No One is an Island
Readings: 1 Kings 21:1-3, 17-21; Psalm 5:1-8; Galatians 6:7-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20
John Donne writes: (No apology given for the change to inclusive language!)
No one is an island,
Entire of itself,
Everyone is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thy friend's
Or of thine own were:
Any one’s death diminishes me,
Because I am involved in humankind,
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
No! I am not making a statement about Brexit, although I suspect it applies quite nicely. The theme in Donne’s poem resonates with today’s readings. They all point to our need of God’s grace and of our need to share it for the empowerment of ourselves and others. No one walks alone through life. There is an interdependency on others and on God, no matter how hard we try to make it otherwise.
That is very much the lesson that Naaman learns. Naaman is the commander of the army of the king of Aram. He is a great man, honoured in his country because of his leadership. This man who possesses great power has to learn the hard lesson that he is human and vulnerable, that he needs the help of others, and that there are other kinds of power beyond his own. He has leprosy, not the virulent disease that would have banished him into exile, more of a skin condition, but difficult all the same for a man of his position to deal with. He tries every possible cure, but nothing works. His wife’s maid, a young woman from Israel, one totally void of power, tells him about the prophet Elisha who may be able to cure him. He doesn’t take any chances. He gets the king of Aram to write a letter to the king of Israel. He sets off to Israel armed with the letter, along with lots of money and clothing. The king of Israel is mortified. What is going to happen? Is Israel about to be conquered? Elisha calms his fears. “Send him on over. I’ll look after everything!” he says.
And so Naaman arrives with all of his entourage at Elisha’s house. Elisha ignores him. He doesn’t even come out to see him. Instead he sends one of his house servants, “Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored and you shall be clean.” What Naaman heard was ‘go jump in the lake’! He is beyond angry. After all, he wants a performance equal to his self-importance. He wants the show that he has paid for. His pride is deeply wounded. He refuses to do as Elisha has told him. After all, he wants life to be easy, but not too easy.
Once again it is one of his servants who persuades him to come to his senses. “If he had told you to do something difficult, you would have done it.” Finally he is able to hear the good sense of what the servant is saying. He does as Elisha has told him. No doubt kicking and screaming and complaining of the cold, dirty water, he immerses himself seven times in the Jordan, and he is healed.
It is a wonderful story that reminds us of the struggle most of us have in accepting help. It is a wonderful reminder that there are sources of grace other than those we know in our public lives.
Jesus’ disciples too must learn to depend on God’s grace for their needs. Jesus empowers them to go out into the society around them, to share the good news of what they have come to believe and experience. They go out trusting that God will provide. They don’t pack a lunch. They don’t take money – not even an extra pair of sandals. They stay wherever they are welcomed. And they come back filled with stories and experiences of God at work in and through them. They are happy, not because of their newfound power, but because they belong to God. They know that the glory belongs to God, not to them. They know that they are utterly dependent on God, and that they can trust God to be there in all of their needs.
But that is then, and this is now. In a period in the world’s history when terrorism seems to be all around us, isn’t it better to be an island, to become protective as a community? Our world, after all, is not so different from that of Jesus. The disciples go out, not expecting universal interest and welcome, but knowing that they may be put down.
We are meant to be thrust out, like lambs in the midst of wolves into our secular and revolutionary world. Our role is unlikely to be that of evangelist. It is more likely to be what St. Francis proposed. Preach the Gospel. Use words when necessary. We preach with our lives. We relate to people day by day.
That was the most powerful experience that I had on the Camino. True! People walking the Camino are pilgrims, open to God at work in their lives, whatever God means to them. They are looking for spiritual fulfillment. I was surprised at how many people were walking on their own, not in any group. I became a listener as I walked with strangers whom I overtook on the road. Sometimes I walked with them for only a few minutes before I moved on at my own pace. I heard their stories, their struggles, their heartaches. One time it was simply helping someone struggling up a hill to get water out of her backpack, and encouraging her to continue putting one foot in front of the other when she was tempted to give up. Other times it was pulling out my First Aid kit and offering a compeed to treat a blister. Often it was helping to discern the right path on a tricky part of the trail. And when we parted ways, I continued to pray for those I met, that God would bless them. Several times I met them again at the end of the day in a café or at the auberge. I recognized that as they shared their pains and joys with me, I was able to minister to them, not because I am a priest. For the most part they did not know that I was. If it helped to heal loneliness or to raise someone out of despair or to restore someone’s dignity, or to help them in their discernment process, or to comfort them in their pain, then I was seeing Christ in them and allowing them to see Christ in me.
