On the Seventh Day of Christmas
Readings: Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1.1-12
John 1:1-14
Our family has a tendency to stubbornness. Our prime example was Great Uncle George. I remember one day as a child of perhaps ten, going with him to the Old Mill Restaurant. We parked, and since I knew the way, I began to lead my Aunt and Uncle towards the front entrance. Uncle George stopped us. "This way is shorter," he declared, indicating that we should walk around the building. I pointed out the front entrance, only a few steps away, but nothing would deter him from his chosen path. Aunt Alice and I walked up to the entrance and stood waiting at the steps for him. Finally, huffing and puffing, he met us and declared, "I told you my way was shorter!" We could have argued. We both knew that he was wrong. But it wouldn't have done any good. He would never have changed his mind. People are not often changed by arguments. They have to see for themselves. They have to experience. And above all, they have to accept.
It is the same on our faith journey. Theologians present arguments. Books of theology have been written arguing every aspect of the Christian faith. You can read countless volumes arguing the existence of God. The great theological debate of the Middle Ages was about how many angels you could fit on the point of a pin. There have been great debates on the Virgin birth. Nothing can have been argued more than the concept of the Incarnation. When did Christ become human? Is it right to depict Jesus? The list goes on and on.
But God did not give us a debate about the Incarnation. God did not argue with us. God gave us not an argument, but a Saviour. The Word became flesh and lived and died among us. God is made flesh. Christ is born. The Holy Spirit penetrates the darkness of our world.
That is the essence of what I read in the first chapter of John’s gospel. Some of you may remember as I do that each Eucharist ended with the reading from John’s Gospel. Now we hear it only occasionally. It is not even heard every Christmas because we would rather hear about shepherds and sheep, angels and stars, gifts and magi. Without the truth at the heart of the Gospel the lights, the trees, the carols, the gift giving all become something else. Something very fine, well-intentioned, desirable, but yet empty somehow. It becomes the “Happy Holiday” the world celebrates. But once we get beyond the abstract thought of the Word made flesh, we get to the real truth of the Christian faith that lies at the heart of Christmas. It is through living with us, as one of us, that Word becomes deed. We can talk about solidarity with the poor, but only when we share our lives with them are they be able to say, “You are one of us!”
So it is with Emmanuel, God-with-us. The promise has been fulfilled. God is in solidarity with humankind. That kind of solidarity is encouraging news. It is like the moment when a friend comes to see us when we are sick or discouraged. It is like the time when someone truly shares their life with us. It becomes more than words; it becomes a fact. Jesus can speak from his own human experience. He is one of us, through our joys, trials, struggles, discouragement, hopes and dreams. God is with us. God is with me. God is with you.
Consider for a moment your own faith journey. How did you come to faith? And by that I mean, not the faith of a child, but a mature adult faith. It is a rare person who comes to faith through some intellectual pursuit. We see God's glory, not in arguments, but in unselfish lives. We find God, not through ecstatic experiences, but through the ordinary events of our lives. We are convinced about the love of God by experiencing it at work in our own lives. And then we pass it on to others as we might pass the light of a candle one to another.
In a Bible Study a number of years ago, I asked people to reflect on where they had met God in the past week. They came up with an amazing list. A conversation at the breakfast table … seeing a friend’s newborn baby … a walk in the park … letters out of the blue … a flower … an apology … a phone call … a smile from a stranger. Not one of them said anything about church. Not one of them spoke about reading a book or hearing a sermon. It led me to reflect that fortunately God speaks to us more outside of our churches than inside. That makes perfect sense, because God is speaking to all of creation all the time. God spoke once, and life happened, and that Word keeps ringing in human ears through all of time.
The whole of the Gospel shows us what grace looks like, tastes like, smells like, sounds like, feels like. God in becoming flesh has committed God’s self not only to revealing what God’s grace looks like, but that God wants to know it and feel it as well. This beginning of John’s Gospel reminds us above all that Christmas is not just a season; it is a way of life. We are an Incarnational people. Christ is born in us. For those celebrating the Holiday Season, Christmas is over once the wrappings have been disposed of, and the feasting done. For us it is just beginning. Not just the twelve days until Epiphany, but the hope and life that Christmas promises.
Howard Thurman, an African-American writer, philosopher, theologian, activist, writes the following:
“When the song of the angels is stilled, when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks, the work of Christmas begins: to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people, to make music in the heart.”
The Word has become flesh. Christ lived and died as we do. He assured us of life for evermore. Thanks be to God.
Saturday, December 30, 2017
Saturday, December 9, 2017
Second Sunday of Advent, Year B
Active Participants
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a, 18; Mark 1:1-8
Mark begins his gospel, not as Matthew and Luke do, with birth narratives of Jesus. Nor does he begin as John does with a theological argument about who God is. Rather he announces the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is the ushering in of a new era, of a new way of being in relationship with God. It is the beginning, but just the beginning of the good news. That means there is more to come. It is a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as a fresh inbreaking of God. It is a new beginning not only for the early Christians but for every generation that encounters the gospel. Human experience and the written word come together to create a new reality of faith.
A group of parishioners in one of my parishes was visiting another denomination as part of an ecumenical program. I was sitting with some of the children during the sermon. The minister became quite passionate about what he was saying. The little girl beside me leaned over and asked in a rather loud voice, “Why is that man yelling at us?” It took me back to my own childhood and its “hell fire and damnation sermons” which were, no doubt intended to scare us into being good in order to avoid the wrath and judgement of a vindictive God. That was not good news to the child in my congregation. It was not good news to me as a child. It is in no way the good news that Mark is offering.
Mark begins his gospel with a message of hope. He begins with a claim that he is the bearer of good news for the world. He heralds in a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as God breaks into the world in a new way. It is a big claim to say that you have something that is good news. And what Mark is saying is that “this is it.” This is what God has been preparing humankind for throughout the centuries. This is what the prophets were predicting as their minds opened to God’s eternal truth. “This is it.” This one, Jesus Christ, is the answer to the aching longings of men and women throughout the ages. This is the healing and the cure. This is the cancelling out of the debt of sin. This is the way back to God’s order, to the transformation of a world in need of God’s healing grace. Mark is telling us, “This is it, and it is happening now!”
Mark sets the stage for telling the story of Jesus who is the Good News. ‘How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one bearing good news to Israel and announcing God’s coming kingdom!’ He announces John the Baptist, the prophet anointed by the Spirit to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim liberation. This is not the John of Matthew or Luke ranting at the people, calling them a ‘brood of vipers”. He is admittedly a strange messenger, this man dressed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and honey. The other messengers in Scripture have tended to be angelic. That is not the picture one gets of John. His message is one of repentance as the way of entering into the kingdom. He points beyond himself, offering hope through renewing a right relationship with God. He preaches metanoia, conversion. His is a call for a major change in direction, a call for transformation. It is a call for the whole nation to repent as preparation for the coming of the Messiah.
And so as we enter this season of Advent let us remind ourselves that it is a new beginning, one that can provide us with a reason for existence, a purpose, an objective. Jesus confronts us, not with a message of fear, not with a message of hell fire and damnation, but with a promise – the promise that we are his children and servants for ever. But do not take that as a signal that we are off the hook. It is a beginning that must be followed up by each one of us.
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may find ourselves, there is possible a deeper encounter with Christ who waits to enter our experience. Are we prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility? It is easy to become self-satisfied. We need to remember that the Christian life is a journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of one’s baptism.
It is called salvation. As Anglicans we are often reluctant to think in terms of salvation, being saved. I remember as a child walking down Yonge St. in Toronto with my mother. We were confronted by a man who shouted at her, “Are you saved?” My mother stood as tall as 4’ 8” can make you. “I’m an Anglican!” she declared.
We need a new way of thinking about salvation. I was quite taken with what Marcus Borg had to say about it as we listened to him on tape at the Advent Conference last week. “The Christian life” he said, “is not about pleasing God the finger-shaker and judge. It is not about believing now or being good now for the sake of heaven later. It is about entering a relationship in the present that begins to change everything now. Spirituality is about this process: the opening of the heart to the God who is already here.”
That is a wonderful message about salavation. It is also a wonderful message for Advent, because Advent is about the journey. It is about how God wills our reconciliation. It is about how much God wants to forgive us, to release us from sin and guilt. It is about how we are to see ourselves as God’s beloved. It is above all, about how God wishes the well-being, not just of the Christian, but of all creation. And above all God wants that salvation, that healing, to take place here and now. We are active participants in the salvation of God.
And so we need to ask ourselves, what can be ‘good news’ for what is going on in the world? What can be good news for a world in turmoil? What can be good news for starving children around our world? What can be good news for a creation that is crying out for healing? A world where forest fires ravage whole communities, where polar bears starve, where nature is turned upside down? Because it is not just John who is called to cry out and prepare the way of the Lord. It is all of us. Here and now! Making a difference in the world. Actively participating in God’s saving grace; actively involved in sharing the sacred story. Seeing Christ in others. Allowing others to see Christ in us.
That is the invitation of this season of Advent. Advent is the beginning, but it is only the beginning. The salvation story continues to unfold around us. More importantly, it continues to unfold through us. Amen.
Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:8-13; 2 Peter 3:8-15a, 18; Mark 1:1-8
Mark begins his gospel, not as Matthew and Luke do, with birth narratives of Jesus. Nor does he begin as John does with a theological argument about who God is. Rather he announces the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. It is the ushering in of a new era, of a new way of being in relationship with God. It is the beginning, but just the beginning of the good news. That means there is more to come. It is a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as a fresh inbreaking of God. It is a new beginning not only for the early Christians but for every generation that encounters the gospel. Human experience and the written word come together to create a new reality of faith.
A group of parishioners in one of my parishes was visiting another denomination as part of an ecumenical program. I was sitting with some of the children during the sermon. The minister became quite passionate about what he was saying. The little girl beside me leaned over and asked in a rather loud voice, “Why is that man yelling at us?” It took me back to my own childhood and its “hell fire and damnation sermons” which were, no doubt intended to scare us into being good in order to avoid the wrath and judgement of a vindictive God. That was not good news to the child in my congregation. It was not good news to me as a child. It is in no way the good news that Mark is offering.
Mark begins his gospel with a message of hope. He begins with a claim that he is the bearer of good news for the world. He heralds in a new beginning, a fulfilling of the Old Testament as God breaks into the world in a new way. It is a big claim to say that you have something that is good news. And what Mark is saying is that “this is it.” This is what God has been preparing humankind for throughout the centuries. This is what the prophets were predicting as their minds opened to God’s eternal truth. “This is it.” This one, Jesus Christ, is the answer to the aching longings of men and women throughout the ages. This is the healing and the cure. This is the cancelling out of the debt of sin. This is the way back to God’s order, to the transformation of a world in need of God’s healing grace. Mark is telling us, “This is it, and it is happening now!”
Mark sets the stage for telling the story of Jesus who is the Good News. ‘How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the one bearing good news to Israel and announcing God’s coming kingdom!’ He announces John the Baptist, the prophet anointed by the Spirit to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim liberation. This is not the John of Matthew or Luke ranting at the people, calling them a ‘brood of vipers”. He is admittedly a strange messenger, this man dressed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and honey. The other messengers in Scripture have tended to be angelic. That is not the picture one gets of John. His message is one of repentance as the way of entering into the kingdom. He points beyond himself, offering hope through renewing a right relationship with God. He preaches metanoia, conversion. His is a call for a major change in direction, a call for transformation. It is a call for the whole nation to repent as preparation for the coming of the Messiah.
And so as we enter this season of Advent let us remind ourselves that it is a new beginning, one that can provide us with a reason for existence, a purpose, an objective. Jesus confronts us, not with a message of fear, not with a message of hell fire and damnation, but with a promise – the promise that we are his children and servants for ever. But do not take that as a signal that we are off the hook. It is a beginning that must be followed up by each one of us.
No matter at what stage of our Christian life we may find ourselves, there is possible a deeper encounter with Christ who waits to enter our experience. Are we prepared to search and to be open to such a possibility? It is easy to become self-satisfied. We need to remember that the Christian life is a journey into a maturing and deepening spirituality. Each new discovery takes us deeper. It becomes a new beginning, a new birthing, a renewal of one’s baptism.
It is called salvation. As Anglicans we are often reluctant to think in terms of salvation, being saved. I remember as a child walking down Yonge St. in Toronto with my mother. We were confronted by a man who shouted at her, “Are you saved?” My mother stood as tall as 4’ 8” can make you. “I’m an Anglican!” she declared.
We need a new way of thinking about salvation. I was quite taken with what Marcus Borg had to say about it as we listened to him on tape at the Advent Conference last week. “The Christian life” he said, “is not about pleasing God the finger-shaker and judge. It is not about believing now or being good now for the sake of heaven later. It is about entering a relationship in the present that begins to change everything now. Spirituality is about this process: the opening of the heart to the God who is already here.”
That is a wonderful message about salavation. It is also a wonderful message for Advent, because Advent is about the journey. It is about how God wills our reconciliation. It is about how much God wants to forgive us, to release us from sin and guilt. It is about how we are to see ourselves as God’s beloved. It is above all, about how God wishes the well-being, not just of the Christian, but of all creation. And above all God wants that salvation, that healing, to take place here and now. We are active participants in the salvation of God.
And so we need to ask ourselves, what can be ‘good news’ for what is going on in the world? What can be good news for a world in turmoil? What can be good news for starving children around our world? What can be good news for a creation that is crying out for healing? A world where forest fires ravage whole communities, where polar bears starve, where nature is turned upside down? Because it is not just John who is called to cry out and prepare the way of the Lord. It is all of us. Here and now! Making a difference in the world. Actively participating in God’s saving grace; actively involved in sharing the sacred story. Seeing Christ in others. Allowing others to see Christ in us.
That is the invitation of this season of Advent. Advent is the beginning, but it is only the beginning. The salvation story continues to unfold around us. More importantly, it continues to unfold through us. Amen.
Saturday, November 4, 2017
The Feast of All Saints, Year A
To All the Saints
Readings: Revelation 7:9-17; Psalm 34:1-10; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12
To the saints who are in Port Hope and are faithful in Christ Jesus:
I am speaking to you as Paul spoke to those to whom he wrote. I suspect that many who hear themselves spoken about as saints cringe at the thought. We have a definite picture in our mind of what it means to be a saint, and it is not how we see ourselves. Most of us shudder at the thought of being saintly. It raises all our misconceptions of what it means to be a saint. Saints for whatever reason have a bad image. We imagine them wandering around amongst the clouds, playing on harps. Their heads are piously bent. They have sickeningly sweet smiles on their faces. Their hands are clasped in an attitude of prayer. Their haloes are in place just so. We want to scream at them, “Get a life!”
Or it may be that you simply cannot see yourself as a saint. For most of us it is a stretch. We look at ourselves and see our imperfections. Each one of us is in some way disfigured, imperfect and flawed. On Halloween our children live that out. They dress up as evil beings wearing grotesque masks and costumes. They parade through the streets. Today’s parade needs to be a very different one, a procession that recognizes the good that is in everyone. This feast of All Saints is a wonderful one for us to look behind the ugliness of the masks we wear, masks of sinfulness and brokenness, and experience the grace and love of God.
So what does it mean to be a saint? Who are these saints that we remember? Sometimes when we speak about the saints we mean one who stands as a giant of spirituality in a past age. Sometimes we mean someone who embodies for us what we think it is to be Christ-like. Sometimes we mean the figures we see depicted in stained-glass windows.
That is certainly not the portrait of the saints that is revealed to us in Scripture. The readings for All Saints Day offer a portrait of the saints of God in all their diversity. There are certainly the ones we recognize as saints of God, the suffering martyrs, the struggling saints, the priests and prophets, the servants and disciples of all ages. But there are also the ordinary people like you and like me, going about our daily routines but doing so with a sense of integrity and faithfulness to God’s promises.
It is there in John’s amazing vision from the Book of Revelation. What a thrill it must have been for the early Christians to understand that despite the trials and tribulations under which they lived they were not alone. They were part of a vast multitude of saints that no one could count. They were purified through their suffering. It was a time for them not of despair, but of great celebration.
It speaks to us in a similar way in this secular age in which it sometimes seems an embarrassment to be a Christian. There are times in personal Christian experience when one feels horribly alone, isolated and irrelevant. Does it thrill us to know that we are part of a great multitude of saints? We belong to a vast company whose bonds stretch beyond time and space into the ultimate reality of God’s presence.
In his letter John explains to us who we are, whose we are, and who and what we can become. If we do not feel much like saints, we can take heart in our becoming. A number of years ago a scientist broke down the value of a human being. It works out to about four dollars in today’s currency. It included oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, calcium, phosphorous, potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, magnesium, iron and iodine. But I have to tell you! Our value is so much more. We are not simply bundles of molecules and atoms. We are the offspring of our creator. We are God’s children. That is not something we work at or wait for. It is the gift of God’s eternal love. We have discovered our identity and significance. We know who we are and to whom we belong and where we are going. We may not know the whole story of what we will become. We do know that we are children of God created in God’s own image. We do know that we are made in the image of Christ. And that makes us saints of God.
Yet I do not want to diminish that quest for holiness that is part of our human struggle. In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus challenges us to be godly people. It is amongst the most remembered of Jesus’ words. We often sentimentalize what should provoke and disturb us. It is a picture of life totally contrary to everything that is human in our world. Impossible to attain! It is designed not to be something accomplished, but rather ßa goal of Christian living.
“Happy are the poor,” Jesus says. And the world replies, “You know what makes you happy. Look at the beautiful home you have. Look at how you live. Don’t you have everything you want?”
“Happy are the hungry,” Jesus says. And the world replies, “You need so much more to be happy. Go out and buy some more things. Then you’ll be really happy!”
Jesus says, “Happy are you who weak now, for you will laugh.” And the world says, “Enjoy what you have. Life is too short. Live it to the full.”
Jesus says, “Happy are you when people say nasty things about you, when they exclude you, when they put you down.” And the world replies, “Put them down before they put you down. That will surely make you happy.”
