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.

The Second Sunday of Advent, Year A

The Hope of Advent

Readings: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12

A friend was visiting a local church for some special occasion and took her young daughter with her. The preacher was quite fiery in his delivery, trying to make an impression on the congregation. The little girl looked up at her mom and asked, "Why is that man shouting at us?"

I resonated with the child at some deep level, remembering my father's 'hell and damnation' style of preaching as I was growing up. I have always found such preaching disturbing and rather frightening.

I find the same thing when I read about John the Baptist. There is no doubt about it; he is more than a little disturbing. It isn't just his wild appearance, although camel's hair clothing is certainly part of it. His food – locusts and wild honey – also leaves much to be desired. The crux for me is his preaching, that 'fire and brimstone' message aimed at making even the saintly quake in their boots. There is so much anger in it. Perhaps that is what frightens me most, for it causes me to reflect on the anger that I carry in my life.

It seems to me as I read the newspaper that the whole world is erupting in anger. There are countries in the world that have been constantly at war for over forty years. We live in a world under constant threat of terrorist acts. Besides that, many people, even national leaders, ignore the threat of humankind on the environment.

Closer to home, violent acts take place every day on our city streets. There is bullying in our schools, racist acts, violence against women ...

I try not to be political, but there was an article in the Saturday Star that consolidates what I have been mulling over as I prepared to preach this week. It speaks of the rising tide of populism that led to a Trump victory in the United States, and a Brexit vote in the United Kingdom. Our Prime Minister recognizes that Canadians too are feeling the same kind of anger and frustration. He says of the last election, “We didn’t do it to the same degree of anger – we tried to channel it into hope instead – but the recognition of the same issue was there.”

There is anger and frustration in the Church as well. We look back to glory days when our Sunday Schools were full of children. We look out on a sea of grey and wonder where the Church will be a generation from now. There are controversial issues that divide the people of God.

How do we channel all of the anger and frustration into hope? Someone commented to me that to understand the preaching of John the Baptist one had to take a look at the bad people in our world – the deranged, the wicked, the evil, and then look inside themselves at how they have fallen short of the glory of God. I suspect that is very true.

The thing is that when we consider our own culpability in the scheme of things we can come up feeling pretty good about ourselves. We wonder whether there is any relevance for us in the message of John the Baptist. John is not an easy prophet. He sees the axe lying at the root of the trees. He writes off the world as it is. He proclaims that we – even the most Godly of us – cannot escape the retribution that is coming. He is not talking to terrible people who have perpetrated unspeakable atrocities. They are not the ones he is calling a "brood of vipers". He is speaking to good, upright, synagogue-attending Pharisees and Saducees. He is speaking to us.

These are people who have followed him out into the wilderness looking to further their faith. The deeds that he is railing against are not the works of darkness, of people who never go to church. They are the self-destructive behaviours of those who do.

"Demonstrate to me," he is saying, "that you really are repentant. Reconcile with your friend that you haven't spoken to in twenty-five years. Be the first to offer your hand in reconciliation. Don't ignore cheating when you see things happening down at the office. Give to the poor; don't just pass them by on the street. Take your givings to the church seriously. Don't just throw a loonie on the plate and think it's enough."

When people ask John what to do he does not say, "Go and pray about it", or "go on a retreat," or "offer a sacrifice to God." He says, "Change your lifestyle." Do a complete turn around. Become a different person.

So where is the grace in all of this? Where is the hope? We are a people, a nation, a world under judgement. But there is much that is worthy of becoming the ingredients of the future. God's kingdom is not some future event. God's kingdom is here now.

Isaiah's beautiful vision of the wolf living with the lamb, the leopard with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together is a vision of God working through history. It is a vision of God's kingdom of Shalom. Reconciliation with nature and trust among power structures are within the realm of possibility. In our own apocalyptic vision are many signs of hope. We do not have to have a vision of destruction. We are not helpless spectators to the activity of God. We are stewards and instruments of God. We are in relationship with God. We are part of the process of redemption.

But it takes a willingness to come before God and seek God's forgiveness. The wonderful thing about it is that we have a God who wants so badly to forgive.

