense, God calls him to take a risk.
“I will breathe life into them,” God promises. And Ezekiel prophesies to the bones. Bone by bone, those dry lifeless bones take on sinew, and flesh.
What a vision of hope it is! And the miraculous thing about it is that the nation of Israel did indeed rise up from that terrible defeat. Life was breathed back into that community. It lived and prospered.
Not forever, for Israel was again defeated, the next time by the Maccabees. That is where the story begins to intersect with our Christian story. Who could have prophesied that Ezekiel’s vision of life into dry bones would once again be fulfilled with the outpouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost? For with that outpouring came, not only the hope of a nation, but also the hope of salvation for all nations, the Christian hope that exceeds all we can ask or imagine. That breath of life poured out at Pentecost is the source of hope in human experience. It renews us. It assures us of God’s presence with us.
I suspect that to truly experience that Pentecostal sense of renewal and life we need to become aware of the dry bones of our existence. We need, not only to be aware of them, but also come to have a true sense of hope.
G. K. Chesterton writes: “Hope means hoping when things are hopeless, or it is no virtue at all. As long as matters are really hopeful, hope is mere flattery or platitude; it is only when everything is hopeless that hope begins to be a strength.
For us, living in a country of wealth and prosperity, it can so easily become exactly that, a mere platitude. To hear how often we use the word ‘hope’ one would think that we are the most hopeful of people. I hope you have a wonderful trip! I hope your examination goes well. I hope to see you soon. I hope you have a good day at school. For the most part it is easy for us to offer messages of hope. We live lives that, on the whole, produce hopeful people. We have expectations and desires for those we love, for our children. We hope for the best for them. And very possibly what we hope for will happen.
Contrast that, on the other hand, with what we see in the newspaper about other parts of the world. There are pictures sometimes that haunt, that we cannot get out of our minds. Think back to the pictures coming out of Nepal following the recent earthquake. People searching through the rubble for signs of life, searching through what used to be their homes for shreds of their lives, people running to the hospital with a stretcher, a look of horror and hopelessness on their faces. Such pictures cannot help but move us. They are not unlike Ezekiel’s dream, but there is no hope. There is instead a nation without hope.
It is difficult to understand when one views the horrible situations that go on in the world, why anyone in our country would lose hope. But so many people are without it. Hurt by life, in pain, suffering, lonely, disillusioned. Hurt that things have not happened as they had expected. Unable to cope with life's losses.
We hear that sense of hopelessness within the church. The church is in a state of decline. Ours is fast becoming a secular society where many have no faith at all. We mourn the church that used to be. Sunday Schools filled to overflowing with children! We mourn the time when Sunday meant going to church. It is so easy to lose hope.
Back to Scripture! "It is for your own good that I am leaving," Jesus tells his disciples. I am certain you have heard such words throughout your own lives. “It’s for your own good that you are being punished!” “It’s for your own good that you cannot go out with your friends on a school night!” “It is for your own good that we are splitting up!” I suspect that such messages in your lives did not exactly fill you with hope and confidence.
I can hear their response because God knows it has been my response. "How can it be? How can our lives possibly be better without you here with us?”
How wonderful it had been to have Jesus back. It had given them strength to face the days of persecution and terror. Just being in his presence again had given them such hope for the future. Without him the days would be bleak, lonely, hopeless. The very thought of being without him again filled them with sorrow! To lose him once had been bad enough. Now to lose him for the second time!
The fact is that what Jesus began the disciples were left behind to continue. But he left them with a promise. A promise that they would be fully equipped to do the job they were meant to do. The Spirit would empower them to continue. That was their great hope. And that is the hope that continues for us in all the situations of our lives.
If last week was about loss and promise, then this Feast of Pentecost is about fulfillment of that promise. Yet I know that in this parish on this Day of Pentecost you may not be feeling that sense of hope, that sense of fulfillment. Over the past few weeks this congregation has once again become very much aware of the dry bones of your existence. You may be feeling that same sense of loss, of hopelessness, for even in faithful communities like this wonderful, vibrant parish, you struggle to keep your doors open. It can sap you of energy. It can leave you with a sense of futility and hopelessness.
In all of our lives there are times like that when all we can do is wait and hold on to the wonderful promise of God. But hopefully sooner than later we will come to realize that we have a unique contribution to make, and the opportunity to do so.
On Pentecost, we celebrate the birthday of a church that is more than two thousand years old. And that is not just hopeful. It is amazing. An itinerant preacher and a ragged band of uneducated followers birthed a community of believers that continues through us.
Pentecost is a coming of age for us as it was for the disciples. It is a fulfillment of God’s promise to be with us, to be at work in our lives. A fire is loosed into the world. It is not always obvious how it works in our lives. But the Spirit is there. The fire in us waits to reveal itself. We become vehicles and channels of God's grace. We become the visible Christ in the world. We carry on the work. The Spirit brings about change and growth in our lives, often in ways that we could not have predicted.
A man was watching a little league baseball game one afternoon. He asked a boy in the dugout what the score was. The boy responded, "Eighteen to nothing! We’re behind."
"Boy," said the spectator, "I'll bet you're discouraged."
"Why should I be discouraged?" replied the little boy. "We haven't even gotten up to bat yet!"
So I challenge you today not to be discouraged. You haven’t even gotten up to bat. Today we celebrate God's Holy Spirit that gives hope to all of creation. The same Spirit that caused breath to enter the dry bones in Ezekiel's dream. That caused them to live. What an exciting vision that is. We, its members, can bring the Church back to life. It may look very different. Even at this moment God may be leading us in new and exciting directions.
I have no doubt that God will restore us to life and truth and joy and purposefulness through the Holy Spirit. We will be restored to the love and grace of God, given peace and joy, purpose and meaning and above all, hope. May God continue to breathe upon us with that holy fire! Amen.
Friday, April 10, 2015
Second Sunday of Easter, Year B
Believing is Seeing
Readings: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives. They meet the risen Christ, and seeing, they believe.
Throughout his gospel John gives us sign after sign of the power of God working through Christ. He sums it up at the end of the gospel. "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book," he explains. "But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may have life in his name.
The disciples believed because they saw. They were eyewitnesses to the resurrection. But where does that leave us? What do we believe? Why do we believe? What difference does it make? What is the difference between the kind of believing we did when we were children and kind of belief system we are called to as adults? When we were children we believed without question. We believed in Santa Claus. We knew that if we were good little boys and girls and went right off to sleep that Santa would come and leave us a wonderful toy under the tree. We believed in the tooth fairy. We believed in the Easter Bunny. We believed in Tinker Bell.
Now we are called to believe in the Resurrection. It should be the same thing -- shouldn't it? Believe it hard enough, live a good life and we'll be rewarded in the end. And what a reward it will be -- eternal life! Isn't that worth putting all doubts aside and simply trusting that it is so?
I remember in my first year of Philosophy reading something that Aristotle said of faith. It must have resonated at some deep level for me to remember it still. "That which is probable and impossible is better to believe than that which is possible and improbable." Somehow or other we must be able to come to a sense of reasoned, reasonable faith. To go on blind faith is to remain a child in one's spiritual journey. Yet somehow we must choose to believe in what Coleridge calls a "willing suspension of unbelief." It is a faith that comes through allowing ourselves to see the signs of resurrection around us.
That is certainly the purpose of the resurrection accounts in the gospels. It is the evening on the first day of the week. The disciples except for Thomas are gathered together behind locked doors. Confusion reigns. They have heard conflicting stories. No one knows quite what to believe. Then Jesus is there with them. "Peace be with you!" he says to them in that familiar way of his. He commissions them, breathing his life-giving spirit into them.