No one is an island. Like the seventy Jesus sent out, we are called to seek out people who will respond. We are to listen to them, to share with them in their pain and their joy. We are to meet their needs. We are to relate to them the gospel message that God loves them and is the answer to their deepest needs. We are called to allow God to work through us. We are called to responsible action, to finding the ways and means that others can know God. We are called to live out the Gospel message in our lives. It is a call to respond in the way we live and work. May we know the urgency of that call! May we respond and live in love as God has called us. Amen.
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Saturday, September 12, 2015
Proper 24, Year B
I am My Brother’s Keeper
Readings: Proverbs 1:20-33; Psalm 19; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38
I have a Twitter account. I have to say, I am not very active on Twitter. I don’t like to follow people who constantly let me know exactly where they are and what they are doing. However, I do find it an effective way to communicate what is important to me. This past week I have found myself retweeting many messages about the Syrian Refugee crisis and what is being done about it.
Instant communication is the good side of social media, but there is certainly a negative side to it that can be very destructive. We have seen it destroy peoples’ lives. Twitter and Facebook make it very easy to communicate, but they also make it very easy to start a rumour. It only takes a moment or two before every one of our followers has the latest bit of gossip complete with picture. Privacy is a thing of the past.
But then, rumours have always been a problem. James warns the early Christians to be careful of what they say about other people. His admonition is not simply about being tactful or holding back what we really think, but a reminder that because we are made in God’s image, our attitudes towards other people should reflect our understanding of what that means; indeed what we say and do should reflect our faith.
If someone spreads an untrue or confusing rumour about you, how do you fight it or persuade people to accept your word and truth? How might the stories or inaccuracies affect your life in rather negative ways? It is good to know what people are actually saying about you. Maybe some of those things are behind Jesus’ question to the disciples in today’s gospel. There were many misconceptions about who Jesus was. Even the disciples were not always clear. And so Jesus asks them, “Who do people say that I am?”
Often we are the last one’s to hear the rumours in the rumour mill. Jesus is wise to check it out with his followers who are more likely to hear what is going on than he. And he gets back a rather ominous list. Let’s face it! John and Elijah and the prophets were all on pretty dangerous paths. If popular opinion was right, then the future could be pretty precarious for Jesus.
The conversation does not stop there. Jesus asks Peter a further question, a far more important one for him to answer, a personal question. “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus knows human nature. What we have heard about people often informs our own opinions of them and of what they have accomplished. The political scene prior to an election is a perfect example. Jesus needs to know how his followers view him. It is one of the great moments in the gospel, a time for commitment, for soul searching, for decision making.
Peter answers. He answers intuitively. Later he will deny it. But at this moment he answers from the heart. “You are the Messiah, the anointed one.” He knew what it meant, at least to a certain extent. It must have been a shock to him to hear it coming out of his mouth. In uttering those words, he is beginning to realize the implications of being a follower of Jesus. If he did not get the full impact of his statement, certainly Jesus’ words about suffering and dying and rising again gave him pause for reflection. That is why Peter rebuked Jesus. He cannot face reality. He cannot yet face the cost of discipleship.
We all come to the point where we need to honestly answer Jesus’ question. He is standing there, asking each one of us, “Who do you say that I am?” There are so many answers. I realize that over my lifetime I have changed my mind many times about who Jesus is. Is Jesus a freedom fighter? That image, no doubt, raised great hope in the minds of Jesus’ followers. There are many people in our world today who see Jesus as liberator. Who do you say that Jesus is? Saviour, redeemer, creator, nurturer, friend, brother, companion, Lord, God, Almighty, prophet, priest, King?
As it did for Peter and the disciples, it comes down to the deeper question. “Are you going to deny yourself and follow me?” ‘If you are going to follow me and be my disciples, then you cannot run away from suffering,’ Jesus is saying. ‘But I will show you how to embrace it.’ As with Peter it needs to sink in to us not only who Jesus is but also what the cost will be of following him.
It complicates things, doesn’t it? There is, after all, a cost to commitment. The late Quaker philosopher, Elton Trueblood, wrote about this very thing. “Occasionally we talk of our Christianity as something that solves problems, and there is a sense in which it does. Long before it does so, however, it increases both the number and the intensity of problems.”