The Beatitudes do not lead to salvation, but by following them we will live a more authentic life that communicates God’s healing power to lives of the sick, lonely, oppressed, broken and unhappy people in our world and community. Living that way will not win us God’s favour. We already have that. We are graced by God. Living authentically will empower us and help us grow as members of God’s family.
The point of our celebration of all the saints is that God is much more generous than we could ever imagine. God is much more inclusive than we could ever think. In Jesus Christ, God is more accepting and welcoming than we could ever dare to dream.
To the church of God that is in Port Hope, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours: grace and peace, this day and forever. Amen
Readings: Revelation 7:9-17; Psalm 34:1-10; 1 John 3:1-3; Matthew 5:1-12
To the saints who are in Port Hope and are faithful in Christ Jesus:
I am speaking to you as Paul spoke to those to whom he wrote. I suspect that many who hear themselves spoken about as saints cringe at the thought. We have a definite picture in our mind of what it means to be a saint, and it is not how we see ourselves. Most of us shudder at the thought of being saintly. It raises all our misconceptions of what it means to be a saint. Saints for whatever reason have a bad image. We imagine them wandering around amongst the clouds, playing on harps. Their heads are piously bent. They have sickeningly sweet smiles on their faces. Their hands are clasped in an attitude of prayer. Their haloes are in place just so. We want to scream at them, “Get a life!”
Or it may be that you simply cannot see yourself as a saint. For most of us it is a stretch. We look at ourselves and see our imperfections. Each one of us is in some way disfigured, imperfect and flawed. On Halloween our children live that out. They dress up as evil beings wearing grotesque masks and costumes. They parade through the streets. Today’s parade needs to be a very different one, a procession that recognizes the good that is in everyone. This feast of All Saints is a wonderful one for us to look behind the ugliness of the masks we wear, masks of sinfulness and brokenness, and experience the grace and love of God.
So what does it mean to be a saint? Who are these saints that we remember? Sometimes when we speak about the saints we mean one who stands as a giant of spirituality in a past age. Sometimes we mean someone who embodies for us what we think it is to be Christ-like. Sometimes we mean the figures we see depicted in stained-glass windows.
That is certainly not the portrait of the saints that is revealed to us in Scripture. The readings for All Saints Day offer a portrait of the saints of God in all their diversity. There are certainly the ones we recognize as saints of God, the suffering martyrs, the struggling saints, the priests and prophets, the servants and disciples of all ages. But there are also the ordinary people like you and like me, going about our daily routines but doing so with a sense of integrity and faithfulness to God’s promises.
It is there in John’s amazing vision from the Book of Revelation. What a thrill it must have been for the early Christians to understand that despite the trials and tribulations under which they lived they were not alone. They were part of a vast multitude of saints that no one could count. They were purified through their suffering. It was a time for them not of despair, but of great celebration.
It speaks to us in a similar way in this secular age in which it sometimes seems an embarrassment to be a Christian. There are times in personal Christian experience when one feels horribly alone, isolated and irrelevant. Does it thrill us to know that we are part of a great multitude of saints? We belong to a vast company whose bonds stretch beyond time and space into the ultimate reality of God’s presence.
In his letter John explains to us who we are, whose we are, and who and what we can become. If we do not feel much like saints, we can take heart in our becoming. A number of years ago a scientist broke down the value of a human being. It works out to about four dollars in today’s currency. It included oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, calcium, phosphorous, potassium, sulfur, sodium, chlorine, magnesium, iron and iodine. But I have to tell you! Our value is so much more. We are not simply bundles of molecules and atoms. We are the offspring of our creator. We are God’s children. That is not something we work at or wait for. It is the gift of God’s eternal love. We have discovered our identity and significance. We know who we are and to whom we belong and where we are going. We may not know the whole story of what we will become. We do know that we are children of God created in God’s own image. We do know that we are made in the image of Christ. And that makes us saints of God.
Yet I do not want to diminish that quest for holiness that is part of our human struggle. In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus challenges us to be godly people. It is amongst the most remembered of Jesus’ words. We often sentimentalize what should provoke and disturb us. It is a picture of life totally contrary to everything that is human in our world. Impossible to attain! It is designed not to be something accomplished, but rather ßa goal of Christian living.
“Happy are the poor,” Jesus says. And the world replies, “You know what makes you happy. Look at the beautiful home you have. Look at how you live. Don’t you have everything you want?”
“Happy are the hungry,” Jesus says. And the world replies, “You need so much more to be happy. Go out and buy some more things. Then you’ll be really happy!”
Jesus says, “Happy are you who weak now, for you will laugh.” And the world says, “Enjoy what you have. Life is too short. Live it to the full.”
Jesus says, “Happy are you when people say nasty things about you, when they exclude you, when they put you down.” And the world replies, “Put them down before they put you down. That will surely make you happy.”
The Beatitudes do not lead to salvation, but by following them we will live a more authentic life that communicates God’s healing power to lives of the sick, lonely, oppressed, broken and unhappy people in our world and community. Living that way will not win us God’s favour. We already have that. We are graced by God. Living authentically will empower us and help us grow as members of God’s family.
The point of our celebration of all the saints is that God is much more generous than we could ever imagine. God is much more inclusive than we could ever think. In Jesus Christ, God is more accepting and welcoming than we could ever dare to dream.
To the church of God that is in Port Hope, to those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints, together with all those who in every place call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, both their Lord and ours: grace and peace, this day and forever. Amen
Saturday, September 16, 2017
Holy Cross
God So Loved the World
Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Corinthians 1;18-24; John 3:14-21
I recently revisited a spectacular image of the earth from the perspective of the moon, an image captured in February of 2014 by NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It looks like a tiny blue marble above the moon’s craters. It is one of twelve such “earthrises” that occur every day from the perspective of the moon. It gives me an overwhelming sense of the vastness of God’s creation and of our small part in it. It also gives me a sense of awe and wonder at the God who so lovingly created us.
Being loved is always a surprise. The very fact that someone chooses to love us is exciting. It supports us in what we do. It gives us new insight into our value as a human. Even when we recognize our self worth, being loved is still a startling experience. "Are we worthy of such devotion?" we wonder. "Will it last?"
It is no wonder then, that being loved by God comes as a great surprise to us. Paul says that we are created in Christ for good works. God has crafted us in God's own image. We are "works of art", part of a great masterpiece crafted by a genius artist. How hard it is to take in just how great that love is! Yet there it is. How much does God love us? God loves us enough to have created us. Not one mold, but each unique and wonderful. Each part of God's plan. What love that is! Genuine and real, the kind of love that resulted in something so great that it is beyond our imagination.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life." That is an amazing gift of love! A free gift! Love totally unmerited by us! The ultimate example of love! It is the pattern and model of the kind of love that we, as Christians, are called to show in our lives. And it is offered to every one of us.
It is probably the most cited verse of Scripture. All we need to do is say John 3:16 and people can recite every word. We make huge signs at ballgames to proclaim its message. But I wonder if we really believe it. Do we believe that God loves the world, or do we get some perverse enjoyment out of being reminded that we are saved while others are not? Do we really hear it as a statement about God’s love for the world? Or is it a threat for those unwilling to accept that love? Do we hear it as an invitation to participate in spreading God’s love? Or does it give us a reason to exclude those we think God does not love? Do we ignore the state of God’s creation because we mistakenly think that God will take care of us and the world, that we do not need to do anything to preserve God’s creative work?
Many years ago I was playing the music at a retreat given by the then Primate, Ted Scott. One of the reflections was on this passage of Scripture. He asked us to recite the verse. Everyone in the room was able to do so. Like every good Anglican, we grew up hearing it as part of the Comfortable words. Then he asked us about John 3:17. There was a silence until I piped up. “He sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.” You see, I had sung Stainer’s Crucifixion so often that the words came spontaneously. When he recovered that someone actually knew that verse, he challenged whether or not I had ever thought about what I was singing. And of course, I had not. He went on to reflect on how God became human not to condemn the world, but to experience life with us, to be God with us, to offer us the kind of love that results not in some future promise, but in relationship here and now. That is how God loves us. That is the love that we are called to share with a broken world.
Paul takes every opportunity to help us to understand that salvation is a free gift from God, a love gift. It is not something we have earned. It is not something we deserve. It is grace, freely given. He also emphasizes that, free though it may be, it is not without cost. Opening ourselves to the gift of God's love means that we cannot avoid the experience of the cross. Accepting the gift of God's love means opening ourselves to the possibility of suffering; it also means opening ourselves to the probability of great joy.
That is the foolishness of the cross that Paul was speaking about. “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing.” While the people of Jesus’ time understood its horror; they didn’t understand its connection to God. The Jews were looking for the saving action of God that would occur through the sending of the Messiah. They were looking for signs, but not the sign of the cross. They could never even consider that God’s promised agent could be put to death. The Greeks, on the other hand, were seeking pure knowledge. A suffering god would be impossible for them as well.