Suddenly they have a sense of purpose. They want to share the good news. They share it with Thomas. "We have seen the Lord!" But he is skeptical. "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
They should not have been surprised that he did not just respond and believe what they were telling him. They had all been through more than anyone should have to bear. How could he accept what they were saying only to have his hopes dashed? It was too much to ask. He felt betrayed. Hurt. He simply could no longer risk hoping.
We are all like Thomas at least some of the time in our faith journey. We can no longer risk believing simply to have our hopes dashed. Sometimes we have been hurt too much by life. How can we go on hoping when we see such problems in our world? What kind of a God goes on allowing such terrible things to happen? If there really is a God why doesn’t God simply stop terrible tragedies from happening? What kind of a God lets little children go hungry? What kind of a God allows suffering?
Or we may have been let down by the church. It has not always been the safe refuge that it should be. The place that should be the healer has often been the abuser. We go to church expecting to find a loving and caring community. Instead we find people bickering and arguing. We find cliques that won't make room for us. We expect to be affirmed and find that there is no place for our talents. We are not made of feel welcome. We don't feel as if we belong. It is not the church it used to be. There are strange liturgies. There are new people sitting in our pew. We cannot cope with the changes.
Or we may have been let down by our profession. We have coped with downsizing but now the plant is closing. We have to start all over again. We feel helpless, out of control, useless. How can we keep faith when nothing is going the way it should? Doesn't being a Christian mean that everything is supposed to work out for good? What is the point of having faith if it does not help to solve life's problems?
Or we may have been let down by our health. We try to live well, to do the things that we think are good for us. We still face sickness and pain. Yes! We have all met Thomas. We may meet him each time we look in the mirror. Like Thomas we need to see in order to believe. What can increase our faith?
When we think of faith I suspect that we often think in terms of seeing some miracle that will dispel all sense of doubt. "God," we cry out. "Show me in some tangible way. I want to be certain."
I came across a story that circulated around the net a few years back. I don't know if it is true. But it is probable. A young man had attended a Bible Study at his church where the pastor had discussed listening to God and obeying God's voice. He kept thinking, "Does God still speak to people?"
Driving home, he began to pray, "God... If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."
Suddenly he had the strangest thought: "Stop and buy a gallon of milk." He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that You?" Getting no recognizable reply he continued, "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." He stopped at a convenience store, purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
He had an urge to turn down a street. "This is crazy," he thought, but he turned just the same. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. Again, he sensed something: "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."
He worried that if they were asleep they might be pretty angry at being awakened. But he felt like he should go and give the milk to the people in the house.
He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice called out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. A man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. He had a strange look on his face, and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.
"What is it?" he asked.
The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish.
Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.
The man had tears streaming down his face as he turned to his unexpected visitor. He began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."
His wife in the kitchen called out, "I asked God to send an angel with some. Are you an angel?"
The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had with him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back to his car, with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that God still answers prayers, and that God still speaks to His people.
We don't all get clear guidance like the young man in the story. We don't all need it. We may say like Thomas, "If I could see, I would believe." Jesus answers, "If you would believe you would soon see." God offers us grace. It begins when we really believe – when we stop talking about God and start depending on God's sustaining grace and love. We may not feel anything very significant. We may not see miracles taking place before our eyes at least maybe not any huge ones. But there will come the realization that we are in touch with divine power, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. Such power can make a difference in our lives. Believing, may we see!
Readings: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1:1-2:2; John 20:19-31
We read in the Acts of the Apostles of a community of believers on fire with enthusiasm for the Christian faith. They are of "one heart and soul". A great transformation has taken place in them since the death of Jesus. These same people who had fled in fear following the crucifixion of their leader are now gathered together and with great power are proclaiming the good news of the resurrection. Their way of life declares their confidence in the risen Saviour. It is a community marked not by words only, but also by its service to others. They are living out their faith.
What a far cry from the discouraged and frightened band of followers huddled behind locked doors that we meet in John's gospel! They are still reeling from the affects of the past few days. They are in mortal fear that the same authorities who killed Jesus will catch up with them. Then suddenly Jesus is with them in his risen glory. This is not some ephemeral ghost, but the risen Lord, the bringer of peace, the one whom they can see and touch and handle. He is back in relationship with them, consecrating them to do mission. His presence transforms their lives. They meet the risen Christ, and seeing, they believe.
Throughout his gospel John gives us sign after sign of the power of God working through Christ. He sums it up at the end of the gospel. "Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book," he explains. "But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and through believing you may have life in his name.
The disciples believed because they saw. They were eyewitnesses to the resurrection. But where does that leave us? What do we believe? Why do we believe? What difference does it make? What is the difference between the kind of believing we did when we were children and kind of belief system we are called to as adults? When we were children we believed without question. We believed in Santa Claus. We knew that if we were good little boys and girls and went right off to sleep that Santa would come and leave us a wonderful toy under the tree. We believed in the tooth fairy. We believed in the Easter Bunny. We believed in Tinker Bell.
Now we are called to believe in the Resurrection. It should be the same thing -- shouldn't it? Believe it hard enough, live a good life and we'll be rewarded in the end. And what a reward it will be -- eternal life! Isn't that worth putting all doubts aside and simply trusting that it is so?
I remember in my first year of Philosophy reading something that Aristotle said of faith. It must have resonated at some deep level for me to remember it still. "That which is probable and impossible is better to believe than that which is possible and improbable." Somehow or other we must be able to come to a sense of reasoned, reasonable faith. To go on blind faith is to remain a child in one's spiritual journey. Yet somehow we must choose to believe in what Coleridge calls a "willing suspension of unbelief." It is a faith that comes through allowing ourselves to see the signs of resurrection around us.
That is certainly the purpose of the resurrection accounts in the gospels. It is the evening on the first day of the week. The disciples except for Thomas are gathered together behind locked doors. Confusion reigns. They have heard conflicting stories. No one knows quite what to believe. Then Jesus is there with them. "Peace be with you!" he says to them in that familiar way of his. He commissions them, breathing his life-giving spirit into them.
Suddenly they have a sense of purpose. They want to share the good news. They share it with Thomas. "We have seen the Lord!" But he is skeptical. "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."
They should not have been surprised that he did not just respond and believe what they were telling him. They had all been through more than anyone should have to bear. How could he accept what they were saying only to have his hopes dashed? It was too much to ask. He felt betrayed. Hurt. He simply could no longer risk hoping.
We are all like Thomas at least some of the time in our faith journey. We can no longer risk believing simply to have our hopes dashed. Sometimes we have been hurt too much by life. How can we go on hoping when we see such problems in our world? What kind of a God goes on allowing such terrible things to happen? If there really is a God why doesn’t God simply stop terrible tragedies from happening? What kind of a God lets little children go hungry? What kind of a God allows suffering?
Or we may have been let down by the church. It has not always been the safe refuge that it should be. The place that should be the healer has often been the abuser. We go to church expecting to find a loving and caring community. Instead we find people bickering and arguing. We find cliques that won't make room for us. We expect to be affirmed and find that there is no place for our talents. We are not made of feel welcome. We don't feel as if we belong. It is not the church it used to be. There are strange liturgies. There are new people sitting in our pew. We cannot cope with the changes.
Or we may have been let down by our profession. We have coped with downsizing but now the plant is closing. We have to start all over again. We feel helpless, out of control, useless. How can we keep faith when nothing is going the way it should? Doesn't being a Christian mean that everything is supposed to work out for good? What is the point of having faith if it does not help to solve life's problems?