That is what we experienced this past week as we witnessed the plight of the Syrian refugees pouring into Europe in what is being described as the worst humanitarian crisis of our time. Who was not moved by the picture of the lifeless body of the Syrian child being picked up on the beach? Were we not filled with compassion at the sight of countless refugees waiting for a train at a station in Hungary? Were we not overwhelmed at the generosity of the German people welcoming strangers into their midst? Has it not stirred up within each of us a need to do whatever is within our power to help? One does not need to be a Christian to know that we need to act. But surely as Christians we know that we cannot ignore their plight. We cannot find excuses. We cannot simply say that it is too much for us to handle, that we do not have the resources, that it is wrong to take a chance on our own safety. Could it be that this is our cross to pick up and bear, to show that we are the face of Christ in the world? Is it up to us to be advocates to our government for these voiceless people?
With commitment to our faith comes responsibility – responsibility to live as Jesus lived, to do as Jesus did, to be neighbour to those in need, to be compassionate. I was truly moved by what Tom Harpur wrote in his column in the local paper this week. “We will never have true compassion until we acknowledge this common bond – the divinity, the Atman, or Christ that is in everyone on Earth. That is a spiritual or metaphysical foundation on which an all-embracing global harmony will one day rest. When it does, the Messiah will have truly come.”
God is calling us to offer our whole selves – time, talent and treasure – and even, or perhaps especially, the part of ourselves that suffers. If we believe that God is active in the world, then the question is not whether we confess Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. That is the easy part. The real question is how do we live it out in our lives? May God show us the way to see Christ in others and to allow Christ to be seen in us! Amen.
Readings: Proverbs 1:20-33; Psalm 19; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38
I have a Twitter account. I have to say, I am not very active on Twitter. I don’t like to follow people who constantly let me know exactly where they are and what they are doing. However, I do find it an effective way to communicate what is important to me. This past week I have found myself retweeting many messages about the Syrian Refugee crisis and what is being done about it.
Instant communication is the good side of social media, but there is certainly a negative side to it that can be very destructive. We have seen it destroy peoples’ lives. Twitter and Facebook make it very easy to communicate, but they also make it very easy to start a rumour. It only takes a moment or two before every one of our followers has the latest bit of gossip complete with picture. Privacy is a thing of the past.
But then, rumours have always been a problem. James warns the early Christians to be careful of what they say about other people. His admonition is not simply about being tactful or holding back what we really think, but a reminder that because we are made in God’s image, our attitudes towards other people should reflect our understanding of what that means; indeed what we say and do should reflect our faith.
If someone spreads an untrue or confusing rumour about you, how do you fight it or persuade people to accept your word and truth? How might the stories or inaccuracies affect your life in rather negative ways? It is good to know what people are actually saying about you. Maybe some of those things are behind Jesus’ question to the disciples in today’s gospel. There were many misconceptions about who Jesus was. Even the disciples were not always clear. And so Jesus asks them, “Who do people say that I am?”
Often we are the last one’s to hear the rumours in the rumour mill. Jesus is wise to check it out with his followers who are more likely to hear what is going on than he. And he gets back a rather ominous list. Let’s face it! John and Elijah and the prophets were all on pretty dangerous paths. If popular opinion was right, then the future could be pretty precarious for Jesus.
The conversation does not stop there. Jesus asks Peter a further question, a far more important one for him to answer, a personal question. “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus knows human nature. What we have heard about people often informs our own opinions of them and of what they have accomplished. The political scene prior to an election is a perfect example. Jesus needs to know how his followers view him. It is one of the great moments in the gospel, a time for commitment, for soul searching, for decision making.
Peter answers. He answers intuitively. Later he will deny it. But at this moment he answers from the heart. “You are the Messiah, the anointed one.” He knew what it meant, at least to a certain extent. It must have been a shock to him to hear it coming out of his mouth. In uttering those words, he is beginning to realize the implications of being a follower of Jesus. If he did not get the full impact of his statement, certainly Jesus’ words about suffering and dying and rising again gave him pause for reflection. That is why Peter rebuked Jesus. He cannot face reality. He cannot yet face the cost of discipleship.