I am in the habit of wearing a cross all the time. It is an automatic response in me each morning to put it on, not as a piece of jewelry, but as a marker in my life that I belong to God, that God loves me. Hopefully it is a visible sign to others whom I meet that I am a Christian. We Christians are reluctant to ‘wear’ our faith. A Few years ago I was on holidays up at the Church Camp where I owned a cottage, when an acquaintance questioned why I was wearing a cross. I was somewhat taken aback by the question, since this was a person who confesses the Christian faith and knows that I am a priest. I gave her a quizzical look; I didn’t answer right away. I needed to ask myself what was behind her question. Was it something about the particular cross I was wearing? Was it because I was on holidays? Was it what it represented? Finding myself still wondering, I finally asked her and was confronted with a barrage of hurt, anger and frustration. It became abundantly clear to me that for her the image of the cross was not merely foolish, but abhorrent.
The people of Israel thought that to follow in God's way would mean an end to suffering and tragedy. They discovered differently. As the time in the wilderness went on and on, they began to see that, just because it's free, does not mean it is without cost. "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?" they railed at Moses. "For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food."
What they are saying is that the manna that God has provided, the free gift of God's grace, is not enough. They want more.
Are we ever like that? Do we lose patience on the way to the Promised Land? We just don't expect that in our lives. When we choose to follow Christ, we expect that it will mean an end to suffering. That it will mean that somehow we have tapped in to a magical way of avoiding anything bad happening. It will all work out like some Harlequin romance where every story has its happy ending.
It simply does not happen fast enough for us. Or the way we expected it to. Aren't we rather prone to wanting instant gratification for our every desire? We don't expect to continue to find ourselves wandering in the desert. We don't expect to meet with any adversity or trouble on the way.
The cross for us as Christians is a sign of contradiction. What was once a sign of infamy and disgrace becomes a sign of vulnerability and love, the great love of a great God. The contradiction also arises because it came about through the sacrifice of Christ. It brings about suffering, but without it there can be no resurrection. The cross, a symbol of death, is for the Christian a symbol of resurrection.
"When I am lifted up from the earth,” Jesus says in the Gospel, “I shall draw all people to myself." Moses lifted up the brass serpent in the wilderness, and all those who looked at it were healed. Jesus was lifted up. All who believed were given eternal life. The cross is a call to wholeness in Christ. Belief in the crucified Lord calls us to repentance and healing. It calls us to respond, to respond with love for our neighbour. Not the neighbour I choose to love, not the one whose culture and race match mine, but the one whom God calls me to serve.
My neighbour is the addicted, the perverted, the selfish, the corrupted. My neighbour is the one of another faith. My neighbour is the one person in the parish that I just cannot stand. Our great God, who gave us such amazing love, calls us to extend that love to others. Through service we fulfill our call. “God so loved the world.” Not the Christian! But the whole world!
The realization that we are really loved by God is difficult to grasp. Yet the signs of God's love are all around us. The humanity of Christ is God's fullest sign of love for us. That Christ should live and die as one of us is a truly amazing sign. If we believe it, this sign should support, thrill, excite, and re-create us. It is a constant reminder that we are truly loved.
As I have reflected on that this week, I cannot help but go back to our carelessness about God’s creation. Surely God loves everything about this world that is so lovingly created in God’s image. We keep thinking that it is God’s vocation to look after it and us. Surely with great love comes great responsibility. Surely we are called to stewardship of God’s creation.
The closer we stand to the cross the more we can see the image of the person God has called us to be. The closer we stand to the cross the more clearly we can hear God calling our name and naming our vocation. It is at the foot of the cross that reconciliation with all of God’s creation becomes possible. It is from the foot of the cross that we are invited to see the world, both broken and blessed, through God’s eyes. May we go out into the world sharing God’s healing grace! Amen
Readings: Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Corinthians 1;18-24; John 3:14-21
I recently revisited a spectacular image of the earth from the perspective of the moon, an image captured in February of 2014 by NASA’s Lunar Reconnaissance Orbiter. It looks like a tiny blue marble above the moon’s craters. It is one of twelve such “earthrises” that occur every day from the perspective of the moon. It gives me an overwhelming sense of the vastness of God’s creation and of our small part in it. It also gives me a sense of awe and wonder at the God who so lovingly created us.
Being loved is always a surprise. The very fact that someone chooses to love us is exciting. It supports us in what we do. It gives us new insight into our value as a human. Even when we recognize our self worth, being loved is still a startling experience. "Are we worthy of such devotion?" we wonder. "Will it last?"
It is no wonder then, that being loved by God comes as a great surprise to us. Paul says that we are created in Christ for good works. God has crafted us in God's own image. We are "works of art", part of a great masterpiece crafted by a genius artist. How hard it is to take in just how great that love is! Yet there it is. How much does God love us? God loves us enough to have created us. Not one mold, but each unique and wonderful. Each part of God's plan. What love that is! Genuine and real, the kind of love that resulted in something so great that it is beyond our imagination.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life." That is an amazing gift of love! A free gift! Love totally unmerited by us! The ultimate example of love! It is the pattern and model of the kind of love that we, as Christians, are called to show in our lives. And it is offered to every one of us.
It is probably the most cited verse of Scripture. All we need to do is say John 3:16 and people can recite every word. We make huge signs at ballgames to proclaim its message. But I wonder if we really believe it. Do we believe that God loves the world, or do we get some perverse enjoyment out of being reminded that we are saved while others are not? Do we really hear it as a statement about God’s love for the world? Or is it a threat for those unwilling to accept that love? Do we hear it as an invitation to participate in spreading God’s love? Or does it give us a reason to exclude those we think God does not love? Do we ignore the state of God’s creation because we mistakenly think that God will take care of us and the world, that we do not need to do anything to preserve God’s creative work?
Many years ago I was playing the music at a retreat given by the then Primate, Ted Scott. One of the reflections was on this passage of Scripture. He asked us to recite the verse. Everyone in the room was able to do so. Like every good Anglican, we grew up hearing it as part of the Comfortable words. Then he asked us about John 3:17. There was a silence until I piped up. “He sent not his son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.” You see, I had sung Stainer’s Crucifixion so often that the words came spontaneously. When he recovered that someone actually knew that verse, he challenged whether or not I had ever thought about what I was singing. And of course, I had not. He went on to reflect on how God became human not to condemn the world, but to experience life with us, to be God with us, to offer us the kind of love that results not in some future promise, but in relationship here and now. That is how God loves us. That is the love that we are called to share with a broken world.
Paul takes every opportunity to help us to understand that salvation is a free gift from God, a love gift. It is not something we have earned. It is not something we deserve. It is grace, freely given. He also emphasizes that, free though it may be, it is not without cost. Opening ourselves to the gift of God's love means that we cannot avoid the experience of the cross. Accepting the gift of God's love means opening ourselves to the possibility of suffering; it also means opening ourselves to the probability of great joy.
That is the foolishness of the cross that Paul was speaking about. “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing.” While the people of Jesus’ time understood its horror; they didn’t understand its connection to God. The Jews were looking for the saving action of God that would occur through the sending of the Messiah. They were looking for signs, but not the sign of the cross. They could never even consider that God’s promised agent could be put to death. The Greeks, on the other hand, were seeking pure knowledge. A suffering god would be impossible for them as well.
I am in the habit of wearing a cross all the time. It is an automatic response in me each morning to put it on, not as a piece of jewelry, but as a marker in my life that I belong to God, that God loves me. Hopefully it is a visible sign to others whom I meet that I am a Christian. We Christians are reluctant to ‘wear’ our faith. A Few years ago I was on holidays up at the Church Camp where I owned a cottage, when an acquaintance questioned why I was wearing a cross. I was somewhat taken aback by the question, since this was a person who confesses the Christian faith and knows that I am a priest. I gave her a quizzical look; I didn’t answer right away. I needed to ask myself what was behind her question. Was it something about the particular cross I was wearing? Was it because I was on holidays? Was it what it represented? Finding myself still wondering, I finally asked her and was confronted with a barrage of hurt, anger and frustration. It became abundantly clear to me that for her the image of the cross was not merely foolish, but abhorrent.
The people of Israel thought that to follow in God's way would mean an end to suffering and tragedy. They discovered differently. As the time in the wilderness went on and on, they began to see that, just because it's free, does not mean it is without cost. "Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?" they railed at Moses. "For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food."
What they are saying is that the manna that God has provided, the free gift of God's grace, is not enough. They want more.
Are we ever like that? Do we lose patience on the way to the Promised Land? We just don't expect that in our lives. When we choose to follow Christ, we expect that it will mean an end to suffering. That it will mean that somehow we have tapped in to a magical way of avoiding anything bad happening. It will all work out like some Harlequin romance where every story has its happy ending.
It simply does not happen fast enough for us. Or the way we expected it to. Aren't we rather prone to wanting instant gratification for our every desire? We don't expect to continue to find ourselves wandering in the desert. We don't expect to meet with any adversity or trouble on the way.
The cross for us as Christians is a sign of contradiction. What was once a sign of infamy and disgrace becomes a sign of vulnerability and love, the great love of a great God. The contradiction also arises because it came about through the sacrifice of Christ. It brings about suffering, but without it there can be no resurrection. The cross, a symbol of death, is for the Christian a symbol of resurrection.
"When I am lifted up from the earth,” Jesus says in the Gospel, “I shall draw all people to myself." Moses lifted up the brass serpent in the wilderness, and all those who looked at it were healed. Jesus was lifted up. All who believed were given eternal life. The cross is a call to wholeness in Christ. Belief in the crucified Lord calls us to repentance and healing. It calls us to respond, to respond with love for our neighbour. Not the neighbour I choose to love, not the one whose culture and race match mine, but the one whom God calls me to serve.
