The Sky is Falling In
Readings: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16; Hebrews 10:11-25; Mark 13:1-8
Perhaps you remember the fairy tale of Henny Penny the hen who thought the sky was falling in. It seems that many in our society have a similar belief. A quick glance at popular culture today shows us that apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic scenarios are all the rage right now. Such scenarios generally depict a future time of catastrophe that results in the end of the world as we know it. It is certainly possible to link such popular cultural trends to various events – the end of the Mayan calendar, catastrophic economic conditions, defining events like September 11th. Yet it may still surprise, even shock you, that in a poll taken in 2012, twenty-two percent of Americans said that they believed that the world would end during their lifetime. At the same time, you may be asking yourself, “What motivates end of time thinking?”
It seems it has always been around. Think back to the response of society as we approached the millenium. There were worries about computer crashes that would cause financial ruin. People were fascinated with what it might mean in terms of the end of time. It lead to interpretation of wars and persecution, of natural disasters and environmental changes, of almost any phenomenon you might like to name.
The focus of the readings as we approach the end of the Church Year is often from the apocalyptic material that is found in Scripture. And so we find it in today’s readings. In the passage from Daniel, the time of the end promises to bring deliverance from distress, injustice and untimely death through resurrection. The Book of Daniel comes from a time when the practice of Judaism was criminalized by a foreign emperor. The temple in Jerusalem was desecrated, its leadership taken over, and a situation emerged in which important and once-cherished institutions ceased to function in ways that were meaningful to the population. Along with their loss of religion came threats to their very existence. Judaism is not just a religion; it is tied to nationalism. It caused great confusion. How does one discern God’s presence and power in the face of such loss? How does one know what the path of faithfulness might be? How do you resist that kind of evil?
This passage uses rich symbols to imagine the end of human history. When seen from that endpoint, chaotic events no longer seem so chaotic but instead may be seen as part of a larger discernible pattern. If you are going to suffer terribly, but then rise again to a new and better existence, it makes it all worthwhile.
It is there once again in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus and his disciples are leaving the temple in Jerusalem. One of the disciples, moved by its awesome size and beauty, remarks to Jesus, "What large stones and what large buildings."
"Wake up!" Jesus responds. "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."
'Wake up' is the message to the Church on these Sundays leading up to Advent. The so-called 'Little Apocalypse' of our Gospel reading is the wake up call the Church uses.
These were difficult times for Jesus and his disciples. In the three short years of his ministry, Jesus had managed to anger, not only the temple authorities—the scribes and Pharisees about whom we hear so much—but also the all-powerful Roman authorities. They were under attack from all sides. Jesus knew that it was only a matter of time until something happened.
When a religious leader knew that he was going to die, he summoned his family and disciples and delivered what amounts to his last will and testament. It could include a survey of the past and its lessons. It usually spoke about the possibility of danger or suffering in the future. It exhorted the followers to remain faithful and steadfast through it all. This passage of Scripture certainly does all of those things. With its dire warnings of things to come, it is little wonder that it has been viewed throughout the Christian era as an ominous warning of apocalypse and final judgement.
The early church to which Mark was writing certainly viewed it that way. They understood only too well what it meant to be persecuted. They were struggling not only to survive, but also to interpret the confusing current events that were overwhelming them and to put such events into context with their new found Christian faith. Jerusalem was under the merciless onslaught of Titus and the Roman army. In fact the entire city including the massive, beautiful temple, was destroyed in 70 CE. Not only that! Peter and Paul—the two mainstays of the early church--had both been put to death. To hear such words as these on the lips of their Saviour, "When you hear of wars and rumours of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come," must have been reassuring to that faithful remnant.
They have served as words of comfort, not only to the early Christians, but also to persecuted and suffering people throughout every era. Such times have always brought with them prophets of doom. Such prophets have found it convenient to interpret apocalyptic passages in the light of their present situation. Throughout history we read of dire warnings predicting the imminent end of the world. Or of groups of people waiting on mountaintops for the final judgement day. Cultic events such as 'Jonestown' where there was a mass suicide are the ultimate societal responses to apocalyptic thinking.
However, I suspect that most of us in this church this morning don’t spend much time thinking in terms of apocalypse. We dismiss readings about the end of times as unfulfilled or irrelevant. After more than two thousand years it seems useless to even try to update them to maintain a vision of what they were about. And yet there is so much terror to be experienced in our world.
I have never seen the twin towers of the World Trade Centre in New York City, but I can certainly imagine that they were awesome structures. Two graceful buildings of steel and glass rising one hundred and ten stories into the air! Many tourists must have stood in the street looking up at them in amazement.
And then on 9/11 we all watched in horror as the towers were reduced to rubble. Could this be the end of time? Isn’t that what was on people’s minds? Whenever there are wars or rumours of wars speculations arise. Some of the speculations even lead to people deciding that it is a good time to “get right with God”. Our churches filled up for a time as people gathered to pray for an end to war and violence.
And certainly such events give rise to renewed apocalyptic speculations. There are people in California right now who are experiencing an event of apocalyptic proportions. At any given time there are all sorts of horrible disasters that could lead to speculation that the end of time is approaching. At times the list feels quite overwhelming.
On a personal level, life can be overwhelming to people. Along with sickness and heartache can come despair. The many losses of life can make one feel as if the end is surely coming.
And I must say that I do not know exactly what to make of readings like these. I struggle with them. I continue to ponder about them. Wars and rumours of wars, earthquakes and famines have always been part of human existence. They are the things that make the headlines. And yet it seems that Jesus is no closer to returning than when I first began to think about it. So perhaps part of what we as Christians are called to receive from readings like these is the promise and certainty that God is still active in the world.
Through it all, the Church surely is called to be the voice of reason, the voice that says as Jesus said to his disciples, ‘there is no cause for alarm’. The voice that says ‘it is all part of God’s plan for us’. The voice that says ‘put your faith in God and in the future despite every appearance to the contrary’. The voice that says ‘I don’t know when the end will come. That is for God alone to know.’
Perhaps too we are called to be open and curious and to put our faith in God and in the future despite every appearance to the contrary. For our God is a God of hope. And our call is to bear that message of hope to a world in desperate need of hearing it. Amen.
Showing posts with label Year B. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Year B. Show all posts
Saturday, November 17, 2018
Saturday, August 11, 2018
Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19, Year B
Finding God in the Ordinary
When I was growing up, my mother baked all the bread for our large family. Saturday morning was bread-making day, and I can remember the delicious odours that came from her kitchen. As children, we were not always very appreciative of mother's efforts. When Sunbeam came out with a big advertising campaign, we longed for that over processed white bread. I remember asking mother if we could please have some "real" bread for a change.
My mother talked about how her mother, my grandmother baked bread back in Wales. They lived in a terraced home with a small oven, not large enough for baking bread for the large family. At the end of their terrace was a communal oven, in which the local families could bake their bread. Grandmother would make huge loaves of bread, each with her particular marking – as I recall it was a knob on the top of the loaf – to set her loaves apart from those of other people, and then take them to the oven to be baked.
I have carried on the family tradition and become a bread baker. I do not bake all of my bread. I find that when I do so I eat too much of it. So now I bake bread for the most part to give away. I made some yesterday as I wrote this sermon. I have tried many kinds of bread from bagels to sourdough to rye. I even tried rice bread. However, I forgot the rising properties of rice. I had to keep separating the dough into different bowls. The bread was good, but there was far too much of it.
Bread is ordinary, everyday food. Most people think that unless you have a bread machine it is difficult to make, but in reality it is quite basic. It is made from simple ingredients – flour, salt, yeast, water, sweetener, (I use honey!). Truly it does take time and patience. It needs to rise. One gets a good workout kneading the dough until it is lovely and smooth. But it is not difficult to produce good results.
In its many forms, it is the most widely consumed food in the world, eaten by people of every race, religion and culture. It is the food of rich and poor alike. Bread has been around for thousands of years. Evidence from thirty thousand years ago in Europe found starch residue on rocks used for pounding plants. In all likelihood, starch extract from the roots of plants, such as cattails and ferns, was spread on a flat rock, placed over a fire and cooked into a primitive form of flatbread. Scripture refers to bread as the staff of life. God provided manna in the desert for the Hebrew people. Bread is a relational food. Breaking bread together is a universal symbol of peace. It is ordinary, everyday food.
Jesus broke bread for a crowd of hungry people. He took a few small loaves and some fish, blessed it, and fed the people who had followed him out into the wilderness. But they got hungry again. They kept coming back for more. Their expectation was that Jesus would keep giving them free bread. In reality he offered them far more. “I am the bread of life,” he told them. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He was offering them not free food, but spiritual food. He explained to them that giving them bread and fish would not solve their problems. He asked them to make him and his way of living the “bread and butter” of their daily lives. Yet they could not accept it from him. They could not see beyond the Jesus they had grown up with. They saw the carpenter's son. They saw Joseph's kid. They did not see what he had to offer them. In fact, it was unthinkable. How could anyone as ordinary as Jesus, someone just like them, be the bread of life, the Saviour?
The crowd is expressing a reasonable human feeling on any number of levels. If you are hungry and you suddenly find a source of free food it is difficult to give it up. It is like winning the lottery. But how much more difficult it is to change one’s vision of someone we know, someone we have watched grow up. Yet when you think about it, it is in the ordinary, in people like you and like me, that God chooses to make a dwelling. God only knows why. And then God comes to us in so many disguises. Honestly, some of them can be terribly offensive. Old age, ugliness, poverty, leprosy, woundedness! It is a divine paradox, isn’t it? Our part in it is to look beyond it all to the source.
We too are offered that same spiritual bread. Jesus offers himself to us as bread from God, as grace for our lives, the bread of life. We are offered that choice. But there are many kinds of bread offered to us by the world that, while far from nourishing, are very tempting. They hold great promise. They promise wealth. They promise success. They promise an easy existence.
On the other hand, Jesus offers himself as the life of the world, the life of all of creation. He is our creator. He is our sustainer. God has chosen, through Christ, to be involved in our world. That is a choice that we too must make. For that choice is what makes atonement a possibility. That is what is offered to us in the Bread of Life passages of John's Gospel. Our responsibilities, our choices, are very real. We are offered a conscious choice to see the evidence of the risen Christ in the world around us. We need to see, not simply Jesus, Joe and Mary’s son, but to see Christ, to be, as Paul says, "imitators of God", to emulate Jesus, to follow him. We are called to demonstrate God's love to others through the way we speak and act, through the company we keep, through everything that we do.
Is it possible to be united with Christ through baptism, to confess our sins and receive absolution, to go through the motions of worship, and still fail to comprehend what it really means to believe in Jesus Christ? God has given us grace. But it is a two way street. I remember something that Corrie Ten Boom said in a talk that has stayed with me throughout the years. God has no grandchildren. We must choose to be children. We must choose to be beloved of God. We must hear the word. We must accept it. We must feed on the bread of life. We must appropriate it for ourselves and consciously accept God into our lives. Take God into the centre of our being. Become one with him through Christ. In that way, his life becomes our life. His love becomes our love. His purpose becomes our purpose. His goal becomes our goal. We are redeemed. We communicate his love and become broken bread to those around us.
Think what kind of a world we would live in if we accepted Jesus’ lifestyle and adopted it as our own. No child would ever die of hunger. No senior citizen would be lonely. AIDS would be wiped out, because we would not be hoarding needed drugs out of greed. We would be using good stewardship of the resources of the world. We would be attentive to one another, using the gifts that God has given to us. We would be serving at the table of the world.
Every time we say the Lord's Prayer, we pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Are we like the crowds that followed Jesus? Are we asking for a free meal? Are we asking merely to have our material needs met? Or are we asking to be fed, to be nurtured spiritually by the true bread, Jesus Christ? Perhaps we simply rattle it off, not even conscious of what we are praying.
I am going to make a challenge to you. This week take those words and let them speak to you. Every day this week pray the Lord’s Prayer. Really pray, thinking about what it would mean to a hungry world to be fed those words of life. Think about it. We would die but not remain dead, because we would have eaten the bread of life. We would be like Jesus was, is and will be forever.
That is the Christian message. It speaks about sin and salvation, about death and life, about dying to sin and coming alive to God, about creation and redemption. What God has done in Christ affects not only us, but also the whole of creation. It is a call to renewal, to work with God to discern God's presence. It is about doing God's will, so that we can be transformed and then go on to be transformers in society.
What happens in the Eucharist happens on behalf of the whole world. The bread set before us brings the starving into our presence. It brings the joyless, the sick the suffering. For it is a reminder that what we hold, we hold in trust for all. So let us break bread together. Let us eat. Let us be bread for a broken world. Amen.
When I was growing up, my mother baked all the bread for our large family. Saturday morning was bread-making day, and I can remember the delicious odours that came from her kitchen. As children, we were not always very appreciative of mother's efforts. When Sunbeam came out with a big advertising campaign, we longed for that over processed white bread. I remember asking mother if we could please have some "real" bread for a change.
My mother talked about how her mother, my grandmother baked bread back in Wales. They lived in a terraced home with a small oven, not large enough for baking bread for the large family. At the end of their terrace was a communal oven, in which the local families could bake their bread. Grandmother would make huge loaves of bread, each with her particular marking – as I recall it was a knob on the top of the loaf – to set her loaves apart from those of other people, and then take them to the oven to be baked.
I have carried on the family tradition and become a bread baker. I do not bake all of my bread. I find that when I do so I eat too much of it. So now I bake bread for the most part to give away. I made some yesterday as I wrote this sermon. I have tried many kinds of bread from bagels to sourdough to rye. I even tried rice bread. However, I forgot the rising properties of rice. I had to keep separating the dough into different bowls. The bread was good, but there was far too much of it.
Bread is ordinary, everyday food. Most people think that unless you have a bread machine it is difficult to make, but in reality it is quite basic. It is made from simple ingredients – flour, salt, yeast, water, sweetener, (I use honey!). Truly it does take time and patience. It needs to rise. One gets a good workout kneading the dough until it is lovely and smooth. But it is not difficult to produce good results.
In its many forms, it is the most widely consumed food in the world, eaten by people of every race, religion and culture. It is the food of rich and poor alike. Bread has been around for thousands of years. Evidence from thirty thousand years ago in Europe found starch residue on rocks used for pounding plants. In all likelihood, starch extract from the roots of plants, such as cattails and ferns, was spread on a flat rock, placed over a fire and cooked into a primitive form of flatbread. Scripture refers to bread as the staff of life. God provided manna in the desert for the Hebrew people. Bread is a relational food. Breaking bread together is a universal symbol of peace. It is ordinary, everyday food.
Jesus broke bread for a crowd of hungry people. He took a few small loaves and some fish, blessed it, and fed the people who had followed him out into the wilderness. But they got hungry again. They kept coming back for more. Their expectation was that Jesus would keep giving them free bread. In reality he offered them far more. “I am the bread of life,” he told them. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” He was offering them not free food, but spiritual food. He explained to them that giving them bread and fish would not solve their problems. He asked them to make him and his way of living the “bread and butter” of their daily lives. Yet they could not accept it from him. They could not see beyond the Jesus they had grown up with. They saw the carpenter's son. They saw Joseph's kid. They did not see what he had to offer them. In fact, it was unthinkable. How could anyone as ordinary as Jesus, someone just like them, be the bread of life, the Saviour?
The crowd is expressing a reasonable human feeling on any number of levels. If you are hungry and you suddenly find a source of free food it is difficult to give it up. It is like winning the lottery. But how much more difficult it is to change one’s vision of someone we know, someone we have watched grow up. Yet when you think about it, it is in the ordinary, in people like you and like me, that God chooses to make a dwelling. God only knows why. And then God comes to us in so many disguises. Honestly, some of them can be terribly offensive. Old age, ugliness, poverty, leprosy, woundedness! It is a divine paradox, isn’t it? Our part in it is to look beyond it all to the source.
We too are offered that same spiritual bread. Jesus offers himself to us as bread from God, as grace for our lives, the bread of life. We are offered that choice. But there are many kinds of bread offered to us by the world that, while far from nourishing, are very tempting. They hold great promise. They promise wealth. They promise success. They promise an easy existence.
On the other hand, Jesus offers himself as the life of the world, the life of all of creation. He is our creator. He is our sustainer. God has chosen, through Christ, to be involved in our world. That is a choice that we too must make. For that choice is what makes atonement a possibility. That is what is offered to us in the Bread of Life passages of John's Gospel. Our responsibilities, our choices, are very real. We are offered a conscious choice to see the evidence of the risen Christ in the world around us. We need to see, not simply Jesus, Joe and Mary’s son, but to see Christ, to be, as Paul says, "imitators of God", to emulate Jesus, to follow him. We are called to demonstrate God's love to others through the way we speak and act, through the company we keep, through everything that we do.
Is it possible to be united with Christ through baptism, to confess our sins and receive absolution, to go through the motions of worship, and still fail to comprehend what it really means to believe in Jesus Christ? God has given us grace. But it is a two way street. I remember something that Corrie Ten Boom said in a talk that has stayed with me throughout the years. God has no grandchildren. We must choose to be children. We must choose to be beloved of God. We must hear the word. We must accept it. We must feed on the bread of life. We must appropriate it for ourselves and consciously accept God into our lives. Take God into the centre of our being. Become one with him through Christ. In that way, his life becomes our life. His love becomes our love. His purpose becomes our purpose. His goal becomes our goal. We are redeemed. We communicate his love and become broken bread to those around us.