We all come to the point where we need to honestly answer Jesus’ question. He is standing there, asking each one of us, “Who do you say that I am?” There are so many answers. I realize that over my lifetime I have changed my mind many times about who Jesus is. Is Jesus a freedom fighter? That image, no doubt, raised great hope in the minds of Jesus’ followers. There are many people in our world today who see Jesus as liberator. Who do you say that Jesus is? Saviour, redeemer, creator, nurturer, friend, brother, companion, Lord, God, Almighty, prophet, priest, King?
As it did for Peter and the disciples, it comes down to the deeper question. “Are you going to deny yourself and follow me?” ‘If you are going to follow me and be my disciples, then you cannot run away from suffering,’ Jesus is saying. ‘But I will show you how to embrace it.’ As with Peter it needs to sink in to us not only who Jesus is but also what the cost will be of following him.
It complicates things, doesn’t it? There is, after all, a cost to commitment. The late Quaker philosopher, Elton Trueblood, wrote about this very thing. “Occasionally we talk of our Christianity as something that solves problems, and there is a sense in which it does. Long before it does so, however, it increases both the number and the intensity of problems.”
That is what we experienced this past week as we witnessed the plight of the Syrian refugees pouring into Europe in what is being described as the worst humanitarian crisis of our time. Who was not moved by the picture of the lifeless body of the Syrian child being picked up on the beach? Were we not filled with compassion at the sight of countless refugees waiting for a train at a station in Hungary? Were we not overwhelmed at the generosity of the German people welcoming strangers into their midst? Has it not stirred up within each of us a need to do whatever is within our power to help? One does not need to be a Christian to know that we need to act. But surely as Christians we know that we cannot ignore their plight. We cannot find excuses. We cannot simply say that it is too much for us to handle, that we do not have the resources, that it is wrong to take a chance on our own safety. Could it be that this is our cross to pick up and bear, to show that we are the face of Christ in the world? Is it up to us to be advocates to our government for these voiceless people?
With commitment to our faith comes responsibility – responsibility to live as Jesus lived, to do as Jesus did, to be neighbour to those in need, to be compassionate. I was truly moved by what Tom Harpur wrote in his column in the local paper this week. “We will never have true compassion until we acknowledge this common bond – the divinity, the Atman, or Christ that is in everyone on Earth. That is a spiritual or metaphysical foundation on which an all-embracing global harmony will one day rest. When it does, the Messiah will have truly come.”
God is calling us to offer our whole selves – time, talent and treasure – and even, or perhaps especially, the part of ourselves that suffers. If we believe that God is active in the world, then the question is not whether we confess Jesus Christ as Lord and Saviour. That is the easy part. The real question is how do we live it out in our lives? May God show us the way to see Christ in others and to allow Christ to be seen in us! Amen.
Saturday, August 29, 2015
Proper 22, Year B
Getting at the Fire Within
Readings: Song of Solomon 2:8-13; Psalm 45:1-2, 7-10; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
I love the synchronicity of God. As I was working on the readings this week, Graham told me about a Roman Catholic Benedictine monk, David Steindl-Rast. He is known amongst other things for his work on the interaction between spirituality and science, right up Graham’s alley. He says the following in an interview: “I compare mysticism to a volcano that gushes forth and then the magma flows down the sides of the mountain and cools off. And when it reaches the bottom, it is just rocks. You would never guess that there was fire in it.”
“So after a couple of hundred years, or two thousand years or more, what was once alive is dead rock. Doctrine becomes doctrinaire. Morals become moralistic. Ritual becomes ritualistic. What do we do with it? We have to push through this crust and go to the fire that is within it.”
That in a nutshell is what I want to say today. In his short and pithy way of presenting the gospel, Mark forces us to consider whether or not how we follow Jesus truly represents the faith in our hearts. What we say and what we do matter, for they reveal who we truly are. It is that simple. If we wish to get to the fire within, we have to push through the crust.
The reading focuses on ritual that simply becomes ritualistic and loses its meaning, loses its fire. It begins with a specific and cutting question. The Pharisees demand an explanation from Jesus about the behaviour of his disciples. “Why do your disciples eat with unclean hands?” They ask. It is not that they are being fastidious about cleanliness. It has to do with Jewish law, with conforming to Judaic tradition, with carrying out ritual acts in the prescribed manner. The disciples had not washed their hands in the way the Pharisees said people should. They had failed to follow the ritual practices of their religion. The purpose of such purifying was not to change outward appearance in any way. It was not to protect from disease. It was for outward show. Simply put, following the rules would make Jesus’ disciples more acceptable to the Pharisees.