There was a woman who claimed to have visions of the Virgin Mary. One day she called the Bishop from the Philippines, Cardinal Sin – that really is his name – to tell him about her vision. He didn't pay much attention to her, so she called him again. After five unsuccessful calls, she went to his office and asked to see him.

He decided to put an end to her foolishness. "When you talk to the Virgin Mary this evening," he said to her, "tell her to ask Jesus what my gravest sin was." And so the woman left, happy at last to have been heard. The next day she went back to see the Cardinal.

"Well, did you speak to the Virgin Mary last night?" he asked.

She responded, "Yes, but…"

"But what? Did she ask Jesus about my sin?" Cardinal Sin asked.

"Yes, she did ask him," the woman replied. "But Jesus told her that he had forgotten."

We cannot fathom the wickedness that is in the world. We cannot fathom what possesses mass murderers or terrorists or rapists. But we do know the secrets of our own hearts and our need for forgiveness. That can help us to understand our need to hear the message of John the Baptist. That can help us to commit our lives to God knowing the power of Christ to forgive. That can help us to change our lives to reflect the love of Christ. Then we will be participants in the ushering in of God's peaceable kingdom.

Let us hear those words of John speaking to us across the ages. “Repent! Change your lifestyle! Demonstrate in your lives that you really are repentant.”

That is the hope of this season of Advent as it calls us to repentance. Commit your life to God knowing the power of Christ to forgive. Reflect that power to forgive in your own dealings. Reflect the love of Christ in your life. Seek the love of Christ in those you meet. Participate in the ushering in of God's peaceable kingdom. Shalom!

National Aboriginal Day, June 21st

Truth and Reconciliation

Readings: Isaiah 40:20-31; Psalm 19; Philippians 4:4-9; John 1:1-18

Today is the summer solstice, an appropriate day on which to celebrate National Aboriginal Day in Canada. It has been celebrated on this day for many years, but this year with the report of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission there is hopefully a poignancy, an urgency, a sense of renewed commitment to join our First Nations People in the celebration. We in Port Hope live, as many Canadians do, on Treaty land. Port Hope is part of Treaty 20 known as Surrender M. It consists of almost two million acres of land for which the British paid $10 dollars in goods to each person. And so I begin this sermon by acknowledging the First Nations in whose territory we live and express my thanks for this opportunity to meet here today. And I put before you two questions. How will we in this parish share in the ministry of truth and reconciliation? And more importantly what does it even mean?

I have encouraged people to listen to the stories posted daily. That is the ‘truth’ part of the equation. I have received feedback, most of it encouraging, but – and I must say, not from this parish – some of the old clichéd, stereotypical responses that people love to trot out about the First Nations People. You know what I mean. Lazy! Welfare bums! Drunks! Dirty! What I hear most of all is that it was a long time ago. “It has nothing to do with me!” they will tell me. “Besides, the Church has already paid out compensation. That should be the end of it.” But here is the difficulty for me. It took generations to make the mess; it will take generations of truly listening to the stories and making amends to undo the problems that were created by our racist attitudes.

In the Old Testament reading Isaiah is speaking to a people in exile. They have spent two generations away from their homeland. Their faith has been eroded. They are tired. Tired of the distance. Tired of the yearning for what was. Tired of feeling powerless, of not knowing if they will ever return to their homeland, to their roots.

As I have listened to the stories of truth I hear that same fatigue. Our First Nations People are tired. They are tired of yearning for what was. They are tired of feeling inadequate. They are above all tired of feeling powerless to bring about change.

I want to share a little of my story, my truth, and of some of the steps that I have taken to reconciliation. My first year of teaching was at St. Philip’s Residential School in Fort George, Quebec, on the Quebec coast of James Bay about two hundred air miles north of Moosonee. It is now called Chisasibi; it is where the James Bay Power Project went in. It was, when I taught there, a rather isolated village. Except for the six weeks or so of freeze up and whatever time it took for the break up, there were three planes a week if the weather cooperated. I was asked by a “veteran” teacher – I was seventeen years old – if I was a “reject” or a “misfit”. Although I do not believe either of those words describes my reason for going north, I certainly had an idealized view of what it meant to be an “Indian”. My concept of our First Nations People came from the pictures of cute little pig-tailed Aboriginal children on the mission boxes that we got at church. I decided it was my mission to go north to teach.