Think what kind of a world we would live in if we accepted Jesus’ lifestyle and adopted it as our own. No child would ever die of hunger. No senior citizen would be lonely. AIDS would be wiped out, because we would not be hoarding needed drugs out of greed. We would be using good stewardship of the resources of the world. We would be attentive to one another, using the gifts that God has given to us. We would be serving at the table of the world.
Every time we say the Lord's Prayer, we pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Are we like the crowds that followed Jesus? Are we asking for a free meal? Are we asking merely to have our material needs met? Or are we asking to be fed, to be nurtured spiritually by the true bread, Jesus Christ? Perhaps we simply rattle it off, not even conscious of what we are praying.
I am going to make a challenge to you. This week take those words and let them speak to you. Every day this week pray the Lord’s Prayer. Really pray, thinking about what it would mean to a hungry world to be fed those words of life. Think about it. We would die but not remain dead, because we would have eaten the bread of life. We would be like Jesus was, is and will be forever.
That is the Christian message. It speaks about sin and salvation, about death and life, about dying to sin and coming alive to God, about creation and redemption. What God has done in Christ affects not only us, but also the whole of creation. It is a call to renewal, to work with God to discern God's presence. It is about doing God's will, so that we can be transformed and then go on to be transformers in society.
What happens in the Eucharist happens on behalf of the whole world. The bread set before us brings the starving into our presence. It brings the joyless, the sick the suffering. For it is a reminder that what we hold, we hold in trust for all. So let us break bread together. Let us eat. Let us be bread for a broken world. Amen.
Saturday, July 14, 2018
8th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 15, Year B
Let’s Dance an Alleluia!
Readings: 2 Samuel 6:1-4, 12b-19; Psalm 24; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29
We have two very different dances in the readings today; one, a dance of life, the other a macabre dance of death.
The dance of life is a great parade with lots of music, song and dance, an exuberant celebration of God’s presence. David and the people of Israel dance before the Lord. The Ark of the Covenant, a symbol of their common life together is returned to the city amidst great rejoicing. This is not David, the dignified King. This is a down to earth David, truly celebrating with the people. He gives in with his whole being, heart, body and soul.
There is, of course an undercurrent of unrest. There is no doubt in my mind that David loves God in these wonderful stories, but there is also little doubt that he loves himself more. David is not without political motivation. It is a victory, after all; one that has not been without violence. We will see that other side of David in the stories that follow. And even in this story, not everyone is pleased with David’s joyful dance. An irreconcilable rift comes between David and his wife Michal. She does not join in the celebration. In fact, David may never have treated her as a wife the rest of her life. There is certainly political motivation behind that. If she were to have children, Saul’s line would continue. Her barrenness completes God’s choice of David and the rejection of Saul.
The dance of death is a story made in Hollywood. In fact, it has been made into a movie. There is also an opera, Salome, depicting the story. Richard Strauss achieved instant success with it. If you have ever seen the opera you know that he admirably captures not only its fairy tale qualities but also its horror. It has an amazing, if terrifying appeal.
The setting is a magnificent banquet hall in Herod’s palace. From a terrace at one side of the hall you can see the dungeon in which John is confined. Salome goes out onto the moonlit terrace to take a look at the prisoner. John has denounced Salome’s mother, Herodias saying that she is an evil woman. Salome is at the same time smitten by John and angered by his words. He seals his fate when she tries to lure him, and he rebukes her instead of succumbing to her charms. Later, during the sumptuous feast, Herod asks the beautiful Salome to dance for him. He tempts her by offering to give her anything she asks. She performs the seductive Dance of the Seven Veils. After its wild climax she demands the head of John the Baptist. Herod, knowing that it is wrong, offers her anything else, peacocks, gems. But he finally gives in and has John executed, then in a fit of remorse kills Salome as well.
The facts, though distorted from Mark’s account, do not change the effect of the story. The adultery, the evil, the lack of conscience, the weakness, the spirit of intrigue; all are in opposition to God. John is caught up in the vicious feuding of an evil family. It foreshadows for us the way Jesus gets caught up in the sinful power struggle that leads to his death.
Mark’s story of John’s death is incredibly sophisticated. The characters are truly complex. It tells far more about Herod, Herodias and her daughter than it does about John. The girl is young and impressionable, not yet capable of thinking for herself. Herodias has it in for John to a violent degree. Herod is a total contradiction. He likes to listen to what John has to say, but is condemned because of his adulterous relationship. He protects John, but then has him killed. He is boastful, but he is afraid. He is truly sorrowful for what he has done. Perhaps underneath it all he is a person honestly seeking the truth.
The real question for me all week has been is there a message in the gospel that is relevant for Christians living in the world today? And the answer is, most definitely! I know that it is said that religion and politics should not mix. However, that is impossible, at least in this instance. The reading is about justice. It invites us, above all, to have the courage to be truth tellers. There are consequences, even today, to bearing the prophetic voice. As Anglicans we love to play it safe in order not to offend. There is a sobering reality in the story that calls us to stop playing it safe and take a risk for our faith.
How many times has this story been lived out in our own era? It is a truly contemporary story. It could have been written about Oscar Romero, the voice of the voiceless in El Salvador. An all-powerful government martyred him as the church looked on helplessly.
It could have been written about Esquivel, a human rights worker in Argentina, the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1980. In spite of torture, he continued to witness to his faith and to help the families of those who disappeared, fight back against an oppressive regime.
It is the story of continuing terrorist acts throughout the world. Senseless killing and loss of life carried out over and over again in the name of God! Consider the current situation in the world. There is Syria. More than 400,000 people have died because of the Syrian conflict since 2011, with five million seeking refuge abroad and over six million displaced internally. There have been chemical attacks, civilian casualties, the withholding of humanitarian aid, starvation as a war tactic, torture and ill treatment. The list goes on, and countries around the world argue about their responsibility to help.
And what about the ecology? What really are we doing about global warming? Are we simply giving it lip service and hoping that the whole problem doesn’t affect us? How do we forge the link between human rights and environmental abuses?
We cannot forget our responsibility here at home. Canada enjoys a global reputation as a defender of human rights, yet we face longstanding human rights challenges, particularly when it comes to our indigenous peoples; inadequate access to safe drinking water, mercury poisoning, violence against Indigenous women and girls, treaty rights. We also need to grapple with human rights issues in relation to immigration. The United States is not the only country to hold children in immigration detention.
The story of Herod and the death of John the Baptist is shocking. But by far the most shocking thing about it is that someone who could have acted differently didn’t. That is also what is most shocking about the stories of violence that take place in our daily lives. For most of the time someone who could have acted differently didn’t, resulting in lives scarred irreparably or lost.
Any act of violence is shocking, all the more shocking when we see that violence is so commonplace. It has become an expression of frustration, which by its silence is condoned by society. We need to find a cure. There are many models put forth for violent behaviour. Movies and television are full of them. Can we replace such models of violence, such heroes, with models of peace, with our own heroes and role models? Can people like St. Francis, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King and Jean Vanier be role models to us? Can we ask God for peace in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls?
The gospel is a call to each of us to seek for justice in the face of entrenched political power. We are called to fight against the violence that abounds in our world. We do not need to be part of it. We can overcome it. We can let God’s peace flourish within us. This can be a different world. Is not that the message of the cross? Jesus came to bring peace. Let us be instruments of peace.
Perhaps the answer lies after all in David’s dance of life. Is it time to put aside the balance sheet, the BCP and the BAS and simply kick up our heels and dance an alleluia to the giver of all good and perfect gifts? Amen
Readings: 2 Samuel 6:1-4, 12b-19; Psalm 24; Ephesians 1:3-14; Mark 6:14-29
We have two very different dances in the readings today; one, a dance of life, the other a macabre dance of death.
The dance of life is a great parade with lots of music, song and dance, an exuberant celebration of God’s presence. David and the people of Israel dance before the Lord. The Ark of the Covenant, a symbol of their common life together is returned to the city amidst great rejoicing. This is not David, the dignified King. This is a down to earth David, truly celebrating with the people. He gives in with his whole being, heart, body and soul.
There is, of course an undercurrent of unrest. There is no doubt in my mind that David loves God in these wonderful stories, but there is also little doubt that he loves himself more. David is not without political motivation. It is a victory, after all; one that has not been without violence. We will see that other side of David in the stories that follow. And even in this story, not everyone is pleased with David’s joyful dance. An irreconcilable rift comes between David and his wife Michal. She does not join in the celebration. In fact, David may never have treated her as a wife the rest of her life. There is certainly political motivation behind that. If she were to have children, Saul’s line would continue. Her barrenness completes God’s choice of David and the rejection of Saul.
The dance of death is a story made in Hollywood. In fact, it has been made into a movie. There is also an opera, Salome, depicting the story. Richard Strauss achieved instant success with it. If you have ever seen the opera you know that he admirably captures not only its fairy tale qualities but also its horror. It has an amazing, if terrifying appeal.
The setting is a magnificent banquet hall in Herod’s palace. From a terrace at one side of the hall you can see the dungeon in which John is confined. Salome goes out onto the moonlit terrace to take a look at the prisoner. John has denounced Salome’s mother, Herodias saying that she is an evil woman. Salome is at the same time smitten by John and angered by his words. He seals his fate when she tries to lure him, and he rebukes her instead of succumbing to her charms. Later, during the sumptuous feast, Herod asks the beautiful Salome to dance for him. He tempts her by offering to give her anything she asks. She performs the seductive Dance of the Seven Veils. After its wild climax she demands the head of John the Baptist. Herod, knowing that it is wrong, offers her anything else, peacocks, gems. But he finally gives in and has John executed, then in a fit of remorse kills Salome as well.
The facts, though distorted from Mark’s account, do not change the effect of the story. The adultery, the evil, the lack of conscience, the weakness, the spirit of intrigue; all are in opposition to God. John is caught up in the vicious feuding of an evil family. It foreshadows for us the way Jesus gets caught up in the sinful power struggle that leads to his death.
Mark’s story of John’s death is incredibly sophisticated. The characters are truly complex. It tells far more about Herod, Herodias and her daughter than it does about John. The girl is young and impressionable, not yet capable of thinking for herself. Herodias has it in for John to a violent degree. Herod is a total contradiction. He likes to listen to what John has to say, but is condemned because of his adulterous relationship. He protects John, but then has him killed. He is boastful, but he is afraid. He is truly sorrowful for what he has done. Perhaps underneath it all he is a person honestly seeking the truth.
The real question for me all week has been is there a message in the gospel that is relevant for Christians living in the world today? And the answer is, most definitely! I know that it is said that religion and politics should not mix. However, that is impossible, at least in this instance. The reading is about justice. It invites us, above all, to have the courage to be truth tellers. There are consequences, even today, to bearing the prophetic voice. As Anglicans we love to play it safe in order not to offend. There is a sobering reality in the story that calls us to stop playing it safe and take a risk for our faith.
How many times has this story been lived out in our own era? It is a truly contemporary story. It could have been written about Oscar Romero, the voice of the voiceless in El Salvador. An all-powerful government martyred him as the church looked on helplessly.
It could have been written about Esquivel, a human rights worker in Argentina, the recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1980. In spite of torture, he continued to witness to his faith and to help the families of those who disappeared, fight back against an oppressive regime.
It is the story of continuing terrorist acts throughout the world. Senseless killing and loss of life carried out over and over again in the name of God! Consider the current situation in the world. There is Syria. More than 400,000 people have died because of the Syrian conflict since 2011, with five million seeking refuge abroad and over six million displaced internally. There have been chemical attacks, civilian casualties, the withholding of humanitarian aid, starvation as a war tactic, torture and ill treatment. The list goes on, and countries around the world argue about their responsibility to help.
And what about the ecology? What really are we doing about global warming? Are we simply giving it lip service and hoping that the whole problem doesn’t affect us? How do we forge the link between human rights and environmental abuses?
We cannot forget our responsibility here at home. Canada enjoys a global reputation as a defender of human rights, yet we face longstanding human rights challenges, particularly when it comes to our indigenous peoples; inadequate access to safe drinking water, mercury poisoning, violence against Indigenous women and girls, treaty rights. We also need to grapple with human rights issues in relation to immigration. The United States is not the only country to hold children in immigration detention.
The story of Herod and the death of John the Baptist is shocking. But by far the most shocking thing about it is that someone who could have acted differently didn’t. That is also what is most shocking about the stories of violence that take place in our daily lives. For most of the time someone who could have acted differently didn’t, resulting in lives scarred irreparably or lost.
Any act of violence is shocking, all the more shocking when we see that violence is so commonplace. It has become an expression of frustration, which by its silence is condoned by society. We need to find a cure. There are many models put forth for violent behaviour. Movies and television are full of them. Can we replace such models of violence, such heroes, with models of peace, with our own heroes and role models? Can people like St. Francis, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King and Jean Vanier be role models to us? Can we ask God for peace in our hearts, in our minds, in our souls?
The gospel is a call to each of us to seek for justice in the face of entrenched political power. We are called to fight against the violence that abounds in our world. We do not need to be part of it. We can overcome it. We can let God’s peace flourish within us. This can be a different world. Is not that the message of the cross? Jesus came to bring peace. Let us be instruments of peace.
Perhaps the answer lies after all in David’s dance of life. Is it time to put aside the balance sheet, the BCP and the BAS and simply kick up our heels and dance an alleluia to the giver of all good and perfect gifts? Amen
Saturday, July 7, 2018
Proper 14, Year B
Just Get Over It
Readings:
2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
Psalm 48
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13
Growing up the middle child of five had its challenges. There was one particular evening when I was left in charge of my brother four years younger than I. Patrick was to say the least, a handful. During the course of the evening we had an argument over something or other and Patrick flung his shoe at me, I ducked and it hit a lovely Italian ceramic tiled bowl, a gift that my mother cherished. When my parents came home I explained what had happened, and instead of being angry with Patrick it became and was known ever after as the bowl Ann broke. I did duck, after all.
Fast forward to my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. I searched and found a bowl very much like the one that had been broken all those years ago. I wrapped it beautifully and presented it to my mother. She opened it and exclaimed, “That’s just like the one you broke!” There are some things in life that simply never get forgotten.
Jesus had that experience. He was preaching in his hometown synagogue. His message and ministry there were heckled and rejected. People were not able or willing to understand how he could speak with such authority and wisdom. “Where does it all come from?” they ask. After all, isn’t he just a carpenter, the son of Mary? Joe’s kid from down the street? Don’t some of his brothers still live in the town? While they acknowledge his wisdom and power they cannot really accept it. After all, they knew him when he was growing up.
Jesus doesn’t really give it a second thought. He doesn’t let it consume him. “Prophets are not without honour, except in their hometown, and among their kin, and in their own house,” he comments. Jesus is simply saying that this is the way things are.
Families and people who have known us our whole lives have a habit of cutting us down to size, sometimes gently, often harshly. You can grow up and mature and have a respectable position in the community and still be remembered as the brat who was always getting into trouble. You can be a dependable parent yourself and still be reminded about your teen years when you tried your parents’ patience by coming in late. People can even take offense at your achievements. Human nature being what it is, rather than admit blindness to someone’s growth and change we become angry. How dare he or she prove our assumptions so wrong?
Jesus knew that his disciples would also face rejection. He prepared them for it. He gave them some directions, some rules. They had to take care of their own travel. That is what the staff and sandals were for. But for the rest of their needs they were to depend on the hospitality and resources of the community.
What was it that Jesus wanted the disciples to learn as he sent them out? He has nurtured them. Now he gives them responsibility and the opportunity to decide and respond and to act on their own. He sends them out in pairs. We need mutual support and encouragement. How important it is to have feedback on how your ministry is going! But most of all he is teaching them that they are to rely on God. They are to have no reliance upon their own means. Messengers who wish to provide for every emergency simply do not have enough faith. How can you believe the word of those who rely on their resources rather than on the message they proclaim? They are to make use of what is provided, but things are in no way to become a hindrance to them.
Most of us do not have the ability or opportunity to come to such an understanding as the disciples did through an experience provided for their learning. Unfortunately in our human fallibility, it takes the crunches, the difficult times of life to bring us closer to God. It is times of affliction, trouble and adversity that cause us to seek refuge and dependence on a higher power.
For one it might be a diagnosis of cancer. How does one deal with the initial shock of the illness? How does one deal with the resulting treatments that leave one physically and emotionally spent? How does one deal with friends who find such illness threatening? How does one face one’s own sense of mortality?
For another it might be the death of a loved one after a long illness. The prospect of a life alone! How does one fill lonely days, which have been spent in the care and nurture of one who has been ill? How does one deal with feelings of inadequacy and guilt? How does one deal with anger at being abandoned?
For another it may be the loss of a job after a lifetime of dedicated service. How does one begin again? How does one face the financial crunch of being out of work or the feelings of inadequacy, as one gets turned down for job after job in these difficult economic times? How does one even get up in the morning knowing that there is no job to go to?
It was a crunch time for the apostle Paul that brought him to know that he could depend on God for his needs. He shares at a very deep level about a spiritual experience in his life. It is far from clear just what he experienced, but such things are often beyond words. Then he admits that it was the thorn in his flesh whatever that might have been, and not the mystical experience that caused him to put his reliance on God. He kept asking God to remove the “thorn”. Finally he accepted God’s response. “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”
By ourselves we are inadequate to deal with our brokenness. The things that happen to us, the tragedies and difficult times, cause us to question our faith. Can that same brokenness which leads us to seek God help us in some tangible way to cling to God? Can the memory of our brokenness help us to hold on to that sense of dependency when things are going well? Can the reminders of our brokenness prevent us from going backwards in our faith journey?