My neighbour is the addicted, the perverted, the selfish, the corrupted. My neighbour is the one of another faith. My neighbour is the one person in the parish that I just cannot stand. Our great God, who gave us such amazing love, calls us to extend that love to others. Through service we fulfill our call. “God so loved the world.” Not the Christian! But the whole world!
The realization that we are really loved by God is difficult to grasp. Yet the signs of God's love are all around us. The humanity of Christ is God's fullest sign of love for us. That Christ should live and die as one of us is a truly amazing sign. If we believe it, this sign should support, thrill, excite, and re-create us. It is a constant reminder that we are truly loved.
As I have reflected on that this week, I cannot help but go back to our carelessness about God’s creation. Surely God loves everything about this world that is so lovingly created in God’s image. We keep thinking that it is God’s vocation to look after it and us. Surely with great love comes great responsibility. Surely we are called to stewardship of God’s creation.
The closer we stand to the cross the more we can see the image of the person God has called us to be. The closer we stand to the cross the more clearly we can hear God calling our name and naming our vocation. It is at the foot of the cross that reconciliation with all of God’s creation becomes possible. It is from the foot of the cross that we are invited to see the world, both broken and blessed, through God’s eyes. May we go out into the world sharing God’s healing grace! Amen
Saturday, September 9, 2017
The 14th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 23, Year A
You’ve Been Unfriended
Readings: Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 149; Romans 13:8-14; Matthew 18:15-20
When I looked over the gospel earlier this week, I quickly dismissed it as being one which I would really rather avoid. It is a difficult reading. Who wants to preach about dealing with conflict? Conflict is not easily dealt with, except, of course, on Facebook, where you simply ‘unfriend’ the offending individual. They may not even find out for months that they have been unfriended. It would solve a lot of problems in the Church, or would it?
After all, that avoids the real reason for Church. If the Church truly is to be the Body of Christ then our purpose is to build community. And that begins with us asking ourselves what kind of community we want our congregation to be. Our community could be largely social, a place to meet a few likeminded people who could get along together. But that is superficial to say the least. Perhaps we want a place that holds us accountable, where we can be honest about our hopes and dreams, our fears and anxieties. That could be risky, of course. Do we want a place where we can remain anonymous, unchallenged, uninvolved, where we can simply blend in? Or do we want to make a difference, not only in our own lives, but in the community? Do we want people to say, “Look at those Christians, how they love one another?” If we do, then it is going to take what is at the heart of this morning’s gospel in order to accomplish it.
The gospel provides us with some perspectives on the meaning of love and compassion at times of conflict and trouble. What is our Christian call when things go wrong? What do you do when things go wrong in the church? It provides some fascinating insights into communal relationships that deal, not just with the Church, but permeate all of life and society. How important that is if we truly want to be relevant in a society that says we are not! The resolution of conflict is a personal responsibility. Confrontation is something few people enjoy. Most of us will do anything to avoid it. And yet if the community, any community, is to work together, disputes require reconciliation.
And so in Matthew’s gospel we are given a process for dealing with conflict and finding it in our hearts not only to forgive, but also to reconcile. It is a process that recognizes the struggle of the early church to work harmoniously. The need for resolution when disputes arise is part of our human nature. That is exactly why confession and absolution are part of every liturgy in our church. When we pass the Peace in worship it symbolizes our willingness to be reconciled one with another.
The Gospel continues, "For when two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Simone Weil, the 20th Century French philosopher, activist and mystic, writes, "Two and three, and there should be no more." She was not saying that larger groups of people should not pray together. She was saying that something special happens when two or three people gather together in prayer. Anyone who has ever prayed at the bedside of someone who is ill or on a special occasion knows the power of that kind of prayer. It shows us how good the Lord is and how present in our lives.
In 1998 when I went to Africa to participate in the Women’s Gathering and the World Council of Churches, I stayed with some families in one of the townships in South Africa. My host families gave me a wonderful sense of what it means for Christ to be present in prayer. As soon as I entered a home I was invited to pray with the family. As we gathered in prayer all the barriers dropped away. It is something we are not accustomed to, but that is our loss. Many people will ask me for prayer, but they squirm if I actually begin to pray out loud. They want me to go off on my own and pray for them. They don't understand the relationship that comes through praying together. It isn't even about finding the right words to say. The idea behind such prayer is to allow God to work in and through our lives. We continue to trust in God who helps and protects us. Then we are able to fulfill the great commandment, that we love one another as God loves us.
But on this weekend, I cannot help but think that the global implications are far more important for us to discern. What do these readings have to say to us on the heels of one disaster after another? Fire, famine, earthquake, hurricane – what a list of disasters across every part of the globe! Just before we come to September 11th, a day when the world changed, the world has changed once again. Once more we have a date that will not be forgotten. This time the watchword will be ‘Irma’, a storm of epic proportions that has unleashed its fury on the Caribbean and is heading towards Florida, a country still reeling from the effects of ‘Harvey’. Once more the media is filled with heart wrenching stories of loss and tragedy. Whole islands are devastated. Nothing prepares you for any of that. It does not prepare you for the kind of devastation that so many people are facing. To see the widespread destruction that nature can unleash, to know that once again so many lives have been lost, to witness the despair of the victims of this disaster, people in dire need, cannot help but change the way we live our lives.
At such times we turn to our faith for answers to the deep questions that arise within us. Is God in charge of our world? Is God watching over us? Does God even care? Or have we so destroyed our world through our lack of stewardship that it can never recover? It tries our faith. It becomes painfully obvious that Christian faith gives rise to more questions than answers. If that is true of us, how can we possibly convey to people who have not experienced it, the kind of strength we receive through our faith, the nurture that we receive through worship and prayer?
We struggle together as the people of God, certainly in moments of personal conflict, but also in times of national distress, in times of instability. We trust in God who helps and protects us. How do we share that with others? How do we put into words what can only be experienced through participation in the community of faith? How do we tell people the things that we learn through a lifetime of searching for the truth?
It isn't just about sharing our faith with others. We struggle as we live out our faith with what it means to be a Christian. We have a conviction as Christians that we need to live in harmony with God's creation. Yet tensions arise between what we believe and what is going on in the world. The tension arises because living the Christian life is not a matter of black and white. Truly, there are laws to follow. There are the Ten Commandments. There is the great commandment to love God and to love neighbour. Yet so many things in our Christian lives fall into grey areas that are matters of the heart. We can search for rules to guide us in making right decisions in such matters. We can pray for discernment. But when it comes down to it God simply calls us to do the loving thing.
That is the basis of Paul's reminder to the Christians in Rome. I would remind you that they knew a great deal about living in a troubled world. Paul affirms the need to follow the Ten Commandments, but sums them up as "love of neighbour". "Love does no wrong to a neighbour: therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law." The law to love supersedes all other laws for the Christian. Such teaching about love fits well with the Ten Commandments. Old Testament rules are good rules, not because they are in the Bible, but because they are based on love. If we always do the loving thing, we find that we are following God's rules. In fact, if we always did the loving thing then there would be no need for rules. It is our frailty, our inability to put our neighbour first, our inability to see Christ in others that dictates our need for rules.
Love calls us to repentance. Instead of complaining about the high cost of gas, perhaps a true sense of repentance calls us to examine our sense of stewardship. Are we good stewards of God’s creation? Are we using more than our fair share of the world’s resources? Are there things that we can do to reverse the damage that our wastefulness has caused in the world?
Love calls us to action. We need to give with compassion. How do we help the devastation that is faced at this moment by so many in our world?
And finally, love calls us to prayer. And so today we pray for the people who have been so devastated by this storm. We pray for their safety and for their well-being. We continue to trust in God who helps and protects us. Amen.
Readings: Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 149; Romans 13:8-14; Matthew 18:15-20
When I looked over the gospel earlier this week, I quickly dismissed it as being one which I would really rather avoid. It is a difficult reading. Who wants to preach about dealing with conflict? Conflict is not easily dealt with, except, of course, on Facebook, where you simply ‘unfriend’ the offending individual. They may not even find out for months that they have been unfriended. It would solve a lot of problems in the Church, or would it?
After all, that avoids the real reason for Church. If the Church truly is to be the Body of Christ then our purpose is to build community. And that begins with us asking ourselves what kind of community we want our congregation to be. Our community could be largely social, a place to meet a few likeminded people who could get along together. But that is superficial to say the least. Perhaps we want a place that holds us accountable, where we can be honest about our hopes and dreams, our fears and anxieties. That could be risky, of course. Do we want a place where we can remain anonymous, unchallenged, uninvolved, where we can simply blend in? Or do we want to make a difference, not only in our own lives, but in the community? Do we want people to say, “Look at those Christians, how they love one another?” If we do, then it is going to take what is at the heart of this morning’s gospel in order to accomplish it.