Or we may have been let down by our health. We try to live well, to do the things that we think are good for us. We still face sickness and pain. Yes! We have all met Thomas. We may meet him each time we look in the mirror. Like Thomas we need to see in order to believe. What can increase our faith?
When we think of faith I suspect that we often think in terms of seeing some miracle that will dispel all sense of doubt. "God," we cry out. "Show me in some tangible way. I want to be certain."
I came across a story that circulated around the net a few years back. I don't know if it is true. But it is probable. A young man had attended a Bible Study at his church where the pastor had discussed listening to God and obeying God's voice. He kept thinking, "Does God still speak to people?"
Driving home, he began to pray, "God... If you still speak to people, speak to me. I will listen. I will do my best to obey."
Suddenly he had the strangest thought: "Stop and buy a gallon of milk." He shook his head and said out loud, "God, is that You?" Getting no recognizable reply he continued, "Okay, God, in case that is you, I will buy the milk." He stopped at a convenience store, purchased the gallon of milk and started off toward home.
He had an urge to turn down a street. "This is crazy," he thought, but he turned just the same. He drove several blocks, when suddenly, he felt like he should stop. Again, he sensed something: "Go and give the milk to the people in the house across the street."
He worried that if they were asleep they might be pretty angry at being awakened. But he felt like he should go and give the milk to the people in the house.
He walked across the street and rang the bell. He could hear some noise inside. A man's voice called out, "Who is it? What do you want?" Then the door opened before the young man could get away. A man was standing there in his jeans and T-shirt. He looked like he'd just gotten out of bed. He had a strange look on his face, and he didn't seem too happy to have some stranger standing on his doorstep.
"What is it?" he asked.
The young man thrust out the gallon of milk, "Here, I brought this to you." The man took the milk and rushed down a hallway speaking loudly in Spanish.
Then from down the hall came a woman carrying the milk toward the kitchen. The man was following her holding a baby. The baby was crying.
The man had tears streaming down his face as he turned to his unexpected visitor. He began speaking and half-crying, "We were just praying. We had some big bills this month and we ran out of money. We didn't have any milk for our baby. I was just praying and asking God to show me how to get some milk."
His wife in the kitchen called out, "I asked God to send an angel with some. Are you an angel?"
The young man reached into his wallet and pulled out all the money he had with him and put in the man's hand. He turned and walked back to his car, with tears rolling down his cheeks. He knew that God still answers prayers, and that God still speaks to His people.
We don't all get clear guidance like the young man in the story. We don't all need it. We may say like Thomas, "If I could see, I would believe." Jesus answers, "If you would believe you would soon see." God offers us grace. It begins when we really believe – when we stop talking about God and start depending on God's sustaining grace and love. We may not feel anything very significant. We may not see miracles taking place before our eyes at least maybe not any huge ones. But there will come the realization that we are in touch with divine power, the same power that raised Jesus from the dead. Such power can make a difference in our lives. Believing, may we see!
Saturday, April 4, 2015
Easter Sunday
The Challenge of Faith
Readings: Isaiah Acts 10:34-43; Ps 118:1-2, 14-24; Mark 16:11-8
Through baptism we have been joined to Christ in his death so that we can begin a new life. That is the bold claim of Easter! What a message of hope it is. It is the message we acclaim with joy as we ring bells and shout joyful alleluias.
But is it true? Can I dare to believe it? How do we know that Easter happened? How do we know the truth of the resurrection? There is only one answer to that. We believe because we have encountered the risen Christ in the experience of the Church.
But when I read the gospel it raises all sorts of questions for me. The women are heading back to the tomb. They are grief stricken at the events of the past few days. Their beloved leader has been executed like a common criminal. His followers have scattered in fear. They themselves are heading to the tomb with a sense of futility. They had seen with their own eyes the huge stone that had been rolled into place across the entrance to the tomb. “Who will roll away the stone for us? They murmur to one another. It is a formidable obstacle. They could have given up and gone back home. They could have given up hope. Yet they needed to do something. And so they gathered together the spices needed for embalming and headed to the tomb.
And when they got there, the stone had been rolled away. They went in, wondering how it had been moved. All sorts of things must have gone through their minds. Who could possibly have removed the stone? What further indignity had the authorities heaped on their beloved leader? They must have been filled with fear. And yet they dared to enter the tomb.
And they were greeted by a man. “Go and tell his disciples and Peter that he is going to Galilee,” he tells them as if it is an everyday occurrence. And what is their reaction to his message? Awe and shock! Terror stricken, they flee from the tomb. They run and hide. They tell no one. What kind of a message of hope is that? What are we to take away with us from their response to the empty tomb?
I must say that I can understand their reaction. It is the normal reaction of people faced with the death of a loved one, right from the need to be doing something to the shock and disbelief at what their eyes are telling them. Following a death there is nothing to do, and yet there is so much to do. Nobody goes to work. Nobody is hungry. Nobody has anything to say. Helpers feel helpless and in the way. There are so many things to attend to. Legal matters! The funeral! Music! Choosing the casket! Finding a burial spot! There are people, relatives and friends, to inform about the death. There are dozens of phone calls to make. The reception needs to be arranged.
And through all of that busyness you are trying to grieve. You need to feel anything through that sensation of numbness that overwhelms you. The death of a loved one brings you face to face with the reality of death. Life is not easy. Facing the death of someone you love is overwhelming. The hardest thing of all is facing your own death. We struggle to exist knowing that death is the one constant in our existence. We even joke about it – death and taxes. That is one of the many ways we have of coping with the knowledge that we will all die. We live in the present, refusing to even think about tomorrow. Or we live our lives in a kind of dream world where we don’t have to face reality
We began our Lenten journey with the symbol of ashes. It reminded us not only of our sinfulness, but also that we are mortal. Our Lenten journey has taken us from ashes to the cross, to the empty tomb. We look for hope. And Easter gives it. Easter proclaims that Christ is risen. Easter proclaims that death has been conquered. Once and for all! It gives us hope in life.
But back to that question, do I dare believe it? Consider the people who were eyewitnesses to the Resurrection. The holy women, those same women who scattered in fear when they saw the empty tomb! They became part of a Church alive in Christ. They had one of those ‘aha’ moments that are scattered throughout our lives. They got it. They began to understand the message of the empty tomb. They really got it! And in that ‘aha’ moment Easter entered their Good Friday world. It transformed them. It changed their grief and sorrow and pain into joy.
And it isn’t just the women who were transformed by the event. There is Peter, brash Peter who swore never to abandon Christ, but who denied ever knowing him. He became so fearful for his life that he ran away. But Peter became the rock that Jesus knew him to be. He preached Christ crucified; he proclaimed Christ risen from the dead.
And what is true of Peter is true of all the disciples of Jesus. Something so astounding happened that they began to proclaim their newfound faith in the risen Christ. Their fear turned to enthusiastic, spirit filled proclamation.
What about us? It is difficult for us to understand the terror of those first Christians. But it was well founded. They were in danger because of their allegiance to Christ. It is such a far cry from our experience of Easter. For us it means alleluias, special music, people we have not seen since Christmas, chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs. Those are not things that bring about terror or amazement. How do we recapture a sense of the wonder and awesome mystery at the heart of the Christian faith? Are we so anaesthetized by familiarity that we cannot fathom such feelings? Can we capture moments when that sense of awe breaks through? There must be moments on our journey when we say ‘aha’ and the light goes on. For a fleeting moment a door opens and we realize the beauty and the glory of the mysteries of Christ. We feel a sense of astonishment at the sheer grace and goodness of God. Those are moments to treasure and to keep. Those are moments that transform our lives.