Henri Nouwen, a Roman Catholic priest and the author of the book “The Wounded Healer”, explains that it is our brokenness that allows us to minister to others. It provides us with an understanding of the brokenness of others. In our brokenness we reach out in compassion to others.
I can well imagine that it was Jesus’ compassion for those in need, which led him to give authority to the twelve whom he had chosen. He certainly intended that in this first period of preaching, they would learn that his power extended beyond his presence and could even be delegated to them. They would learn to depend on God for their needs. They would learn that God could supply their temporal needs. They would learn that despite opposition, God would not fail them. They would learn that even in their weakness they could depend on God.
“My grace is sufficient for you,” God is saying to each one of us. Can we open ourselves to God working through our weaknesses? Can we see God’s grace at work in our lives? Can we learn that reliance on God will help us, not only in our daily lives, but will allow us, in compassion to reach out to others? Amen.
Readings:
2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10
Psalm 48
2 Corinthians 12:2-10
Mark 6:1-13
Growing up the middle child of five had its challenges. There was one particular evening when I was left in charge of my brother four years younger than I. Patrick was to say the least, a handful. During the course of the evening we had an argument over something or other and Patrick flung his shoe at me, I ducked and it hit a lovely Italian ceramic tiled bowl, a gift that my mother cherished. When my parents came home I explained what had happened, and instead of being angry with Patrick it became and was known ever after as the bowl Ann broke. I did duck, after all.
Fast forward to my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. I searched and found a bowl very much like the one that had been broken all those years ago. I wrapped it beautifully and presented it to my mother. She opened it and exclaimed, “That’s just like the one you broke!” There are some things in life that simply never get forgotten.
Jesus had that experience. He was preaching in his hometown synagogue. His message and ministry there were heckled and rejected. People were not able or willing to understand how he could speak with such authority and wisdom. “Where does it all come from?” they ask. After all, isn’t he just a carpenter, the son of Mary? Joe’s kid from down the street? Don’t some of his brothers still live in the town? While they acknowledge his wisdom and power they cannot really accept it. After all, they knew him when he was growing up.
Jesus doesn’t really give it a second thought. He doesn’t let it consume him. “Prophets are not without honour, except in their hometown, and among their kin, and in their own house,” he comments. Jesus is simply saying that this is the way things are.
Families and people who have known us our whole lives have a habit of cutting us down to size, sometimes gently, often harshly. You can grow up and mature and have a respectable position in the community and still be remembered as the brat who was always getting into trouble. You can be a dependable parent yourself and still be reminded about your teen years when you tried your parents’ patience by coming in late. People can even take offense at your achievements. Human nature being what it is, rather than admit blindness to someone’s growth and change we become angry. How dare he or she prove our assumptions so wrong?
Jesus knew that his disciples would also face rejection. He prepared them for it. He gave them some directions, some rules. They had to take care of their own travel. That is what the staff and sandals were for. But for the rest of their needs they were to depend on the hospitality and resources of the community.
What was it that Jesus wanted the disciples to learn as he sent them out? He has nurtured them. Now he gives them responsibility and the opportunity to decide and respond and to act on their own. He sends them out in pairs. We need mutual support and encouragement. How important it is to have feedback on how your ministry is going! But most of all he is teaching them that they are to rely on God. They are to have no reliance upon their own means. Messengers who wish to provide for every emergency simply do not have enough faith. How can you believe the word of those who rely on their resources rather than on the message they proclaim? They are to make use of what is provided, but things are in no way to become a hindrance to them.
Most of us do not have the ability or opportunity to come to such an understanding as the disciples did through an experience provided for their learning. Unfortunately in our human fallibility, it takes the crunches, the difficult times of life to bring us closer to God. It is times of affliction, trouble and adversity that cause us to seek refuge and dependence on a higher power.
For one it might be a diagnosis of cancer. How does one deal with the initial shock of the illness? How does one deal with the resulting treatments that leave one physically and emotionally spent? How does one deal with friends who find such illness threatening? How does one face one’s own sense of mortality?
For another it might be the death of a loved one after a long illness. The prospect of a life alone! How does one fill lonely days, which have been spent in the care and nurture of one who has been ill? How does one deal with feelings of inadequacy and guilt? How does one deal with anger at being abandoned?
For another it may be the loss of a job after a lifetime of dedicated service. How does one begin again? How does one face the financial crunch of being out of work or the feelings of inadequacy, as one gets turned down for job after job in these difficult economic times? How does one even get up in the morning knowing that there is no job to go to?
It was a crunch time for the apostle Paul that brought him to know that he could depend on God for his needs. He shares at a very deep level about a spiritual experience in his life. It is far from clear just what he experienced, but such things are often beyond words. Then he admits that it was the thorn in his flesh whatever that might have been, and not the mystical experience that caused him to put his reliance on God. He kept asking God to remove the “thorn”. Finally he accepted God’s response. “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”
By ourselves we are inadequate to deal with our brokenness. The things that happen to us, the tragedies and difficult times, cause us to question our faith. Can that same brokenness which leads us to seek God help us in some tangible way to cling to God? Can the memory of our brokenness help us to hold on to that sense of dependency when things are going well? Can the reminders of our brokenness prevent us from going backwards in our faith journey?
Henri Nouwen, a Roman Catholic priest and the author of the book “The Wounded Healer”, explains that it is our brokenness that allows us to minister to others. It provides us with an understanding of the brokenness of others. In our brokenness we reach out in compassion to others.
I can well imagine that it was Jesus’ compassion for those in need, which led him to give authority to the twelve whom he had chosen. He certainly intended that in this first period of preaching, they would learn that his power extended beyond his presence and could even be delegated to them. They would learn to depend on God for their needs. They would learn that God could supply their temporal needs. They would learn that despite opposition, God would not fail them. They would learn that even in their weakness they could depend on God.
“My grace is sufficient for you,” God is saying to each one of us. Can we open ourselves to God working through our weaknesses? Can we see God’s grace at work in our lives? Can we learn that reliance on God will help us, not only in our daily lives, but will allow us, in compassion to reach out to others? Amen.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Proper 13, Year B
At the End of Your Rope
Readings: 1:1, 117-27; Psalm 130; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43
I am sure that like me there are times in your life when you have felt that you were at the end of your rope. Life throws us all sorts of curves. Many things can bring us to that point. The loss of a job, the death of a spouse or a close family member, a marriage on the brink of divorce! You get to the point where you have tried everything but simply have no confidence that things are going to work out.
Jesus in his earthly ministry touched the lives of many who were at the end of their rope. He gave hope to the poor. He offered forgiveness to those loaded with the cares of the world. He went about healing the sick. He lived his life following God’s will. In today’s gospel reading we hear two stories about people whose lives are intertwined. They are stories of people at the end of their rope. First a leader of the synagogue named Jairus came and knelt at Jesus’ feet begging him to come and lay hands on his twelve-year-old daughter who was near death. As he responded to the man’s plea, the crowd followed along. Then there is an interruption. The story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter is put on hold as another story unfolds.
In the crowd was a woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years. Because of the strict purity laws of the Jewish people, such an ailment forced the woman to live in isolation. She was deemed unclean. Indeed, she had lost her whole fortune making the rounds of various doctors without getting any better. In fact, she was getting worse. She was at the end of her rope.
She had heard about Jesus. “If only I could touch his clothes,” she thought, “I would be healed.” She elbowed her way through the crowd. She touched his clothing, just the very edge, the hem of his garment. That was all she dared to do. That very instant she felt power invading and healing her. Jesus felt power leaving him.
He wondered what he had felt. “Who touched my clothes?” he asked. The disciples laughed. “You’re in a crowd. Of course someone touched you.”
The disciples were right. Hundreds of people were touching Jesus that day. But nothing happened to them. The touching of Jesus had no power in and of itself. No power went out of him. Jesus realized that what happened was not merely a tiresome interruption, but a moment of immense significance for someone. That power came when the woman reached out in faith. Power comes when you reach out in faith. It happens at the moment when you share Jesus’ vision and in that sharing you share his power.
The woman was healed because she believed, because she took the initiative and reached out. Isn’t that what Jesus told her? “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.” She brought her own gifts to the situation. She was determined to struggle and to overcome her condition even when others would have become discouraged. She had hopefulness and trust, both amazing gifts to nurture within ourselves.
Then Jesus returned to the matter at hand. Some people came from Jairus’ house giving an update on the little girl’s condition. “She is dead! Don’t trouble the teacher any more.” But it was no trouble for Jesus. “Have faith!” he told the father. Then he and the three he allowed to follow him went to the house. Family and friends were already grieving the child’s death. “The child is not dead. She is just sleeping.” Jesus and the disciples hear the sound of nervous laughter. Jesus goes in alone. “Little girl, get up!” he tells her, taking her by the hand. And she awakens. She gets up and has something to eat.
These are powerful stories of healing. They raise so many questions and feelings in us. We believe in God. We pray, at least out of desperation. We try to follow his example. But when it comes down to it, we fail to allow Christ to be living and active at the centre of our beings. We come to Jesus. We hear his words speaking to us from the gospel stories. We express our needs through the liturgy and in our prayers. We praise Jesus in the hymns we sing. We touch him as we receive his body and blood in the Eucharist. But we allow our feelings of guilt, our weakness, our failures, the tragedies in our lives, to overwhelm us. Perhaps our touch has not really been the touch of faith. Have we been simply jostling Jesus in the crowd rather than embracing him?
But on the other hand perhaps the answer has to do with the purpose for miracles in Jesus’ ministry. They are not for show, or to convince skeptics, or to gain notoriety. They are acts of compassion in response to human need. Above all, they are signs of God’s realm breaking into our world. A woman in the crowd reached out in faith and touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and was healed. Jesus asked a grieving father to believe that God has begun working to make all things new here and now, and his daughter was restored to health. Two people at the end of their ropes are renewed in faith and hope.
So what do we believe in when we reach the end of our rope? Looking around at the state of the world in which we live makes it doubly hard to believe in anything, much less miracles. When life brings us something so painful, so devastating, that it feels as if we are beyond what is humanly possible to endure, what do we do then? Where do we turn? Is there a way to face devastating loss without giving up our faith?
We can do as we so often do, and reach out to our friends and family for support. We can reach deep into our own resources believing that our life is not over, that where one door may have closed, another is opening. Perhaps the most important thing to do is to look back at how God has been with us in the past, look to the one who has carried us throughout our lives. Then perhaps we can be assured that God is working in and through all the heartbreak and suffering in the world to bring about new life.
Let us know the healing touch of God in our lives. Let us be willing channels of God’s healing grace.
Readings: 1:1, 117-27; Psalm 130; 2 Corinthians 8:7-15; Mark 5:21-43
I am sure that like me there are times in your life when you have felt that you were at the end of your rope. Life throws us all sorts of curves. Many things can bring us to that point. The loss of a job, the death of a spouse or a close family member, a marriage on the brink of divorce! You get to the point where you have tried everything but simply have no confidence that things are going to work out.
Jesus in his earthly ministry touched the lives of many who were at the end of their rope. He gave hope to the poor. He offered forgiveness to those loaded with the cares of the world. He went about healing the sick. He lived his life following God’s will. In today’s gospel reading we hear two stories about people whose lives are intertwined. They are stories of people at the end of their rope. First a leader of the synagogue named Jairus came and knelt at Jesus’ feet begging him to come and lay hands on his twelve-year-old daughter who was near death. As he responded to the man’s plea, the crowd followed along. Then there is an interruption. The story of the healing of Jairus’ daughter is put on hold as another story unfolds.
In the crowd was a woman who had been suffering from haemorrhages for twelve years. Because of the strict purity laws of the Jewish people, such an ailment forced the woman to live in isolation. She was deemed unclean. Indeed, she had lost her whole fortune making the rounds of various doctors without getting any better. In fact, she was getting worse. She was at the end of her rope.
She had heard about Jesus. “If only I could touch his clothes,” she thought, “I would be healed.” She elbowed her way through the crowd. She touched his clothing, just the very edge, the hem of his garment. That was all she dared to do. That very instant she felt power invading and healing her. Jesus felt power leaving him.
He wondered what he had felt. “Who touched my clothes?” he asked. The disciples laughed. “You’re in a crowd. Of course someone touched you.”
The disciples were right. Hundreds of people were touching Jesus that day. But nothing happened to them. The touching of Jesus had no power in and of itself. No power went out of him. Jesus realized that what happened was not merely a tiresome interruption, but a moment of immense significance for someone. That power came when the woman reached out in faith. Power comes when you reach out in faith. It happens at the moment when you share Jesus’ vision and in that sharing you share his power.
The woman was healed because she believed, because she took the initiative and reached out. Isn’t that what Jesus told her? “Your faith has made you well. Go in peace and be healed of your disease.” She brought her own gifts to the situation. She was determined to struggle and to overcome her condition even when others would have become discouraged. She had hopefulness and trust, both amazing gifts to nurture within ourselves.
Then Jesus returned to the matter at hand. Some people came from Jairus’ house giving an update on the little girl’s condition. “She is dead! Don’t trouble the teacher any more.” But it was no trouble for Jesus. “Have faith!” he told the father. Then he and the three he allowed to follow him went to the house. Family and friends were already grieving the child’s death. “The child is not dead. She is just sleeping.” Jesus and the disciples hear the sound of nervous laughter. Jesus goes in alone. “Little girl, get up!” he tells her, taking her by the hand. And she awakens. She gets up and has something to eat.
These are powerful stories of healing. They raise so many questions and feelings in us. We believe in God. We pray, at least out of desperation. We try to follow his example. But when it comes down to it, we fail to allow Christ to be living and active at the centre of our beings. We come to Jesus. We hear his words speaking to us from the gospel stories. We express our needs through the liturgy and in our prayers. We praise Jesus in the hymns we sing. We touch him as we receive his body and blood in the Eucharist. But we allow our feelings of guilt, our weakness, our failures, the tragedies in our lives, to overwhelm us. Perhaps our touch has not really been the touch of faith. Have we been simply jostling Jesus in the crowd rather than embracing him?
But on the other hand perhaps the answer has to do with the purpose for miracles in Jesus’ ministry. They are not for show, or to convince skeptics, or to gain notoriety. They are acts of compassion in response to human need. Above all, they are signs of God’s realm breaking into our world. A woman in the crowd reached out in faith and touched the hem of Jesus’ garment and was healed. Jesus asked a grieving father to believe that God has begun working to make all things new here and now, and his daughter was restored to health. Two people at the end of their ropes are renewed in faith and hope.
So what do we believe in when we reach the end of our rope? Looking around at the state of the world in which we live makes it doubly hard to believe in anything, much less miracles. When life brings us something so painful, so devastating, that it feels as if we are beyond what is humanly possible to endure, what do we do then? Where do we turn? Is there a way to face devastating loss without giving up our faith?
We can do as we so often do, and reach out to our friends and family for support. We can reach deep into our own resources believing that our life is not over, that where one door may have closed, another is opening. Perhaps the most important thing to do is to look back at how God has been with us in the past, look to the one who has carried us throughout our lives. Then perhaps we can be assured that God is working in and through all the heartbreak and suffering in the world to bring about new life.
Let us know the healing touch of God in our lives. Let us be willing channels of God’s healing grace.
Saturday, June 9, 2018
Proper 10, Year B
Do Not Lose Heart
Readings: 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1; Psalm 138; Mark 3:20-35
There is a consistent, though difficult and troublesome, theme throughout the readings today, that of spirits and the ever-present reality of spiritual warfare in the human soul and human affairs. Our twenty-first century mindset responds in one of two ways to such a theme. We either totally deny the existence of such a reality. Let’s face it! God is not the only being to suffer death in the last century. Or it becomes a god. Look at how many people put their trust in fortunetellers or the gurus of modern society. A friend of mine, recently bereaved, who discounts anything to do with religion told me in detail about a palm reading that she had. “You wouldn’t believe how right the fortune teller was,” she said to me. “She knew my husband’s name. She told me that everything was going to be fine. Of course, I don’t really believe it, but …” It means that as Christians it is of the utmost importance that we examine spiritual realities. What is more, such realities can cause us to lose hope.
Paul’s reflections in his letter to the people of Corinth were about the spiritual warfare that he was facing. His was a common battle, one that many of us face. He wrote about the spirit of hopelessness that he faced in his life. That sense of hopelessness can be totally pervasive of your life. It can cause you to lose heart, to simply give up, to forget about your responsibilities. Paul knew all about that. When he converted to Christianity it put him at odds with his Jewish heritage. It also put him at odds with the Roman authorities.
Probably the most significant factor was Paul’s involvement with the Christian community at Corinth. The Corinthians were a constant source of aggravation to him. As they came to terms with their newfound faith, they were poised between two cultures that often clashed. The influence of Greco-Roman society on the congregation was profound. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians reflects the problems with which he had to deal – the influence of the current philosophy as well as the issues of patronage, idolatry, immorality, social standing, and secularism. Not only that, but the church membership changed in number and character in the years following Paul’s departure. His absence, along with a succession of other preachers like Apollos and Cephas led to a crisis in Corinth. Paul invariably ended up in the middle of the fracas.