I want to be clear here. Jesus did not regard the laws as bizarre or outlandish. He is not saying that it is wrong. Elsewhere and at another time Jesus would criticize a host for not giving him water to cleanse himself. He is not questioning the action. He is concerned about how an external act has become an end in itself. Jesus understands the rituals in Jewish law and tradition. But at the same time he knows that it is the shema, loving God with heart and soul and strength that is the essence of Judaism as it is for us as Christians. He knows perfectly well that following every cleansing ritual prescribed by Jewish law will not make an iota of difference to society. He knows that it is about more than simply following the old traditions. He knows that they need to put their faith into action if it is going to be effective, if it is going to bring them closer to God, if they are going to live out their faith. He knows that what is needed to identify the people as God’s people, is an authentic faith and a sense of justice and love. He knows that it is far more about people choosing to do the right things, not because they are following the rules, but because they want to do the right thing. They want to do things because they are convinced that it is the right thing to do.
Jesus wants more than lip service from his disciples. He wants to see the true marks of discipleship in their lives. The essential mark of discipleship surely is to know yourself. Otherwise there is a deep disconnect between what we do and what we say. What we say and what we do are not separate from who we are.
James says the same thing. “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” It is rather like the expression, “Don’t believe your own press releases!” James knows that religion is not merely listening, speaking, discussing, arguing and analyzing. It is acted out. It is lived. The ultimate test of what we profess is our actions. Spirituality is never disembodied. Faith must emerge in the world as service. Otherwise it is simply rhetoric. (I am tempted at this point to get into our current political scene, but I will refrain!)
The fact is, if we expect to follow Jesus, live as Jesus lived, do as Jesus would do, keep the fire in our faith, then it requires examination of ourselves. What are our true intentions? What do we believe? What does it matter? Does it change anything because I am a Christian? It requires not only taking stock of whom we are, but also accepting responsibility for our actions.
Again and again we hear Jesus take moral issues out of the realm of mere action and into the deeper realm of motivation. How many times must we forgive? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are forgiving people. Do we say grace day after day, praying for the needs of others, but never contribute to help change their plight? Do we bring names of the sick and suffering to the altar Sunday after Sunday but never go out to minister to them? Do we have a rich liturgical life but do none of the real work of the church? Do we think that we serve God by going to church on Sunday, or by spending time in private prayer, or through our financial support of the church? These may indeed be signs of a Christian living a Christian life. But they do not change the fundamental question. “How is my heart towards God?”
Well, so far all that I have spoken is bad news. Where is the good news of the Gospel? The good news is there in Jesus’ words. “There is nothing,” Jesus says, “that goes into a person from the outside which can make that person unclean. Rather, it is what comes out of a person that makes one unclean.” Jesus is affirming the holiness, the sacred nature of all creation. God continues to call all of creation back into harmony.
The good news is there as well in the words of the prophets of our time. In listening to them, they can lead us to understand the disconnect between who we are and what we say and do. It is difficult to live what we believe, to speak our truth, to show in our actions what is in our hearts. After all, we are broken people. But we have a loving God. Just as our words and actions reveal the heart of who we are, so God’s words and actions reveal God’s own self. In opening up our lives to God’s forgiving grace, in taking responsibility for our actions, we rekindle the fire in our hearts. That is good news indeed! Amen
Readings: Song of Solomon 2:8-13; Psalm 45:1-2, 7-10; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
I love the synchronicity of God. As I was working on the readings this week, Graham told me about a Roman Catholic Benedictine monk, David Steindl-Rast. He is known amongst other things for his work on the interaction between spirituality and science, right up Graham’s alley. He says the following in an interview: “I compare mysticism to a volcano that gushes forth and then the magma flows down the sides of the mountain and cools off. And when it reaches the bottom, it is just rocks. You would never guess that there was fire in it.”
“So after a couple of hundred years, or two thousand years or more, what was once alive is dead rock. Doctrine becomes doctrinaire. Morals become moralistic. Ritual becomes ritualistic. What do we do with it? We have to push through this crust and go to the fire that is within it.”
