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.
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Saturday, June 23, 2018
The Birth of John the Baptist, June 24
What Will This Child Be?
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:7-13; Acts 13:14b-26; Luke 1:57-80
There is something very powerful about the name we have been given. I came to understand that through an elderly priest who lived with us for a time. Being the middle child of five I lived in the shadow of my older siblings and particularly of my sister Rebecca. I wanted to be in every way like her. She was the most beautiful, graceful person that I could imagine. She had long, curly blonde hair, which always did what it was supposed to do. She was dainty and petite. She was neat and tidy. If she ate an ice cream cone, it didn't drip. She never had any problem keeping her half of the room looking just the way mother expected it to.
On the other hand, I was just plain old Ann. My hair was straight and dark. No amount of trouble ever got even a kink into it. They teased me about how skinny I was. Can you believe that? And how I would never be able to wear a pair of nylons. As soon as I got an ice cream cone, it started to melt all over me. No matter how hard I tried, I still looked like yesterday's hand-me-downs. And my side of the bedroom always looked like a cyclone had hit it.
Then I read a childhood poem. No doubt you have heard it. Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace...
And so I asked my mother, "What day was I born on?" Fateful question! "Oh, it was a Wednesday!" That figured for me. Wednesday's child is full of woe. "What day was Rebecca born on?" I asked. But somehow I already knew. "Tuesday's child is full of grace."
It was not until I was about ten that I came to terms with it. An elderly priest, a friend of our family lived with us for a number of months. One day, I was complaining once again about the straightness of my hair. He suggested that I eat lots of carrots because they make your hair curl. I was dubious. Then he told me about my name. "Ann" he told me, "was the mother of Mary. Your name means 'graceful one'." It was a special moment of insight and transformation for a rather insecure little girl. It was that day I began to like my name.
We grow into our names. They become part of who we are. Aren't there names that you just hate because you associate them with a particular person or event? Some primitive societies regard an individual's name as containing the essence of his or her personality. If you think about it, a whole lot of things begin to make sense; the injunction in the commandments against taking the Lord's name in vain, including a saint's name at baptism, the giving of titles.
And so we come to our celebration of the birth of John the Baptist. Elizabeth was barren. She and her husband, Zechariah, a priest in the temple, had given up hope of ever having a child. Yet as they grew into old age God made a promise to Zechariah that they would have a son and that his name should be John, 'God is gracious’. When Zechariah questioned how it could possibly be, he became unable to hear or to speak.
Great joy attended the birth of this special child. Friends and relatives gathered as they do for such events. "What will you name the baby?" they all asked of Elizabeth, fully expecting that she would name the child after his father. "His name is John," she insisted. Thinking that the pain of childbirth must have affected her in some way they go off and check with the baby's father. They motion to him, "What is the baby to be called?" He writes on his tablet, "His name is John."
His power of speech is restored as a sign from God. I can imagine the scene. Zechariah standing with his newborn son in his hands, those priestly hands that had carried many offerings to the altar of God! Here he offers his son to be named by God. God has intervened twice. God has named this child. When God names a person it determines his destiny. This is a manifestation not only to Elizabeth and Zechariah but also to the people of Israel. The friends and relatives can only ponder, "What will this child become?"
And of course, John is destined to become the last of the great prophets. He is the bearer of the prophetic word as he calls the crowds to repentance, to transformation. He is the bearer of hope that their relationship with God and each other will improve. He is the forebear of the light that will come into the world. God is indeed gracious.
John’s vocation was to truly live up to his name. He was called to challenge injustice, to subvert the things that keep us from God, to embrace the Christian life, and above all to point people toward Jesus Christ. That is a pretty amazing vocation, one to which all of us must aspire.
"What will this child become?" is not only an interesting question. It is the whole point of the narrative.
It is the question we must continually ask of ourselves, for at the very depth of human longing is the hope that such a message brings. There are times of barrenness in our lives when we lose sight of God's promises. We pray but our prayer is dry and lifeless. We wonder if God has abandoned us, or if there is any God there at all. Is our plea falling on deaf ears? We are unable to open our hearts in praise.