No wonder he began to lose heart. And yet Paul knew that there was one thing that could lift him out of his moments of depression and weariness. For Paul the Resurrection was not only a past event. He believed it passionately as such, but at the same time he realized that it could be a present source of grace when he needed it most. He knew that death could issue in resurrection. The resurrection was a reality in his life.
Jesus too grappled with spiritual warfare. One day when Jesus returned to his home in Capernaum he could not find any privacy. The crowds even followed him into the house. They would not leave him alone. He could not even get himself something to eat. There were the usual curiosity seekers who wanted to see the miracle worker for themselves. There were the hopeless who needed a miracle. There were the devout who simply wanted to be near this wonderful person. And there were the detractors. They were by far the worst. They lied about him. They said that he must be mad, that his works were the work of the devil.
Most disheartening of all, Jesus’ family bought into the whole situation. Families so often do that. They listen to the opinions around them. They base their own decisions on the popular points of view. Jesus’ family was no different. They found they could not simply dismiss the crowds. They wouldn’t go away. They upset the whole routine of the household. They could tell themselves that it was Jesus’ safety that concerned them. They could say that the accusations against Jesus reflected on them as a family. It was embarrassing. They tried their best to restrain him. But it was impossible.
It must have been disheartening, but Jesus did not lose heart. In fact, he answered them all in a way that they could understand. To the people who followed him he spoke in stories that spoke to their lives. To the Scribes and Pharisees he spoke in logic with which they could wrestle. He answered their criticism. "How can Satan cast out Satan?" It is not logical. "You don't enter a strong man's house to plunder it without first tying him up." It really would be insane to attempt it.
Perhaps the most difficult thing to grasp is what he said about his family. “Who are my mother and my brothers?” It is easy to hear Jesus’ words today as a rejection of the family who were once his entire world. That is not what is happening here. Jesus is expanding the definition in a way that opens up the whole understanding of what it means to be family. “Whoever does the will of God is my mother and my brother and my sister,” Jesus says. Family is marked by the choices we make. Throughout his earthly ministry he will say it in many different ways. He will sum it up with the commandment to love God and love neighbour.
What causes us to lose heart? Let’s fact it! A life of faith is not a free pass. All the faith in the world does not relieve us of the necessity of struggling with many things both from within and without ourselves. Faith is our resource to deal with the struggle, not a magic potion to give us the ability to avoid it. The fact is that the Christian community is a continuing source of grace to people. That is why we continue to struggle to keep faith.
There are so many things that can cause us to lose heart. The world and our experience of living within it gives us all sorts of causes and reasons for discouragement. We experience it in our lives, in our communities and in our congregations. It is easy to look at the fractured world in which we live and simply despair. Acts of terrorism touch every life. Acts of violence happen in every community. We witness the results of Global Warming while detractors say it is all a lie.
And in our churches we experience decline. Our congregations are not only dwindling but are aging. We compete not with other denominations that are also dwindling, but with many of the things that Paul dealt with. Secularism of society, immorality, social status, idolatry. We live in a world where so many things take the place of God. And yet we know that the cause for not losing heart cannot be what it once was. We are not going to get back what we consider to be the glory days of the church. Maybe God has something even more amazing, even more miraculous, than pews filled with people and Sunday School rooms overflowing. Maybe God has more in mind that simply finding ourselves in the black.
And I keep coming back to Paul’s urging not to lose heart. Where do we find heart? Like Paul we look for the signs of resurrection all around us. We see the resurrection not as some far distant past event, but as a present reality. We look for the signs of resurrection springing to life around us. We find it in the ‘aha’ moments of life when God speaks to us, when God affirms us. Most of all, we find it within the life of the Christian community, through our real family. Through their affirmation, through their companionship, through corporate worship, our life of prayer, through coming together as a community and sharing in the life of faith. That is how we renew our strength. Through the family of Christ we rekindle our faith. We renew the promises of our baptism. We live in hope. Amen.
Readings: 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1; Psalm 138; Mark 3:20-35
There is a consistent, though difficult and troublesome, theme throughout the readings today, that of spirits and the ever-present reality of spiritual warfare in the human soul and human affairs. Our twenty-first century mindset responds in one of two ways to such a theme. We either totally deny the existence of such a reality. Let’s face it! God is not the only being to suffer death in the last century. Or it becomes a god. Look at how many people put their trust in fortunetellers or the gurus of modern society. A friend of mine, recently bereaved, who discounts anything to do with religion told me in detail about a palm reading that she had. “You wouldn’t believe how right the fortune teller was,” she said to me. “She knew my husband’s name. She told me that everything was going to be fine. Of course, I don’t really believe it, but …” It means that as Christians it is of the utmost importance that we examine spiritual realities. What is more, such realities can cause us to lose hope.
Paul’s reflections in his letter to the people of Corinth were about the spiritual warfare that he was facing. His was a common battle, one that many of us face. He wrote about the spirit of hopelessness that he faced in his life. That sense of hopelessness can be totally pervasive of your life. It can cause you to lose heart, to simply give up, to forget about your responsibilities. Paul knew all about that. When he converted to Christianity it put him at odds with his Jewish heritage. It also put him at odds with the Roman authorities.
Probably the most significant factor was Paul’s involvement with the Christian community at Corinth. The Corinthians were a constant source of aggravation to him. As they came to terms with their newfound faith, they were poised between two cultures that often clashed. The influence of Greco-Roman society on the congregation was profound. Paul’s letter to the Corinthians reflects the problems with which he had to deal – the influence of the current philosophy as well as the issues of patronage, idolatry, immorality, social standing, and secularism. Not only that, but the church membership changed in number and character in the years following Paul’s departure. His absence, along with a succession of other preachers like Apollos and Cephas led to a crisis in Corinth. Paul invariably ended up in the middle of the fracas.
No wonder he began to lose heart. And yet Paul knew that there was one thing that could lift him out of his moments of depression and weariness. For Paul the Resurrection was not only a past event. He believed it passionately as such, but at the same time he realized that it could be a present source of grace when he needed it most. He knew that death could issue in resurrection. The resurrection was a reality in his life.
Jesus too grappled with spiritual warfare. One day when Jesus returned to his home in Capernaum he could not find any privacy. The crowds even followed him into the house. They would not leave him alone. He could not even get himself something to eat. There were the usual curiosity seekers who wanted to see the miracle worker for themselves. There were the hopeless who needed a miracle. There were the devout who simply wanted to be near this wonderful person. And there were the detractors. They were by far the worst. They lied about him. They said that he must be mad, that his works were the work of the devil.
Most disheartening of all, Jesus’ family bought into the whole situation. Families so often do that. They listen to the opinions around them. They base their own decisions on the popular points of view. Jesus’ family was no different. They found they could not simply dismiss the crowds. They wouldn’t go away. They upset the whole routine of the household. They could tell themselves that it was Jesus’ safety that concerned them. They could say that the accusations against Jesus reflected on them as a family. It was embarrassing. They tried their best to restrain him. But it was impossible.
It must have been disheartening, but Jesus did not lose heart. In fact, he answered them all in a way that they could understand. To the people who followed him he spoke in stories that spoke to their lives. To the Scribes and Pharisees he spoke in logic with which they could wrestle. He answered their criticism. "How can Satan cast out Satan?" It is not logical. "You don't enter a strong man's house to plunder it without first tying him up." It really would be insane to attempt it.
Perhaps the most difficult thing to grasp is what he said about his family. “Who are my mother and my brothers?” It is easy to hear Jesus’ words today as a rejection of the family who were once his entire world. That is not what is happening here. Jesus is expanding the definition in a way that opens up the whole understanding of what it means to be family. “Whoever does the will of God is my mother and my brother and my sister,” Jesus says. Family is marked by the choices we make. Throughout his earthly ministry he will say it in many different ways. He will sum it up with the commandment to love God and love neighbour.
What causes us to lose heart? Let’s fact it! A life of faith is not a free pass. All the faith in the world does not relieve us of the necessity of struggling with many things both from within and without ourselves. Faith is our resource to deal with the struggle, not a magic potion to give us the ability to avoid it. The fact is that the Christian community is a continuing source of grace to people. That is why we continue to struggle to keep faith.
There are so many things that can cause us to lose heart. The world and our experience of living within it gives us all sorts of causes and reasons for discouragement. We experience it in our lives, in our communities and in our congregations. It is easy to look at the fractured world in which we live and simply despair. Acts of terrorism touch every life. Acts of violence happen in every community. We witness the results of Global Warming while detractors say it is all a lie.
And in our churches we experience decline. Our congregations are not only dwindling but are aging. We compete not with other denominations that are also dwindling, but with many of the things that Paul dealt with. Secularism of society, immorality, social status, idolatry. We live in a world where so many things take the place of God. And yet we know that the cause for not losing heart cannot be what it once was. We are not going to get back what we consider to be the glory days of the church. Maybe God has something even more amazing, even more miraculous, than pews filled with people and Sunday School rooms overflowing. Maybe God has more in mind that simply finding ourselves in the black.
And I keep coming back to Paul’s urging not to lose heart. Where do we find heart? Like Paul we look for the signs of resurrection all around us. We see the resurrection not as some far distant past event, but as a present reality. We look for the signs of resurrection springing to life around us. We find it in the ‘aha’ moments of life when God speaks to us, when God affirms us. Most of all, we find it within the life of the Christian community, through our real family. Through their affirmation, through their companionship, through corporate worship, our life of prayer, through coming together as a community and sharing in the life of faith. That is how we renew our strength. Through the family of Christ we rekindle our faith. We renew the promises of our baptism. We live in hope. Amen.
Saturday, May 5, 2018
The Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year B
Sing a New Song
Readings: Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17
People often tell me that they cannot sing. Invariably the story will start something like, "When I was in grade one I was in the blackbird group. I was so out of tune the teacher made me mouth the words. I still can't sing." They talk about how terrible it felt to be excluded from classroom singing or from the choir.
Others of us remember the terror of choosing sides for a game. The two most popular, athletic types were always chosen as team leaders. The kids would gather around. One by one sides would be chosen. And there you would be, the odd person out, the only one not picked to play on a team. Then one of the leaders finally relents, "Oh, you can be on my team!" But because you're small and uncoordinated, you sit out most of the game or the star hovers around you grabbing the ball whenever it comes anywhere near you.
Are there ways as a Church that we exclude people? Certainly there is a vast improvement over the Church in which we grew up. Most of us can cite some experiences of what it feels like to be left out, to be excluded. I know that I can. I grew up knowing that God was calling me to ordained ministry. The problem is that I grew up in a church that totally excluded me. Male clergy, male servers, even the choir was men and boys. That is until I was about thirteen and my father fired the organist and hired me. What a joy it was when the first women were ordained. And of course, now I look back on twenty-six years of priestly ministry.
The problem of inclusivity is not unique to the present age. It is not some subversive campaign to bring about change no matter what. It is not some feminist critique of the hierarchy. It is not some way of fulfilling a feminist agenda. The early church struggled with how to maintain their identity as a community and with whom and how to include newcomers. They were a new sect in a changing and growing society; we are an old sect in an ever-changing society. The demands are the same.
That scene of growth and change is the context for the passage from the Acts of the Apostles, in fact, for the whole book as the early Christians grapple with what it means to be a Christian. The particular passage that was read today was a small part of the story of the conversion of a Gentile named Cornelius. An angel had appeared to him ordering him to send to Joppa for Peter. At the same time Peter had a vision of a great cloth being let down from heaven. In it were animals and birds, which were considered to be unclean by Jewish law. A voice ordered Peter to "kill and eat". Peter was unsure about the meaning of the vision, but when the Spirit ordered him to go with the messengers, he went willingly. After preaching to the people of Cornelius's household, "the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word" - even the Gentiles. The Jews were amazed as they heard these Gentile converts speaking in tongues. They had expected to have ownership over such manifestations of the Spirit. For Peter it was an aha moment. He began to understand the meaning of his vision. "Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people?" he said, and baptized them in the name of Jesus Christ.
It may not seem like much to you as the story is told, but to the early church it was a complete change, a revelation. They were Jews. Their little community was a small sect, an insignificant branch of the Jewish faith. They maintained their ties to the synagogue. Even in the dispersion as the Jews began to spread throughout the Greek world, the expectation was that Christianity would continue to grow within Judaism. They kept the Jewish traditions. They adhered to Jewish law. But to their amazement, perhaps chagrin, the Gentiles were drawn to this new sect.
Judaism has never been an evangelical faith. They do not proselytize. Except perhaps through marriage, one does not often become converted to Judaism. One is born a Jew. It is tied to nationality as much as it is to faith. The early Christians grappled with how to maintain their allegiance to Judaism and live out their Christian faith. Could they remain Jews and still open up their faith to include the Gentiles? Yet that is where the Holy Spirit seemed to be leading them. And they listened. Thank God for that!
When Peter and the early Christian community accepted Cornelius and his household as converts, they set a precedent, which changed their way of life completely. They went out on a limb for their faith. They went against culture, tradition, nationality, and religion. They were cut off from their roots. Yet their willingness to change opened up wonderful new possibilities. Christianity became a world religion.
Put that alongside the message of the Gospel. "Love one another as I have loved you," Jesus says. It is a call to inclusivity. It is not a call to love the loveable, the cuddly, the beautiful, the wealthy. It is a call to love those whom God has chosen. Yet what boundaries we put on God's love! We claim it exclusively for ourselves. We fail to affirm the validity of the religious experience of others simply because it does not resemble ours. We fail to respond to those who are looking for affirmation in their faith journey.
Jesus at the last supper offered the gift of himself. It was a gift without reservation, without restriction. In the Eucharist he continues to offer us that wonderful, free gift of grace. The reality of that giving is the model and criterion of Christian behaviour. We are called to "lay down our lives", to put others before ourselves, to love in a life-giving way. It is a call to be generous, not just by providing bread but also by sharing the deeper gift of oneself. In the Eucharist, we share the one bread and the one cup with each other as a sign that in our daily lives we strive to share our bread, our blessings, and ourselves with others. In carrying the mission of the church the Eucharist becomes honest and effective in our lives.
Jesus makes it very clear that we do not do the choosing. We are the chosen. It is a tremendous affirmation of who we are. Why should we have been chosen into intimate relationship with God? Do you have a long list of reasons? If it were others choosing the teams, would we make it? As you reflect on Jesus choosing you, what thoughts and feelings come to you? How do you respond? When and where have you recognized God's love in your life? Can you even figure out why God would choose you?
If we were doing the choosing who would we exclude, or leave on the sidelines? With Christ doing the choosing we may find a few people included whose presence we find disturbing. The stranger with his hand out for help may assail our sensitivities. We are called to be inclusive of children, the poor, young people, refugees, social activists, the physically challenged, the mentally challenged, women, men, all whom God has chosen. Each of us is called to make our hearts open to those whose presence may disturb our peace and our assumptions.
Last week after the tragic event on Yonge St. when so many people lost their lives, I was moved by the memorial service that brought people together as a community to reflect, to mourn. What struck me most was that a woman rabbi was speaking in a Christian church to a group of people of diverse faith, perhaps no faith, of diverse culture, of diverse nationality. Colour and creed were forgotten at least for a time.
How can we, as a community, become more aware of the needs of others and become more inclusive? Who do we include? Who do we exclude? What does membership in the church mean? If we are responsible Christians truly living out the gospel, then we like Peter are open to the Holy Spirit moving in peoples' lives. We do not ask how it could be that God would choose this person or that one. We simply open ourselves and our community to others in Christian love. May we be a loving and caring community. Amen.
Readings: Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17
People often tell me that they cannot sing. Invariably the story will start something like, "When I was in grade one I was in the blackbird group. I was so out of tune the teacher made me mouth the words. I still can't sing." They talk about how terrible it felt to be excluded from classroom singing or from the choir.
Others of us remember the terror of choosing sides for a game. The two most popular, athletic types were always chosen as team leaders. The kids would gather around. One by one sides would be chosen. And there you would be, the odd person out, the only one not picked to play on a team. Then one of the leaders finally relents, "Oh, you can be on my team!" But because you're small and uncoordinated, you sit out most of the game or the star hovers around you grabbing the ball whenever it comes anywhere near you.
Are there ways as a Church that we exclude people? Certainly there is a vast improvement over the Church in which we grew up. Most of us can cite some experiences of what it feels like to be left out, to be excluded. I know that I can. I grew up knowing that God was calling me to ordained ministry. The problem is that I grew up in a church that totally excluded me. Male clergy, male servers, even the choir was men and boys. That is until I was about thirteen and my father fired the organist and hired me. What a joy it was when the first women were ordained. And of course, now I look back on twenty-six years of priestly ministry.
The problem of inclusivity is not unique to the present age. It is not some subversive campaign to bring about change no matter what. It is not some feminist critique of the hierarchy. It is not some way of fulfilling a feminist agenda. The early church struggled with how to maintain their identity as a community and with whom and how to include newcomers. They were a new sect in a changing and growing society; we are an old sect in an ever-changing society. The demands are the same.
