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Third Sunday after Epiphany

2012-01-22T02:47:00.000-08:00

Mark 1
14 After John was put in prison, Jesus went into Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God. 15 “The time has come,” he said. “The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news!”
16 As Jesus walked beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. 17 “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will send you out to fish for people.” 18 At once they left their nets and followed him.
19 When he had gone a little farther, he saw James son of Zebedee and his brother John in a boat, preparing their nets. 20 Without delay he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

If you want a glimpse of the future of work, I give you fiverr.com.

Back in my day, if you had a lawn mover or a snow-shovel, you saw every neighbour as a potential revenue source. “Cut your lawn, Mr. Smith?” It was win-win, really. Mr. Smith gets a chore out of the way, you have a couple of extra bucks in your pocket, and someone else pays for the gas (a kid can’t be expected to buy gas!)

Some clever person took this same concept to the internet in the form of fiverr.com. Under the byline “The place for people to share things they're willing to do for $5” the site appears only limited by the imagination of the sellers. A few examples:

I will write a Shakespearean sonnet for $5
I will give you relationship advice for $5
I will have an uncomfortable conversation on your behalf for $5
I will help you apologize with a song for $5
I will be your girlfriend at facebook for 10 days for $5
I will proofread any document up to 5 pages double spaced for $5
I will translate your tattoo to Hebrew for $5

Thank good it belongs to the future, because it doesn’t translate well in the past:

I will follow an itinerant preacher around the Galilee for $5
I will tidy the nets you cast aside in your haste for $5
I will replace you in the boat with Papa Zebedee for $5

It doesn’t work in a subsistence economy where no one had $5 to blow on a Shakespearean sonnet, and it doesn’t work when the new system Jesus introduces revolves around trusting in the generosity of others. The message is free, the invitation is free, and the life of a disciple is seemingly free. Or is it?

In fact, the costs begin to mount almost immediately. Four young men removed from the community in as many verses. We don’t know who Simon and Andrew supported through their fishing, but the first person to make a sacrifice to this endeavor is named: Zebedee, father of James and John. That two sons are gone means more men to be hired. The initial ridicule he would face at allowing his sons to wander off may have been offset by the growing fame this little band received. Eventually there is the sting felt at the martyrdom of his son James, perhaps made easier by the long life of his son John, and the knowledge that John was closest to Jesus.

Clearly the life is not free: discipleship promised years of travel and adventure, but also constant danger and (in the early days) a violent end for most. So we could say the cost was large for everyone involved, a cost not reflected in almost casual invitation “Come, follow me, and I will send you out to fish for people.”

But how else could Jesus frame it? On one hand you could argue that Jesus was unaware of the full extent of his ministry, or at least unaware of the violence that would come. I’m not sure that works for someone who was present on the first day of creation, and I don’t think it works for someone who understood the true nature of humanity and the length we would go to remove God from our midst, given half a chance.

So I’m willing to argue that Jesus was aware of what was coming, understood that initial excitement would turn to rejection when it became clear that Jesus was not here to overthrow Rome, at least not following the timetable they would prefer. Jesus understood the way of the crowd, and the path of least resistance, and the extent to which the call to repent becomes unwelcome pretty fast considering how deeply Jesus wants us to go.

So you start small, or slow, or both, when you are trying to attract followers. You don’t list the cost up front, or you will frighten people away. I’m sure no one said “leave your comfortable parish and someday you will be Chair of the Board.” Or “marry Barb, move to Weston and someday you will be Chair of the Trustees.” Or “join a youth choir and someday get trapped in a wooden box with pedals.”

And the ongoing invitation is no different. When I was back in minister’s school they insisted we should put everyone through membership classes, with lists of expectations, how much money you will give, which committees you will join, how much study you will put into this new endeavor you are volunteering to undertake. Basically, the idea was tell them up front that discipleship is costly, and weed out the weak ones. We were trained in vetting: decide who was worthy of baptism, who was worthy of membership, who was worthy of marriage, and so on. Never were we told to follow the example of Jesus, who simply said “follow me,” walk with us for a time, see of this is the place for you.

The one costly thing I will set before you, the one thing that may make you squirm in your pew and risk slivers is the very work that Jesus began. Jesus said “follow me” and we are meant to say it too. He didn’t say read my blog, look for my ad in the York Guardian, he said: “come with me.” A personal invitation is the only way to grow a fellowship. Advertising doesn’t work, congregational visioning doesn’t work, putting on a shiny new roof apparently doesn’t work, only the personal invitation where each of us says to someone else “let me take you to my church.”

1 The word of the LORD came to Jonah son of Amittai: 2 “Go to the great city of Nineveh and preach against it, because its wickedness has come up before me.”
3 But Jonah ran away from the LORD and headed for Tarshish. He went down to Joppa, where he found a ship bound for that port. After paying the fare, he went aboard and sailed for Tarshish to flee from the LORD.
4 Then the LORD sent a great wind on the sea, and such a violent storm arose that the ship threatened to break up.
But Jonah had gone below deck, where he lay down and fell into a deep sleep. 6 The captain went to him and said, “How can you sleep? Get up and call on your god! Maybe he will take notice of us so that we will not perish.”
9 He answered, “I am a Hebrew and I worship the LORD, the God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land.”
12 “Pick me up and throw me into the sea,” he replied, “and it will become calm. I know that it is my fault that this great storm has come upon you.”

That’s one way to avoid God’s call. So what would you rather, invite someone to church or end up in the belly of a whale. Those are really your only two choices. Okay, go ahead and pick the whale, but I’ve got to warn you, it’s easier going in than coming out.

So Jonah accepts his call. He goes to Nineveh, and spends three days crossing the vast city shouting a message of repentance. He has been running, he has the ultimate gastronomical experience, he has shouted until his voice is hoarse, and then, just like that, they repent. ‘Okay,’ they say, ‘we can do that, sorry.’ And now Jonah is just mad. He wanted God to call down fire. He wanted the shock and awe. He wanted to see the people punished, not for their misbehavior, but because he worked so hard to see something happen. Then, it’s all sackcloth and forgiveness.

If we ask the question “did Jonah even want them to repent?” then the answer seems more no than yes. He was clearly unhappy, and the source of his frustration seems to be all his suffering while the people of Nineveh were so easily spared. They are all relieved and happy and Jonah still smells like the inside of a whale.

If we ask the question “do we really want to add people to our fellowship, to grow the church?” a truthful answer might be “I’m not sure.” More people would be nice, to be sure, but more people brings more problems: more people to get to know, more people who will share their brokenness, more people with quirks and strange ideas and the sense that everything could change because they’re not tied to any kind of status quo. You might say new people are more trouble than they are worth, and you might get an insight into the state of the United Church of Canada from sea to sea.

Too often the message at the door (unstated) is come on in, but don’t expect us to change, and make sure you are willing to undertake the projects we want you to do, and worship the way we like to do, and express your faith in the way the rest of us do.

Jesus said “follow me” but he didn’t say “follow me and stop being you.” Did he know that he would someday weep at the grave of Lazarus, his heart broken for the pain his friends were feeling? The disciples are as much a part of the story as Jesus himself, engaging in conversation, demanding explanations, no doubt challenging Jesus and maybe even changing Jesus’ mind from time to time. Having followers is messy, having companions of the road is messy, being a congregation is messy, but it is the call we follow, even through the belly of a whale. Amen.

Second Sunday after Epiphany

2012-01-15T03:46:00.000-08:00

John 1
43 The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.”
44 Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. 45 Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”
46 “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.
“Come and see,” said Philip.
47 When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”
48 “How do you know me?” Nathanael asked.
Jesus answered, “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you.”
49 Then Nathanael declared, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel.”
50 Jesus said, “You believe[a] because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You will see greater things than that.” 51 He then added, “Very truly I tell you,[b] you[c] will see ‘heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on’[d] the Son of Man.”