The gospel provides us with some perspectives on the meaning of love and compassion at times of conflict and trouble. What is our Christian call when things go wrong? What do you do when things go wrong in the church? It provides some fascinating insights into communal relationships that deal, not just with the Church, but permeate all of life and society. How important that is if we truly want to be relevant in a society that says we are not! The resolution of conflict is a personal responsibility. Confrontation is something few people enjoy. Most of us will do anything to avoid it. And yet if the community, any community, is to work together, disputes require reconciliation.
And so in Matthew’s gospel we are given a process for dealing with conflict and finding it in our hearts not only to forgive, but also to reconcile. It is a process that recognizes the struggle of the early church to work harmoniously. The need for resolution when disputes arise is part of our human nature. That is exactly why confession and absolution are part of every liturgy in our church. When we pass the Peace in worship it symbolizes our willingness to be reconciled one with another.
The Gospel continues, "For when two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Simone Weil, the 20th Century French philosopher, activist and mystic, writes, "Two and three, and there should be no more." She was not saying that larger groups of people should not pray together. She was saying that something special happens when two or three people gather together in prayer. Anyone who has ever prayed at the bedside of someone who is ill or on a special occasion knows the power of that kind of prayer. It shows us how good the Lord is and how present in our lives.
In 1998 when I went to Africa to participate in the Women’s Gathering and the World Council of Churches, I stayed with some families in one of the townships in South Africa. My host families gave me a wonderful sense of what it means for Christ to be present in prayer. As soon as I entered a home I was invited to pray with the family. As we gathered in prayer all the barriers dropped away. It is something we are not accustomed to, but that is our loss. Many people will ask me for prayer, but they squirm if I actually begin to pray out loud. They want me to go off on my own and pray for them. They don't understand the relationship that comes through praying together. It isn't even about finding the right words to say. The idea behind such prayer is to allow God to work in and through our lives. We continue to trust in God who helps and protects us. Then we are able to fulfill the great commandment, that we love one another as God loves us.
But on this weekend, I cannot help but think that the global implications are far more important for us to discern. What do these readings have to say to us on the heels of one disaster after another? Fire, famine, earthquake, hurricane – what a list of disasters across every part of the globe! Just before we come to September 11th, a day when the world changed, the world has changed once again. Once more we have a date that will not be forgotten. This time the watchword will be ‘Irma’, a storm of epic proportions that has unleashed its fury on the Caribbean and is heading towards Florida, a country still reeling from the effects of ‘Harvey’. Once more the media is filled with heart wrenching stories of loss and tragedy. Whole islands are devastated. Nothing prepares you for any of that. It does not prepare you for the kind of devastation that so many people are facing. To see the widespread destruction that nature can unleash, to know that once again so many lives have been lost, to witness the despair of the victims of this disaster, people in dire need, cannot help but change the way we live our lives.
At such times we turn to our faith for answers to the deep questions that arise within us. Is God in charge of our world? Is God watching over us? Does God even care? Or have we so destroyed our world through our lack of stewardship that it can never recover? It tries our faith. It becomes painfully obvious that Christian faith gives rise to more questions than answers. If that is true of us, how can we possibly convey to people who have not experienced it, the kind of strength we receive through our faith, the nurture that we receive through worship and prayer?
We struggle together as the people of God, certainly in moments of personal conflict, but also in times of national distress, in times of instability. We trust in God who helps and protects us. How do we share that with others? How do we put into words what can only be experienced through participation in the community of faith? How do we tell people the things that we learn through a lifetime of searching for the truth?
It isn't just about sharing our faith with others. We struggle as we live out our faith with what it means to be a Christian. We have a conviction as Christians that we need to live in harmony with God's creation. Yet tensions arise between what we believe and what is going on in the world. The tension arises because living the Christian life is not a matter of black and white. Truly, there are laws to follow. There are the Ten Commandments. There is the great commandment to love God and to love neighbour. Yet so many things in our Christian lives fall into grey areas that are matters of the heart. We can search for rules to guide us in making right decisions in such matters. We can pray for discernment. But when it comes down to it God simply calls us to do the loving thing.
That is the basis of Paul's reminder to the Christians in Rome. I would remind you that they knew a great deal about living in a troubled world. Paul affirms the need to follow the Ten Commandments, but sums them up as "love of neighbour". "Love does no wrong to a neighbour: therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law." The law to love supersedes all other laws for the Christian. Such teaching about love fits well with the Ten Commandments. Old Testament rules are good rules, not because they are in the Bible, but because they are based on love. If we always do the loving thing, we find that we are following God's rules. In fact, if we always did the loving thing then there would be no need for rules. It is our frailty, our inability to put our neighbour first, our inability to see Christ in others that dictates our need for rules.
Love calls us to repentance. Instead of complaining about the high cost of gas, perhaps a true sense of repentance calls us to examine our sense of stewardship. Are we good stewards of God’s creation? Are we using more than our fair share of the world’s resources? Are there things that we can do to reverse the damage that our wastefulness has caused in the world?
Love calls us to action. We need to give with compassion. How do we help the devastation that is faced at this moment by so many in our world?
And finally, love calls us to prayer. And so today we pray for the people who have been so devastated by this storm. We pray for their safety and for their well-being. We continue to trust in God who helps and protects us. Amen.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19, Year A
The Calm After the Storm
Readings: Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45c; Romans 10:5-15; Matthew 14:22-33
Karl Barth writes about fear: “Fear is the shock caused by the supposed knowledge that I shall not be able either to be or to do what I should be and do in face of that which gloriously and fearfully confronts me.” We have all faced times of fear in our lives, events that made time seem to last forever, when we thought that our very lives were in the balance.
I think of the times that I have been most fearful. One is the event that led to my learning to swim. I was four years old and at a camp where my father was the chaplain. I did many of the activities of the campers, who were, of course, quite a bit older than I. Each day I would go swimming. I would paddle in the shallow water and play in the sand. I watched the children in their free time going down a slide into the water. I longed to try it out. So one day I asked the swimming instructor if I could go down the slide. “Of course!” she said to me, not thinking about how small I was, or the fact that I couldn’t swim. I flew down the slide and out into water that was quite deep. I felt myself sink below the surface and was filled with fear and panic. In my panic I thrashed around for what seemed like hours but must have been less than a minute. Then I became calm. I remember thinking, “This is what it is like to die.” And suddenly I was buoyed up by the water and bobbed to the surface. Realizing that I could float, that I could trust the water to hold me up, I began to dog paddle to shallower water.
It was a good learning, because trust, that sense of calm, is what it takes after all when we get into that state of fear. And fear can easily take over when life seems out of control as our world so often does these days. It seems we live in a world filled with fear. It is often through fueling that fear that people come to power. We are faced with so much violence; war, terrorist acts, strange viruses and other health issues, economic and environmental issues. Consider what is going on in the world today with the bombastic rhetoric between President Trump and Chairman Kin Jung-li. Guam must be a very fearful place to live. Fear takes over unless we remember just who is in charge. We trust, knowing that God is as good as God’s word.
It seems to me that it is fear that is at the centre of the stories in Scripture today. There is first of all the story of Joseph and his coat of many colours. Joseph is the baby of the family. Being the youngest, he is a favourite with his father. To make matters worse, he makes a bad report to his father about one of his brothers. They fear the power and influence that he has over his father. They wait for an opportunity to get back at him. It comes. They are looking after the sheep in a remote place. Joseph comes out looking for them. They conspire to kill him. Reuben, one of the brothers persuades them not to kill him, but to put him into a pit. His intention is to come back and rescue him. Then they seize upon an opportunity. They sell their brother to a passing caravan of Ishmaelites on their way to Egypt where he faces slavery and imprisonment. This new saga in Joseph’s young life must have filled him with fear.
Then there is the gospel for today. Jesus performs miracles. He feeds the crowds. Their curiosity satisfied for the moment he sends them off to their homes. He also sends the disciples out in a boat. Meanwhile he heads away by himself to pray. The Sea of Galilee is known for its sudden fierce storms. This day is no exception. The disciples are far from the shore. The winds come up. The waves toss the small craft about until they are sure they will all drown. Towards morning they see Jesus walking on the sea. It is not a reassuring picture. They think that Jesus is a ghost. In fact, the storm becomes less threatening to them than the sight of the ghost. And Jesus speaks those reassuring words. “Take heart. Don’t be afraid!” They trust him. They trust the calm and peace that his words bring.
The ever-brash Peter gets out of the boat and walks across the water towards Jesus. What is he thinking? Does he think he can walk on water? Maybe he hopes that by stepping out on the sea it will be the act of courage he needs to find faith. Maybe Peter wonders if he will be convinced of Jesus’ promises if he thinks big. Perhaps he thinks that he will believe in himself if he is able to do what Jesus does. Whatever he is thinking, he gets distracted by the gusts of wind. He becomes frightened and begins to sink beneath the waves. Just as he thinks that all is lost he remembers. “Lord, save me!” he calls out.
We have all been there, haven’t we? We have all been out in those heavy waves, blown about by fierce winds. Life produces strong and daunting waves. We can all look back at times when we have felt swamped. We have felt totally inadequate. We have felt helpless. We have let our fears and worries take over. We have felt as if we are sinking. We want to believe, but our faith is fragile. Just when we think all is lost we remember. We cry out, “Lord, save me!”
Peter called out to Jesus; Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. They made it back into the boat safely. The storm ended. All was well.