That scene of growth and change is the context for the passage from the Acts of the Apostles, in fact, for the whole book as the early Christians grapple with what it means to be a Christian. The particular passage that was read today was a small part of the story of the conversion of a Gentile named Cornelius. An angel had appeared to him ordering him to send to Joppa for Peter. At the same time Peter had a vision of a great cloth being let down from heaven. In it were animals and birds, which were considered to be unclean by Jewish law. A voice ordered Peter to "kill and eat". Peter was unsure about the meaning of the vision, but when the Spirit ordered him to go with the messengers, he went willingly. After preaching to the people of Cornelius's household, "the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word" - even the Gentiles. The Jews were amazed as they heard these Gentile converts speaking in tongues. They had expected to have ownership over such manifestations of the Spirit. For Peter it was an aha moment. He began to understand the meaning of his vision. "Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people?" he said, and baptized them in the name of Jesus Christ.
It may not seem like much to you as the story is told, but to the early church it was a complete change, a revelation. They were Jews. Their little community was a small sect, an insignificant branch of the Jewish faith. They maintained their ties to the synagogue. Even in the dispersion as the Jews began to spread throughout the Greek world, the expectation was that Christianity would continue to grow within Judaism. They kept the Jewish traditions. They adhered to Jewish law. But to their amazement, perhaps chagrin, the Gentiles were drawn to this new sect.
Judaism has never been an evangelical faith. They do not proselytize. Except perhaps through marriage, one does not often become converted to Judaism. One is born a Jew. It is tied to nationality as much as it is to faith. The early Christians grappled with how to maintain their allegiance to Judaism and live out their Christian faith. Could they remain Jews and still open up their faith to include the Gentiles? Yet that is where the Holy Spirit seemed to be leading them. And they listened. Thank God for that!
When Peter and the early Christian community accepted Cornelius and his household as converts, they set a precedent, which changed their way of life completely. They went out on a limb for their faith. They went against culture, tradition, nationality, and religion. They were cut off from their roots. Yet their willingness to change opened up wonderful new possibilities. Christianity became a world religion.
Put that alongside the message of the Gospel. "Love one another as I have loved you," Jesus says. It is a call to inclusivity. It is not a call to love the loveable, the cuddly, the beautiful, the wealthy. It is a call to love those whom God has chosen. Yet what boundaries we put on God's love! We claim it exclusively for ourselves. We fail to affirm the validity of the religious experience of others simply because it does not resemble ours. We fail to respond to those who are looking for affirmation in their faith journey.
Jesus at the last supper offered the gift of himself. It was a gift without reservation, without restriction. In the Eucharist he continues to offer us that wonderful, free gift of grace. The reality of that giving is the model and criterion of Christian behaviour. We are called to "lay down our lives", to put others before ourselves, to love in a life-giving way. It is a call to be generous, not just by providing bread but also by sharing the deeper gift of oneself. In the Eucharist, we share the one bread and the one cup with each other as a sign that in our daily lives we strive to share our bread, our blessings, and ourselves with others. In carrying the mission of the church the Eucharist becomes honest and effective in our lives.
Jesus makes it very clear that we do not do the choosing. We are the chosen. It is a tremendous affirmation of who we are. Why should we have been chosen into intimate relationship with God? Do you have a long list of reasons? If it were others choosing the teams, would we make it? As you reflect on Jesus choosing you, what thoughts and feelings come to you? How do you respond? When and where have you recognized God's love in your life? Can you even figure out why God would choose you?
If we were doing the choosing who would we exclude, or leave on the sidelines? With Christ doing the choosing we may find a few people included whose presence we find disturbing. The stranger with his hand out for help may assail our sensitivities. We are called to be inclusive of children, the poor, young people, refugees, social activists, the physically challenged, the mentally challenged, women, men, all whom God has chosen. Each of us is called to make our hearts open to those whose presence may disturb our peace and our assumptions.
Last week after the tragic event on Yonge St. when so many people lost their lives, I was moved by the memorial service that brought people together as a community to reflect, to mourn. What struck me most was that a woman rabbi was speaking in a Christian church to a group of people of diverse faith, perhaps no faith, of diverse culture, of diverse nationality. Colour and creed were forgotten at least for a time.
How can we, as a community, become more aware of the needs of others and become more inclusive? Who do we include? Who do we exclude? What does membership in the church mean? If we are responsible Christians truly living out the gospel, then we like Peter are open to the Holy Spirit moving in peoples' lives. We do not ask how it could be that God would choose this person or that one. We simply open ourselves and our community to others in Christian love. May we be a loving and caring community. Amen.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
The Third Sunday of Lent, Year B
When God is Angry
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19:7-14; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
I must admit to being uneasy about the anger of Jesus in today’s Gospel. It is something with which I have struggled throughout this week. Generally what I struggle with is what I need to preach about. Why do I struggle with it? I guess it starts with my own issues around anger. Now I do not get angry very often, but when I do I really blow my top. And the silly thing about it is that I don’t usually get angry about important things. I usually get angry at some perceived slight. I fuss and fume about it. I toss and turn all night thinking about it, wondering what I should have said differently, how I should have handled it. And the person who slighted me often doesn’t even know I am angry.
But surely that is not what bothers me about Jesus’ anger. Imagine the scene for a moment! With the approach of Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem to the temple. The outer court of the temple was a huge area, big enough to house a few football stadiums. In this outer court – and understand this, we are not talking about the sanctuary – were crowds of people, all vying to change their money into the currency acceptable in the temple. Once changed, they went off to purchase birds or animals for sacrifice. The area was more than likely closely guarded by soldiers.
It was business as usual as Jesus entered the temple. What a commotion ensued when he took action! He made a whip of cords and used it to drive out the animals. He poured out the coins of the moneychangers, overturning tables in the process. The scene was one of total chaos.
Doesn’t it make you wonder, “What was he thinking!” The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! What was his objection?
But once again, that is not really what troubles me. Perhaps it is about the image I have of Jesus. When it comes down to it, what bothers me is that he is acting on a very human emotion, and I think that somehow Jesus should be above all of that. Do we ever really get away from our Sunday School “Gentle Jesus meek and mild” image? We are all inclined to create Jesus in our own image, or at least in the image of what we would like Jesus to be. We may see Jesus as a mild-mannered moralizer guaranteed not to offend. We may see him as a gentle soul with long blond hair and soul searching blue eyes. And yet, if we believe that he is fully human as well as fully divine, why are we surprised at this expression of anger? Perhaps it is because it all seems so foolish.
But then as Paul points out to the people of Corinth, “The message of the cross is foolishness.” The very thought of the cross as a symbol of Christian faith confronted the values of Paul’s worldview. The claim of the Christian church was unthinkable to the Jews. They were waiting for the Messiah. They certainly did not recognize it embodied in the life of Christ. They expected a figure of power, one who would free them from the tyranny of Rome. They were looking for a king riding on a horse, not a Saviour hanging on a cross.
The Greeks too had expectations about God. They loved oratory and rhetoric. For them, God was a concept, not someone with whom you had a personal relationship. They approached God through the rational, through the philosophical. So Christ, and particularly the cross made no sense to them.
Even for us, as far removed as we are from the horror of crucifixion, the cross is foolishness. Power and authority are the way of our world. No matter how you dress it up, coat it in gold, make it a work of art, turn it into jewellery, it is foolishness… but it is God’s foolishness.
And Jesus’ action in the temple is a fine example of God’s foolishness. So we need to ask ourselves about this challenge of the status quo. What exactly is Jesus protesting?
It seems likely that his action expressed disapproval of what the temple had become. Jesus knew the law. He lived the commandments. As a Jew he understood that the commandments were about not doing violence to loyalties. He knew they were about building good relationships with other people and with God. They were about ending injustice in society. Where we accept the commandments as the basis of Western moral conduct, for the Hebrew people and for Jesus it was about creating relationships that did not exploit. God had freed them from slavery in Egypt. God gave them the freedom to figure out how the rules applied to their daily lives. God provided the promise of how they could turn around their previous life and live as God’s chosen people. Seeing exploitation taking place within the religious institution must have offended Jesus at his roots. Is he hoping to bring about a single-handed reformation of the temple? Whatever the reason, his was a deliberate and passionate act of protest that was bound to lead to trouble.
It was not a wise thing to do. Why did he not write a letter to the authorities, or talk quietly to a few of the people in private. The fact is, Jesus was thinking from God’s point of view. He was making God’s point as clearly as he could. Making that point, foolish though it may seem, was worth getting into trouble.
What foolishness it is to buy into the nonsense that Jesus, the son of a carpenter turned preacher could do any good. Yet that is what we believe as Christians.
What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured, violence-ridden world of ours. Yet it is at the heart of what we believe.
What foolishness it is to think that God cares about starving millions, the deprived, the poor, the downtrodden, the victims of society. Yet that is what we proclaim as Christians.
What foolishness it is to insist that we have a personal relationship with God, that God is in our midst caring for us, that God is personally concerned about each of us. Yet that is what keeps us going through all the difficult patches of life.
And if we really do believe in the saving act of Christ, then the real foolishness is that we are not acting on it, that we are not working to transform ourselves and our world. The suffering Jesus dying on the cross turns the tables on power. The cross becomes a symbol of love broken and poured out for all. We become bread for a hungry world.
And yet there is something else that keeps niggling at me this week. It is what happened after Jesus’ violent act. Things got even stranger. When asked to justify himself he refused. Instead he gave an explanation. “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” We look back on it from our Christian perspective and interpret it as a prediction of his death and resurrection. But it must have caused some scratching of heads and wondering if Jesus was in his right mind.
The cleansing of the temple is a warning against a false sense of security, against seeing Jesus as we would see him, against that ‘comfortable pew’ sense that can lull us into a sense of complacency. Jesus did not come to make our lives comfortable. Jesus did not come to give us warm fuzzy feelings about the faith, to offer us a safe and cozy religion. Jesus came to challenge our prejudices and illusions. He came to offer us radical transformation.
So yes! There is much we could learn from Jesus and his table turning tactics, for there are many injustices at work in our society. There is much we could learn about living passionately. Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems of the Church and the world? Are we passionate enough to become advocates for the poor and for those in need? Are we passionate enough to speak out wherever there is injustice? Are we passionate enough to challenge a world where war is condoned because it is economically practical? Are we passionate enough to stand up to those who would continue to destroy God’s beautiful creation by denying the harm that we are inflicting on our ecology. Lent is surely an appropriate time to take a good look at ourselves, at our motives.
It should happen for each of us on a personal level. Lent is a time, first of all to test our own lives. What barriers and stumbling blocks to a close relationship with God have we allowed to enter our lives? How are we living out our covenant with God?
It should happen on a corporate level. What marketplaces do we make of the church of God? What abuses are made in God’s name?
And when we have examined our motives, then we need to do something to change them, to turn the tables on them. I believe passionately that armed with our Christian faith we can change the world. That may be foolishness, but if it is then I will be foolish for God. Our prayers make a difference. They can bring about healing to this fractured world. They can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
The cross is foolishness. But it is God’s foolishness. During this Lenten season let us embrace its foolishness. Let us take up the cross and follow Jesus. Let our faith make a real difference in our lives. Amen.
Readings: Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19:7-14; 1 Corinthians 1:22-25; John 2:13-22
I must admit to being uneasy about the anger of Jesus in today’s Gospel. It is something with which I have struggled throughout this week. Generally what I struggle with is what I need to preach about. Why do I struggle with it? I guess it starts with my own issues around anger. Now I do not get angry very often, but when I do I really blow my top. And the silly thing about it is that I don’t usually get angry about important things. I usually get angry at some perceived slight. I fuss and fume about it. I toss and turn all night thinking about it, wondering what I should have said differently, how I should have handled it. And the person who slighted me often doesn’t even know I am angry.
But surely that is not what bothers me about Jesus’ anger. Imagine the scene for a moment! With the approach of Passover, Jesus went up to Jerusalem to the temple. The outer court of the temple was a huge area, big enough to house a few football stadiums. In this outer court – and understand this, we are not talking about the sanctuary – were crowds of people, all vying to change their money into the currency acceptable in the temple. Once changed, they went off to purchase birds or animals for sacrifice. The area was more than likely closely guarded by soldiers.
It was business as usual as Jesus entered the temple. What a commotion ensued when he took action! He made a whip of cords and used it to drive out the animals. He poured out the coins of the moneychangers, overturning tables in the process. The scene was one of total chaos.
Doesn’t it make you wonder, “What was he thinking!” The very anger of Jesus in doing what he did! What was his objection?
But once again, that is not really what troubles me. Perhaps it is about the image I have of Jesus. When it comes down to it, what bothers me is that he is acting on a very human emotion, and I think that somehow Jesus should be above all of that. Do we ever really get away from our Sunday School “Gentle Jesus meek and mild” image? We are all inclined to create Jesus in our own image, or at least in the image of what we would like Jesus to be. We may see Jesus as a mild-mannered moralizer guaranteed not to offend. We may see him as a gentle soul with long blond hair and soul searching blue eyes. And yet, if we believe that he is fully human as well as fully divine, why are we surprised at this expression of anger? Perhaps it is because it all seems so foolish.
But then as Paul points out to the people of Corinth, “The message of the cross is foolishness.” The very thought of the cross as a symbol of Christian faith confronted the values of Paul’s worldview. The claim of the Christian church was unthinkable to the Jews. They were waiting for the Messiah. They certainly did not recognize it embodied in the life of Christ. They expected a figure of power, one who would free them from the tyranny of Rome. They were looking for a king riding on a horse, not a Saviour hanging on a cross.
The Greeks too had expectations about God. They loved oratory and rhetoric. For them, God was a concept, not someone with whom you had a personal relationship. They approached God through the rational, through the philosophical. So Christ, and particularly the cross made no sense to them.
Even for us, as far removed as we are from the horror of crucifixion, the cross is foolishness. Power and authority are the way of our world. No matter how you dress it up, coat it in gold, make it a work of art, turn it into jewellery, it is foolishness… but it is God’s foolishness.
And Jesus’ action in the temple is a fine example of God’s foolishness. So we need to ask ourselves about this challenge of the status quo. What exactly is Jesus protesting?
It seems likely that his action expressed disapproval of what the temple had become. Jesus knew the law. He lived the commandments. As a Jew he understood that the commandments were about not doing violence to loyalties. He knew they were about building good relationships with other people and with God. They were about ending injustice in society. Where we accept the commandments as the basis of Western moral conduct, for the Hebrew people and for Jesus it was about creating relationships that did not exploit. God had freed them from slavery in Egypt. God gave them the freedom to figure out how the rules applied to their daily lives. God provided the promise of how they could turn around their previous life and live as God’s chosen people. Seeing exploitation taking place within the religious institution must have offended Jesus at his roots. Is he hoping to bring about a single-handed reformation of the temple? Whatever the reason, his was a deliberate and passionate act of protest that was bound to lead to trouble.
It was not a wise thing to do. Why did he not write a letter to the authorities, or talk quietly to a few of the people in private. The fact is, Jesus was thinking from God’s point of view. He was making God’s point as clearly as he could. Making that point, foolish though it may seem, was worth getting into trouble.
What foolishness it is to buy into the nonsense that Jesus, the son of a carpenter turned preacher could do any good. Yet that is what we believe as Christians.
What foolishness it is to believe that a God of love reigns over this fractured, violence-ridden world of ours. Yet it is at the heart of what we believe.
What foolishness it is to think that God cares about starving millions, the deprived, the poor, the downtrodden, the victims of society. Yet that is what we proclaim as Christians.
What foolishness it is to insist that we have a personal relationship with God, that God is in our midst caring for us, that God is personally concerned about each of us. Yet that is what keeps us going through all the difficult patches of life.
And if we really do believe in the saving act of Christ, then the real foolishness is that we are not acting on it, that we are not working to transform ourselves and our world. The suffering Jesus dying on the cross turns the tables on power. The cross becomes a symbol of love broken and poured out for all. We become bread for a hungry world.
And yet there is something else that keeps niggling at me this week. It is what happened after Jesus’ violent act. Things got even stranger. When asked to justify himself he refused. Instead he gave an explanation. “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” We look back on it from our Christian perspective and interpret it as a prediction of his death and resurrection. But it must have caused some scratching of heads and wondering if Jesus was in his right mind.
The cleansing of the temple is a warning against a false sense of security, against seeing Jesus as we would see him, against that ‘comfortable pew’ sense that can lull us into a sense of complacency. Jesus did not come to make our lives comfortable. Jesus did not come to give us warm fuzzy feelings about the faith, to offer us a safe and cozy religion. Jesus came to challenge our prejudices and illusions. He came to offer us radical transformation.
So yes! There is much we could learn from Jesus and his table turning tactics, for there are many injustices at work in our society. There is much we could learn about living passionately. Are we passionate enough to challenge the systems of the Church and the world? Are we passionate enough to become advocates for the poor and for those in need? Are we passionate enough to speak out wherever there is injustice? Are we passionate enough to challenge a world where war is condoned because it is economically practical? Are we passionate enough to stand up to those who would continue to destroy God’s beautiful creation by denying the harm that we are inflicting on our ecology. Lent is surely an appropriate time to take a good look at ourselves, at our motives.
It should happen for each of us on a personal level. Lent is a time, first of all to test our own lives. What barriers and stumbling blocks to a close relationship with God have we allowed to enter our lives? How are we living out our covenant with God?
It should happen on a corporate level. What marketplaces do we make of the church of God? What abuses are made in God’s name?