Mark’s Easter account is full of Good News. It is good news that needs to be shared. They are to go to Galilee to meet the risen Christ. The resurrection is the cornerstone of our faith. And yet the ‘how’ continues to defy us. It is after all about going to Galilee. It is after all about meeting the risen Christ. It is not about proving through historical evidence or contemporary analysis. It is by living and acting on the basis that it is true despite any feelings or emotions or scientific evidence to the contrary.
The truth of the resurrection does not depend on me, on where I am, on my feelings. I can run away in fear. I can find myself unable to understand what is happening. But sometime I will stop running. Then I will see the face of Christ in those around me. I will boldly proclaim that Christ is risen. Alleluia!
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed, alleluia
Readings: Isaiah Acts 10:34-43; Ps 118:1-2, 14-24; Mark 16:11-8
Through baptism we have been joined to Christ in his death so that we can begin a new life. That is the bold claim of Easter! What a message of hope it is. It is the message we acclaim with joy as we ring bells and shout joyful alleluias.
But is it true? Can I dare to believe it? How do we know that Easter happened? How do we know the truth of the resurrection? There is only one answer to that. We believe because we have encountered the risen Christ in the experience of the Church.
But when I read the gospel it raises all sorts of questions for me. The women are heading back to the tomb. They are grief stricken at the events of the past few days. Their beloved leader has been executed like a common criminal. His followers have scattered in fear. They themselves are heading to the tomb with a sense of futility. They had seen with their own eyes the huge stone that had been rolled into place across the entrance to the tomb. “Who will roll away the stone for us? They murmur to one another. It is a formidable obstacle. They could have given up and gone back home. They could have given up hope. Yet they needed to do something. And so they gathered together the spices needed for embalming and headed to the tomb.
And when they got there, the stone had been rolled away. They went in, wondering how it had been moved. All sorts of things must have gone through their minds. Who could possibly have removed the stone? What further indignity had the authorities heaped on their beloved leader? They must have been filled with fear. And yet they dared to enter the tomb.
And they were greeted by a man. “Go and tell his disciples and Peter that he is going to Galilee,” he tells them as if it is an everyday occurrence. And what is their reaction to his message? Awe and shock! Terror stricken, they flee from the tomb. They run and hide. They tell no one. What kind of a message of hope is that? What are we to take away with us from their response to the empty tomb?
I must say that I can understand their reaction. It is the normal reaction of people faced with the death of a loved one, right from the need to be doing something to the shock and disbelief at what their eyes are telling them. Following a death there is nothing to do, and yet there is so much to do. Nobody goes to work. Nobody is hungry. Nobody has anything to say. Helpers feel helpless and in the way. There are so many things to attend to. Legal matters! The funeral! Music! Choosing the casket! Finding a burial spot! There are people, relatives and friends, to inform about the death. There are dozens of phone calls to make. The reception needs to be arranged.
And through all of that busyness you are trying to grieve. You need to feel anything through that sensation of numbness that overwhelms you. The death of a loved one brings you face to face with the reality of death. Life is not easy. Facing the death of someone you love is overwhelming. The hardest thing of all is facing your own death. We struggle to exist knowing that death is the one constant in our existence. We even joke about it – death and taxes. That is one of the many ways we have of coping with the knowledge that we will all die. We live in the present, refusing to even think about tomorrow. Or we live our lives in a kind of dream world where we don’t have to face reality
We began our Lenten journey with the symbol of ashes. It reminded us not only of our sinfulness, but also that we are mortal. Our Lenten journey has taken us from ashes to the cross, to the empty tomb. We look for hope. And Easter gives it. Easter proclaims that Christ is risen. Easter proclaims that death has been conquered. Once and for all! It gives us hope in life.
But back to that question, do I dare believe it? Consider the people who were eyewitnesses to the Resurrection. The holy women, those same women who scattered in fear when they saw the empty tomb! They became part of a Church alive in Christ. They had one of those ‘aha’ moments that are scattered throughout our lives. They got it. They began to understand the message of the empty tomb. They really got it! And in that ‘aha’ moment Easter entered their Good Friday world. It transformed them. It changed their grief and sorrow and pain into joy.
And it isn’t just the women who were transformed by the event. There is Peter, brash Peter who swore never to abandon Christ, but who denied ever knowing him. He became so fearful for his life that he ran away. But Peter became the rock that Jesus knew him to be. He preached Christ crucified; he proclaimed Christ risen from the dead.
And what is true of Peter is true of all the disciples of Jesus. Something so astounding happened that they began to proclaim their newfound faith in the risen Christ. Their fear turned to enthusiastic, spirit filled proclamation.
What about us? It is difficult for us to understand the terror of those first Christians. But it was well founded. They were in danger because of their allegiance to Christ. It is such a far cry from our experience of Easter. For us it means alleluias, special music, people we have not seen since Christmas, chocolate bunnies and Easter eggs. Those are not things that bring about terror or amazement. How do we recapture a sense of the wonder and awesome mystery at the heart of the Christian faith? Are we so anaesthetized by familiarity that we cannot fathom such feelings? Can we capture moments when that sense of awe breaks through? There must be moments on our journey when we say ‘aha’ and the light goes on. For a fleeting moment a door opens and we realize the beauty and the glory of the mysteries of Christ. We feel a sense of astonishment at the sheer grace and goodness of God. Those are moments to treasure and to keep. Those are moments that transform our lives.
Mark’s Easter account is full of Good News. It is good news that needs to be shared. They are to go to Galilee to meet the risen Christ. The resurrection is the cornerstone of our faith. And yet the ‘how’ continues to defy us. It is after all about going to Galilee. It is after all about meeting the risen Christ. It is not about proving through historical evidence or contemporary analysis. It is by living and acting on the basis that it is true despite any feelings or emotions or scientific evidence to the contrary.
The truth of the resurrection does not depend on me, on where I am, on my feelings. I can run away in fear. I can find myself unable to understand what is happening. But sometime I will stop running. Then I will see the face of Christ in those around me. I will boldly proclaim that Christ is risen. Alleluia!
Alleluia! Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed, alleluia
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Palm / Passion Sunday
No Other Way
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 14:1-15:47
This is no doubt the strangest celebration of the church year. We began our service with the waving of palm branches and a joyous procession. All the emotions of expectation, anticipation and messianic fervour were reenacted. Yet we know that Christ's entry into Jerusalem led directly to his crucifixion. We reflect that knowledge in our service. The reading of the Passion overpowers the joyous beginning. It is highly dramatic. It is the real focus of our worship today. For with the reading, we enter into Holy Week, into the shock and disappointment of the Christian story. We enter into the world, as the followers of Jesus must have experienced it, a world where the kingdom has not yet come. It is the ultimate love story, for every love story comes to a sad ending. At the worst, love dies. At best, the love lives but the lover dies. So today we are left with a sense of emptiness that will only deepen throughout this week, until finally the power of death is overcome.
It is hard for us to imagine the change in mood that took place from the entry into Jerusalem up until the crucifixion. It is difficult to imagine that a crowd, who one day shouted "Hosanna", could just a few short days later, pick up that terrible chant, "Crucify"! Or is it so difficult to imagine? Perhaps the problem is that we can so easily pick out our own voices in the crowd.
As we watch the story unfold again, incident by incident, surely it should strike us that two thousand years have not made much difference to humanity after all. The changes are only on the surface. Humans are still abusers of power. We still betray one another. Much as we say that such terrible abuses cannot happen in our enlightened age, we live with the legacy of the holocaust and the horrors of its victims. We know that brutal torture still takes place in our world. We know, that violence lives within the hearts of people. We have experienced the threat of terrorism that many in the world live with daily. We know that one war follows another. Newspapers are filled with evidence to that effect, so much so that it has almost become commonplace.