And then somehow God sends us a gracious gift: a kind word from a friend, an unexpected phone call, a ray of sunshine, an awareness of God's presence. Whatever it might be, it somehow awakens us to the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. We begin to understand that God is greater than all the suffering that we have endured. We experience the faithfulness of God in our lives. We know that we are beloved children of God. And we cannot help but sing praises to God who created us, sustains us and redeems us.
So what will you become, you child of God? For God has named you. There is such hope in that naming. For God helps us to become all that we are meant to be. Thanks be to God.
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:7-13; Acts 13:14b-26; Luke 1:57-80
There is something very powerful about the name we have been given. I came to understand that through an elderly priest who lived with us for a time. Being the middle child of five I lived in the shadow of my older siblings and particularly of my sister Rebecca. I wanted to be in every way like her. She was the most beautiful, graceful person that I could imagine. She had long, curly blonde hair, which always did what it was supposed to do. She was dainty and petite. She was neat and tidy. If she ate an ice cream cone, it didn't drip. She never had any problem keeping her half of the room looking just the way mother expected it to.
On the other hand, I was just plain old Ann. My hair was straight and dark. No amount of trouble ever got even a kink into it. They teased me about how skinny I was. Can you believe that? And how I would never be able to wear a pair of nylons. As soon as I got an ice cream cone, it started to melt all over me. No matter how hard I tried, I still looked like yesterday's hand-me-downs. And my side of the bedroom always looked like a cyclone had hit it.
Then I read a childhood poem. No doubt you have heard it. Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace...
And so I asked my mother, "What day was I born on?" Fateful question! "Oh, it was a Wednesday!" That figured for me. Wednesday's child is full of woe. "What day was Rebecca born on?" I asked. But somehow I already knew. "Tuesday's child is full of grace."
It was not until I was about ten that I came to terms with it. An elderly priest, a friend of our family lived with us for a number of months. One day, I was complaining once again about the straightness of my hair. He suggested that I eat lots of carrots because they make your hair curl. I was dubious. Then he told me about my name. "Ann" he told me, "was the mother of Mary. Your name means 'graceful one'." It was a special moment of insight and transformation for a rather insecure little girl. It was that day I began to like my name.
We grow into our names. They become part of who we are. Aren't there names that you just hate because you associate them with a particular person or event? Some primitive societies regard an individual's name as containing the essence of his or her personality. If you think about it, a whole lot of things begin to make sense; the injunction in the commandments against taking the Lord's name in vain, including a saint's name at baptism, the giving of titles.
And so we come to our celebration of the birth of John the Baptist. Elizabeth was barren. She and her husband, Zechariah, a priest in the temple, had given up hope of ever having a child. Yet as they grew into old age God made a promise to Zechariah that they would have a son and that his name should be John, 'God is gracious’. When Zechariah questioned how it could possibly be, he became unable to hear or to speak.
Great joy attended the birth of this special child. Friends and relatives gathered as they do for such events. "What will you name the baby?" they all asked of Elizabeth, fully expecting that she would name the child after his father. "His name is John," she insisted. Thinking that the pain of childbirth must have affected her in some way they go off and check with the baby's father. They motion to him, "What is the baby to be called?" He writes on his tablet, "His name is John."
His power of speech is restored as a sign from God. I can imagine the scene. Zechariah standing with his newborn son in his hands, those priestly hands that had carried many offerings to the altar of God! Here he offers his son to be named by God. God has intervened twice. God has named this child. When God names a person it determines his destiny. This is a manifestation not only to Elizabeth and Zechariah but also to the people of Israel. The friends and relatives can only ponder, "What will this child become?"
And of course, John is destined to become the last of the great prophets. He is the bearer of the prophetic word as he calls the crowds to repentance, to transformation. He is the bearer of hope that their relationship with God and each other will improve. He is the forebear of the light that will come into the world. God is indeed gracious.
John’s vocation was to truly live up to his name. He was called to challenge injustice, to subvert the things that keep us from God, to embrace the Christian life, and above all to point people toward Jesus Christ. That is a pretty amazing vocation, one to which all of us must aspire.