And when we have examined our motives, then we need to do something to change them, to turn the tables on them. I believe passionately that armed with our Christian faith we can change the world. That may be foolishness, but if it is then I will be foolish for God. Our prayers make a difference. They can bring about healing to this fractured world. They can change our hardened hearts and help us to live as brothers and sisters.
The cross is foolishness. But it is God’s foolishness. During this Lenten season let us embrace its foolishness. Let us take up the cross and follow Jesus. Let our faith make a real difference in our lives. Amen.
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Presentation of Our Lord
Where is Our Song?
Readings: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 84:1-7; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:2-40
At this time of year I always like to watch the movie Groundhog Day. I watched for it again this year but it was not on. It is about an extremely cynical weatherman who is sent to cover the groundhog’s yearly appearance and to report on whether or not he has seen his shadow. The problem is that it is always Groundhog Day. Tomorrow never comes. He finishes the day only to find it repeating itself over and over again. At first he uses it to over indulge and to do crazy things, knowing that even if he kills himself, tomorrow will come. A transformative change comes over him as he begins to see it as an opportunity to improve his life. He is able to take one day and live it until he gets it right. It becomes a story of great hope.
That seems fitting to me, because Groundhog Day is, after all, a very hopeful day. The groundhog coming out of its hole reminds us that winter is half over. The days are beginning to get longer. Spring is just around the corner. Especially this year as we seem to be enduring endless winter, it was a hopeful day. Now we do not celebrate Groundhog Day in church. However, Candlemas, which we are celebrating, has some curious connections to the secular celebration that coincides with it. Not only do they occur on the same day; they both mark the day on which winter is half over. There is an ancient rhyme about Candlemas that may well remind you of the groundhog and his shadow.
If Candlemas day be fair and bright,
Come winter, have another flight.
If Candlemas bring clouds and rain,
Go winter, and come not again.
However, there is more to this celebration than the prognostication of the weather. It came to be called Candlemas because that was the day on which the year’s supply of candles for the church were blessed. Candles were lit to symbolize that Jesus Christ had come into the world as light. Today it is celebrated as a commemoration of the purification of The Blessed Virgin Mary forty days after the birth of her son. It also marks the presentation of the infant Jesus in the temple. It is a celebration of great hope as we recall the saving purpose of the incarnation. It is for me a wonderful example of the power of song and prayer to create meaning, identity and courage in a way that words alone cannot. It reminds me of Augustine’s saying, “We who sing, pray twice.”
Luke tells the story through the eyes of two saintly people who both have a song to sing. The first song belongs to Simeon, a devout Jew who is waiting for the coming of the Messiah. Simeon is an old man living at a troubled time in the history of his people. It is a nation occupied by the powerful Roman Empire. The laws of the land are harsh. His whole long life has been one of hardship and difficulty. Yet each day he goes to the temple to worship God, to pray for the salvation of Israel, and to await the Messiah. God has promised that he will see the Messiah before he dies. He knows that God will keep that promise.
The day comes when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the temple. He is the first-born son, and is to be dedicated to God as is the custom amongst Jewish families. His parents then reclaim him by paying a small ransom to the priest. A wealthy family would be expected to give a large gift. Mary and Joseph are poor. They bring with them a small gift, a pair of turtledoves.
As is his habit, Simeon is there, praying. When Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the temple that day, Simeon knows the ift that God has given him. He recognized in this child the very one for whom he has been waiting all these years. This is the bringer of the promised salvation, the one who will open the eyes of the Gentiles to the truth of God. So when he sees the child he takes him in his arms and sings a song of thanksgiving to God. Through his faithful prayer, through faithfully seeking God, he comes to a meeting place with God. He knows God’s grace at work in his life. “My eyes have seen your salvation,” he says, recognizing who it is in his arms. His song is a lament, but this is no song of resignation in an old man ready to die. This is a call to action as he takes up his ministry. He is embracing the future with all that it holds in store for him.
There is another song that Simeon sings. He has a prophecy for Mary. Simeon wants Mary to know that her baby Jesus will grow up to be a sign that will be opposed by many in Israel. “A sword will pierce your own soul too,” he tells her.
Anna sings next. She is an elderly prophet who spends her time in the temple, fasting and praying, awaiting with expectation the day of the Lord’s coming. She too discerns the mysterious significance of the child Jesus. Hers is a song of praise and thanksgiving. She receives the Christ child as a sign that God keeps God’s promises, and all she can do is respond with thanksgiving. Like Simeon she becomes a model of what we might strive and pray for, the capacity to recognize the on-going creativity of God in the world.
I like that story of Simeon and Anna, two ordinary people who see God in a most extraordinary way. They did not witness any miracles, no signs, no wonders. All they did was to look at the baby, and they believed. What a wonderful concept of God they both have! What a breadth of vision! So often our God is too small. We want our faith to be a personal thing. God is “my God”. Religion is my personal possession. It is about my well being, my problems, about meeting my needs. God becomes the God of my church or my way of life or my race.
Let’s fact it! It is difficult to watch the news without being confronted by a barrage of hopelessness. We hear allegation after allegation of sexual misconduct. We hear of violence of nation against nation, of people against people. We witness catastrophic events, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, fire and drought. We hear of children dying of hunger. We hear of global warming. We wonder where it will all end.
In this modern day church of ours, We need the vision of Simeon. We need the wisdom of Anna. The Anglican Church is a wonderful and diverse communion, rich in cultural makeup, rich in liturgical tradition. We have so much to offer to our communities. How do we continue to reach out to a growing and changing community with limited resources? How do we encourage young people to stay and be part of our community? How do we bring up children in the faith? How do we face the challenges of a society that is becoming more and more secularized? How do we keep faith when the world around us seems to be in a state of chaos? How do we remain hopeful?
Where is our song? We are called to sing all kinds of songs. There is a power in singing. Songs create light and life. Songs give us hope. They help us to express the deep longings in our souls. They share the story of our faith.
And honestly, sometimes all we can do is sing. Quite rightly, the song we begin with is a lament about all that is going on in the world. Many of the psalms that we sing week by week are laments. Lament is a very real way to stay close to God, to relate to God, during times of trouble. Theologian Walter Brueggemann says that the power of lament is an act of bold faith because it insists that we experience the world as it really is and not simply as we want it to be. The beauty of it is that what begins as lament blossoms into praise and thanksgiving.
It is fitting that we began this Eucharist by singing Simeon’s song. In this meal we like Simeon, not only hear, but also see, touch and feel the promise of life that God makes to us. And after receiving this promise from God in the bread and wine broken and poured, we go out as bread into a hungry world.
Like Simeon and Anna in the temple, our eyes too have seen the glory of God. We have seen it all around us. We have seen it at work in our lives and in the lives of those we love. We have seen how God graces us. It is a glory that we need to share. We do that by offering ourselves, our time, our talents, our treasures, to God. That is the hope for the Church. That is the hope for a world that badly needs to experience God’s grace. Amen.
Readings: Malachi 3:1-4; Psalm 84:1-7; Hebrews 2:14-18; Luke 2:2-40
At this time of year I always like to watch the movie Groundhog Day. I watched for it again this year but it was not on. It is about an extremely cynical weatherman who is sent to cover the groundhog’s yearly appearance and to report on whether or not he has seen his shadow. The problem is that it is always Groundhog Day. Tomorrow never comes. He finishes the day only to find it repeating itself over and over again. At first he uses it to over indulge and to do crazy things, knowing that even if he kills himself, tomorrow will come. A transformative change comes over him as he begins to see it as an opportunity to improve his life. He is able to take one day and live it until he gets it right. It becomes a story of great hope.
That seems fitting to me, because Groundhog Day is, after all, a very hopeful day. The groundhog coming out of its hole reminds us that winter is half over. The days are beginning to get longer. Spring is just around the corner. Especially this year as we seem to be enduring endless winter, it was a hopeful day. Now we do not celebrate Groundhog Day in church. However, Candlemas, which we are celebrating, has some curious connections to the secular celebration that coincides with it. Not only do they occur on the same day; they both mark the day on which winter is half over. There is an ancient rhyme about Candlemas that may well remind you of the groundhog and his shadow.
If Candlemas day be fair and bright,
Come winter, have another flight.
If Candlemas bring clouds and rain,
Go winter, and come not again.
However, there is more to this celebration than the prognostication of the weather. It came to be called Candlemas because that was the day on which the year’s supply of candles for the church were blessed. Candles were lit to symbolize that Jesus Christ had come into the world as light. Today it is celebrated as a commemoration of the purification of The Blessed Virgin Mary forty days after the birth of her son. It also marks the presentation of the infant Jesus in the temple. It is a celebration of great hope as we recall the saving purpose of the incarnation. It is for me a wonderful example of the power of song and prayer to create meaning, identity and courage in a way that words alone cannot. It reminds me of Augustine’s saying, “We who sing, pray twice.”
Luke tells the story through the eyes of two saintly people who both have a song to sing. The first song belongs to Simeon, a devout Jew who is waiting for the coming of the Messiah. Simeon is an old man living at a troubled time in the history of his people. It is a nation occupied by the powerful Roman Empire. The laws of the land are harsh. His whole long life has been one of hardship and difficulty. Yet each day he goes to the temple to worship God, to pray for the salvation of Israel, and to await the Messiah. God has promised that he will see the Messiah before he dies. He knows that God will keep that promise.
The day comes when Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the temple. He is the first-born son, and is to be dedicated to God as is the custom amongst Jewish families. His parents then reclaim him by paying a small ransom to the priest. A wealthy family would be expected to give a large gift. Mary and Joseph are poor. They bring with them a small gift, a pair of turtledoves.
As is his habit, Simeon is there, praying. When Mary and Joseph bring Jesus into the temple that day, Simeon knows the ift that God has given him. He recognized in this child the very one for whom he has been waiting all these years. This is the bringer of the promised salvation, the one who will open the eyes of the Gentiles to the truth of God. So when he sees the child he takes him in his arms and sings a song of thanksgiving to God. Through his faithful prayer, through faithfully seeking God, he comes to a meeting place with God. He knows God’s grace at work in his life. “My eyes have seen your salvation,” he says, recognizing who it is in his arms. His song is a lament, but this is no song of resignation in an old man ready to die. This is a call to action as he takes up his ministry. He is embracing the future with all that it holds in store for him.
There is another song that Simeon sings. He has a prophecy for Mary. Simeon wants Mary to know that her baby Jesus will grow up to be a sign that will be opposed by many in Israel. “A sword will pierce your own soul too,” he tells her.
Anna sings next. She is an elderly prophet who spends her time in the temple, fasting and praying, awaiting with expectation the day of the Lord’s coming. She too discerns the mysterious significance of the child Jesus. Hers is a song of praise and thanksgiving. She receives the Christ child as a sign that God keeps God’s promises, and all she can do is respond with thanksgiving. Like Simeon she becomes a model of what we might strive and pray for, the capacity to recognize the on-going creativity of God in the world.
I like that story of Simeon and Anna, two ordinary people who see God in a most extraordinary way. They did not witness any miracles, no signs, no wonders. All they did was to look at the baby, and they believed. What a wonderful concept of God they both have! What a breadth of vision! So often our God is too small. We want our faith to be a personal thing. God is “my God”. Religion is my personal possession. It is about my well being, my problems, about meeting my needs. God becomes the God of my church or my way of life or my race.
Let’s fact it! It is difficult to watch the news without being confronted by a barrage of hopelessness. We hear allegation after allegation of sexual misconduct. We hear of violence of nation against nation, of people against people. We witness catastrophic events, hurricanes, earthquakes, floods, fire and drought. We hear of children dying of hunger. We hear of global warming. We wonder where it will all end.
In this modern day church of ours, We need the vision of Simeon. We need the wisdom of Anna. The Anglican Church is a wonderful and diverse communion, rich in cultural makeup, rich in liturgical tradition. We have so much to offer to our communities. How do we continue to reach out to a growing and changing community with limited resources? How do we encourage young people to stay and be part of our community? How do we bring up children in the faith? How do we face the challenges of a society that is becoming more and more secularized? How do we keep faith when the world around us seems to be in a state of chaos? How do we remain hopeful?
Where is our song? We are called to sing all kinds of songs. There is a power in singing. Songs create light and life. Songs give us hope. They help us to express the deep longings in our souls. They share the story of our faith.
And honestly, sometimes all we can do is sing. Quite rightly, the song we begin with is a lament about all that is going on in the world. Many of the psalms that we sing week by week are laments. Lament is a very real way to stay close to God, to relate to God, during times of trouble. Theologian Walter Brueggemann says that the power of lament is an act of bold faith because it insists that we experience the world as it really is and not simply as we want it to be. The beauty of it is that what begins as lament blossoms into praise and thanksgiving.
It is fitting that we began this Eucharist by singing Simeon’s song. In this meal we like Simeon, not only hear, but also see, touch and feel the promise of life that God makes to us. And after receiving this promise from God in the bread and wine broken and poured, we go out as bread into a hungry world.
Like Simeon and Anna in the temple, our eyes too have seen the glory of God. We have seen it all around us. We have seen it at work in our lives and in the lives of those we love. We have seen how God graces us. It is a glory that we need to share. We do that by offering ourselves, our time, our talents, our treasures, to God. That is the hope for the Church. That is the hope for a world that badly needs to experience God’s grace. Amen.
Saturday, January 20, 2018
The Third Sunday after Epiphany, Year B
Fish Stories
Readings: Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 62:6-14; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1: 14-20
I was visiting my sister many years ago. I was sitting in the living room with my then teenaged niece. We were chatting, getting caught up. My sister called her to come and help with setting the table. She ignored her completely and kept on talking to me as if she had heard nothing. My sister called again a little louder. Once again it was as if my niece had not heard a word that was said. I asked her, “Why aren’t you answering your mother?” Her reply: “She isn’t mad enough yet?” Of course, my sister did eventually really lose her cool. Only then did my niece get up and do as her mother demanded.
Confronted with calls for action from God, we can find all sorts of excuses. “I didn’t hear you!” “I don’t understand what you want!” “It’s too hard!” “Find someone else!” “ I’m not the right person for the job.” “You couldn’t possibly mean me!” All along, the real reason is more likely to be “I don’t want to” or “ I will never help that person” or perhaps to give the benefit of the doubt, “I’m afraid of what you are asking me to do”.
Consider the story of Jonah. And to do so we need to look at the whole story, not just the part that is assigned as the Old Testament reading for this Sunday. Jonah was a prophet – not a very good one as it turns out – but a prophet nonetheless. God called him to action. He was to go to the people of Nineveh to give them a message from God. It is important to understand that as far as Jonah was concerned, Nineveh was the archenemy. It was the capital of the Assyrian Empire, a brutal occupying force, the destroyer of Israel. In his estimation it was unreasonable that God would ask him to do anything for the people of Nineveh. Yet here was God wanting to send him to tell them that he was going to overthrow them because of the evil things they had done. He was being sent to give them a chance. As far as Jonah is concerned it would be just fine if they fell off the face of the earth. It would be an end to the problem. Jonah was their last chance. And you know! He refused. Like my niece with her mother he heard what God was saying to him. He ignored the message. In fact, he ran in the other direction as fast as he could.
Fortunately for Nineveh, God did not give up. God went to great lengths to move Jonah to action, to allow him to answer God’s call. A huge storm arises and threatens to sink the ship that Jonah is on. The crew casts lots to see who might be responsible for the storm. Jonah confesses that he is actually running away from God. The only way to save the ship, he tells them, is to toss him overboard. As the situation becomes even more hopeless, they finally do exactly that. They throw him into the sea. The sea immediately quiets down.
But God is not done with Jonah. He has him swallowed by a great fish and thrown up on the shores of Nineveh. Still Jonah is reluctant to act. He sulks for a time, but when he sees that it is doing no good, he begrudgingly does what God has asked of him. He begins his walk through the streets of Nineveh. “Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” he cries out to the people. And, much to Jonah’s astonishment, perhaps even disdain, they hear and believe. They repent. They change their ways. They proclaim a fast and everyone puts on sackcloth. The whole of Nineveh’s society gets involved in changing their ways. God spares the people.
It is not just the people of Nineveh who are called to repentance in this story. Jonah also needs to repent. There is no doubt about it. He is being racist. The Book of Jonah was a prophetic word to its time. It challenged the nationalism that limited God’s love to one people. It is a prophetic word to our time as well. In our day and age, we need to ask what Nineveh’s we are called to minister to. It is a challenge to those who would define God’s grace by their parochial boundaries. It is a challenging message to the modern day Church in which Ecumenism seems all but dead. This is the end of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Do we understand that “one church, one faith, one Lord” does not mean “my church, my faith, my Lord”? What a tragedy it is that we cannot eat at the same table? What a tragedy that we allow differing traditions to stand in the way of unity! How do we work together to hasten the kingdom of God?
It is a challenge during the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity for us to put aside denominational boundaries. But it is an even greater challenge in the multicultural, multifaith world in which we find ourselves to put aside our racist attitudes and embrace all of God’s people. What transformed ways of being together do we seek?
Perhaps the answer lies in a different fish story, the one we hear in today’s Gospel. Jesus calls the disciples to leave their nets, follow him, and begin their ministry of fishing for people. It is amazing how immediate the response it. It seems unreal. And yet on reflection, I can see how it could happen. Some people are just sitting on the edge of life waiting for the call to something worthwhile. If the right person comes along with the right call they are up and away. They have been secretly longing for it. Life has prepared them for it. They did not choose it. It chose them.