It was the late Tip O’Neill that said “all politics is local.”

Now, as political quotes go, it might not have the charm of “Where’s the beef” (Walter Mondale), or “I’m no crook” (Richard Nixon), or my all time favourite “Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy” (Lloyd Bentson). But if the sole criteria was profound simplicity, “All politics is local” would be the hands-down winner.

What O’Neill was suggesting, and what has become conventional wisdom in the political realm, is that the most important thing for a politician to consider is what truly matters to his or her constituents. If you fail on this measure, if you get caught up in issues that do not matter to the people who elected you, then they will employ that other great political cliché and “send you a message,” meaning choose not to re-elect you.

Religion, too, is profoundly local. A leading example would be the Reformation principle that the religion of the ruler determines the religion of the people (cuius regio, eius religio). This idea became the best means to end the wars that plagued the middle of the 16th Century, and determined the course of much of European history. Another example would be that in spite of the best efforts of a century and a half of missionary activity, the best indicator of your adherence to one of the world’s great religions is the location of your birth.

The passage Joyce read this morning picks up this theme, with locality, and the setting of the narrative, taking centre stage in the story:

Jesus decided to leave for Galilee
Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida
“Nazareth!” Nathanael says, “Can anything good come from there?”

Even the names of the disciples tend to geography. Nathanael is about as Hebrew as you can get, the literal meaning of his name being “gift from God.” Philip, on the other hand, is about as Greek as you can get, likely named for Philip of Macedonia, a king and general second only in rank to his son, Alexander the Great. If you are looking for an early hint that Jesus’ ministry is meant to include everyone than we see a beginning in the call of the disciples.

So Jesus appears at the seaside and begins to pick disciples. And the heart of this passage, the call of Nathanael, tells us at least three things about the nature of call: It is individual, it is gift-based, and it tends to our learning needs.

The invitation that begins the passage, “follow me,” is the prototype for the invitation extended to every believer down through time. I think you could successfully argue that there are no more important words uttered by Jesus, or perhaps second only to “your sins are forgiven.” Follow me defines the nature of our faith as followers, it is a personal invitation extended to all people, and it disarms us in it’s simplicity. It is really all Jesus asks of us, that we follow in his way.

But the call of Nathanael takes a different turn. His invitation is individual and based in his character: When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”

I hope you can glean the playfulness in this exchange. If there is one aspect of Jesus character that is most often missed, it is his playfulness. Great swaths of scripture are most often read with the dourness that defines too many preachers and too many sermons and misses that Jesus was likely being playful.

So Jesus engages Nathanael in a playful way, but also in a way that identifies and lifts up his leading virtue: he is without deceit. More than a little disarmed by the comment, Nathanael becomes quickly convinced that this is no ordinary teacher, that this is the Son of the Most High. He lets him know, and even suggest Jesus is the King of Israel, then the conversation turns.

Jesus, it seems, has no time for flattery. Jesus provides a correction, maybe even a rebuke, and Nathanael stands corrected:

50 Jesus said, “You believe[a] because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You will see greater things than that.” 51 He then added, “Very truly I tell you,[b] you[c] will see ‘heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on’[d] the Son of Man.”

Here is where the learning appears. Jesus is primarily a teacher, send to show and tell the ways of God. And in this situation he can immediately discerns something about Nathanael that may prove a barrier to his faith development—being too easily impressed—and he seeks to correct it. Mere seconds into this relationship Jesus has already guided him to greater maturity in the faith: don’t be easily impressed, wait and see, and be open to the real miracles that are coming.

It’s in our hymn, the same three themes, that make “Jesus calls us over the tumult,” a sermon in a song:

The call is individual, calling us by the name that belong to each of us: “Christian, follow Me!” The call lifts up the best in us, as it describes the best in St. Andrew: “Turned from home and toil and kindred, leaving all for Jesus’ sake.” And the call is a call to learn and grow into discipleship, beginning with one that we all struggle with: “From each idol that would keep us, saying, “Christian, love Me more!”

For many of us, and at most times, call is an interior journey. We are not necessarily blessed with the kind of direct encounter that the disciples experienced, or some believers have described through the centuries. Instead, we experience a more internal conversation, where we open our hearts to the still, small voice calling our name. We pray that we can be open and hear, that we can name and affirm the very strengths that God sees in us, and we can hear encouragement in the words of others, urging us on to greater faithfulness.

Appropriate to today, Martin Luther King Day, I conclude with words from one of the hymns sung at his memorial, April 8, 1968:

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
Calling for you and for me;
See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,
Watching for you and for me.

Come home, come home,
You who are weary, come home;
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling,
Calling, O sinner, come home!

Baptism of Jesus

2012-01-08T11:43:00.001-08:00

Acts 19
1 While Apollos was at Corinth, Paul took the road through the interior and arrived at Ephesus. There he found some disciples 2 and asked them, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when[a] you believed?”
They answered, “No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.”
3 So Paul asked, “Then what baptism did you receive?”
“John’s baptism,” they replied.
4 Paul said, “John’s baptism was a baptism of repentance. He told the people to believe in the one coming after him, that is, in Jesus.” 5 On hearing this, they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. 6 When Paul placed his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues[b] and prophesied. 7 There were about twelve men in all.

In the ongoing war against heresy, I give you the Christian Apologetics and Research Ministry. With the self-appointed mandate to “equip Christians with the truth, to expose the error of false religious systems, evolution, to teach apologetics,” CARM makes it easy to spot the heretics in your backyard.

The first way they make it easy is by presenting a handy list, right there on the front page of their website, with all the biggies:

Arianism: Jesus was a lesser, created being.
Docetism: Jesus was divine, but only seemed to be human.
Donatism: Validity of sacraments depends on character of the minister (more on this later).
Gnosticism: Dualism of good and bad and special knowledge for salvation (modern publishers love this one).
Nestorianism: Jesus was two persons (Church of the East).
Patripassionism: The Father suffered on the cross (I preached this just last April).
Pelagianism: Man is unaffected by the fall and can keep all of God's laws.
Semi-Pelagianism: Man and God cooperate to achieve man's salvation.

Now, before you heretics begin heading for the door, I have to mention a couple of things that can allow you to stay. The first is the United Church reluctance to uphold specific statements as critical to membership. We are decidedly non-doctrinal in our approach, though we do have some doctrine. And while other traditions focus on systematic belief (you might call them catechetical) the United Church does not.

So while you imagine yourself at Timmy’s tomorrow bragging about belong to a non-catechetical tradition, there is another important element that separates us from other traditions. (“Convivial, not catechetical”) When I was ordained, long ago, I made a pledge that I was in “essential agreement” with the 20 articles of the Basis of Union. There is no need to cross your fingers behind your back, or do that sideways head-shake that has become so popular, only pledge “essential agreement” and voila, you get a pulpit.

Following the reformation assumption that we are all priests now, we can also claim to be equally subject to the idea of essential agreement. This means that if you want to indulge in a little Semi-Pelagianism, then go ahead. You are not alone, since the United Church was born of the Social Gospel, the idea that we can work to bring about the Kingdom of God, locating heresy in our very DNA. And since we’re “convivial, not catechetical,” we place more value in being “United” than being right all the time.

Now, if you already woke up this morning with heresy on your mind, you might have done a double-take when Jim read Acts 19. Essentially, the passage describes re-baptism, forbidden under the rules as described a moment ago. Donatism, this idea that the validity of the sacraments depends on the character of the minister, was an early debate that was settled when one point of view was labeled incorrect.