There were seven classes in our school. Not all of the children lived in the residence. Perhaps a third of the children lived in the village. It was made clear to all of us that we were there to teach the children English, in fact to turn them into white children. They were not to speak their language. If we heard them speak we were to correct them. I had one little girl, Dora Ekumiak, an Inuit, who, while she did her work just fine, would not say a word. She finally spoke to me out in the schoolyard towards the end of the year. After that she never stopped. I suspect she was simply waiting until she got it right. The children were quiet and very respectful. There was never any need for discipline.

There was not enough room for all of the teachers to have their own apartment in the Teacherage, so two of us, the youngest, had rooms in the residence. We were directly under the primary girls’ dorm. It is heart breaking to me to remember the sobs that I often heard at night as the children settled down to sleep. I know that I felt lonely and isolated away from family for the first time. And I had chosen to be there. How much more those little ones must have felt in that strange environment without the comfort of parents and siblings! I have learned that brothers and sisters were often split up and sent to different schools. Many would not see a single family member for years.

What I remember most about teaching the children was their creative ability. They were wonderful artists. Supplies were often unavailable, and so I would beg my family to send me paper. They sent rolls of wallpaper, which became wonderful murals on the classroom walls. I also got them to send me bars of ivory soap so that the children could carve them like soapstone. The results were amazing.

I had to laugh hearing one man’s story this past week about how much time was spent in prayer. I put together a little choir that sang on Sundays and sometimes in the chapel in the morning. I never could get them to sing up to speed, but they enjoyed it, especially if I accompanied them on the wheezy old pump organ.

Although it was discouraged, I did get to know a family and spent a week during our Easter break on their trap line. It was a life-changing experience, one that I cherish. But on our return, the Principal called me into his office, and threatened me with being fired if I ever did anything like that again.

That is the ‘truth’ part of the story. I would not trade that teaching experience for anything. Yet I lost it! When information began to emerge about abuse in the schools I was horrified, especially when teachers were blamed for the children’s loss of language and culture. I avoided telling anyone about my experience. Then I went to a conference. I found myself signing up for a workshop on the Healing Circle. It was led by an elder, and was attended by about a dozen or so First Nations women and me. We sat in a circle. The elder explained the process. She would pass a feather around the circle. When it came to us we could hold it as long as we wished. We could speak whatever we wished to say. When we were finished we could pass it on to the next person. As it was passed around the circle, most of the women told stories about the residential schools, and about the abuse they had endured. I planned to just sit there without speaking, but when the feather got to me, I heard myself telling them my story. I told them about the children in my class and how much I had cared for them. I told them how ashamed I felt now, but also how I had lost that precious time that was so pivotal in my teaching career. I expressed my sadness at their pain. I passed the feather on to the next woman. Suddenly there was a loud ‘Whoop!’ They all joined in. The elder thanked me and said that I was their sister. That is reconciliation.

Back to Isaiah! In faith it is the capacity to look at the vast expanse of the world with a sense of awe and wonder that lifts us to new heights. Seeing things with eyes of amazement, seeing ourselves in the context of being part of a majestic creation gives our faith the “wind beneath our wings” to soar, to “mount up with wings like eagles, to run and not be weary”.

That sounds very much to me like the spirituality of our First Nations People. God speaks to them through all of creation. The rocks are grandfathers, rock solid, dependable, ancient. The moon is the grandmother, source of life, controlling the waters of the earth, bringing about life. The feather speaks of gentleness, of the ability to go with the flow. It symbolizes reverence for the Creator and all of life. It is time for us to start listening to our First nations people. It is time to walk with them. It is time to hear their stories and learn from them who God is and how to worship.

My hope is that we will listen to the truth, hear with our hearts, and stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters. Let us put our minds together in Thanksgiving. In Ojibway, “Chi-miigwech”! “Thank you very much!”