"What will this child become?" is not only an interesting question. It is the whole point of the narrative.
It is the question we must continually ask of ourselves, for at the very depth of human longing is the hope that such a message brings. There are times of barrenness in our lives when we lose sight of God's promises. We pray but our prayer is dry and lifeless. We wonder if God has abandoned us, or if there is any God there at all. Is our plea falling on deaf ears? We are unable to open our hearts in praise.
And then somehow God sends us a gracious gift: a kind word from a friend, an unexpected phone call, a ray of sunshine, an awareness of God's presence. Whatever it might be, it somehow awakens us to the working of the Holy Spirit in our lives. We begin to understand that God is greater than all the suffering that we have endured. We experience the faithfulness of God in our lives. We know that we are beloved children of God. And we cannot help but sing praises to God who created us, sustains us and redeems us.
So what will you become, you child of God? For God has named you. There is such hope in that naming. For God helps us to become all that we are meant to be. Thanks be to God.
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, April 28, 2018
The Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year B
Abiding in God’s Love
Readings: Acts 8:24-40; 1 John 4:7-12; John 15:1-8; Psalm 22:24-30
A few days ago a friend sent me an email about trees and their ability to survive and even thrive under adverse conditions. There was a picture of a tree that survived a Tsunami. Another one was growing in the cleft of a rock. The roots of another had spread out over the sidewalk. It brought to mind an experience I had as a child. I was at my bedroom window during a thunderstorm, when the crabapple tree in our backyard was struck by lightning. It was an awesome sight. It split the tree in half and sent chunks of wood hurtling through the air. The next day we cleaned up the chunks of wood. A typical rectory, no one really got around to dealing with the stump of the tree. It was just left to rot. A couple of years later we noticed that a small tree had started to grow out of the stump. By the time I moved away from home, the tree had grown up and was once again producing fruit. It is for me a powerful resurrection image. More than that, it resonates with me about the imagery of the vine and branches in today’s Gospel and about our need to abide in God.
The vine and the branches is a beautiful image of our relationship to God. It comes to us from the Old Testament where Israel is pictured as a noble vine brought out of Egypt by God and planted in a new land. However the vine failed to bring forth fruit. With Jesus, the true vine, a new Israel emerges.
The vine, its branches and the vine grower, are images that point to our responsibility in carrying out God’s work. Jesus, the vine, the one who nurtures, is the one in whom we abide. The writer of John’s Gospel gives us several ways in which we abide in God. That lovely comforting verse, “In my father’s house are many mansions” gives us a beautiful example of how we abide in God. Just as the mansions are abiding places, so the vine image is another way of talking about a place where one is deeply at home, nurtured by God, loved by God, ready to be fruitful. We are the branches. Our responsibility is to stay connected to Jesus, the vine so that we can bear fruit. God, the vine grower does the pruning so that we can bear even more fruit. So the question today is, are we branches? Is our ministry being fruitful?
How do we share by word and action the good news of God in Jesus Christ? That is the ongoing message of Easter. It is the theme of the readings throughout the season. More importantly, it is the message of our baptismal covenant, the purpose for which we come together Sunday by Sunday. What a wonderful illustration of the power of sharing the Christian faith we have in the story of Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch! The angel of God led Philip to a deserted road between Jerusalem and Gaza. A eunuch was returning from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Sitting in his chariot, he was reading from the prophet Isaiah. He was struggling with its meaning. And Philip took the opportunity to speak to him of Jesus, the suffering servant. The man asked to be baptized. Philip baptized him. The story ended abruptly with Philip suddenly finding himself in the town of Azotus and the eunuch going on his way rejoicing at his new found faith.
You have to know that many things could have kept the eunuch from experiencing faith. Because he was a eunuch, he had already experienced exclusion from the religious community. Jewish law excluded them from taking part in the assembly of the Lord. They were not considered acceptable in God's family. Yet the eunuch, through Philip's ministering, was able to affirm his faith, "Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?" That truly is a wonderful step of faith. He was an outcast, one of the marginalized of his society, yet Philip reached out to him and opened the Scriptures to him. It is a wonderful statement about the inclusivity of God's kingdom. His inclusion was dependent, not on his acceptability, but on his faith, on his attachment to the vine. God's love is a living experience.