The Donatist controversy developed like this: Entire branches of the early church would fall into error, be deemed heretical, repent, then return to the fold. If you failed to do the last part, the repenting and the returning, you were deemed a persistent heretic and cast out. Now the problem comes when the church had a population of believers baptized by these leaders deemed heretical. Is there baptism still valid? Should they be re-baptized by leaders who are non-heretical? The answer was no, there was to be no re-baptism, since the poor believer might be continually soaked if they had the unfortunate luck of being baptized by a string on people given to error.

Armed with your heresy list, you can now see how Jim’s reading seems suspect. Paul gives them a baptism quiz, discovers that they were not baptized in the name of Jesus Christ, and promptly baptizes them again. Or does he? There is no re-baptism if the first baptism was done incorrectly, and therefore the Donatist issue does not apply.

But it does lead us to another matter, not covered by the reading, but related to the theme of the day. We call this Baptism of Jesus Sunday, the day in the Christian year when I highlight the congregation’s failure to produce babies in a timely manner. It is also the Sunday when we recount Jesus’ baptism by John, the very same baptism that Paul is now calling inadequate.

So Jesus submits to the Baptism of John, a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sin, and begins his ministry. So, is it valid? You could correctly argue that Jesus couldn’t be baptized in the name of himself (redundant) but you would be left with another problem. According to orthodox belief, Jesus is without sin, and would therefore have no reason to attend a baptism of repentance. Sounds like another sermon to me. We may not be able to solve all this today.

It might be enough to say that the gift of the Holy Spirit is confirmed in our baptism, a baptism in the name of Jesus Christ. Acts 19 is an early (and gentle) example to confronting incorrect belief and setting it right for the sake of the health of the whole church. Of course, this confronting would not always go so smoothly or gently.

Without recounting the entire and sorry history of the Christian church confronting heresy, suffice it to say that our ongoing obsession with heresy was often resolved with violence. And history records that the last person convicted and executed for heresy was Thomas Aikenhead, back in 1697. When I say “last person,” I mean under our legal system and in our religious tradition. After 1697, the people of Britain and Protestants generally have lost their appetite for destroying heretics.

But this hasn’t decreased our interest in heresy. Or maybe I should say “heretical thinking” and to illustrate this we need look no further than climate change. Now, before I say more, I want to be clear that I believe that we are cooking the planet with our greenhouse gases and need to ramp it back. Using one unit of energy to produce 1.1 units of energy (as we are doing in the tar sands of Alberta) is just stupid. Add to that list “fracking” and so-called “ethical oil” and you see a pattern of foolishness that oil makes.

However, I also don’t like ‘groupthink” and the extent to which religious orthodoxy has been pushed aside and picked up by others, most particularly people in the scientific community. The best example happened in the UK, with the airing of a program called “The Great Global Warming Swindle” by filmmaker Martin Durkin.

“The Great Global Warming Swindle” was shown on Channel 4, famous for shows like “Countdown” and “How to Look Good Naked” and something called “8 out of 10 Cats.” The Great Global Warming Swindle was an effort to add another voice to the debate on climate change, or at least challenge those who have determined that the debate is now settled.

Hauled before Ofcom, the government regulator for public broadcasting in the UK, Channel 4 was required to demonstrate how this program fit broadcast rules and in the end they could not. In effect, they were found guilty of failing to present the orthodox view that climate change is manmade when discussing how governments should respond to it. The fact that the whole point of the show was to question the idea in the first place seemed lost on the regulator.

So it seems the human urge to define correct thinking and make people adhere to it never when away at all. We just stopped worrying about correct religious belief and migrated the same human tendency over to the region of science. We claim to hold up freedom of expression as a high value, then get caught in trying to make people think the correct way all over again.

Heretics or not, we turn to the Holy Spirit for direction, for the sense that we are all broken and in need of redemption. We try to avoid telling people what to think, since our own thinking is a reflection of our limitations and occasion foolishness. And mostly we try to forgive: forgive ourselves for judging others, forgive others for judging us, and forgive God for making us less than perfect in the first place. Thanks be to God, Amen.

First Sunday after Christmas

2012-01-01T09:36:00.001-08:00

Luke 2
22 When the time came for the purification rites required by the Law of Moses, Joseph and Mary took him to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23 (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, “Every firstborn male is to be consecrated to the Lord”[a]), 24 and to offer a sacrifice in keeping with what is said in the Law of the Lord: “a pair of doves or two young pigeons.”[b]
25 Now there was a man in Jerusalem called Simeon, who was righteous and devout. He was waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was on him. 26 It had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not die before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. 27 Moved by the Spirit, he went into the temple courts. When the parents brought in the child Jesus to do for him what the custom of the Law required, 28 Simeon took him in his arms and praised God, saying:
29 “Sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
you may now dismiss[c] your servant in peace.
30 For my eyes have seen your salvation,
31 which you have prepared in the sight of all nations:
32 a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and the glory of your people Israel.”
33 The child’s father and mother marveled at what was said about him. 34 Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, 35 so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
36 There was also a prophet, Anna, the daughter of Penuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was very old; she had lived with her husband seven years after her marriage, 37 and then was a widow until she was eighty-four.[d] She never left the temple but worshiped night and day, fasting and praying. 38 Coming up to them at that very moment, she gave thanks to God and spoke about the child to all who were looking forward to the redemption of Jerusalem.
39 When Joseph and Mary had done everything required by the Law of the Lord, they returned to Galilee to their own town of Nazareth. 40 And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him.

I tried to be a pagan for a while, but it didn’t work out.

Well, not precisely pagan, more old Norse, and really just in name only. You see, back in the summer I was reading Bernard Cornhill’s Saxon Stories, a series of books (now six) that tell the story of Uhtred Uhtredson. Uhtred is a Saxon boy, captured by Danes, and grows to live in these two worlds, who also happen to be fighting for the future of Britain.

I tend to get caught up in my reading, and since I do most of it at the cottage, I thought I might slip in a phrase or two and see who notices. Hit my thumb with the hammer and I might exclaim something like: “Odin and all the gods, that hurt.” No real response. Waiting to go into town, I might say: “For the love of Thor, what’s taking you people?” Nothing.

Briefly, I began to believe that no one listens to me. I’m still working on that theory, but mostly I became convinced that by employing the standard formula (god/exclamation) that we’ve been using for a few thousand years, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. That, or no one listens to me.

I started thinking about the old gods, especially Wodin, Thor and Freya, and doing a little side reading to my reading, and realized their echo is never far away. In fact, the end of the week, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, are really Wodin’s Day, Thor’s Day and Freya’s Day, making us all more than a little pagan as the weekend nears.

And it gets worse. While Mary and Joseph were busy enacting the purification ritual at the Temple in Jerusalem, the nearby Romans were busy too. Just steps from the Temple, in the Antonia Fortress, the Romans were toasting the god Janus, the god of two faces.

It seems Janus was prefect for the occasion, the end of one year and the beginning of another, looking forward and looking back. Appropriate to this, Romans would make resolutions for the new year, looking forward and looking back, trying to remedy the mistakes of the old year by pledging to do better in the new. Sound familiar? And Janus, beginning of the year, as in January?

Add to that March for Mars the god of war, and July and August for a couple of Roman Emperors, and I would say we’re pretty much stuck in a pagan past. Thank goodness for Mary and Joseph, enacting a different kind of ritual, and showing us another way.

Anna and Simeon, waiting patiently in the Temple, are recorded in the New Testament but seem to belong to the Old. They are prophets, of the old school variety, waiting for a sigh of God’s promise to return. Simeon speaks first, and gives thanks that he was witness to the advent of this new hope, “a light of revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of your people Israel.”