The Reign of Christ, Year B

A Kingdom of Truth

Readings: 2 Sam 23:1-7; Psalm 132:2-23; Revelation 1:4b-8; John 18:33-37

Perhaps you feel as I do sometimes when you switch on the morning news or read the newspaper over a cup of coffee. I try to wrap my mind around everything that is going on in our country and around the world. It sometimes seems as if I am trying to awaken from a terrible dream. However, the belief and hope in a Saviour that enters exactly where the forces of chaos seem to be most rampant is what allows me to get up and face the day. Particularly as we come to the end of the Church Year and consider a new beginning, I find myself taking heart in the image of Christ, a king born in the shadow of the Roman Empire, threatened, persecuted and killed by that empire, but risen from the dead and reigning on high. It is a hope in the promise of salvation that carries me through and allows me to open myself up to all the possibilities that I see in Christ.

On this last Sunday of the Church Year, the Reign of Christ, we are challenged to ponder issues of divine and human power and leadership. Do our visions of divine power shape our images of human power and authority? Or, do our visions and practices of human power shape how we view God? Do we use our visions of God as justifications for our own power relationships, our power over others? As I ponder these questions, I suspect our understandings of the relationship of divine and human power are one and the same as they relate to issues of gender, sexuality, class, political policy.

I spent three days this week pondering those same questions in terms of our relationship to our Indigenous peoples. I attended a conference training people to be ambassadors in the Truth and Reconciliation process as we come to terms with the abuse our Indigenous peoples suffered in the residential schools that robbed them of their language, their culture, their relationship with their families, their childhood. I found myself having to deal with my part in that abuse as a teacher in that same system. And over the course of the three days I found a point of healing in which I was given permission to forgive myself and reclaim what a privilege and a blessing it was to have taught in that northern community. It was a time of turning the tables on power that resonates so clearly with this week's gospel and indeed with the whole them of Christ as King.

Jesus is brought before Pilate. The accusation against him is that he is claiming to be a king. He stands there, this peasant figure, hands tied behind his back, bruised and bleeding from the abuse of his captors. "What is all the fuss about?" Pilate says to himself. "Can you, poor creature that you are, really be a king? What kind of a threat could you possibly pose to Imperial Rome?" And then aloud, he demands, "Are you the king of the Jews?"

Jesus answers boldly, "Are you asking, or is it what you have been told about me?"
Pilate is taken aback. Doesn’t this man know his power? "Do I look like a Jew?" Pilate demands. Then back to the task at hand, "It is your own people who have handed you over to me. You must have done something to deserve this treatment. What have you done?"

"My kingdom is not of this world." Jesus continues. And it is true! So true that Pilate cannot even imagine how different. Jesus’ kingdom has no boundaries, no army, no wealth. His authority comes from God alone. His is a kingdom based on justice and mercy. It is impossible for someone like Pilate who cannot help but think in worldly terms to even conceive of what Jesus is saying.

Pilate is a politician. He understands authority. He has wealth. He has power. "So that means that you are a king after all!" He says to Jesus. He wants a yes or no answer. But that is not what he gets.

"I would not choose the title "king" for myself," Jesus explains. "For to be a king as you know it is not my role. My mission is to be a witness, not a king. My subjects are those who believe what I have to say."

Those few words overturn every concept of kingship and power that one can imagine. Do they raise questions in your mind as they do in mine? In what sense is Jesus king? In what sense is he Lord of the events of my life? Who is Jesus for me? Those are the questions that arise for me as we celebrate this feast.

John the Divine gives us a long list of descriptions for who Jesus is for him. ‘The one who is, and who was, and who is to come, the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, the ruler of the kings of the earth, the one who loves us, the one who has freed us from our sins, the alpha and the omega’. Can we hear in these descriptive names for Jesus the excitement that John has for the faith? So often our image of Jesus is confined to the comfortable.