I think sometimes when we see what is going on in the world we would just like to get off. That is what Jonah wanted to do. “Stop the world’ I want to get off!” he is saying to God. “I want to hide out and ignore every terrible thing that is going on!” That is what we are like when we hearken back to what we consider to be better times, times when churches were full; Sunday Schools were burgeoning with children. Or when we latch onto the latest fanatical movement! Jesus, in calling us to be fishers of people does not make it comfortable or easy for us. He does not give us permission to opt out of society. Rather he calls us to follow, to serve and to accept the consequences. I have found in my own life that to do so results in a sense of security that cannot be eradicated by tragic events.
God calls us, not once, but again and again throughout our lives, to renewed life in Christ. It is a call to choose new priorities, to leave behind the things that impede our discipleship, to find new ways of serving God and humanity. Like Jonah, God calls to us through the crises of our lives. God may even call us to seek out the Nineveh’s of our world, the last place or the last person on earth that we feel called to serve.
The truth about following the call of God is that we cannot let our fears and insecurities about what might happen hold us back. We need to discern that it is indeed God calling us. We need to discern what it is that God is calling us to do. We need to bring it to God in prayer. If it rings true, then the way forward, the way to respond, will emerge. We can be sure that we are all called – called to repentance, called to transformation, called to be the people of God, called to be witnesses to the love of God in Christ Jesus – called to be. Amen.
Readings: Jonah 3:1-5, 10; Psalm 62:6-14; 1 Corinthians 7:29-31; Mark 1: 14-20
I was visiting my sister many years ago. I was sitting in the living room with my then teenaged niece. We were chatting, getting caught up. My sister called her to come and help with setting the table. She ignored her completely and kept on talking to me as if she had heard nothing. My sister called again a little louder. Once again it was as if my niece had not heard a word that was said. I asked her, “Why aren’t you answering your mother?” Her reply: “She isn’t mad enough yet?” Of course, my sister did eventually really lose her cool. Only then did my niece get up and do as her mother demanded.
Confronted with calls for action from God, we can find all sorts of excuses. “I didn’t hear you!” “I don’t understand what you want!” “It’s too hard!” “Find someone else!” “ I’m not the right person for the job.” “You couldn’t possibly mean me!” All along, the real reason is more likely to be “I don’t want to” or “ I will never help that person” or perhaps to give the benefit of the doubt, “I’m afraid of what you are asking me to do”.
Consider the story of Jonah. And to do so we need to look at the whole story, not just the part that is assigned as the Old Testament reading for this Sunday. Jonah was a prophet – not a very good one as it turns out – but a prophet nonetheless. God called him to action. He was to go to the people of Nineveh to give them a message from God. It is important to understand that as far as Jonah was concerned, Nineveh was the archenemy. It was the capital of the Assyrian Empire, a brutal occupying force, the destroyer of Israel. In his estimation it was unreasonable that God would ask him to do anything for the people of Nineveh. Yet here was God wanting to send him to tell them that he was going to overthrow them because of the evil things they had done. He was being sent to give them a chance. As far as Jonah is concerned it would be just fine if they fell off the face of the earth. It would be an end to the problem. Jonah was their last chance. And you know! He refused. Like my niece with her mother he heard what God was saying to him. He ignored the message. In fact, he ran in the other direction as fast as he could.
Fortunately for Nineveh, God did not give up. God went to great lengths to move Jonah to action, to allow him to answer God’s call. A huge storm arises and threatens to sink the ship that Jonah is on. The crew casts lots to see who might be responsible for the storm. Jonah confesses that he is actually running away from God. The only way to save the ship, he tells them, is to toss him overboard. As the situation becomes even more hopeless, they finally do exactly that. They throw him into the sea. The sea immediately quiets down.
But God is not done with Jonah. He has him swallowed by a great fish and thrown up on the shores of Nineveh. Still Jonah is reluctant to act. He sulks for a time, but when he sees that it is doing no good, he begrudgingly does what God has asked of him. He begins his walk through the streets of Nineveh. “Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” he cries out to the people. And, much to Jonah’s astonishment, perhaps even disdain, they hear and believe. They repent. They change their ways. They proclaim a fast and everyone puts on sackcloth. The whole of Nineveh’s society gets involved in changing their ways. God spares the people.
It is not just the people of Nineveh who are called to repentance in this story. Jonah also needs to repent. There is no doubt about it. He is being racist. The Book of Jonah was a prophetic word to its time. It challenged the nationalism that limited God’s love to one people. It is a prophetic word to our time as well. In our day and age, we need to ask what Nineveh’s we are called to minister to. It is a challenge to those who would define God’s grace by their parochial boundaries. It is a challenging message to the modern day Church in which Ecumenism seems all but dead. This is the end of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Do we understand that “one church, one faith, one Lord” does not mean “my church, my faith, my Lord”? What a tragedy it is that we cannot eat at the same table? What a tragedy that we allow differing traditions to stand in the way of unity! How do we work together to hasten the kingdom of God?
It is a challenge during the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity for us to put aside denominational boundaries. But it is an even greater challenge in the multicultural, multifaith world in which we find ourselves to put aside our racist attitudes and embrace all of God’s people. What transformed ways of being together do we seek?
Perhaps the answer lies in a different fish story, the one we hear in today’s Gospel. Jesus calls the disciples to leave their nets, follow him, and begin their ministry of fishing for people. It is amazing how immediate the response it. It seems unreal. And yet on reflection, I can see how it could happen. Some people are just sitting on the edge of life waiting for the call to something worthwhile. If the right person comes along with the right call they are up and away. They have been secretly longing for it. Life has prepared them for it. They did not choose it. It chose them.
I think sometimes when we see what is going on in the world we would just like to get off. That is what Jonah wanted to do. “Stop the world’ I want to get off!” he is saying to God. “I want to hide out and ignore every terrible thing that is going on!” That is what we are like when we hearken back to what we consider to be better times, times when churches were full; Sunday Schools were burgeoning with children. Or when we latch onto the latest fanatical movement! Jesus, in calling us to be fishers of people does not make it comfortable or easy for us. He does not give us permission to opt out of society. Rather he calls us to follow, to serve and to accept the consequences. I have found in my own life that to do so results in a sense of security that cannot be eradicated by tragic events.
God calls us, not once, but again and again throughout our lives, to renewed life in Christ. It is a call to choose new priorities, to leave behind the things that impede our discipleship, to find new ways of serving God and humanity. Like Jonah, God calls to us through the crises of our lives. God may even call us to seek out the Nineveh’s of our world, the last place or the last person on earth that we feel called to serve.
The truth about following the call of God is that we cannot let our fears and insecurities about what might happen hold us back. We need to discern that it is indeed God calling us. We need to discern what it is that God is calling us to do. We need to bring it to God in prayer. If it rings true, then the way forward, the way to respond, will emerge. We can be sure that we are all called – called to repentance, called to transformation, called to be the people of God, called to be witnesses to the love of God in Christ Jesus – called to be. Amen.
Friday, January 5, 2018
The Baptism of the Lord, Year B
The Spirit Working in Us
Readings: Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19:1-7; Mark 1:4-11
Yesterday the Feast of the Epiphany, the visitation of the Magi to the Holy Family, and the Sundays that follow it celebrate the revealing of God's incarnate self to humanity, the unfolding of the great mystery of the Incarnation. It is an unfolding, not only to the people of Israel, but also to the whole world.
Today we are focusing on the Baptism of the Lord. It is a fitting celebration as we bring Isaac into the body of Christ through baptism and renew our own baptismal promises. We read in Scripture of how God is revealed to us through the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. In the Old Testament reading, the spirit is revealed as “a wind from God which swept over the face of the waters.” The creating spirit of God hovered over the waters, the source of life. In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Paul points out to the people of Ephesus that the Holy Spirit should have been the great gift of their baptism. He is surprised to find their lack of understanding at how God is revealed. He wants them to experience the Holy Spirit in their lives as a gift of grace. Finally in the Gospel, God is made manifest through the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River.
The Jews were constantly looking for God’s revelation. But they came to a time in their spiritual life as we all do when God seemed not to be present with them. As God became more and more absent in their lives, they looked back with yearning to the days of the prophets when God had been very much a part of their experience. They felt as if the Holy Spirit had been absent since those days. The voice of God which had spoken to the prophets was heard now only as an echo. They looked for the time when the sky would be opened and God would once more speak directly to the people.
And then it happened. Jesus came to John to be baptized. The heavens opened. The dove hovered over him. God called out words of affirmation. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Clearly in Mark’s Gospel the voice is Jesus’ personal experience. The onlookers are unaware of what is happening. But we who read the Gospel are to understand it as a revelation, an epiphany, a manifestation to us, the people of God. Through it we are to understand Jesus’ unique relationship to God, and his call to ministry.
But we are called to understand far more. For this incident in our Lord’s life is within the experience of each of us. We are intended to experience that same descent of the dove in our lives. We are to experience God’s presence in our lives. How is God revealed to us? Where for us is the deep sense of peace, the sense that our wills and that of God are in harmony? Where is the sense of a presence from whom we receive affirmation of our call to ministry?
When I was leaving my teaching position to prepare for ordination my colleagues had a farewell for me. One of my good friends gave me a lovely gift, a glass swan on a mirror. She explained that it was intended as a ‘marker’. Her mother had always marked special occasions in her life, graduation, changes in her job and so on, with something that she could treasure and keep. She wanted me to have such a marker for my own life. I do treasure that keepsake that she gave me. Yet I know that in my life is a far more significant ‘marker’, one that in pursuing ordination I was attempting to live out. For at my baptism I was marked with the sign of the cross and made Christ’s own forever.
So I want to remind the Harper’s as they bring Isaac for baptism, that from today on there is a marker in his life. I want to remind them first of all that baptism is a sacramental act. There is an outward and visible sign, the water that is used to remind us of our need to be renewed, to be cleansed, to die to sin, to be reborn. But there is also that invisible ‘marker’, that inward and spiritual grace that is given and that carries us throughout our lives.
In one of the parishes I served, I baptised a four year old. He came to the preparation. One of the things that I showed him was the oil of chrism that I would use on his forehead. I said that it would become a marker in his life, a permanent reminder of his baptism. That made an impression on him, for a couple of years later he showed me his forehead and asked if I could still see the marker. As we are baptised we become part of the new life in Christ. We share in Christ’s power through the baptismal covenant. We are called by baptism to serve. It is, in effect, our ordination, a beginning of our ministry.
At baptism we are promised God’s gift of grace working in our lives. However, like the Ephesians we may not even be aware that there is a Holy Spirit at work in our lives. What is more, our lack of commitment to spiritual things may make it difficult for others to see God in us. We separate the Spirit from our mainline faith traditions, relegating it to the naïve or to certain denominations. Oh! We trot the Spirit out at Pentecost! But we are suspicious of people who are overly enthusiastic about the faith. We are suspicious of people who study scripture, who pray, and who share their faith. Or we think that we simply do not know enough about our faith to share it with anyone and we are certainly not going to expose our lack of knowledge by attending a Bible Study or a Prayer meeting.
How do we recover that sense of the presence and power of the Holy Spirit as the source of our gifts? We need to experience the Holy Spirit at work in us with the understanding that such encounters with God are God’s gift to every Christian. We need to expect that God will meet us in our everyday lives. God is constantly revealed to us and in us to others. Each new discovery takes us deeper into relationship with God. It is not about knowing everything there is to know about God; it is about knowing God. What a great thing that is to experience in our lives!
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may be, there is possible a deeper encounter with God who waits to enter our experience. We must be prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility. We cannot be self-satisfied. We must journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of our baptism.
In a few minutes we will welcome into the body of Christ our newest member, Isaac. As his parents and sponsors promise on his behalf, we will renew our baptismal covenant. May it bring to us that deep sense of peace, that sense that our wills and that of God are in harmony, that sense of the presence of God in our lives, and our willingness to become all that God calls us to be. May it be a time when we understand that we are beloved children of God! May it be an epiphany for each one of us! Amen.
Readings: Genesis 1:1-5; Psalm 29; Acts 19:1-7; Mark 1:4-11
Yesterday the Feast of the Epiphany, the visitation of the Magi to the Holy Family, and the Sundays that follow it celebrate the revealing of God's incarnate self to humanity, the unfolding of the great mystery of the Incarnation. It is an unfolding, not only to the people of Israel, but also to the whole world.
Today we are focusing on the Baptism of the Lord. It is a fitting celebration as we bring Isaac into the body of Christ through baptism and renew our own baptismal promises. We read in Scripture of how God is revealed to us through the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. In the Old Testament reading, the spirit is revealed as “a wind from God which swept over the face of the waters.” The creating spirit of God hovered over the waters, the source of life. In the reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Paul points out to the people of Ephesus that the Holy Spirit should have been the great gift of their baptism. He is surprised to find their lack of understanding at how God is revealed. He wants them to experience the Holy Spirit in their lives as a gift of grace. Finally in the Gospel, God is made manifest through the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River.
The Jews were constantly looking for God’s revelation. But they came to a time in their spiritual life as we all do when God seemed not to be present with them. As God became more and more absent in their lives, they looked back with yearning to the days of the prophets when God had been very much a part of their experience. They felt as if the Holy Spirit had been absent since those days. The voice of God which had spoken to the prophets was heard now only as an echo. They looked for the time when the sky would be opened and God would once more speak directly to the people.
And then it happened. Jesus came to John to be baptized. The heavens opened. The dove hovered over him. God called out words of affirmation. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” Clearly in Mark’s Gospel the voice is Jesus’ personal experience. The onlookers are unaware of what is happening. But we who read the Gospel are to understand it as a revelation, an epiphany, a manifestation to us, the people of God. Through it we are to understand Jesus’ unique relationship to God, and his call to ministry.
But we are called to understand far more. For this incident in our Lord’s life is within the experience of each of us. We are intended to experience that same descent of the dove in our lives. We are to experience God’s presence in our lives. How is God revealed to us? Where for us is the deep sense of peace, the sense that our wills and that of God are in harmony? Where is the sense of a presence from whom we receive affirmation of our call to ministry?
When I was leaving my teaching position to prepare for ordination my colleagues had a farewell for me. One of my good friends gave me a lovely gift, a glass swan on a mirror. She explained that it was intended as a ‘marker’. Her mother had always marked special occasions in her life, graduation, changes in her job and so on, with something that she could treasure and keep. She wanted me to have such a marker for my own life. I do treasure that keepsake that she gave me. Yet I know that in my life is a far more significant ‘marker’, one that in pursuing ordination I was attempting to live out. For at my baptism I was marked with the sign of the cross and made Christ’s own forever.
So I want to remind the Harper’s as they bring Isaac for baptism, that from today on there is a marker in his life. I want to remind them first of all that baptism is a sacramental act. There is an outward and visible sign, the water that is used to remind us of our need to be renewed, to be cleansed, to die to sin, to be reborn. But there is also that invisible ‘marker’, that inward and spiritual grace that is given and that carries us throughout our lives.
In one of the parishes I served, I baptised a four year old. He came to the preparation. One of the things that I showed him was the oil of chrism that I would use on his forehead. I said that it would become a marker in his life, a permanent reminder of his baptism. That made an impression on him, for a couple of years later he showed me his forehead and asked if I could still see the marker. As we are baptised we become part of the new life in Christ. We share in Christ’s power through the baptismal covenant. We are called by baptism to serve. It is, in effect, our ordination, a beginning of our ministry.
At baptism we are promised God’s gift of grace working in our lives. However, like the Ephesians we may not even be aware that there is a Holy Spirit at work in our lives. What is more, our lack of commitment to spiritual things may make it difficult for others to see God in us. We separate the Spirit from our mainline faith traditions, relegating it to the naïve or to certain denominations. Oh! We trot the Spirit out at Pentecost! But we are suspicious of people who are overly enthusiastic about the faith. We are suspicious of people who study scripture, who pray, and who share their faith. Or we think that we simply do not know enough about our faith to share it with anyone and we are certainly not going to expose our lack of knowledge by attending a Bible Study or a Prayer meeting.
How do we recover that sense of the presence and power of the Holy Spirit as the source of our gifts? We need to experience the Holy Spirit at work in us with the understanding that such encounters with God are God’s gift to every Christian. We need to expect that God will meet us in our everyday lives. God is constantly revealed to us and in us to others. Each new discovery takes us deeper into relationship with God. It is not about knowing everything there is to know about God; it is about knowing God. What a great thing that is to experience in our lives!
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may be, there is possible a deeper encounter with God who waits to enter our experience. We must be prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility. We cannot be self-satisfied. We must journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of our baptism.
In a few minutes we will welcome into the body of Christ our newest member, Isaac. As his parents and sponsors promise on his behalf, we will renew our baptismal covenant. May it bring to us that deep sense of peace, that sense that our wills and that of God are in harmony, that sense of the presence of God in our lives, and our willingness to become all that God calls us to be. May it be a time when we understand that we are beloved children of God! May it be an epiphany for each one of us! Amen.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
The First Sunday after Christmas, Year B
On the Seventh Day of Christmas
Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1.1-12
John 1:1-14
Our family has a tendency to stubbornness. Our prime example was Great Uncle George. I remember one day as a child of perhaps ten, going with him to the Old Mill Restaurant. We parked, and since I knew the way, I began to lead my Aunt and Uncle towards the front entrance. Uncle George stopped us. "This way is shorter," he declared, indicating that we should walk around the building. I pointed out the front entrance, only a few steps away, but nothing would deter him from his chosen path. Aunt Alice and I walked up to the entrance and stood waiting at the steps for him. Finally, huffing and puffing, he met us and declared, "I told you my way was shorter!" We could have argued. We both knew that he was wrong. But it wouldn't have done any good. He would never have changed his mind. People are not often changed by arguments. They have to see for themselves. They have to experience. And above all, they have to accept.