I want to look at this phrase for just a moment as we ponder the more difficult aspects of the season we are in. It is hard to spend so much time on the idea of fulfilled promise, with our liberal use of the word Messiah, and not mention that for Jews, Messiah has not come. The “consolation of Israel” that Simeon seeks was not found in Jesus for the vast majority of Jews, and to simply suggest that we are right while they are wrong is to perpetuate a mistake that has tainted Christianity for two thousand years. It took the Holocaust and a repentant Pope (John XXIII) to help us see that suggesting Jews are mistaken at Christmas or guilty on Good Friday is both unjust and dangerous.

Looking to Simeon, his phrase may hold a way forward, with “a light of revelation to the Gentiles and the glory of your people Israel” mirroring a very modern understanding of these two religions, Judaism and Christianity. Our religion, it turns out, was and is primarily a “revelation to the Gentiles,” the largest audience and the largest body of converts. Judaism quietly carried on, but does get recognition as the “older brother,” the root of three great faiths, and to echo Simeon, “the glory of the people Israel.”

Looking to Anna, she takes prophecy in a different direction, from consolation to the “redemption of Jerusalem.” Again, the more literal understanding would be that all everyone in the Holy City would be redeemed by Christ, and this did not happen. The Jewish population remained Jewish, many remaining in the city intermittently down to today. But shift from the Temple to the Fortress, and we begin to see Anna’s prophecy come true. For indeed it was Romans in the garrison who were partly responsible for carrying this message to the rest of the known world, ensuring that this early redemption of Jerusalem would have far reaching consequences.

So Anna and Simeon are right, but not in the most literal or commonly held way. They witness the beginning of something world-altering, but not in the way they might expect. But the clues are there, hidden in the text.

The first clue is the station of these young parents. They give the offering of people who live in poverty, the gift of birds rather than the traditional lamb. Considering that the vast majority were poor, but still managed to make the customary offering, we know that Mary and Joseph were very poor. Yet God chose to come to this household, not the governor’s palace, not the rich merchant’s house, and not the Imperial palace in Rome. God came to be with all people, and began among the most humble.

The second sign to something unexpected is happening can be found in Simeon’s summary words:

Then Simeon blessed them and said to Mary, his mother: “This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, 35 so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

The advent of Messiah was sure to generate conflict, to cause the falling and rising of many, and spark a debate that may never end. But the sword that would pierce Mary’s heart is unexpected, and foreshadows the ending we already know. Little did Simeon know that birth and death would be so intertwined, that it is the cross that becomes the mysterious way of redemption, and that the story would end with a lamb: the lamb of God.

As with so many things in life, hope and sadness come together, yet the final word is hope. The prophets of old see comfort for those who suffer, and the great reversals that bring glory to the most humble and humility to the powerful. Words spoken in the Temple have the greatest impact just a few paces away in the fortress, where the might of Rome will soon meet the lamb of God, and everything will change, Amen.

Christmas Eve

2011-12-24T05:07:00.000-08:00

Listen in as we hear a conversation between little Arianna, age 8, and her grandmother, Bunny:

Arianna: Grandma Bunny, I’m going to be singing a solo in the Christmas Pageant!
Bunny: Oh my! That’s wonderful. What will you sing?
Arianna: Ummm.
Bunny: Can’t remember?
Arianna: Wait a minute.
Bunny: Okay.
Arianna: Ahhh…who?
Bunny: Who?
Arianna: ‘Who owns this Baby!’
Bunny: ‘Who owns this Baby?’ Do you mean ‘What Child is This?’
Arianna: Yes, that’s it!

Who owns this baby, indeed.

1And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.

Who owns this baby? Ask Caesar and he might say “I do.” The nearby province of Egypt was Caesar’s personal property, and by extension the people in it, so why not Judea, just a few miles north? It doesn’t take much of a leap to say “I tax you, therefore I own you.” Could it be Caesar?

4And Joseph went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; with Mary, his wife, being great with child. 6And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

Who owns this baby? Parents imagine, from time to time, that they own their children, or at least have some control over them. But they soon discover the truth. Even the most hovering helicopter parent will admit sooner or later that they have little control in real terms: that it’s only a matter of time before you find them in the temple giving the most amazing answers, or at least over at the neighbour’s house where they say “you have the most polite child.” Yeah, right.

7And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

Who owns this baby? The innkeeper, once he saw they various gifts appearing in his barn might have said “wait a minute, I took these people in. Sure I didn’t give them my best room, I admit that, but they are in from the cold, in my manger. That baby may not exactly be mine, but I should get some kind of finder’s fee!”

8And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.
9And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

Who owns this baby? The shepherds knew that they had no real stake in this happening. Angels can say whatever they want, but shepherds knew they were at the bottom of the heap: landless, penniless, mostly forgotten. Someone to blame if your car gets broken into, and you lose all those quarters you thought you had cleverly hidden in the ashtray.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
11For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

Who owns this baby? Maybe this is David’s baby. His city, his house, his lineage, maybe this is the baby of the great King. He wrote the Psalms, he slew the giant, he practically invented chicanery, why couldn’t he make a baby, or be a baby, or return as a baby to free the people so long enslaved? Or maybe not. David would come as a warrior baby, that is for sure, and who would run to worship a warrior baby, all scary in his little baby armour and carrying his little baby sword. No thanks.

12And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

Who owns this baby? You know he’s swaddling, or at least his clothing is. Swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, hardly a worry in the world. Or so it would seem. If this baby came to us to save the entire world, to bring peace to the hearts of humankind, to show us the way of justice and mercy, to heal the sick and raise the dead and feed the five thousand, he’s hardly going to be sleeping like a baby. More like screaming at the sheer horror of human problems, and beside himself with worry on where to begin.

13And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 14Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Who owns this baby? Maybe the heavenly host. They seem to have a message, and plan. They have a mission statement, and a mandate, and it seems to include everyone. Maybe they own this baby. Giving God the glory, seeking a world made new. Proclaiming that this tiny life will transform everything we know and everything we do seems as close to “owning” the problems of this world and positing a viable solution as we’re going to get, so maybe they own him, or at least can claim to be corporate sponsors.

15And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.
16And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
17And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child.

Who owns this baby? Just a moment ago you were saying to yourself, ‘shepherds? Who would trust shepherds with a baby?’ It seems God says “I will.” And to tell the truth, it makes perfect sense. Who gets around? Who understands the way of the common people? Who is about the least threatening? Shepherds! They own the baby!

It is kind of brilliant, really. Don’t tell Caesar, he’s too busy counting his (your?) denarii to pay any mind, and besides, it’s from his legions that we need liberating. Don’t tell the innkeepers, too few of them. Don’t tell the parents, because they’ll never believe you.

No, tell the shepherds that they now own this baby, and it is their job to fan out and spread the news that each of us owns this baby too, that in every town and every square we can express pride of ownership, and share the Good News that unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and that he, in turn, will own us, and our hearts, forevermore, Amen.

Second Sunday of Advent

2011-12-04T12:59:00.000-08:00

Mark 1
1The beginning of the good news* of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.*
2 As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,*
‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,*
who will prepare your way;
3 the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight” ’,
4John the baptizer appeared* in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. 5And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. 6Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. 7He proclaimed, ‘The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. 8I have baptized you with* water; but he will baptize you with* the Holy Spirit.’

My crown is not a real crown.

No, I’m not talking about that brief period that I became convinced I was the King of France. Louis XIX, to be precise. But I’m done with all that.

I’m talking about the temporary crown I had installed this week, a sure sign of middle-middle age if there ever was one. For you see, my childhood lack of fluoride, and the very Dutch habit of eating chocolate sandwiches has come back to haunt me. So I have a temporary crown.