Philip could have been an obstacle to the eunuch's faith. In every part of the story he is a true disciple, a branch bearing fruit, one who follows God's lead, one who abides in God. He was open to God's call because he was actively searching for the place in which he could be useful. He found the right approach. He was sensitive to the needs of the eunuch. He began with what the man understood. He led him gently to the point where he could affirm his faith.
The image of Jesus, the vine, and God the vinegrower helps us to understand the demands of our baptismal covenant. It is a vivid image of God and of our relationship with Christ. It shows us our place in the relationship. It reminds us of our responsibility as branches to bear fruit. We are the branches attached to Jesus, the vine. God does the pruning so that we will be more effective in our ministry.
Are we branches, channels of God’s love, like Philip? Or are we blocks and impediments to the faith, simply getting in the way of others experiencing God’s love? Are we open to the Spirit? It is God’s Spirit that informs our experience of God. It is God’s Spirit that transforms us. The Spirit brings new ideas, new ways, new life, resurrection to our faith community and to the lives of each of us.
The Spirit enthuses us so that we are enabled to share our faith and bear fruit.
We are called to faithful action. Many things can keep us from living out that faith. Fear of our own inadequacies can keep us from speaking out about our faith. It is easy to become apathetic in our highly secularized world. We can begin to think that we are unable to make any difference anyway. We can become "dead wood" which needs to be pruned back. I always think that it is wise to remember the words of St. Francis who says “Preach the Gospel; use words when necessary.” It isn’t about grabbing people by the lapels and dragging them kicking and screaming into the church. It isn’t about nagging people. It is about living our lives faithfully. It is about seeing Christ in others. It is about allowing Christ to be seen in us.
The Gospel underlines the necessity of fruitfulness in our lives. How do we bear fruit? We have been cut away from the forest of sin, redeemed from its ugly consequences and grafted into the vine, into Christ. We are not called to bask in his glow, to wonder at his miracles, to anticipate all the good that God has in store for us. We are called to bear fruit, to accomplish God's purposes. When we abide in Christ and invite him to abide in us, the Spirit is able to work in our lives and in the lives of those around us. Then we cannot help but share our faith with others. Then we will indeed bear fruit.
We bear fruit not by squeezing it out of ourselves somehow, but because we are drawn into God’s love. We choose the abiding place of our souls. We choose to abide in Christ, which means we choose to abide in his love. We choose to open ourselves up to God’s love, to bask in that love, and to share it with others. Amen.
Readings: Acts 8:24-40; 1 John 4:7-12; John 15:1-8; Psalm 22:24-30
A few days ago a friend sent me an email about trees and their ability to survive and even thrive under adverse conditions. There was a picture of a tree that survived a Tsunami. Another one was growing in the cleft of a rock. The roots of another had spread out over the sidewalk. It brought to mind an experience I had as a child. I was at my bedroom window during a thunderstorm, when the crabapple tree in our backyard was struck by lightning. It was an awesome sight. It split the tree in half and sent chunks of wood hurtling through the air. The next day we cleaned up the chunks of wood. A typical rectory, no one really got around to dealing with the stump of the tree. It was just left to rot. A couple of years later we noticed that a small tree had started to grow out of the stump. By the time I moved away from home, the tree had grown up and was once again producing fruit. It is for me a powerful resurrection image. More than that, it resonates with me about the imagery of the vine and branches in today’s Gospel and about our need to abide in God.
The vine and the branches is a beautiful image of our relationship to God. It comes to us from the Old Testament where Israel is pictured as a noble vine brought out of Egypt by God and planted in a new land. However the vine failed to bring forth fruit. With Jesus, the true vine, a new Israel emerges.
The vine, its branches and the vine grower, are images that point to our responsibility in carrying out God’s work. Jesus, the vine, the one who nurtures, is the one in whom we abide. The writer of John’s Gospel gives us several ways in which we abide in God. That lovely comforting verse, “In my father’s house are many mansions” gives us a beautiful example of how we abide in God. Just as the mansions are abiding places, so the vine image is another way of talking about a place where one is deeply at home, nurtured by God, loved by God, ready to be fruitful. We are the branches. Our responsibility is to stay connected to Jesus, the vine so that we can bear fruit. God, the vine grower does the pruning so that we can bear even more fruit. So the question today is, are we branches? Is our ministry being fruitful?