For many the image is gentle Jesus with the children hanging on to his knees. That is the picture many of us grew up with in Sunday School. It is a warm and comforting image of Christ. It is a view of Jesus that takes me immediately back to my childhood. I can see myself kneeling at the side of my bed, hands folded, rattling off my prayers, “Now I lay me down to sleep… God bless mommy and daddy… ” A wonderful image, but will it get me up off my knees and out into the real world.

For many Jesus is the good shepherd. Even in our urban society where shepherds are no where to be found we take comfort in that beautiful image. We see ourselves out in the fields following after Jesus, not a care in the world. He is there to comfort, to guide, to lead, to heal our wounds, to protect us from danger.

Perhaps for us Jesus is our personal therapist. We bring all of our problems to Jesus. We come in our neediness with our long list of woes. We expect that Jesus will make our lives easy and comfortable. It is important to pray for our needs and the needs of others. But it is important because it should inspire and motivate us to action. We need to get up off our knees and do something about ourselves and about the state of the world.

Then perhaps the right image for Jesus would be that of radical reformer. If we want to change the world, to make it a better place, to put and end to violence and war, then Jesus the reformer is the one we need to follow. We want an end to violence and war. And we’ll fight to make it happen. That may seem a 60’s kind of role for Jesus, yet in many ways it is fairly traditional. At least some of the disciples seem often to be viewing Jesus in the traditional role of Messiah. They followed Jesus because in their messianic fervour they were convinced that Jesus would overthrow the Roman rulers and become the political liberator. They believed that God had sent Jesus to save the Jewish nation. They looked for a messiah who would restore the kingdom of Israel. He would conquer the enemies of Israel and become the ruler of an earthly kingdom. That was certainly the kind of kingship that Pilate’s questions to Jesus reflect.

The problem is that Jesus is all of those things and so much more. When we limit who Jesus is we lose the capacity to see God as other than a resource for personal need. We lose our vision that will propel us in the breaking in of God’s kingdom. We lose sight of the kingship of Jesus. We have a vocation. We have a Lord to serve. We have a kingdom to build.

I know that my part in that kingdom building will include something about the work that the Church needs to do in righting the wrongs done to our indigenous peoples, in walking with them on the road to healing and truth telling. At this point I am unsure just what that will entail. But I know it will bring me full circle in my life.

All of us are on that journey. How do people come to know that we are Christians? How do they know that we serve King Jesus? To know who Jesus is in our lives should inspire and motivate us to action. I am not advocating that you go out two by two into the community collaring unsuspecting victims and dragging them back to church. But if our faith does not motivate us to action, then we are lacking something. If the suffering around us numbs us then we will be unable to take responsibility for it. Being Christian, following Jesus, being forgiven and having eternal life are not so much about what affects us, but how we live as servants of God and how we affect the lives of others. May God grant that the sin that divides us from one another may be overcome, and that we may be united under the gentle and glorious rule of our Lord, Jesus Christ. We are called to loving service in the world on behalf of our king. May we proclaim that Christ is king in our lives! May it spur us on to living our lives for Christ and for those around us!

The First Sunday of Lent, Year B

New Beginnings

Readings: Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-9; 1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

During this Lent we are using a program called "Ashes to Easter". It focuses on the symbols of Lent that prepare us for Easter. They are signs of our Baptismal Covenant that speak to us of our commitment to God.

Spring is a new beginning. Long before we see the signs of new life that tell us that winter is past, the earth is beginning to prepare itself for spring. Already we are seeing signs of that new beginning. Days are beginning to lengthen. Soon the signs will become more tangible – new colour, new life, warmth. And along with the beginnings of new life will come also the violence that accompanies re-birth. Rivers will fill with rushing water. There will be the inevitable springtime thunderstorms.

Our human experience of new beginnings also carries with it both the gentleness and the turmoil of spring. Both are necessary to produce new life, new growth. With all the wintry weather we have been experiencing it may not feel as if spring is close, but Lent is the Church’s springtime. It is the time for us to be reborn in gentleness and violence to the new life in Christ.

New beginnings are exciting. I think of some of my own new beginnings. I grew up in the hustle and bustle of the inner city of Toronto. There has always been a comfort for me in being surrounded by tall buildings. The noises of the city, the rumbling of cars and streetcars, factory noises, are all a natural part of my world.