As we speak, some where in the GTA, someone, maybe the tooth fairy, is making my new crown, an exact replica of the tooth that fell victim to hagelslag on white bread. In the meantime, this temporary crown is a wonder in and of itself.

Dr. Lynas, who might be embarrassed to know that I’m mentioning him this morning, was able to fashion a tooth in a matter of minutes. Sitting there, with a collection of strange tools, a little goop, and lots of know-how was able to do the work we generally ascribe to the Maker of All Things: create a tooth.

Now, maybe you find the work of the dentist unimpressive, or painful, or traumatizing, and I can understand that. However, there has to be some satisfaction for those who can have such an immediate impact on people’s lives. It might even go to your head, and for this, you would need to confess.

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

The French would call John a phenom. Merriam-Webster calls a phenom “a person of phenomenal ability or promise.” John, out there in the desert, welcoming people from city and country, displayed considerable promise. He was preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, and the people beat a path to his door.

I imagine it was cathartic. Make your way to this far-off place, take a bit of a swim in the river, unburden yourself of a few troubling things, and stand by while a crowd does the same. I can imagine there was a carnival-like atmosphere, with a great variety of people sharing the stuff that wouldn’t be part of everyday conversation:

I cheated the workers in my olive grove, and I hope none of them are here today.

I mugged a guy on the road to Jericho.

I hate my sister-in-law’s half-brother Baruch. He does nothing all day except sleep and eat.

I collect taxes. Okay, gotta go!

Taken together, it would be quite a snapshot of everyday Judean life. Every kind of sin, from the dramatic to the mundane would be shared, with an encouraging crowd standing by. Maybe they indulged in a little one-up-man-ship, with sinners trying to out sin each other, or at least out-confess each other before a welcoming audience.

Oddly, there is no mention of any kind of absolution. Mark doesn’t mention any kind of assurance of pardon, the message that God has forgiven the sins confessed in the desert that day. And I suppose that makes sense, with the full flower of a confession ritual centuries away in the distant Christian future.

Notice, however, the completion implied in John’s message. He was preaching “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” The water was God’s assurance, it was the cleansing agent needed to wipe away the sin that these poor sinners carried into the wilderness. It’s not clear from Mark if it was confess then wash or wash then confess, but either way, there was a direct connection between immersion and release.

And this, of course, became a primary understanding of baptism. Dying to self and a sinful past, we go beneath the waters of baptism and emerge a new person, reborn in the image of Christ. It is initiation into the body of Christ, it is being marked as Christ’s own, but it is also being cleansed of sin and sorrow on the way to new life in Christ.

But we’re jumping ahead. The sample sins I mentioned a moment ago, my ancient near-eastern imagining is incomplete as long as I neglect to mention the real sin then and now: love of self. And to really give this sin it’s due, I need The Globe and Mail. Under the headline “Feeling lost? Maybe you need a soul coach” the article begins with this:

Laura Thompson doesn’t consider herself a religious person. So when the 27-year-old Toronto resident decided she needed a spiritual fix, craving a sense of belonging to something greater than herself, she didn’t turn to a priest or rabbi. She sought the guidance of soul coach Kimberly Carroll, a bubbly, older sister-type figure, whose business tagline is “Seeking higher consciousness ... in even higher heels.”

So far so good, I suppose. She was craving a sense of belonging to something greater than herself, which is good. And even though I can’t relate to seeking consciousness higher than a pair of stilettos, I certainly applaud anyone who is on a spiritual quest, a quest for something more in life. And there is obvious merit in seeking out a spiritual mentor, someone who can lead you to greater insight. Then a strange turn:

Perhaps one of the most alluring aspects of Ms. Carroll’s approach to spirituality is the absence of any rules. In fact, the soul coach openly admits to being a “spiritual bad girl,” a seeker who has no hesitations about using the odd curse word, indulging in the occasional tipple and embracing her love of stilettos.

Again with the stilettos. Here is the first and most obvious objection to this whole concept. Notice the assumption that this soul-coach makes: religion is the domain of rules, while spirituality is free from rules. And who doesn’t want to be free, right? In fact, it follows a whole set of assumptions that seem to float free out there about the “spiritual, not religious” movement.

In this way of thinking, religion means conformity, spiritual means freedom. Religion is judgmental, spirituality is permissive (in a good way, they would say). Religion is dogmatic, with structured beliefs, and spirituality is “a la carte,” with the option to choose what to embrace rather than being given a set of beliefs.

Before I say more, you will notice I am judging, so guilty on at least one count. You will forgive me while I try to make a point. But I’m not the only one. Pastor Lillian Daniel, in a recent blog, gave voice to the very thought that may of us have had when she wrote “Spiritual But Not Religious? Please Stop Boring Me.” Her point is that every time she introduces herself to a new person, and mentions that she is a pastor, the person will describe in great detail how they are “spiritual, but not religious.” And they will tell it as if they came up with this idea themselves and regard it as the most profound thought since E=MC².

Okay, I’m judging again, and maybe I can’t help myself, but Lillian’s blog and the Globe article really got my goat. Here’s more Globe:

“There’s a way to blend the objectives of capitalism with spirituality. You can have it all, you can be rich, beautiful, wear high heels and be an authentic person with a meaningful life,” Ms Carroll says. “This isn’t just about this type of spirituality. This is about our culture. Our whole culture is wrapped up in this endeavour.”

This was the moment I threw the paper across the room. In frustration, of course, but also in recognition that we in the church have no one to blame but ourselves. Until we become more dynamic, and more open, people will seek out any number of stiletto-based solutions to their spiritual problems.

So now we go back to the desert and we hear more confessions:

I can make new teeth, I’m like God, but I do feel guilty about all the drilling and stuff.

I’m interested in a religion without strings. I want to max out my credit cards without ever having to reflect on what I’m doing. And I want to find mentors that will encourage me in my consumption.

I want to imagine that being an authentic person means spending the day thinking about what I need, and how I can develop myself.

The greatest danger we face as a society of becoming a species of narcissists hell-bent on discovering ourselves, tending to our inner wounded child and getting a Visa card with your own picture on it. 60 percent of elementary school children have turned away from astronaut or firefighter and list “being famous” as their life goal. Young people are encouraged to regard themselves as a “brand” to be promoted like Coke or Pepsi rather than simply a job seeker.

I could go on, but I’ve had my John the Baptist moment. And even John knew when to sum up, and he did it like this: ‘The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.’

Seeking Jesus, and with great humility: Priceless.
Amen.

First Sunday of Advent

2011-11-27T09:56:00.000-08:00

Isaiah 64
6 All of us have become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags;
we all shrivel up like a leaf,
and like the wind our sins sweep us away.
7 No one calls on your name
or strives to lay hold of you;
for you have hidden your face from us
and have given us over to[a] our sins.
8 Yet you, LORD, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.
9 Do not be angry beyond measure, LORD;
do not remember our sins forever.
Oh, look on us, we pray,
for we are all your people.

Mark 13
30 Truly I tell you, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened. 31 Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.
32 “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. 33 Be on guard! Be alert[a]! You do not know when that time will come. 34 It’s like a man going away: He leaves his house and puts his servants in charge, each with their assigned task, and tells the one at the door to keep watch.
35 “Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back—whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn. 36 If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping. 37 What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’”

There is no snob quite like a book snob.

I say this, even in the afterglow of bibliophiles swapping and selling books just last week. So I say this with respect, because when I look in the mirror, I just may see a book snob too. A typical conversation goes something like this:

“You like book x, so you must really like book y.”
“I haven’t read book y.”
“You haven’t read book y? I can’t believe that you, of all people, haven’t read book y.”
“Well, I have read book z.”
“Book z? Everyone has read book z. Still, I’m frankly shocked that you haven’t read book y.”