There is a song by Bruce Springsteen that really speaks to me of the kind of abuse that is experienced every day in our modern day world.
"I was bruised and battered,
I couldn't tell what I felt.
I was unrecognizable to myself.
I saw my reflection in a window,
I didn't know my own face,
Oh brother, are you gonna leave me,
Wastin' away, on the Streets of Philadelphia."
The song is about the city of Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, but it could just as easily be about the streets of Oshawa or Toronto. But it affects me even more deeply because it resonates in my very soul. It sounds to me very much like a paraphrase of the haunting words of Isaiah from the Old Testament reading this morning. "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard." As Christians we see in the image of the suffering servant, the death and passion of Christ. Do we see also stories of the oppressed, the poor, the underprivileged? They are the reason for God's great gift to humanity.
They are the reason that we cannot observe the cross of Jesus Christ objectively from a position of detachment. To be there at all is to be involved, implicated one way or another. From the crowd gathered there shouting their taunts, one passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, coming into Jerusalem from the country, was compelled to carry the cross. He did not choose to help Jesus carry the cross. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. How the taunts of the crowd must have affected him! How he must have suffered knowing the suffering of the one he was helping!
We are compelled, as was Simon, to carry the cross. We don't line up for the privilege. But we all eventually carry some of the world's guilt, pain, and suffering. We don't always deserve to. Some of the really great people, the Martin Luther King's, the Mother Teresa's of our world, actually seek out opportunities to carry a cross of suffering and self-sacrifice. But most of us are like Simon. Compelled! Dragged kicking and screaming into service!
And there isJudas, sitting at table with him, sharing in that Passover meal, knowing the terrible deed that he was going to participate in. Knowing that it all rests on him. What was he thinking? Was Judas brokenhearted that Jesus would do no more than suffer. Watching Jesus’ ministry go down the drain, so he struck out at him with the feelings of a betrayed spouse. All his pent up rage, disappointement, love and humiliation spewing out as his high hopes are shattered. Is he asking himself how he could have been so blind? Was Jesus such a disappointment? Was it just not happening fast enough, or in the way he wanted it to? Was he only in it for what he could get out of it? And when it didn't happen the way he thought it should, he simply opted out? Do I simply opt out when life gets difficult or when things are not going my way? Am I a Christian only for what I get out of it?
Yet none of us can become really involved in the Passion of our Lord unless we are willing to be more deeply involved in our world, unless we learn to see the sufferings of the hungry, the oppressed, the powerless, in the light of the crucifixion. For on the cross, every human suffering, every human evil, is focused on that one single event.
It is the Centurion who really got the point. He understood the reason for Jesus’ death on the cross. Indeed, his words sum up the whole of Mark's Gospel. "Truly this man was God’s son."
The question is, do we get the point? Do we come away from the reading of the Passion knowing that, knowing that Jesus is truly the God’s son? What commitment are we prepared to make? Can we take meaning from the passion story? Or do we find ourselves wishing that it all ended happily? Do we avoid going through the agony of the cross?
If we do we will be avoiding the suffering that goes on in the world around us. We will never get past it. It is only through dying that resurrection can take place. Are we open to experiencing the cross so that we can arrive at Easter and experience the joy of the resurrection? May this be a truly holy week for us as we follow the way of the cross!
Readings: Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Mark 14:1-15:47
This is no doubt the strangest celebration of the church year. We began our service with the waving of palm branches and a joyous procession. All the emotions of expectation, anticipation and messianic fervour were reenacted. Yet we know that Christ's entry into Jerusalem led directly to his crucifixion. We reflect that knowledge in our service. The reading of the Passion overpowers the joyous beginning. It is highly dramatic. It is the real focus of our worship today. For with the reading, we enter into Holy Week, into the shock and disappointment of the Christian story. We enter into the world, as the followers of Jesus must have experienced it, a world where the kingdom has not yet come. It is the ultimate love story, for every love story comes to a sad ending. At the worst, love dies. At best, the love lives but the lover dies. So today we are left with a sense of emptiness that will only deepen throughout this week, until finally the power of death is overcome.
It is hard for us to imagine the change in mood that took place from the entry into Jerusalem up until the crucifixion. It is difficult to imagine that a crowd, who one day shouted "Hosanna", could just a few short days later, pick up that terrible chant, "Crucify"! Or is it so difficult to imagine? Perhaps the problem is that we can so easily pick out our own voices in the crowd.
As we watch the story unfold again, incident by incident, surely it should strike us that two thousand years have not made much difference to humanity after all. The changes are only on the surface. Humans are still abusers of power. We still betray one another. Much as we say that such terrible abuses cannot happen in our enlightened age, we live with the legacy of the holocaust and the horrors of its victims. We know that brutal torture still takes place in our world. We know, that violence lives within the hearts of people. We have experienced the threat of terrorism that many in the world live with daily. We know that one war follows another. Newspapers are filled with evidence to that effect, so much so that it has almost become commonplace.
There is a song by Bruce Springsteen that really speaks to me of the kind of abuse that is experienced every day in our modern day world.
"I was bruised and battered,
I couldn't tell what I felt.
I was unrecognizable to myself.
I saw my reflection in a window,
I didn't know my own face,
Oh brother, are you gonna leave me,
Wastin' away, on the Streets of Philadelphia."
The song is about the city of Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, but it could just as easily be about the streets of Oshawa or Toronto. But it affects me even more deeply because it resonates in my very soul. It sounds to me very much like a paraphrase of the haunting words of Isaiah from the Old Testament reading this morning. "I gave my back to those who struck me, and my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard." As Christians we see in the image of the suffering servant, the death and passion of Christ. Do we see also stories of the oppressed, the poor, the underprivileged? They are the reason for God's great gift to humanity.
They are the reason that we cannot observe the cross of Jesus Christ objectively from a position of detachment. To be there at all is to be involved, implicated one way or another. From the crowd gathered there shouting their taunts, one passer-by, Simon of Cyrene, coming into Jerusalem from the country, was compelled to carry the cross. He did not choose to help Jesus carry the cross. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. How the taunts of the crowd must have affected him! How he must have suffered knowing the suffering of the one he was helping!
We are compelled, as was Simon, to carry the cross. We don't line up for the privilege. But we all eventually carry some of the world's guilt, pain, and suffering. We don't always deserve to. Some of the really great people, the Martin Luther King's, the Mother Teresa's of our world, actually seek out opportunities to carry a cross of suffering and self-sacrifice. But most of us are like Simon. Compelled! Dragged kicking and screaming into service!
And there isJudas, sitting at table with him, sharing in that Passover meal, knowing the terrible deed that he was going to participate in. Knowing that it all rests on him. What was he thinking? Was Judas brokenhearted that Jesus would do no more than suffer. Watching Jesus’ ministry go down the drain, so he struck out at him with the feelings of a betrayed spouse. All his pent up rage, disappointement, love and humiliation spewing out as his high hopes are shattered. Is he asking himself how he could have been so blind? Was Jesus such a disappointment? Was it just not happening fast enough, or in the way he wanted it to? Was he only in it for what he could get out of it? And when it didn't happen the way he thought it should, he simply opted out? Do I simply opt out when life gets difficult or when things are not going my way? Am I a Christian only for what I get out of it?