How different my life became when, at seventeen, I moved up north to begin a teaching assignment at an Indian Residential School on James Bay. There were so many new experiences. Flying for the first time, my first class of children, experiencing a new culture, learning to drive a skidoo, a canoe trip up the Fort George River! The night sky lit up with stars! The northern lights dancing with beautiful colour! The howl of the wolves that was enough to raise the hair on the back of my neck!

New beginnings involve risk. They call us from our familiar, comfortable world into a strange and unfamiliar one. We can feel isolated, alone and unsupported as we embark on a new venture or relationship. It is difficult to see where it all may lead. My early teaching experience certainly had its storms. I was living in isolation far away from family and friends. During ‘freeze up’ and ‘break up’ no planes could get into our northern community so for weeks on end we had no contact with the outside world. I was working with small children taken away from their homes and families and cultures. I left home barely three weeks after the tragic death of my younger brother.

The story of Noah and the flood is an epic story of a new beginning. In the beginning God created the world. God created it out of goodness. But evil entered into the world. From the destructive waters of the flood God began over again. God entered into a covenant relationship with Noah. Covenant helps us to understand that a creating God not only brings us into existence, but also enters into relationship with us. It breaks down the barriers between God and humanity giving meaning and hope to our existence. The rainbow becomes a symbol of our solidarity with God and all of creation. It is an intuitive association and one that requires our reflective thought.

Mark tells us about a new beginning in Jesus' life. His baptism in the Jordan marked for him the beginning of his earthly ministry. Privacy ends, public life begins. It marks too a covenant relationship between him and God. It is a point of intersection, a meeting of heaven and earth. “You are my Son, the Beloved,” God tells him. The Spirit of God enters him enabling him for what lies ahead. It is for Jesus as it would be for any of us, a time of decision, of pressure, of anxiety.

How do we make a new beginning in our spiritual life? Baptism is a new beginning for us. The symbol of baptism is water, and so today you see along with ashes from Ash Wednesday, a fountain of water. It is a reminder of the place of water in our lives. Water is at the centre of our lives. We are born out of it. We are sustained by it. We drink it. We swim in it. We wash in it. The power of water is mighty, sometimes gentle, and always mysterious. As a mighty force it extinguishes fire and generates electricity. In its gentle flow it cleanses and heals. As a symbol of our Christian faith it is a reminder of our baptismal covenant. We go down into the water to die to sin. We come out to new life. It is a watershed moment in our lives as we make a decision to follow Christ. It is a watershed moment as we enter into relationship with God. It is a watershed moment as we recognize the Spirit of God at work in our lives. But there is also risk at entering the water. It is a time to let go, to lose control, to become vulnerable.

“But I was just a child when I was baptized,” you may be thinking. And there does come a point in our spiritual lives when we will want to renew that covenant with God. Whenever there is a baptism we are given such an opportunity. Many people experience times of renewed commitment through a time of retreat, a conference, a Lenten series, or a renewal movement. We need to experience times of change and growth. They may be times of great joy, the birth of a child, a new relationship. Often it happens because of the turbulence of life, times of disaster, or uncertainty, a death in the family, a move, changing jobs, unemployment, sickness, and retirement. All are opportunities to draw closer to God, opportunities for spiritual growth and recommitment.

Lent offers us an opportunity to renew our baptismal covenant, an opportunity to develop our relationship with God. For Lent is a time of self-examination, of checking our focus, of sorting our priorities. It is a time to reflect on God's promises and to recognize our failure to live up to our part of the relationship. It is a time to begin anew, through repentance, through seeking God's guidance, through struggle, and through renewed commitment. It is a time to seek God's guidance. Hopefully we begin to rely on God. May it be a time of renewal and hope!

Lent is a time for a new beginning. We are invited to reconsider our baptismal covenant and rededicate ourselves to a continuing conversion. We are called to begin again to enter into the death-resurrection process. We do not know where this new beginning will take us, but together we enter into a journey from ashes to Easter.