I think you get the picture. And if you think I’m making this all up, just head across the street to the library and wait. This may explain the popularity of Amazon, all the books and less bibliographical shaming.

One of the unlikely side-effects of just such a shaming is a strange resistance to reading the book. There seems to be odd equation whereby the numbers of “I can’t believes” is inversely proportional to the likelihood that I’ll actually picking up the book. The more often you tell me to read a book the less likely I am to read it. Case in point: Ron Heifetz’s book “Leadership Without Easy Answers.” Just now I see you shaking your head and thinking “I can’t believe he hasn’t read that book: it’s a classic.”

It is a classic, and just in time for Advent I picked it up. And I’m not even out of the Introduction, and already Heifetz is a well of ideas for the season of Christ’s coming. I know, you still can’t believe I haven’t read the book before now.

Advent, of course, is a season of preparation. And true to the spirit of preparation, the readings for four Sundays in Advent reflect that theme. Today, we reflect on the apocalyptic, world-ending nature of our preparation. And for that reason, lots of ministers book this Sunday off. Next week, we meet John the Baptist, a voice crying in the wilderness, and never considered polite company. Advent III goes deeper into the message of John the Baptist, which is why we do White Gift instead, and the Advent IV is basically the same reading as Christmas Eve, minus the birth, which is why we have a Cantata. Now that all secrets are revealed, we can get on with Advent.

Heifetz’s book is about adaptive leadership, leadership that can change course in the midst of change rather than repeating the mistakes of the past. It is about entering the complexity of a problem rather than reaching for easy solutions. And it’s about understanding the life of the mind, and the way our thinking effects the way we act. For you see, when Heifetz isn’t teaching leadership at the Kennedy School at Harvard, he’s also a medical doctor and a psychiatrist, and did I mention he’s also world-class cellist, trained at the Juilliard School?

And it’s a musical idea that he points to in his Introduction, an idea that speaks to the project we call Advent. Heifetz begins with dissonance, naming it an integral part of harmony. “Without conflict and tension,” he says, “music lacks dynamism and movement.” And this tension creates longing for, or interest in, the way this tension will be resolved.

So too with Advent. “But about that day or hour,” Jesus said, “no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come.” Mark records his “little apocalypse” in chapter 13, where Jesus is describing the end of time and also describing his own return. The tension begins.

In the ancient prayers of the church, this tension is called the mysterium fidei. During communion we will repeat together the words, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.” And we cannot know how this is possible. It is a mystery of faith, one that finds a close parallel in the season of Advent. We will mark Jesus birth once more, but we won’t do it with cake and candles, we will mark it as the end of the old and the birth of a new. It has a world-altering quality, not just once, but for all time.

The church is to practice watchfulness throughout the year, but most particularly in Advent. Look for signs, we are told, look for the signs of the times, signs that we are on the cusp of a world made new. Again, there is tension. We are mired in the old, surrounded by examples of anything but the hope we long to see, but still we are told to look for signs. We live with the Risen Christ in our midst, but we long for his return, both at the end of time and every year at Christmas. Mysterium fidei, the mystery of faith.

Heifetz’ next idea, still on page 6, is the interplay between musician and audience. The audience and the performer are in a relationship, and the result—greater creativity and energy—is an essential part of the music. So too with Advent. The season is foremost about the interplay between God and humanity, and the creativity and energy that comes through his relationship. Consider Isaiah 65:

7 No one calls on your name
or strives to lay hold of you;
for you have hidden your face from us
and have given us over to our sins.

The prophet laments the sinfulness of Israel, the extent to which the people have strayed from the path set before them. “Like shriveled leaves, we blow away” the confession goes, but then there is a purposeful shift. “No one calls on your name,” Isaiah says, “because you have hidden your face from us.” What God would name ‘free will,’ he labels the hidden face of God. Seeking direction, seeking a word, it is easy to see how this can quickly become anger and disappointment. Then another turn:

8 Yet you, LORD, are our Father.
We are the clay, you are the potter;
we are all the work of your hand.

It is difficult to determine, from the context of the passage, if this is a profession of faith, or more blaming. ‘You made us,’ the prophet says, ‘what we do must be your fault alone.’

It sounds like a troubled relationship, and it is, but it is primarily a relationship. Like orchestra and audience, God and humanity need each other in the working out of what it means to be God and humanity. Can God save us? Is that the meaning of Advent? Jesus is born again and again, Christ is always coming into our midst, but still finds only brokenness. Is it God’s absence that causes us to fail? It hardly seems possible when God returns to our midst so frequently, and with such meaning.

“We are the clay, and you are the potter.” God creates us, we crumble on the wheel, and God remakes us yet again. This is the meaning of time as we find it in Advent. It is the continual unfolding of a relationship, love and judgment, faithfulness and disobedience, happening in real time.

Heifetz’s last point (still on page 6) is the need to search for implied meaning. This is the difference between what something means on the surface and what is the implied (or hidden) meaning. And to uncover hidden meaning, we usually look at the context. Mark begins his little apocalypse this way:

30 Truly I tell you, this generation will certainly not pass away until all these things have happened.

The context of the little apocalypse, and each “world-ending” statement from the lips of Jesus, is the assumption that his return was right around the corner. “I will come again,” he says in John 14, “and will take your to myself. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?” Mark and the other evangelists believed that even before they finished writing their Gospel, Christ might return.

So the end did not happen, but it remains part of the implied meaning of Advent. We are to prepare like the world may end any moment. It may not happen, it almost seems certain it won’t, but we return to this theme year by year in the off chance it does. Advent, therefore, is a dress rehearsal for the end of time, a way to remind ourselves that we live in the here and now and the not yet.

“Heaven and earth will pass away,” Jesus said, “but my words will never pass away.” We think we see simple things like the passage of time and the commemoration of Jesus’ birth, but underneath there is so much more happening. There is the reality of human sin and God’s ongoing and inexplicable capacity to forgive. There is the mutual dependence between creature and Creator, and all the creativity this brings, and there is the hidden meaning in the season, that what we see is not really all there is.

We long for God, we wait for Christ’s coming, and we seek the Spirit: to be watchful, and perceptive, and above all patient. This is Good News, thanks be to God. Amen.

Reign of Christ

2011-11-20T03:43:00.000-08:00

Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24
11 For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. 12As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness. 13I will bring them out from the peoples and gather them from the countries, and will bring them into their own land; and I will feed them on the mountains of Israel, by the watercourses, and in all the inhabited parts of the land. 14I will feed them with good pasture, and the mountain heights of Israel shall be their pasture; there they shall lie down in good grazing land, and they shall feed on rich pasture on the mountains of Israel. 15I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. 16I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.
20 Therefore, thus says the Lord God to them: I myself will judge between the fat sheep and the lean sheep. 21Because you pushed with flank and shoulder, and butted at all the weak animals with your horns until you scattered them far and wide, 22I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged; and I will judge between sheep and sheep.
23 I will set up over them one shepherd, my servant David, and he shall feed them: he shall feed them and be their shepherd. 24And I, the Lord, will be their God, and my servant David shall be prince among them; I, the Lord, have spoken.

A pulpit is like a well-worn pair of slippers.

How else could you describe a pulpit that is 190 years old? Passed down through the generations, worn by dozens of pulpit-dwellers, this wooden slipper has seen it all.

Now I don’t want to stretch the metaphor too far (pun intended), but my mind does wander from time to time to the people who filled this pulpit and the message they shared.

It was Methodist, so the occasional temperance sermon was likely preached. You can tell me later if that worked. The once great enterprize of sending out missionaries would have been preached, the call to take the Gospel to the so-called heathen masses.