Yet none of us can become really involved in the Passion of our Lord unless we are willing to be more deeply involved in our world, unless we learn to see the sufferings of the hungry, the oppressed, the powerless, in the light of the crucifixion. For on the cross, every human suffering, every human evil, is focused on that one single event.
It is the Centurion who really got the point. He understood the reason for Jesus’ death on the cross. Indeed, his words sum up the whole of Mark's Gospel. "Truly this man was God’s son."
The question is, do we get the point? Do we come away from the reading of the Passion knowing that, knowing that Jesus is truly the God’s son? What commitment are we prepared to make? Can we take meaning from the passion story? Or do we find ourselves wishing that it all ended happily? Do we avoid going through the agony of the cross?
If we do we will be avoiding the suffering that goes on in the world around us. We will never get past it. It is only through dying that resurrection can take place. Are we open to experiencing the cross so that we can arrive at Easter and experience the joy of the resurrection? May this be a truly holy week for us as we follow the way of the cross!
Saturday, March 14, 2015
The Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year B
God So Loved the World
Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
I recently came across a spectacular image of the earth from the perspective of the moon. The image was captured in February of 2014 by NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It looks like a tiny blue marble above the moon’s craters. It is one of twelve such “earthrises” that occur every day from the perspective of the moon. It gives me an overwhelming sense of the vastness of God’s creation and of our small part in it. It also gives me a sense of awe and wonder at the God who so lovingly created us.
Being loved is always a surprise. The very fact that someone chooses to love us is exciting. It supports us in what we do. It gives us new insight into our value as a human. Even when we recognize our self worth, being loved is still a startling experience. "Are we worthy of such devotion?" we wonder. "Will it last?"
It is no wonder then, that being loved by God comes as a great surprise to us. Paul says that we are created in Christ for good works. God has crafted us in God's own image. We are "works of art", part of a great masterpiece crafted by a genius artist. How hard it is to take in just how great that love is! Yet there it is. How much does God love us? God loves us enough to have created us. Not one mold, but each unique and wonderful. Each part of God's plan. What love that is! Genuine and real, the kind of love that resulted in something so great that it is beyond our imagination.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life." That is an amazing gift of love! A free gift! Love totally unmerited by us! The ultimate example of love! It is the pattern and model of the kind of love that we, as Christians, are called to show in our lives. And it is offered to every one of us.
It is probably the most cited verse of Scripture. All we need to do is say John 3:16 and people can recite every word. We make huge signs at ballgames to proclaim its message. But I wonder if we really believe it. Do we believe that God loves the world, or do we get some perverse enjoyment out of being reminded that we are saved while others are not? Do we really hear it as a statement about God’s love for the world? Or is it a threat for those unwilling to accept that love? Do we hear it as an invitation to participate in spreading God’s love? Or does it give us a reason to exclude those we think God does not love?
Many years ago I was playing the music at a retreat given by the then Primate, Ted Scott. One of the reflections was on this passage of Scripture. He asked us to recite the verse. Everyone in the room was able to do so. Like every good Anglican, we grew up hearing it as part of the Comfortable words. Then he asked us about John 3:17. There was a silence until I piped up. “He sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.” You see, I had sung Stainer’s Crucifixion so often that the words came spontaneously. When he recovered that someone actually knew that verse, he challenged whether or not I had ever thought about what I was singing. And of course, I had not. He went on to reflect on how God became human not to condemn the world, but to experience life with us, to be God with us, to offer us the kind of love that results not in some future promise, but in relationship here and now. That is how God loves us. That is the love that we are called to share with a broken world.
Paul takes every opportunity to help us to understand that salvation is a free gift from God, a love gift. It is not something we have earned. It is not something we deserve. It is grace, freely given. He also emphasizes that, free though it may be, it is not without cost. Opening ourselves to the gift of God's love means that we cannot avoid the experience of the cross. Accepting the gift of God's love means opening ourselves to the possibility of suffering; it also means opening ourselves to the probability of great joy.
We just don't expect that in our lives. When we choose to follow Christ, we expect that it will mean an end to suffering. That it will mean that somehow we have tapped in to a magical way of avoiding anything bad happening. It will all work out like some Harlequin romance where every story has its happy ending.
The people of Israel thought that to follow in God's way would mean an end to suffering and tragedy. They discovered differently. As the time in the wilderness went on and on, they began to see that, just because it's free, does not mean it is without cost. "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?" they railed at Moses. "For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food."
What they are saying is that the manna that God has provided, the free gift of God's grace, is not enough. They want more.
Are we ever like that? Do we lose patience on the way to the Promised Land? It simply does not happen fast enough for us. Or the way we expected it to. Aren't we rather prone to wanting instant gratification for our every desire? We don't expect to continue to find ourselves wandering in the desert. We don't expect to meet with any adversity or trouble on the way.
The cross for the Christian is a sign of contradiction. What was once a sign of infamy and disgrace becomes a sign of vulnerability and love, the great love of a great God. The contradiction also arises because it came about through the sacrifice of Christ. It brings about suffering, but without it there can be no resurrection. The cross, a symbol of death, is for the Christian a symbol of resurrection.
"When I am lifted up from the earth,” Jesus says in the Gospel, “I shall draw all people to myself." Moses lifted up the brass serpent in the wilderness, and all those who looked at it were healed. Jesus was lifted up. All who believed were given eternal life. The cross is a call to wholeness in Christ. Belief in the crucified Lord calls us to repentance and healing. It calls us to respond, to respond with love for our neighbour. Not the neighbour I choose to love, not the one whose culture and race match mine, but the one whom God calls me to serve.
My neighbour is the addicted, the perverted, the selfish, the corrupted. My neighbour is the one of another faith. My neighbour is the one person in the parish that I just cannot stand. Our great God, who gave us such amazing love, calls us to extend that love to others. Through service we fulfill our call.
The realization that we are really loved by God is difficult to grasp. Yet the signs of God's love are all around us. The humanity of Christ is God's fullest sign of love for us. That Christ should live and die as one of us is a truly amazing sign. If we believe it, this sign should support, thrill, excite, and re-create us. It should be a constant reminder that we are truly loved.
Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21
I recently came across a spectacular image of the earth from the perspective of the moon. The image was captured in February of 2014 by NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It looks like a tiny blue marble above the moon’s craters. It is one of twelve such “earthrises” that occur every day from the perspective of the moon. It gives me an overwhelming sense of the vastness of God’s creation and of our small part in it. It also gives me a sense of awe and wonder at the God who so lovingly created us.
Being loved is always a surprise. The very fact that someone chooses to love us is exciting. It supports us in what we do. It gives us new insight into our value as a human. Even when we recognize our self worth, being loved is still a startling experience. "Are we worthy of such devotion?" we wonder. "Will it last?"
It is no wonder then, that being loved by God comes as a great surprise to us. Paul says that we are created in Christ for good works. God has crafted us in God's own image. We are "works of art", part of a great masterpiece crafted by a genius artist. How hard it is to take in just how great that love is! Yet there it is. How much does God love us? God loves us enough to have created us. Not one mold, but each unique and wonderful. Each part of God's plan. What love that is! Genuine and real, the kind of love that resulted in something so great that it is beyond our imagination.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life." That is an amazing gift of love! A free gift! Love totally unmerited by us! The ultimate example of love! It is the pattern and model of the kind of love that we, as Christians, are called to show in our lives. And it is offered to every one of us.
It is probably the most cited verse of Scripture. All we need to do is say John 3:16 and people can recite every word. We make huge signs at ballgames to proclaim its message. But I wonder if we really believe it. Do we believe that God loves the world, or do we get some perverse enjoyment out of being reminded that we are saved while others are not? Do we really hear it as a statement about God’s love for the world? Or is it a threat for those unwilling to accept that love? Do we hear it as an invitation to participate in spreading God’s love? Or does it give us a reason to exclude those we think God does not love?
