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.

The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20, Year A

Only Human

Readings: Gen 45:1-15; Ps 133; Rom 11:1-2a, 29-32; Mt 15:21-28

Once again Jesus is trying to get away from the crowds. For someone in his position it is not an easy task. People follow him everywhere. They hope for a miracle, his healing touch, words of hope and wisdom. They constantly lay claim on Jesus’ time and energy. Even as he withdraws, a woman, a Canaanite, a Gentile, an outsider, comes after him shouting for help. Her daughter is ill.

He ignores her. He is weary. He just wants to get away from the crowds. He hopes that in ignoring her pleas she will give up and leave him alone. Maybe she will decide that it is not that urgent after all. Maybe she will think of someone else who can help. And after all, she is a Canaanite, a foreigner, and his ministry is to the people of Israel.

But she does not give up that easily. She keeps calling after Jesus until he and the disciples are beside themselves. “Send her away!” They say to Jesus. “She keeps shouting after us.” They are embarrassed by her outburst.

She pushes forward. Throwing herself down at Jesus’ feet, she pleads. “Lord, help me.”

There is sharpness to the point of rudeness, in Jesus’ response. It takes us aback. It is so unexpected. “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” he retorts. It does not deter her for one moment. She knows that Jesus can help her; in fact she is certain that he is the only one who can.

Still on her knees she responds, “Yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Her reply is piercing. Even if she must crawl and grovel to get help for her child she will do it. Her love for her child, her trust that Jesus can help, her determination to do whatever she needs to do, give her the strength to continue. Mothers with sick children are like that. They won’t let anything get in the way of taking care of their child. Not unsympathetic doctors, health regulations, lousy insurance, or even a narrow minded Messiah will stop them.

Jesus sees through to the faith of this woman that he is trying so desperately to ignore. He knows that he cannot ignore her need any longer. Compassion wells up in him. He gets beyond his weariness. He loses his frustration. God shines out from him.

“You have great faith,” he says to her. “What you have asked for is done.” Her daughter is healed at that very moment.

This is a difficult story, because Jesus is hard-hearted towards this woman, not treating her with compassion because her daughter is suffering, but ignoring her and refusing her because of her heritage. In the end, Jesus gets the last word, and it is gracious, quite a change from his earlier exchange with the woman.

It is Jesus at his most human. His response to the Canaanite woman is cultural. He is struggling against all the norms of his society. It shows itself in all sorts of attitudes that are typical of the Jewish society in which he lives. His comments are racist and exclusionary. Do we find it embarrassing that Jesus is so human? Or does it help us to look at our own prejudices and shortcomings and find a way to achieve a sense of compassion that enables us to reach out to those in need?

We do not have to look very far to find events that mirror such behaviour in our own society. Consider the flyers that were posted this past week on the York University Campus. They show images of what they claim were students at York in the 60’s, saying that the student population was totally white. Below is a photo of a more diverse group of students with text saying that whites will soon be in a minority. I am certain we are all appalled that such attitudes could possibly be held in a city as diverse as Toronto. But what about our own attitudes? Whom do we reject? Whom do we try to keep out? I look back at my own life and see many times when such cultural norms affected my views of the people around me.

I grew up in an inner city rectory before the era of food banks and shelters. There was a steady stream of homeless people at our door every day looking for help. We did what we could, often feeding them from our own table. It usually fell to the rectory children to make the sandwiches and coffee and take it out to them on the back verandah. For a time my mother had fed them in the kitchen, until one person let it slip that he had just got out of prison on murder charges. On the surface, what we did was good. It was certainly the best we could offer. We were taking action at a time when society did not take responsibility for homelessness and hunger. But when I reflect deeper I know that we failed to give them what they really needed. We didn’t see them as people. We never asked them their names, although we had nicknames for some of the regulars. There was Rudolf and Pinhead. How unkind that was! We did not try to change their situation. In fact, if anything we blamed them for their dysfunction.

When I was a theological student I did a placement at the Church of the Holy Trinity at the Eaton Centre as part of a program in Urban Ministry. I worked with the street people who frequent the area as part of an initiative of the local churches to find suitable housing for them. My job was to get to know them and talk to them about their housing needs. The biggest challenge for me, however, was to do a plunge, a requirement of the course. We had to spend one rather cold November weekend on the streets with only our own resources. I talked to the street people about what to do. They told me that I would not survive it, and then proceeded to tell me about the best shelters and gave me advice about how to ask for money. Their advice was excellent, I must say. I ended up staying in a shelter for abused women, a long story that I will not get into today. I was treated with kindness and respect. The other women in the shelter, as needy as they were, reached out to help me. One person truly befriended me, took me under her wing. She told me of her hopes of reuniting with her children. Her story was one of exclusion and hardship, and yet she was one of the most compassionate people I have ever met. She had a strong faith, not only that things were going to improve for her, but also faith in God. She invited me to go to church on Sunday morning. “You look like the kind of person who goes to church,” she said to me. And off we went dressed in our old ratty clothing. I don’t know what I had hoped for, but we ended up in a large prestigious church that will remain nameless. My inclination was to sneak into the back pew, but she was having nothing to do with that. She marched me up the aisle right to the front where she lustily sang every hymn, much to the consternation of the fine parishioners who tried very hard to ignore these two women who didn’t know their place. As I reflected on the experience I realized it was a transformative time in my life.

I must say, I still find times when it is difficult to get past my middle class views. Then I think back to the woman from the shelter, and I wonder how she is doing. And I smile thinking of how she pushed back against all of the preconceived notions of that congregation. I think of her faith and how much she had to overcome

The good news of the gospel is that we are only human. Jesus had to learn to put aside the prejudices of his upbringing. He had to learn to deal with people with a sense of compassion. Maybe there is hope for me. Maybe I can learn to follow his example. The Canaanite woman exercised an extraordinary power over Jesus. She nagged at him. She made demands. And yet at the core of it was her trust that he could make a difference in her life. She trusted that he could help her. She had faith. She kept on until she was heard.

Jesus dared to walk among us. He was trapped in our world. He was trapped in our ways. What hope that gives to us! Like Jesus, we can find the way to live compassionately. We can find the way to open our hearts to those in need. We can learn to risk. We can find the words and works that build up God’s realm. We can share one another’s pain. We can learn to see Christ in others. We can place all that we have and all that we are before God. Then we will begin to see the miracles happening in our own lives and those of others.