Some topics would have been overtly political, but not always in the way you might think. Methodists in Upper Canada were vocal opponents of the Family Compact that ruled though the early part of the nineteenth century, so we can expect that a sermon or two spoke of democracy and maybe even rebellion.

There would have been sermons on inequality, not just in the more radical United Church era, but from earliest days, when the heirs of John and Charles Wesley praised the hard-working poor and condemned the idle rich. You know who you are.

There would have been sermons against the Baptists (main competitors in the evangelical enterprize), the Anglicans (tribe from which the Methodists split) and especially the Roman Catholic Church, which preachers would simply refer to a ‘papists,’ or those engaged in ‘popery.’

We might even say that this last topic, regarding Roman Catholics, would be among the last real ‘prejudices’ that would be preached here will very little comment or sense that there was something inherently wrong with attacking another group in society. And Toronto (including Weston) took this to the next level, with members of the Orange Lodge dominating city politics. In the 1940’s three-quarters of city councilors were Orangemen, along with every mayor for the first half of the 20th century.

I share all this because I want to talk about Pius XI, the inter-war Pope, who has tended to get lost in all the other events of the era, and how gave is the gift of Christ the King Sunday, as we call it, The Reign of Christ.

Already the pulpit has started to quiver. Preaching popery! Well, not precisely, but it is unusual. For you see, we live in an era of ‘recovered tradition,’ where the parts of the church year we take for granted like Advent and Lent were lost to us for over 400 years. They were deemed too Catholic, and therefore ignored until the 1970’s. We still did Christmas and Easter (and not just for the Christmas and Easter crowd) but that was it for seasons of the church year.

When we recovered this liturgical tradition, Christ the King just somehow slipped in. Lent is old, and Advent is old, but Christ the King only started in the 1920’s, from the mind of Pius XI. He was a rather bookish pope, and like all the other popes of his era, once you were elected, the Vatican become a sort of prison. From the 1860’s until the 1950’s no pope even stepped foot outside the Vatican.

During the inter-war period, the most profound crisis facing the Roman Catholic Church was the persecution of priests. In Mexico, Spain and the Soviet Union, clergy were being imprisoned and murdered by regimes that were virulently ant-Catholic. He preached freedom against both communist and fascist ideology.

And he gave us Christ the King. He wanted to reinforce the earliest Christian creed (“Jesus is Lord”) and remind the governments of the world that Christians have Christ as their king, not the kings (or governments) or this world. Radical stuff, really, and we maintain the tradition today.

***

11 For thus says the Lord God: I myself will search for my sheep, and will seek them out. 12As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep.

Ezekiel was a prophet in exile. Driven out and sent to Babylon, Ezekiel experienced a series of visions. He revealed them in three broad topics: the judgment on Israel, the judgement on the nations, and God’s future blessing on Israel. It is a word of blessing we hear today, as God promised to tend the lost sheep of Israel and anoint a new king to lead them.

God promises “I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, but the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them with justice.” These are promises intended to comfort those in exile, those who long for home. Punishment has ended, and with it will end the pain of dislocation.

But words of comfort do not come to all. In the first part of Ezekiel 34 we hear only judgment: “Woe to you shepherds of Israel who only take care of yourselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? 3 You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. 4 You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally.”

The very actions that God promises to undertake are the ones that the first group of shepherds refused to do. They ignored the flock, they enriched themselves, they abandoned the sick and the vulnerable. It is only after the bad shepherds are driven off that God will care for them, tend them, and give them a new shepherd.

It seems an obvious reading for Christ the King Sunday. The people to selected the three-year cycle of readings we call the lectionary wanted to reinforce God’s promise to tend us, to give us an alternate government to the governments of this world.

And it seems a perfect ending place as a new church year begins next week, and we look forward to God’s ultimate promise. Isaiah 9.6: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

But before we get lost in the season of lights and bells, I think we would do well to remain a while in Ezekiel, or perhaps Jesus’ sermon on Ezekiel, found in Matthew 25. I decided to leave off reading the passage, partly because most of your know it, but mostly because we seldom hear Ezekiel.

Matthew 25 is a common funeral passage, the one we tend to choose when the person we have lost was self-less in caring for others. Having separated the sheep from the goats, “then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat…” and goes on from there.

Now the part we don’t typically read at funerals, the past to we seldom here at all is the opposite of the sentiments we know and love:

41 “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. 42 For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
44 “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
45 “He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
46 “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

This is Jesus’ sermon of Ezekiel. The exile, the years in Babylon, was the result of bad kings who led the people like bad shepherd and allowed them to go astray. It was the example they failed to set as hungry went unfed and naked went unclothed and all the rest.

Bad kings, bad shepherds, bad goats, it seems we have arrived in a bad place where neglect and misrule has led to bad things. So what do we do will all this badness? We take a lesson. And the lesson, following in the steps of Pius XI, is to proclaim the government of God. It is to seek the rule that reflects God’s own way, it is to follow the example of the good shepherd and seek the lost.

The ending is never “what are we going to do,” but rather “what is God doing in our midst” and how are we going to respond? God is seeking the lost, binding up the broken, and strengthening the weak. Our task is to tell everyone, and give God the glory. Amen.

Remembrance Sunday

2011-11-06T06:25:00.001-08:00

1 Thessalonians 4
13 But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters,* about those who have died,* so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. 14For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.* 15For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died.* 16For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord for ever. 18Therefore encourage one another with these words.

In trying to describe the passage of time, I might do it like this:

If the first third of your life, say to age 30, feels like an hour, and the second third of your life, say age 30 to 60, feels like 15 minutes, then the final third must feel something like Star Trek warp speed.

I don’t want to bring you down, I’m just fascinated by the accelerating passage of time. I once thought time was scientific, measured by the National Research Council, the long dash after five seconds of silence indicates one o’clock Easter Time. I was wrong. Time is completely flexible and serves only to make us anxious.

When I first came to Toronto, just shy of 20 years ago, I had two World War One veterans in my congregation. A decade later I was in Scarborough, and still managed to find two people who could share childhood memories of the First World War. They were in there 90’s, and could remember (with some terror) Zeppelin attacks on London.

Today only one veteran remains, Florence Green, who served in the Women's Royal Air Force. She’s 110, and lives with her 90 year-old daughter in King’s Lynn, Norfolk. 65 million combatants in the First World War, and one remains. We reach the end of “living memory” and there is a sense that we are somehow diminished, that something real and present to us will soon be gone.

Of course, this has always been so. The last veteran of the War of 1812 died in 1905, the last 1837 rebel died in 1914 and the last veteran of the US Civil War died in 1956. Historians mark these dates and bracket time to record the moment when an eyewitness account is not longer available, when the story of a conflict can no longer be told.

So we are encouraged to ask questions, and encourage the people who were there to tell their story. Even Thucydides, writing his History of the Peloponnesian War, knew that the names and dates of battles paled in comparison to importance of an eye-witness account.

Sadly, access to the first-person account of war will not leave us soon. The nations of the world continue to produce veterans, wars are fought and won, and the long-ago idea of the “war to end all wars” passed along with all those who spent time in the trenches.

***

St. Paul wrote these words:

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died.

On a Sunday when we remember the fallen, it seems appropriate to hear what St. Paul has to say to the church on the topic of death. Some have suggested that 1 Thessalonians is Paul’s earliest letter, and being largely pastoral in nature, seems to reflect on the real concerns of his audience.

The church was worried about those who passed away before Christ’s promised return. Would they miss the Second Coming? Would they be overlooked in favour of the living? It was a real concern for those who believed that Christ would return at a particular moment-in-time, meet the faithful, and return to God without taking into account those already gone.