When have you experienced inner calm and strength amid external turmoil? What was the source of your strength? What does it mean to trust God? How do you nourish your faith?
Some of you may be in the midst of a storm at this very moment. You may be buffeted about by the wind. You may fear the difficulties that you are facing in your life. You may be wondering how you can face another day, how you can ever trust again. You may be facing sickness, your own or that of a loved one. You may be unemployed, wondering where God is leading you. You may be facing a broken relationship.
Others could no doubt tell us about overcoming those same fears and inadequacies. You can tell us of the miracles that have unfolded for you in your lives. You can tell of the storms that you have walked through, knowing that God was ever present with you on your journey. You can tell us of sicknesses overcome, of answers to prayer, of help in time of need, of unexpected miracles.
Jesus asks Peter, “Why did you doubt?”
Faith, he is saying to Peter and to us, means living out of your heart. Fear destroys. Trust yourself. Trust that what you do and say makes a difference. Trust that Jesus is with you and trusts you. There are times when you will feel as if you are walking on water. There are other times when you feel yourself sinking beneath the waves. Both are times to put your trust in God. Daily life is not extraordinary acts of faith, but hoping for enough faith to give us courage to face life’s difficulties.
I can’t always say that I am glad to be one of Jesus’ disciples. There are times that I would like to be left alone. It is too overwhelming. There is too much going on in my life. Jesus is asking too much of me. My cross is too heavy. My faith is too weak. I have nothing more to give. All I have to support me is my weak faith. At such times it is all that I can do to pray, “God, help me! Give me the ability to reach out to you even though I have only my faltering faith to support me.” It is then that I hear that invitation that Jesus extended to Peter. “Come! Don’t be afraid. Reach out and take my hand.”
And I reach out. I acknowledge my helplessness. It opens some gate in me that accepts help. It opens the way for others to respond to my need. I experience God’s love and forgiveness and healing and challenge. I am able to see Christ in others and allow them to see Christ in me. Amen.
Readings: Genesis 37:1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105:1-6, 16-22, 45c; Romans 10:5-15; Matthew 14:22-33
Karl Barth writes about fear: “Fear is the shock caused by the supposed knowledge that I shall not be able either to be or to do what I should be and do in face of that which gloriously and fearfully confronts me.” We have all faced times of fear in our lives, events that made time seem to last forever, when we thought that our very lives were in the balance.
I think of the times that I have been most fearful. One is the event that led to my learning to swim. I was four years old and at a camp where my father was the chaplain. I did many of the activities of the campers, who were, of course, quite a bit older than I. Each day I would go swimming. I would paddle in the shallow water and play in the sand. I watched the children in their free time going down a slide into the water. I longed to try it out. So one day I asked the swimming instructor if I could go down the slide. “Of course!” she said to me, not thinking about how small I was, or the fact that I couldn’t swim. I flew down the slide and out into water that was quite deep. I felt myself sink below the surface and was filled with fear and panic. In my panic I thrashed around for what seemed like hours but must have been less than a minute. Then I became calm. I remember thinking, “This is what it is like to die.” And suddenly I was buoyed up by the water and bobbed to the surface. Realizing that I could float, that I could trust the water to hold me up, I began to dog paddle to shallower water.
It was a good learning, because trust, that sense of calm, is what it takes after all when we get into that state of fear. And fear can easily take over when life seems out of control as our world so often does these days. It seems we live in a world filled with fear. It is often through fueling that fear that people come to power. We are faced with so much violence; war, terrorist acts, strange viruses and other health issues, economic and environmental issues. Consider what is going on in the world today with the bombastic rhetoric between President Trump and Chairman Kin Jung-li. Guam must be a very fearful place to live. Fear takes over unless we remember just who is in charge. We trust, knowing that God is as good as God’s word.
It seems to me that it is fear that is at the centre of the stories in Scripture today. There is first of all the story of Joseph and his coat of many colours. Joseph is the baby of the family. Being the youngest, he is a favourite with his father. To make matters worse, he makes a bad report to his father about one of his brothers. They fear the power and influence that he has over his father. They wait for an opportunity to get back at him. It comes. They are looking after the sheep in a remote place. Joseph comes out looking for them. They conspire to kill him. Reuben, one of the brothers persuades them not to kill him, but to put him into a pit. His intention is to come back and rescue him. Then they seize upon an opportunity. They sell their brother to a passing caravan of Ishmaelites on their way to Egypt where he faces slavery and imprisonment. This new saga in Joseph’s young life must have filled him with fear.
Then there is the gospel for today. Jesus performs miracles. He feeds the crowds. Their curiosity satisfied for the moment he sends them off to their homes. He also sends the disciples out in a boat. Meanwhile he heads away by himself to pray. The Sea of Galilee is known for its sudden fierce storms. This day is no exception. The disciples are far from the shore. The winds come up. The waves toss the small craft about until they are sure they will all drown. Towards morning they see Jesus walking on the sea. It is not a reassuring picture. They think that Jesus is a ghost. In fact, the storm becomes less threatening to them than the sight of the ghost. And Jesus speaks those reassuring words. “Take heart. Don’t be afraid!” They trust him. They trust the calm and peace that his words bring.
The ever-brash Peter gets out of the boat and walks across the water towards Jesus. What is he thinking? Does he think he can walk on water? Maybe he hopes that by stepping out on the sea it will be the act of courage he needs to find faith. Maybe Peter wonders if he will be convinced of Jesus’ promises if he thinks big. Perhaps he thinks that he will believe in himself if he is able to do what Jesus does. Whatever he is thinking, he gets distracted by the gusts of wind. He becomes frightened and begins to sink beneath the waves. Just as he thinks that all is lost he remembers. “Lord, save me!” he calls out.
We have all been there, haven’t we? We have all been out in those heavy waves, blown about by fierce winds. Life produces strong and daunting waves. We can all look back at times when we have felt swamped. We have felt totally inadequate. We have felt helpless. We have let our fears and worries take over. We have felt as if we are sinking. We want to believe, but our faith is fragile. Just when we think all is lost we remember. We cry out, “Lord, save me!”
Peter called out to Jesus; Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. They made it back into the boat safely. The storm ended. All was well.
When have you experienced inner calm and strength amid external turmoil? What was the source of your strength? What does it mean to trust God? How do you nourish your faith?
Some of you may be in the midst of a storm at this very moment. You may be buffeted about by the wind. You may fear the difficulties that you are facing in your life. You may be wondering how you can face another day, how you can ever trust again. You may be facing sickness, your own or that of a loved one. You may be unemployed, wondering where God is leading you. You may be facing a broken relationship.
Others could no doubt tell us about overcoming those same fears and inadequacies. You can tell us of the miracles that have unfolded for you in your lives. You can tell of the storms that you have walked through, knowing that God was ever present with you on your journey. You can tell us of sicknesses overcome, of answers to prayer, of help in time of need, of unexpected miracles.
Jesus asks Peter, “Why did you doubt?”
Faith, he is saying to Peter and to us, means living out of your heart. Fear destroys. Trust yourself. Trust that what you do and say makes a difference. Trust that Jesus is with you and trusts you. There are times when you will feel as if you are walking on water. There are other times when you feel yourself sinking beneath the waves. Both are times to put your trust in God. Daily life is not extraordinary acts of faith, but hoping for enough faith to give us courage to face life’s difficulties.
I can’t always say that I am glad to be one of Jesus’ disciples. There are times that I would like to be left alone. It is too overwhelming. There is too much going on in my life. Jesus is asking too much of me. My cross is too heavy. My faith is too weak. I have nothing more to give. All I have to support me is my weak faith. At such times it is all that I can do to pray, “God, help me! Give me the ability to reach out to you even though I have only my faltering faith to support me.” It is then that I hear that invitation that Jesus extended to Peter. “Come! Don’t be afraid. Reach out and take my hand.”
And I reach out. I acknowledge my helplessness. It opens some gate in me that accepts help. It opens the way for others to respond to my need. I experience God’s love and forgiveness and healing and challenge. I am able to see Christ in others and allow them to see Christ in me. Amen.
Saturday, August 5, 2017
Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 18, Year A
The Miracle of God’s Grace
Readings: Genesis 32:22-31; Psalm 17:1-7. 16; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:13-21
The three passages of Scripture this Sunday are human stories of people who are grappling with difficult situations in their lives. I suspect that is why I find myself resonating so strongly to each story.
First of all, there is the story of Jacob. He is a trickster, a con artist. He has to face up to the inevitable, a face-to-face encounter with his brother Esau whom he has wronged. He sends his family away to safety. He waits, alone. There in the darkness of the night he wrestles with a man. Is it a dream? So often it is in our dreams, is it not, that we work out our fears and anxieties, our regrets and guilt. Dream or not, they continue to wrestle throughout the night, neither of them willing to give in. Finally as day is breaking, Jacob says to him, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Remember he already tricked his father into giving him Esau’s blessing. And for whatever reason, God offered him a blessing as they stood by the stairway into Heaven during a dream.
The man asks him his name. On hearing it, he responds, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Jacob limps away from the place praising God. I get the sense that he is seeing God in a real way, perhaps for the very first time.