It is the same on our faith journey. Theologians present arguments. Books of theology have been written arguing every aspect of the Christian faith. You can read countless volumes arguing the existence of God. The great theological debate of the Middle Ages was about how many angels you could fit on the point of a pin. There have been great debates on the Virgin birth. Nothing can have been argued more than the concept of the Incarnation. When did Christ become human? Is it right to depict Jesus? The list goes on and on.
But God did not give us a debate about the Incarnation. God did not argue with us. God gave us not an argument, but a Saviour. The Word became flesh and lived and died among us. God is made flesh. Christ is born. The Holy Spirit penetrates the darkness of our world.
That is the essence of what I read in the first chapter of John’s gospel. Some of you may remember as I do that each Eucharist ended with the reading from John’s Gospel. Now we hear it only occasionally. It is not even heard every Christmas because we would rather hear about shepherds and sheep, angels and stars, gifts and magi. Without the truth at the heart of the Gospel the lights, the trees, the carols, the gift giving all become something else. Something very fine, well-intentioned, desirable, but yet empty somehow. It becomes the “Happy Holiday” the world celebrates. But once we get beyond the abstract thought of the Word made flesh, we get to the real truth of the Christian faith that lies at the heart of Christmas. It is through living with us, as one of us, that Word becomes deed. We can talk about solidarity with the poor, but only when we share our lives with them are they be able to say, “You are one of us!”
So it is with Emmanuel, God-with-us. The promise has been fulfilled. God is in solidarity with humankind. That kind of solidarity is encouraging news. It is like the moment when a friend comes to see us when we are sick or discouraged. It is like the time when someone truly shares their life with us. It becomes more than words; it becomes a fact. Jesus can speak from his own human experience. He is one of us, through our joys, trials, struggles, discouragement, hopes and dreams. God is with us. God is with me. God is with you.
Consider for a moment your own faith journey. How did you come to faith? And by that I mean, not the faith of a child, but a mature adult faith. It is a rare person who comes to faith through some intellectual pursuit. We see God's glory, not in arguments, but in unselfish lives. We find God, not through ecstatic experiences, but through the ordinary events of our lives. We are convinced about the love of God by experiencing it at work in our own lives. And then we pass it on to others as we might pass the light of a candle one to another.
In a Bible Study a number of years ago, I asked people to reflect on where they had met God in the past week. They came up with an amazing list. A conversation at the breakfast table … seeing a friend’s newborn baby … a walk in the park … letters out of the blue … a flower … an apology … a phone call … a smile from a stranger. Not one of them said anything about church. Not one of them spoke about reading a book or hearing a sermon. It led me to reflect that fortunately God speaks to us more outside of our churches than inside. That makes perfect sense, because God is speaking to all of creation all the time. God spoke once, and life happened, and that Word keeps ringing in human ears through all of time.
The whole of the Gospel shows us what grace looks like, tastes like, smells like, sounds like, feels like. God in becoming flesh has committed God’s self not only to revealing what God’s grace looks like, but that God wants to know it and feel it as well. This beginning of John’s Gospel reminds us above all that Christmas is not just a season; it is a way of life. We are an Incarnational people. Christ is born in us. For those celebrating the Holiday Season, Christmas is over once the wrappings have been disposed of, and the feasting done. For us it is just beginning. Not just the twelve days until Epiphany, but the hope and life that Christmas promises.
Howard Thurman, an African-American writer, philosopher, theologian, activist, writes the following:
“When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.”
The Word has become flesh. Christ lived and died as we do. He assured us of life for evermore. Thanks be to God.
Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1.1-12
John 1:1-14
Our family has a tendency to stubbornness. Our prime example was Great Uncle George. I remember one day as a child of perhaps ten, going with him to the Old Mill Restaurant. We parked, and since I knew the way, I began to lead my Aunt and Uncle towards the front entrance. Uncle George stopped us. "This way is shorter," he declared, indicating that we should walk around the building. I pointed out the front entrance, only a few steps away, but nothing would deter him from his chosen path. Aunt Alice and I walked up to the entrance and stood waiting at the steps for him. Finally, huffing and puffing, he met us and declared, "I told you my way was shorter!" We could have argued. We both knew that he was wrong. But it wouldn't have done any good. He would never have changed his mind. People are not often changed by arguments. They have to see for themselves. They have to experience. And above all, they have to accept.
It is the same on our faith journey. Theologians present arguments. Books of theology have been written arguing every aspect of the Christian faith. You can read countless volumes arguing the existence of God. The great theological debate of the Middle Ages was about how many angels you could fit on the point of a pin. There have been great debates on the Virgin birth. Nothing can have been argued more than the concept of the Incarnation. When did Christ become human? Is it right to depict Jesus? The list goes on and on.
But God did not give us a debate about the Incarnation. God did not argue with us. God gave us not an argument, but a Saviour. The Word became flesh and lived and died among us. God is made flesh. Christ is born. The Holy Spirit penetrates the darkness of our world.
That is the essence of what I read in the first chapter of John’s gospel. Some of you may remember as I do that each Eucharist ended with the reading from John’s Gospel. Now we hear it only occasionally. It is not even heard every Christmas because we would rather hear about shepherds and sheep, angels and stars, gifts and magi. Without the truth at the heart of the Gospel the lights, the trees, the carols, the gift giving all become something else. Something very fine, well-intentioned, desirable, but yet empty somehow. It becomes the “Happy Holiday” the world celebrates. But once we get beyond the abstract thought of the Word made flesh, we get to the real truth of the Christian faith that lies at the heart of Christmas. It is through living with us, as one of us, that Word becomes deed. We can talk about solidarity with the poor, but only when we share our lives with them are they be able to say, “You are one of us!”
So it is with Emmanuel, God-with-us. The promise has been fulfilled. God is in solidarity with humankind. That kind of solidarity is encouraging news. It is like the moment when a friend comes to see us when we are sick or discouraged. It is like the time when someone truly shares their life with us. It becomes more than words; it becomes a fact. Jesus can speak from his own human experience. He is one of us, through our joys, trials, struggles, discouragement, hopes and dreams. God is with us. God is with me. God is with you.
Consider for a moment your own faith journey. How did you come to faith? And by that I mean, not the faith of a child, but a mature adult faith. It is a rare person who comes to faith through some intellectual pursuit. We see God's glory, not in arguments, but in unselfish lives. We find God, not through ecstatic experiences, but through the ordinary events of our lives. We are convinced about the love of God by experiencing it at work in our own lives. And then we pass it on to others as we might pass the light of a candle one to another.
In a Bible Study a number of years ago, I asked people to reflect on where they had met God in the past week. They came up with an amazing list. A conversation at the breakfast table … seeing a friend’s newborn baby … a walk in the park … letters out of the blue … a flower … an apology … a phone call … a smile from a stranger. Not one of them said anything about church. Not one of them spoke about reading a book or hearing a sermon. It led me to reflect that fortunately God speaks to us more outside of our churches than inside. That makes perfect sense, because God is speaking to all of creation all the time. God spoke once, and life happened, and that Word keeps ringing in human ears through all of time.
The whole of the Gospel shows us what grace looks like, tastes like, smells like, sounds like, feels like. God in becoming flesh has committed God’s self not only to revealing what God’s grace looks like, but that God wants to know it and feel it as well. This beginning of John’s Gospel reminds us above all that Christmas is not just a season; it is a way of life. We are an Incarnational people. Christ is born in us. For those celebrating the Holiday Season, Christmas is over once the wrappings have been disposed of, and the feasting done. For us it is just beginning. Not just the twelve days until Epiphany, but the hope and life that Christmas promises.
Howard Thurman, an African-American writer, philosopher, theologian, activist, writes the following:
“When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.”
The Word has become flesh. Christ lived and died as we do. He assured us of life for evermore. Thanks be to God.
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Second Sunday of Advent, Year B
Active Participants
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a, 18; Mark 1:1-8
Mark begins his gospel, not as Matthew and Luke do, with birth narratives of Jesus. Nor does he begin as John does with a theological argument about who God is. Rather he announces the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is the ushering in of a new era, of a new way of being in relationship with God. It is the beginning, but just the beginning of the good news. That means there is more to come. It is a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as a fresh inbreaking of God. It is a new beginning not only for the early Christians but for every generation that encounters the gospel. Human experience and the written word come together to create a new reality of faith.
A group of parishioners in one of my parishes was visiting another denomination as part of an ecumenical program. I was sitting with some of the children during the sermon. The minister became quite passionate about what he was saying. The little girl beside me leaned over and asked in a rather loud voice, “Why is that man yelling at us?” It took me back to my own childhood and its “hell fire and damnation sermons” which were, no doubt intended to scare us into being good in order to avoid the wrath and judgement of a vindictive God. That was not good news to the child in my congregation. It was not good news to me as a child. It is in no way the good news that Mark is offering.
Mark begins his gospel with a message of hope. He begins with a claim that he is the bearer of good news for the world. He heralds in a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as God breaks into the world in a new way. It is a big claim to say that you have something that is good news. And what Mark is saying is that “this is it.” This is what God has been preparing humankind for throughout the centuries. This is what the prophets were predicting as their minds opened to God’s eternal truth. “This is it.” This one, Jesus Christ, is the answer to the aching longings of men and women throughout the ages. This is the healing and the cure. This is the cancelling out of the debt of sin. This is the way back to God’s order, to the transformation of a world in need of God’s healing grace. Mark is telling us, “This is it, and it is happening now!”
Mark sets the stage for telling the story of Jesus who is the Good News. ‘How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one bearing good news to Israel and announcing God’s coming kingdom!’ He announces John the Baptist, the prophet anointed by the Spirit to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim liberation. This is not the John of Matthew or Luke ranting at the people, calling them a ‘brood of vipers”. He is admittedly a strange messenger, this man dressed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and honey. The other messengers in Scripture have tended to be angelic. That is not the picture one gets of John. His message is one of repentance as the way of entering into the kingdom. He points beyond himself, offering hope through renewing a right relationship with God. He preaches metanoia, conversion. His is a call for a major change in direction, a call for transformation. It is a call for the whole nation to repent as preparation for the coming of the Messiah.
And so as we enter this season of Advent let us remind ourselves that it is a new beginning, one that can provide us with a reason for existence, a purpose, an objective. Jesus confronts us, not with a message of fear, not with a message of hell fire and damnation, but with a promise – the promise that we are his children and servants for ever. But do not take that as a signal that we are off the hook. It is a beginning that must be followed up by each one of us.
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may find ourselves, there is possible a deeper encounter with Christ who waits to enter our experience. Are we prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility? It is easy to become self-satisfied. We need to remember that the Christian life is a journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of one’s baptism.
It is called salvation. As Anglicans we are often reluctant to think in terms of salvation, being saved. I remember as a child walking down Yonge St. in Toronto with my mother. We were confronted by a man who shouted at her, “Are you saved?” My mother stood as tall as 4’ 8” can make you. “I’m an Anglican!” she declared.
We need a new way of thinking about salvation. I was quite taken with what Marcus Borg had to say about it as we listened to him on tape at the Advent Conference last week. “The Christian life” he said, “is not about pleasing God the finger-shaker and judge. It is not about believing now or being good now for the sake of heaven later. It is about entering a relationship in the present that begins to change everything now. Spirituality is about this process: the opening of the heart to the God who is already here.”
That is a wonderful message about salavation. It is also a wonderful message for Advent, because Advent is about the journey. It is about how God wills our reconciliation. It is about how much God wants to forgive us, to release us from sin and guilt. It is about how we are to see ourselves as God’s beloved. It is above all, about how God wishes the well-being, not just of the Christian, but of all creation. And above all God wants that salvation, that healing, to take place here and now. We are active participants in the salvation of God.
And so we need to ask ourselves, what can be ‘good news’ for what is going on in the world? What can be good news for a world in turmoil? What can be good news for starving children around our world? What can be good news for a creation that is crying out for healing? A world where forest fires ravage whole communities, where polar bears starve, where nature is turned upside down? Because it is not just John who is called to cry out and prepare the way of the Lord. It is all of us. Here and now! Making a difference in the world. Actively participating in God’s saving grace; actively involved in sharing the sacred story. Seeing Christ in others. Allowing others to see Christ in us.
That is the invitation of this season of Advent. Advent is the beginning, but it is only the beginning. The salvation story continues to unfold around us. More importantly, it continues to unfold through us. Amen.
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a, 18; Mark 1:1-8
Mark begins his gospel, not as Matthew and Luke do, with birth narratives of Jesus. Nor does he begin as John does with a theological argument about who God is. Rather he announces the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is the ushering in of a new era, of a new way of being in relationship with God. It is the beginning, but just the beginning of the good news. That means there is more to come. It is a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as a fresh inbreaking of God. It is a new beginning not only for the early Christians but for every generation that encounters the gospel. Human experience and the written word come together to create a new reality of faith.
A group of parishioners in one of my parishes was visiting another denomination as part of an ecumenical program. I was sitting with some of the children during the sermon. The minister became quite passionate about what he was saying. The little girl beside me leaned over and asked in a rather loud voice, “Why is that man yelling at us?” It took me back to my own childhood and its “hell fire and damnation sermons” which were, no doubt intended to scare us into being good in order to avoid the wrath and judgement of a vindictive God. That was not good news to the child in my congregation. It was not good news to me as a child. It is in no way the good news that Mark is offering.
Mark begins his gospel with a message of hope. He begins with a claim that he is the bearer of good news for the world. He heralds in a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as God breaks into the world in a new way. It is a big claim to say that you have something that is good news. And what Mark is saying is that “this is it.” This is what God has been preparing humankind for throughout the centuries. This is what the prophets were predicting as their minds opened to God’s eternal truth. “This is it.” This one, Jesus Christ, is the answer to the aching longings of men and women throughout the ages. This is the healing and the cure. This is the cancelling out of the debt of sin. This is the way back to God’s order, to the transformation of a world in need of God’s healing grace. Mark is telling us, “This is it, and it is happening now!”
Mark sets the stage for telling the story of Jesus who is the Good News. ‘How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one bearing good news to Israel and announcing God’s coming kingdom!’ He announces John the Baptist, the prophet anointed by the Spirit to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim liberation. This is not the John of Matthew or Luke ranting at the people, calling them a ‘brood of vipers”. He is admittedly a strange messenger, this man dressed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and honey. The other messengers in Scripture have tended to be angelic. That is not the picture one gets of John. His message is one of repentance as the way of entering into the kingdom. He points beyond himself, offering hope through renewing a right relationship with God. He preaches metanoia, conversion. His is a call for a major change in direction, a call for transformation. It is a call for the whole nation to repent as preparation for the coming of the Messiah.
And so as we enter this season of Advent let us remind ourselves that it is a new beginning, one that can provide us with a reason for existence, a purpose, an objective. Jesus confronts us, not with a message of fear, not with a message of hell fire and damnation, but with a promise – the promise that we are his children and servants for ever. But do not take that as a signal that we are off the hook. It is a beginning that must be followed up by each one of us.
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may find ourselves, there is possible a deeper encounter with Christ who waits to enter our experience. Are we prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility? It is easy to become self-satisfied. We need to remember that the Christian life is a journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of one’s baptism.
It is called salvation. As Anglicans we are often reluctant to think in terms of salvation, being saved. I remember as a child walking down Yonge St. in Toronto with my mother. We were confronted by a man who shouted at her, “Are you saved?” My mother stood as tall as 4’ 8” can make you. “I’m an Anglican!” she declared.
We need a new way of thinking about salvation. I was quite taken with what Marcus Borg had to say about it as we listened to him on tape at the Advent Conference last week. “The Christian life” he said, “is not about pleasing God the finger-shaker and judge. It is not about believing now or being good now for the sake of heaven later. It is about entering a relationship in the present that begins to change everything now. Spirituality is about this process: the opening of the heart to the God who is already here.”
That is a wonderful message about salavation. It is also a wonderful message for Advent, because Advent is about the journey. It is about how God wills our reconciliation. It is about how much God wants to forgive us, to release us from sin and guilt. It is about how we are to see ourselves as God’s beloved. It is above all, about how God wishes the well-being, not just of the Christian, but of all creation. And above all God wants that salvation, that healing, to take place here and now. We are active participants in the salvation of God.
And so we need to ask ourselves, what can be ‘good news’ for what is going on in the world? What can be good news for a world in turmoil? What can be good news for starving children around our world? What can be good news for a creation that is crying out for healing? A world where forest fires ravage whole communities, where polar bears starve, where nature is turned upside down? Because it is not just John who is called to cry out and prepare the way of the Lord. It is all of us. Here and now! Making a difference in the world. Actively participating in God’s saving grace; actively involved in sharing the sacred story. Seeing Christ in others. Allowing others to see Christ in us.
That is the invitation of this season of Advent. Advent is the beginning, but it is only the beginning. The salvation story continues to unfold around us. More importantly, it continues to unfold through us. Amen.
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