That in a nutshell is what I want to say today. In his short and pithy way of presenting the gospel, Mark forces us to consider whether or not how we follow Jesus truly represents the faith in our hearts. What we say and what we do matter, for they reveal who we truly are. It is that simple. If we wish to get to the fire within, we have to push through the crust.
The reading focuses on ritual that simply becomes ritualistic and loses its meaning, loses its fire. It begins with a specific and cutting question. The Pharisees demand an explanation from Jesus about the behaviour of his disciples. “Why do your disciples eat with unclean hands?” They ask. It is not that they are being fastidious about cleanliness. It has to do with Jewish law, with conforming to Judaic tradition, with carrying out ritual acts in the prescribed manner. The disciples had not washed their hands in the way the Pharisees said people should. They had failed to follow the ritual practices of their religion. The purpose of such purifying was not to change outward appearance in any way. It was not to protect from disease. It was for outward show. Simply put, following the rules would make Jesus’ disciples more acceptable to the Pharisees.
I want to be clear here. Jesus did not regard the laws as bizarre or outlandish. He is not saying that it is wrong. Elsewhere and at another time Jesus would criticize a host for not giving him water to cleanse himself. He is not questioning the action. He is concerned about how an external act has become an end in itself. Jesus understands the rituals in Jewish law and tradition. But at the same time he knows that it is the shema, loving God with heart and soul and strength that is the essence of Judaism as it is for us as Christians. He knows perfectly well that following every cleansing ritual prescribed by Jewish law will not make an iota of difference to society. He knows that it is about more than simply following the old traditions. He knows that they need to put their faith into action if it is going to be effective, if it is going to bring them closer to God, if they are going to live out their faith. He knows that what is needed to identify the people as God’s people, is an authentic faith and a sense of justice and love. He knows that it is far more about people choosing to do the right things, not because they are following the rules, but because they want to do the right thing. They want to do things because they are convinced that it is the right thing to do.
Jesus wants more than lip service from his disciples. He wants to see the true marks of discipleship in their lives. The essential mark of discipleship surely is to know yourself. Otherwise there is a deep disconnect between what we do and what we say. What we say and what we do are not separate from who we are.
James says the same thing. “Be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves.” It is rather like the expression, “Don’t believe your own press releases!” James knows that religion is not merely listening, speaking, discussing, arguing and analyzing. It is acted out. It is lived. The ultimate test of what we profess is our actions. Spirituality is never disembodied. Faith must emerge in the world as service. Otherwise it is simply rhetoric. (I am tempted at this point to get into our current political scene, but I will refrain!)
The fact is, if we expect to follow Jesus, live as Jesus lived, do as Jesus would do, keep the fire in our faith, then it requires examination of ourselves. What are our true intentions? What do we believe? What does it matter? Does it change anything because I am a Christian? It requires not only taking stock of whom we are, but also accepting responsibility for our actions.
Again and again we hear Jesus take moral issues out of the realm of mere action and into the deeper realm of motivation. How many times must we forgive? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are forgiving people. Do we say grace day after day, praying for the needs of others, but never contribute to help change their plight? Do we bring names of the sick and suffering to the altar Sunday after Sunday but never go out to minister to them? Do we have a rich liturgical life but do none of the real work of the church? Do we think that we serve God by going to church on Sunday, or by spending time in private prayer, or through our financial support of the church? These may indeed be signs of a Christian living a Christian life. But they do not change the fundamental question. “How is my heart towards God?”
Well, so far all that I have spoken is bad news. Where is the good news of the Gospel? The good news is there in Jesus’ words. “There is nothing,” Jesus says, “that goes into a person from the outside which can make that person unclean. Rather, it is what comes out of a person that makes one unclean.” Jesus is affirming the holiness, the sacred nature of all creation. God continues to call all of creation back into harmony.
The good news is there as well in the words of the prophets of our time. In listening to them, they can lead us to understand the disconnect between who we are and what we say and do. It is difficult to live what we believe, to speak our truth, to show in our actions what is in our hearts. After all, we are broken people. But we have a loving God. Just as our words and actions reveal the heart of who we are, so God’s words and actions reveal God’s own self. In opening up our lives to God’s forgiving grace, in taking responsibility for our actions, we rekindle the fire in our hearts. That is good news indeed! Amen
Saturday, June 20, 2015
National Aboriginal Day, June 21st
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!”
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, 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
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