Many years ago I was playing the music at a retreat given by the then Primate, Ted Scott. One of the reflections was on this passage of Scripture. He asked us to recite the verse. Everyone in the room was able to do so. Like every good Anglican, we grew up hearing it as part of the Comfortable words. Then he asked us about John 3:17. There was a silence until I piped up. “He sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.” You see, I had sung Stainer’s Crucifixion so often that the words came spontaneously. When he recovered that someone actually knew that verse, he challenged whether or not I had ever thought about what I was singing. And of course, I had not. He went on to reflect on how God became human not to condemn the world, but to experience life with us, to be God with us, to offer us the kind of love that results not in some future promise, but in relationship here and now. That is how God loves us. That is the love that we are called to share with a broken world.
Paul takes every opportunity to help us to understand that salvation is a free gift from God, a love gift. It is not something we have earned. It is not something we deserve. It is grace, freely given. He also emphasizes that, free though it may be, it is not without cost. Opening ourselves to the gift of God's love means that we cannot avoid the experience of the cross. Accepting the gift of God's love means opening ourselves to the possibility of suffering; it also means opening ourselves to the probability of great joy.
We just don't expect that in our lives. When we choose to follow Christ, we expect that it will mean an end to suffering. That it will mean that somehow we have tapped in to a magical way of avoiding anything bad happening. It will all work out like some Harlequin romance where every story has its happy ending.
The people of Israel thought that to follow in God's way would mean an end to suffering and tragedy. They discovered differently. As the time in the wilderness went on and on, they began to see that, just because it's free, does not mean it is without cost. "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?" they railed at Moses. "For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food."
What they are saying is that the manna that God has provided, the free gift of God's grace, is not enough. They want more.
Are we ever like that? Do we lose patience on the way to the Promised Land? It simply does not happen fast enough for us. Or the way we expected it to. Aren't we rather prone to wanting instant gratification for our every desire? We don't expect to continue to find ourselves wandering in the desert. We don't expect to meet with any adversity or trouble on the way.
The cross for the Christian is a sign of contradiction. What was once a sign of infamy and disgrace becomes a sign of vulnerability and love, the great love of a great God. The contradiction also arises because it came about through the sacrifice of Christ. It brings about suffering, but without it there can be no resurrection. The cross, a symbol of death, is for the Christian a symbol of resurrection.
"When I am lifted up from the earth,” Jesus says in the Gospel, “I shall draw all people to myself." Moses lifted up the brass serpent in the wilderness, and all those who looked at it were healed. Jesus was lifted up. All who believed were given eternal life. The cross is a call to wholeness in Christ. Belief in the crucified Lord calls us to repentance and healing. It calls us to respond, to respond with love for our neighbour. Not the neighbour I choose to love, not the one whose culture and race match mine, but the one whom God calls me to serve.
My neighbour is the addicted, the perverted, the selfish, the corrupted. My neighbour is the one of another faith. My neighbour is the one person in the parish that I just cannot stand. Our great God, who gave us such amazing love, calls us to extend that love to others. Through service we fulfill our call.
The realization that we are really loved by God is difficult to grasp. Yet the signs of God's love are all around us. The humanity of Christ is God's fullest sign of love for us. That Christ should live and die as one of us is a truly amazing sign. If we believe it, this sign should support, thrill, excite, and re-create us. It should be a constant reminder that we are truly loved.
Friday, March 6, 2015
The Third Sunday of Lent, Year B
God’s Foolishness
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19:7-14; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
“The message of the cross is foolishness,” says Paul. The very thought of the cross as a symbol of Christian faith confronted the values of Paul’s worldview. The claim of the Christian church was unthinkable to the Jews. They were waiting for the Messiah. They certainly did not recognize it embodied in the life of Christ. They expected a figure of power, one who would free them from the tyranny of Rome. They were looking for a king riding on a horse, not Christ hanging on a cross.
The Greeks too had expectations about God. They loved oratory and rhetoric. For them, God was a concept, not someone with whom you had a personal relationship. They approached God through the rational, through the philosophical. So Christ, and particularly the cross made no sense to them.
Even for us, as far removed as we are from the horror of crucifixion, the cross is foolishness. Power and authority are the way of our world. No matter how you dress it up, coat it in gold, make it a work of art, turn it into jewellery, it is foolishness … but it is God’s foolishness.
Jesus’ action in the temple is a fine example of God’s foolishness. Imagine the scene! With the approach of Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem to the temple. The outer court of the temple was a huge area, big enough to house a few football stadiums. In this outer court were crowds of people, all vying to change their money into the currency acceptable in the temple. Once changed, they went off to purchase birds or animals for sacrifice. The area was usually closely guarded by soldiers.
It was business as usual as Jesus entered the temple. What a commotion ensued when he took action! He made a whip of cords and used it to drive out the animals. He poured out the coins of the moneychangers, overturning tables in the process. The scene was one of total chaos. What was he thinking! The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! What was his objection? In this challenge of the status quo, is he protesting a system that places intermediaries between the people and God?
It seems likely that his action expressed disapproval of what the temple had become. Jesus knew the law. He lived the commandments. As a Jew he understood that the commandments were about not doing violence to loyalties. He knew they were about building good relationships with other people and with God. They were about ending injustice in society. Where we accept the commandments as the basis of Western moral conduct, for the Hebrew people and for Jesus it was about creating relationships that did not exploit. God had freed them from slavery in Egypt. God gave them the freedom to figure out how the rules applied to their daily lives. God provided the promise of how they could turn around their previous lives and live as God’s chosen people. Seeing exploitation, taking place within the religious institution must have offended Jesus at his roots. Is he hoping to bring about a single-handed reformation of the temple? Whatever the reason, his was a deliberate and passionate act of protest that was bound to lead to trouble.
It was not a wise thing to do. Why did he not write a letter to the authorities, or talk quietly to a few of the people in private? The fact is, Jesus was thinking from God’s point of view. He was making God’s point as clearly as he could. Making that point, foolish though it may seem, was worth getting into trouble.
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 what we believe as Christians.
What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured, violence-ridden world of ours. Yet it is at the heart of what we profess as Christians.
What foolishness it is to think that God cares about starving millions, the deprived, the poor, the downtrodden, the victims of society. Yet that is what we proclaim as Christians.
What foolishness it is to insist that we have a personal relationship with God, that God is in our midst caring for us, that God is personally concerned about each of us. Yet that is what keeps us going through all the difficult patches of life.
And if we really do believe in the saving act of Christ, then the real foolishness is that we are not acting on it, that we are not working to transform our world. The suffering Jesus dying on the cross turns the tables on power. The cross becomes a symbol of love broken and poured out for all. We become bread for a hungry world.
There is much we could learn from Jesus and his table turning tactics, for there are many injustices at work in our society. There is much we could learn about living passionately. Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems of the Church and the world? Are we passionate enough to become advocates for the poor and for those in need? Are we passionate enough to speak out wherever there is injustice? Are we passionate enough to challenge a world where war is condoned because it is economically practical? Lent is surely an appropriate time to take a good look at ourselves, at our motives.
It should happen for each of us on a personal level. Lent is a time, first of all to test our own lives. Who do we refuse to forgive? What barriers and stumbling blocks to a close relationship with God have we allowed to enter our lives? How are we living out our covenant with God?
It should happen in our parish. Who do we turn away through our perceived lack of resources? Who do we keep out because we see them as too needy, or too different?