This story is a lovely metaphor of our human existence. It speaks to our condition. We do wrestle with our fears and anxieties. If you are at all like me, sometimes you do it all night, tossing and turning, worrying about what is going on in your life. You wrestle with yourself. You go over things that have happened. You think about things you should have said or done differently. You look for solutions. You may even admit to yourself where you have gone wrong and decide on a plan of action. The next day you are exhausted! You spend the whole day literally limping, but there is something healing in facing up to all that is going on. The wounds are visible, but there is a sense of resolution and of looking to the future.
Then there is Paul’s story. He too is showing signs of limping as he communicates a personal experience, trying to help others to understand what is going on in his life. He feels a sense of frustration and disappointment with his ministry to the Gentiles. His great hope had been to share his amazing encounter with the risen Christ with his own people, the Jewish community, and so bring them to faith. Instead he finds himself alienated from them. He feels at least partly to blame. His sense of failure overwhelms him. But truly, ministry – both lay and ordained – does not work that way. We simply go where Christ leads, not where we think Christ should be leading. That is what it means to answer God’s call. Once again, it may keep us up at night wondering if what we are doing is truly what God wants us to do. It may cause us anguish. But in the long run, following God’s lead, doing what we are meant to do, blesses us in ways we could not have asked or imagined. I have discovered that over and over again in ministry. Paul certainly discovered that in his.
And there is Jesus’ story. News has just come to him about the death of John the Baptist. He is in grief, shock, as he considers what it all means. He reacts as many of us do by withdrawing. He goes to a deserted place by himself. He wants time to consider the tragedy. He wants time to consider what it means in his own ministry. But the crowds follow him out into the wilderness. They follow as they always do. They have such need. He puts his own feelings aside! He has compassion on them and heals their sick. And when evening comes the disciples want to send them away to fend for themselves.
"You give them something to eat," Jesus tells the disciples.
"We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish."
I can almost hear the sigh escape him! Out of his silence and grief, out of his compassion, Jesus performs a miracle. He takes the bread and fish and blesses them. He gives them what they want. He feeds them.
We have all been there, limping along. We have experienced that need to be alone. Yet somehow the crowds always follow. Our responsibilities, our plans, our worries, the things we have been avoiding or unable for some reason to complete – everything crowds in on us until we cry out, “I have nothing more to give. I am at the end of my resources.”
It happens in our churches. We are dealing with shrinking and aging congregations that still have the same responsibility to maintain buildings and ministry. Our Diocese calls on us to reach out into the community, to be a presence, to find new and exciting ways of doing ministry that will bring people through our doors.
And somehow God gives us the strength to go on. God’s grace sustains us. We are fed spiritually. We find ourselves from what we considered to be our slim resources to be able to accomplish all that God is calling us to do.
This miracle, this feeding of the five thousand teaches us about our God, our God who provides for us. We have all been in situations that feel hopeless. We are constantly amazed by the ability of God to take what we offer and make it great. But it teaches us so much more. Jesus sustained physical life with bread. But his real purpose was giving people eternal life. And that is a real miracle in which we all participate. He would have these people and us understand that the provision of God is more than enough to fulfill every need of every man, woman and child on earth.
And the need is great. We know that. We see it. There is such hunger in the world. There are millions in our world who have the most basic needs of existence – food, clean water, shelter, freedom, security. People are starving to death. Statistics show that fifteen people die of starvation every minute of every day. Most of them are children. And yes! You will tell me quite rightly that it would take a miracle to change that. But we can be part of the miracle. We can influence much of what needs to change. We can be advocates for social change, for attitudes towards women, birth control, education, urban farming … the list goes on.
All of this presents to us a tremendous commission. Needy people followed Jesus everywhere. We don't need to look very far to know that the thing most common to people is need of one kind or another. There is within each of us a need for spiritual fulfillment, for inner assurance and serenity, for meaning and purpose in life.
We may come to the table limping, but as the people of God, we are fed and nourished so that there is no holding back in our life journey. We come to the table of the Lord and bread is shared with one another. Our journeys become the journeys of all. The path becomes one path lived together. That is the miracle of God's love. That is how God graces us. Amen.
Readings: Genesis 32:22-31; Psalm 17:1-7. 16; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:13-21
The three passages of Scripture this Sunday are human stories of people who are grappling with difficult situations in their lives. I suspect that is why I find myself resonating so strongly to each story.
First of all, there is the story of Jacob. He is a trickster, a con artist. He has to face up to the inevitable, a face-to-face encounter with his brother Esau whom he has wronged. He sends his family away to safety. He waits, alone. There in the darkness of the night he wrestles with a man. Is it a dream? So often it is in our dreams, is it not, that we work out our fears and anxieties, our regrets and guilt. Dream or not, they continue to wrestle throughout the night, neither of them willing to give in. Finally as day is breaking, Jacob says to him, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” Remember he already tricked his father into giving him Esau’s blessing. And for whatever reason, God offered him a blessing as they stood by the stairway into Heaven during a dream.
The man asks him his name. On hearing it, he responds, “You shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, for you have striven with God and with humans, and have prevailed.” Jacob limps away from the place praising God. I get the sense that he is seeing God in a real way, perhaps for the very first time.
This story is a lovely metaphor of our human existence. It speaks to our condition. We do wrestle with our fears and anxieties. If you are at all like me, sometimes you do it all night, tossing and turning, worrying about what is going on in your life. You wrestle with yourself. You go over things that have happened. You think about things you should have said or done differently. You look for solutions. You may even admit to yourself where you have gone wrong and decide on a plan of action. The next day you are exhausted! You spend the whole day literally limping, but there is something healing in facing up to all that is going on. The wounds are visible, but there is a sense of resolution and of looking to the future.
Then there is Paul’s story. He too is showing signs of limping as he communicates a personal experience, trying to help others to understand what is going on in his life. He feels a sense of frustration and disappointment with his ministry to the Gentiles. His great hope had been to share his amazing encounter with the risen Christ with his own people, the Jewish community, and so bring them to faith. Instead he finds himself alienated from them. He feels at least partly to blame. His sense of failure overwhelms him. But truly, ministry – both lay and ordained – does not work that way. We simply go where Christ leads, not where we think Christ should be leading. That is what it means to answer God’s call. Once again, it may keep us up at night wondering if what we are doing is truly what God wants us to do. It may cause us anguish. But in the long run, following God’s lead, doing what we are meant to do, blesses us in ways we could not have asked or imagined. I have discovered that over and over again in ministry. Paul certainly discovered that in his.
And there is Jesus’ story. News has just come to him about the death of John the Baptist. He is in grief, shock, as he considers what it all means. He reacts as many of us do by withdrawing. He goes to a deserted place by himself. He wants time to consider the tragedy. He wants time to consider what it means in his own ministry. But the crowds follow him out into the wilderness. They follow as they always do. They have such need. He puts his own feelings aside! He has compassion on them and heals their sick. And when evening comes the disciples want to send them away to fend for themselves.
"You give them something to eat," Jesus tells the disciples.
"We have nothing here but five loaves and two fish."
I can almost hear the sigh escape him! Out of his silence and grief, out of his compassion, Jesus performs a miracle. He takes the bread and fish and blesses them. He gives them what they want. He feeds them.
We have all been there, limping along. We have experienced that need to be alone. Yet somehow the crowds always follow. Our responsibilities, our plans, our worries, the things we have been avoiding or unable for some reason to complete – everything crowds in on us until we cry out, “I have nothing more to give. I am at the end of my resources.”
It happens in our churches. We are dealing with shrinking and aging congregations that still have the same responsibility to maintain buildings and ministry. Our Diocese calls on us to reach out into the community, to be a presence, to find new and exciting ways of doing ministry that will bring people through our doors.
And somehow God gives us the strength to go on. God’s grace sustains us. We are fed spiritually. We find ourselves from what we considered to be our slim resources to be able to accomplish all that God is calling us to do.
This miracle, this feeding of the five thousand teaches us about our God, our God who provides for us. We have all been in situations that feel hopeless. We are constantly amazed by the ability of God to take what we offer and make it great. But it teaches us so much more. Jesus sustained physical life with bread. But his real purpose was giving people eternal life. And that is a real miracle in which we all participate. He would have these people and us understand that the provision of God is more than enough to fulfill every need of every man, woman and child on earth.
And the need is great. We know that. We see it. There is such hunger in the world. There are millions in our world who have the most basic needs of existence – food, clean water, shelter, freedom, security. People are starving to death. Statistics show that fifteen people die of starvation every minute of every day. Most of them are children. And yes! You will tell me quite rightly that it would take a miracle to change that. But we can be part of the miracle. We can influence much of what needs to change. We can be advocates for social change, for attitudes towards women, birth control, education, urban farming … the list goes on.
All of this presents to us a tremendous commission. Needy people followed Jesus everywhere. We don't need to look very far to know that the thing most common to people is need of one kind or another. There is within each of us a need for spiritual fulfillment, for inner assurance and serenity, for meaning and purpose in life.
We may come to the table limping, but as the people of God, we are fed and nourished so that there is no holding back in our life journey. We come to the table of the Lord and bread is shared with one another. Our journeys become the journeys of all. The path becomes one path lived together. That is the miracle of God's love. That is how God graces us. Amen.
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