How do we share by word and action the good news of God in Jesus Christ? That is the ongoing message of Easter. It is the theme of the readings throughout the season. More importantly, it is the message of our baptismal covenant, the purpose for which we come together Sunday by Sunday. What a wonderful illustration of the power of sharing the Christian faith we have in the story of Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch! The angel of God led Philip to a deserted road between Jerusalem and Gaza. A eunuch was returning from a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Sitting in his chariot, he was reading from the prophet Isaiah. He was struggling with its meaning. And Philip took the opportunity to speak to him of Jesus, the suffering servant. The man asked to be baptized. Philip baptized him. The story ended abruptly with Philip suddenly finding himself in the town of Azotus and the eunuch going on his way rejoicing at his new found faith.
You have to know that many things could have kept the eunuch from experiencing faith. Because he was a eunuch, he had already experienced exclusion from the religious community. Jewish law excluded them from taking part in the assembly of the Lord. They were not considered acceptable in God's family. Yet the eunuch, through Philip's ministering, was able to affirm his faith, "Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?" That truly is a wonderful step of faith. He was an outcast, one of the marginalized of his society, yet Philip reached out to him and opened the Scriptures to him. It is a wonderful statement about the inclusivity of God's kingdom. His inclusion was dependent, not on his acceptability, but on his faith, on his attachment to the vine. God's love is a living experience.
Philip could have been an obstacle to the eunuch's faith. In every part of the story he is a true disciple, a branch bearing fruit, one who follows God's lead, one who abides in God. He was open to God's call because he was actively searching for the place in which he could be useful. He found the right approach. He was sensitive to the needs of the eunuch. He began with what the man understood. He led him gently to the point where he could affirm his faith.
The image of Jesus, the vine, and God the vinegrower helps us to understand the demands of our baptismal covenant. It is a vivid image of God and of our relationship with Christ. It shows us our place in the relationship. It reminds us of our responsibility as branches to bear fruit. We are the branches attached to Jesus, the vine. God does the pruning so that we will be more effective in our ministry.
Are we branches, channels of God’s love, like Philip? Or are we blocks and impediments to the faith, simply getting in the way of others experiencing God’s love? Are we open to the Spirit? It is God’s Spirit that informs our experience of God. It is God’s Spirit that transforms us. The Spirit brings new ideas, new ways, new life, resurrection to our faith community and to the lives of each of us.
The Spirit enthuses us so that we are enabled to share our faith and bear fruit.
We are called to faithful action. Many things can keep us from living out that faith. Fear of our own inadequacies can keep us from speaking out about our faith. It is easy to become apathetic in our highly secularized world. We can begin to think that we are unable to make any difference anyway. We can become "dead wood" which needs to be pruned back. I always think that it is wise to remember the words of St. Francis who says “Preach the Gospel; use words when necessary.” It isn’t about grabbing people by the lapels and dragging them kicking and screaming into the church. It isn’t about nagging people. It is about living our lives faithfully. It is about seeing Christ in others. It is about allowing Christ to be seen in us.
The Gospel underlines the necessity of fruitfulness in our lives. How do we bear fruit? We have been cut away from the forest of sin, redeemed from its ugly consequences and grafted into the vine, into Christ. We are not called to bask in his glow, to wonder at his miracles, to anticipate all the good that God has in store for us. We are called to bear fruit, to accomplish God's purposes. When we abide in Christ and invite him to abide in us, the Spirit is able to work in our lives and in the lives of those around us. Then we cannot help but share our faith with others. Then we will indeed bear fruit.
We bear fruit not by squeezing it out of ourselves somehow, but because we are drawn into God’s love. We choose the abiding place of our souls. We choose to abide in Christ, which means we choose to abide in his love. We choose to open ourselves up to God’s love, to bask in that love, and to share it with others. 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.
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