It should happen as Church. What marketplaces do we make of the church of God? What abuses happen in God’s name?
And when we have examined our motives, then we need to do something to change them, to turn the tables on them. I believe passionately that armed with our Christian faith we can change the world. Our prayers make a difference. They can bring about healing to this fractured world. They can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
What are the issues we live with daily here in Oshawa for which you have a passion? Is it related to mental illness? It is such an issue in every community. How do we ensure that the voiceless are heard? How do we ensure that the are kept safe?
Or maybe your passion is for those who live in poverty. That too is present in the city of Oshawa. Food Bank usage continues to increase despite the fact that it was, from its inception, to be a bandaid solution. The Community Development Council of Durham released a study on poverty in the region and found as much as fifteen percent of Durham residents live in poverty. Our poor are working poor, people working multiple part time jobs at minimum wage to support their families. Our government gives families money for their children and then takes it back in the form of claw backs. Others are the elderly, living on fixed incomes. How can we become advocates for the poor? Isn’t that what the gospel calls us to be?
Is your passion homelessness? Once again here it is more hidden. But lack of affordable housing is more and more an issue in our cities. The average wait in Oshawa is almost four years. Sixty-eight percent more units are needed to solve the problems that exist. That kind of statistic means slum landlords and substandard housing.
Perhaps your passion is the environment. The Community Garden is, of course, a wonderful response to the issue. We are all recycling and doing our part, but what else needs to happen? Is it the greening of our neighbourhood and church? Is it through Advocacy for our First Nations people in their quest for justice?
The cross is foolishness. But it is God’s foolishness, and the foolishness of God is wiser than we are. During this Lenten season let us embrace its foolishness. Let us take up the cross and follow Jesus. Let our faith make a real difference in our lives and in the lives of those we touch. Amen.
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19:7-14; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
“The message of the cross is foolishness,” says Paul. The very thought of the cross as a symbol of Christian faith confronted the values of Paul’s worldview. The claim of the Christian church was unthinkable to the Jews. They were waiting for the Messiah. They certainly did not recognize it embodied in the life of Christ. They expected a figure of power, one who would free them from the tyranny of Rome. They were looking for a king riding on a horse, not Christ hanging on a cross.
The Greeks too had expectations about God. They loved oratory and rhetoric. For them, God was a concept, not someone with whom you had a personal relationship. They approached God through the rational, through the philosophical. So Christ, and particularly the cross made no sense to them.
Even for us, as far removed as we are from the horror of crucifixion, the cross is foolishness. Power and authority are the way of our world. No matter how you dress it up, coat it in gold, make it a work of art, turn it into jewellery, it is foolishness … but it is God’s foolishness.
Jesus’ action in the temple is a fine example of God’s foolishness. Imagine the scene! With the approach of Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem to the temple. The outer court of the temple was a huge area, big enough to house a few football stadiums. In this outer court were crowds of people, all vying to change their money into the currency acceptable in the temple. Once changed, they went off to purchase birds or animals for sacrifice. The area was usually closely guarded by soldiers.
It was business as usual as Jesus entered the temple. What a commotion ensued when he took action! He made a whip of cords and used it to drive out the animals. He poured out the coins of the moneychangers, overturning tables in the process. The scene was one of total chaos. What was he thinking! The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! What was his objection? In this challenge of the status quo, is he protesting a system that places intermediaries between the people and God?
It seems likely that his action expressed disapproval of what the temple had become. Jesus knew the law. He lived the commandments. As a Jew he understood that the commandments were about not doing violence to loyalties. He knew they were about building good relationships with other people and with God. They were about ending injustice in society. Where we accept the commandments as the basis of Western moral conduct, for the Hebrew people and for Jesus it was about creating relationships that did not exploit. God had freed them from slavery in Egypt. God gave them the freedom to figure out how the rules applied to their daily lives. God provided the promise of how they could turn around their previous lives and live as God’s chosen people. Seeing exploitation, taking place within the religious institution must have offended Jesus at his roots. Is he hoping to bring about a single-handed reformation of the temple? Whatever the reason, his was a deliberate and passionate act of protest that was bound to lead to trouble.
It was not a wise thing to do. Why did he not write a letter to the authorities, or talk quietly to a few of the people in private? The fact is, Jesus was thinking from God’s point of view. He was making God’s point as clearly as he could. Making that point, foolish though it may seem, was worth getting into trouble.
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 what we believe as Christians.
What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured, violence-ridden world of ours. Yet it is at the heart of what we profess as Christians.
What foolishness it is to think that God cares about starving millions, the deprived, the poor, the downtrodden, the victims of society. Yet that is what we proclaim as Christians.
What foolishness it is to insist that we have a personal relationship with God, that God is in our midst caring for us, that God is personally concerned about each of us. Yet that is what keeps us going through all the difficult patches of life.
And if we really do believe in the saving act of Christ, then the real foolishness is that we are not acting on it, that we are not working to transform our world. The suffering Jesus dying on the cross turns the tables on power. The cross becomes a symbol of love broken and poured out for all. We become bread for a hungry world.
There is much we could learn from Jesus and his table turning tactics, for there are many injustices at work in our society. There is much we could learn about living passionately. Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems of the Church and the world? Are we passionate enough to become advocates for the poor and for those in need? Are we passionate enough to speak out wherever there is injustice? Are we passionate enough to challenge a world where war is condoned because it is economically practical? Lent is surely an appropriate time to take a good look at ourselves, at our motives.
It should happen for each of us on a personal level. Lent is a time, first of all to test our own lives. Who do we refuse to forgive? What barriers and stumbling blocks to a close relationship with God have we allowed to enter our lives? How are we living out our covenant with God?
It should happen in our parish. Who do we turn away through our perceived lack of resources? Who do we keep out because we see them as too needy, or too different?
It should happen as Church. What marketplaces do we make of the church of God? What abuses happen in God’s name?
And when we have examined our motives, then we need to do something to change them, to turn the tables on them. I believe passionately that armed with our Christian faith we can change the world. Our prayers make a difference. They can bring about healing to this fractured world. They can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
What are the issues we live with daily here in Oshawa for which you have a passion? Is it related to mental illness? It is such an issue in every community. How do we ensure that the voiceless are heard? How do we ensure that the are kept safe?
Or maybe your passion is for those who live in poverty. That too is present in the city of Oshawa. Food Bank usage continues to increase despite the fact that it was, from its inception, to be a bandaid solution. The Community Development Council of Durham released a study on poverty in the region and found as much as fifteen percent of Durham residents live in poverty. Our poor are working poor, people working multiple part time jobs at minimum wage to support their families. Our government gives families money for their children and then takes it back in the form of claw backs. Others are the elderly, living on fixed incomes. How can we become advocates for the poor? Isn’t that what the gospel calls us to be?
Is your passion homelessness? Once again here it is more hidden. But lack of affordable housing is more and more an issue in our cities. The average wait in Oshawa is almost four years. Sixty-eight percent more units are needed to solve the problems that exist. That kind of statistic means slum landlords and substandard housing.
Perhaps your passion is the environment. The Community Garden is, of course, a wonderful response to the issue. We are all recycling and doing our part, but what else needs to happen? Is it the greening of our neighbourhood and church? Is it through Advocacy for our First Nations people in their quest for justice?
The cross is foolishness. But it is God’s foolishness, and the foolishness of God is wiser than we are. During this Lenten season let us embrace its foolishness. Let us take up the cross and follow Jesus. Let our faith make a real difference in our lives and in the lives of those we touch. Amen.
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