In his letter, Paul claims the opposite. It is the dead who have died to the Lord who will be taken up first, and only then will the living meet God in the air. Those who have passed await the end of time, and the living can take comfort knowing that God has not forgotten them.

And Paul, writing these words with the abiding sense that Christ’s return was right around the corner, would not have known that these words still apply today. And even if you are among the many believers who discount the idea of the Second Coming, the question of those who have died is still pressing. We want hope, we want to know that the promise of eternal life is true.

***

Paul addresses another question, one that contemporary study has confirmed. He says “we do not want you to be uninformed…so that you may not grieve as others who have no hope.” In effect, he is reminding his friends that there are many who live without hope in the face of death, and that they need not be among that group. He is assuring them, but he is also claiming a kind of superiority for believers.

In our time, and certainly within the United Church, this has become a problematic idea. We no longer triumph our superiority over other faiths, we no long condemn non-Christians to hell, we even have a hard time telling people that the United Church has more to offer than those other churches. All of this is a good thing. Telling your neighbours over potluck to only United Church people are going to heaven seems rude, to say the least.

So we make everyone equal, we nod when people say “it’s more important to be good than to go to church” and we may even believe it. We don’t want to have a lock on the truth anymore, mostly because the other people who claim to have a lock on the truth are just scary. We would rather say nothing than claim to have something, because being better than others seems, well, un-Canadian.

But what if we are better? Reginald Bibby did vast amounts of research some years ago and showed that the church can be broken down in basically three ways: the stuff we wish we were better at, the stuff we think we are better at, and the stuff that we’re actually better at.

Guess what? We think we’re better at all sorts of things that other people do better. Greenpeace does the environment better, Amnesty International does human rights better, lots of agencies do social justice better. But the area we shine, the one place where are the undisputed winners, is in the area of death. When it comes to comforting those that mourn, we win. When it comes to facing our own morality, we win. When it comes to making death a part of life, and gaining a measure of acceptance unseen in the rest of society, we win. We are the best of the best when it comes to death, dying, grief, acceptance and support.

Long ago, when I was a cook in a daycare (my frail claim at a previous career), the daycare teachers decided to show a movie to the kiddies on a rainy afternoon. They picked Bambi. Well, you would think they showed Terminator 2 based on the reaction of the parents. “How could you show that to the children” they said, “how dare you introduce my kid to the idea of death!” I’ve never seen the movie, so I think I may have just spoiled it somehow. Nevertheless, it seems that discomfort with death lived among the parents in this situation, and not so much with the kids.

The one place parents and children seem to be getting it right is in a new appreciation for Remembrance Day. When I was training, we were encouraged to ignore Remembrance Day in favour of some sort of peace Sunday—spectacularly bad advice if I’ve ever heard it. Even the civic commemorations have gone from sparse to plentiful, something that pleases veterans and gives November 11th the importance it deserves.

***

On a Sunday when we remember the fallen, it seems appropriate to hear what St. Paul has to say to the church on the topic of death. With Paul, we live with the assurance that the fallen are not forgotten, and that all will be resurrected on the last day. We also believe that they did not die in vain, and that the very things that they died to protect are still present to us. And will not grieve as they that have no hope, trusting in God’s presence always, amen.

Reformation Sunday

2011-10-30T03:46:00.000-07:00

Matthew 23
Then Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples, 2“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat; 3therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they teach. 4They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them. 5They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long. 6They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, 7and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi. 8But you are not to be called rabbi, for you have one teacher, and you are all students. 9And call no one your father on earth, for you have one Father—the one in heaven. 10Nor are you to be called instructors, for you have one instructor, the Messiah. 11The greatest among you will be your servant. 12All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.

Marvelous thing, the Internet.

At the World Christianship Ministries you can be ordained almost immediately, and purchase ordination packages they say “are filled with authority and materials.” But wait:

Earn $ to help support yourself, family and Ministry. Begin your own Marriage Ministry from your home or apartment. CLICK HERE for more details.

And the cost! So reasonable. The basic ordination package, including a certificate and a “pocket ordination card (laminated in plastic)” is only $58. But wait! Spend $85 and the World Christianship Ministries will send you a clergy dashboard sign (yes, laminated in plastic) as well as handy resources such as wedding and baptism certificates, a booklet entitled “Preparing Your First Sermon” and another called “Ways Your Ministry Can Raise Money.”

You can choose the font of your ordination certificate. Old English, Signet, and a font oddly named Prodigal are among the choices, and you can also choose your title, including Pastor, Prophet, Preacher or even Bishop. Still not satisfied? For another $48 you can purchase an honourary Doctor of Divinity degree, and I say why not, you’ve come this far.

And at the bottom of the page: “Offerings from Canada must be in USA dollars in the form of a Postal Money Order or Bank Check or Bank Money Order. WE ARE NOT ABLE TO ACCEPT A PERSONAL CHECK FROM CANADA. That last part was in ALL CAPS. I think the Canadian branch of the church has issues. I say forget the whole thing.

Jesus said to the crowds and to his disciples: “The minister sits on a padded seat behind the pulpit: therefore, do whatever they teach you and follow it; but do not do as they do, for they do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and expect them to spend no more than five dollars; but they themselves are unwilling to make anything other than jelly-jam. They do all their deeds to be seen by others; for they make their Geneva gowns broad and their stoles long. They love to have the place of honor in the Milner Room and a second floor office with a view, and to be greeted with respect on Weston Road, and to have people call them reverend doctor.”

I don’t know who that is. But we all have to endure a little critique now and then. We all get called out from time to time, and I guess Matthew 23 is the call out for clergy.

Now, the United Church has a statement of ethical norms for clergy, and slamming our colleagues is on the list of no no’s. Even preaching this sermon could land me in trouble, so I better be careful about what I say about my brothers and sisters of the cloth. And that might extend backwards in time too, and surely includes the scribes and Pharisees, who were really just first-century clergy. This whole sermon might end early, since it looks like I’m bound ethically to say nothing.

But don’t worry, I’ll fine something to say. Why, just before I got started my favour Hebrew scholar handed me “The Works of Josephus” and said “here, you better read this.” 900 pages, 6 point font, it wasn’t going to happen. But marvelous thing, the Internet, so I found a nice summary online.

Jesus said: “They do not practice what they teach.”
Josephus said: “For they follow what the Word in its authority determines and transmits as good.”

Jesus said: “They lay heavy burdens on the shoulders of others; but they themselves are unwilling to lift a finger to move them.”
Josephus said: “Many have witnessed to their virtue in devoting themselves to all the best in their words and way of life.”

Jesus said: “They do all their deeds to be seen by others.”
Josephus said: “Pharisees love one another and practice consensus in their community.”

Jesus said: “They make their phylacteries broad and their fringes long.”
Josephus said: “The Pharisees live thriftily, giving in to no luxury.”

Jesus said: “They love to have the place of honor at banquets and the best seats in the synagogues, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have people call them rabbi.”
Josephus said: “Out of respect, they defer to those advanced in years. Nor are they so bold as to stand in opposition to what (the elders) have proposed.”

So who was this Josephus? If he were alive today, we might call him “the most interesting man in the world.” Born the son of a priest, he became a priest, then he became a hermit for a while. He traveled to Rome to negotiate with the Emperor Nero, returned home and became a general in the revolt against Rome, lost, survived a mass suicide, became friends with Vespasian and Titus, both future emperors, tried to negotiate a way to save Jerusalem from destruction, and became a Roman citizen. He married four times, and finally settled down with an imperial pension to write three of the most important books of the age. There is no word whether he drank Dos Equis.

Now, growing up among Pharisees, and becoming a Pharisee before becoming the most interesting man in the world, we can accuse Josephus of bias. But as someone who obviously turned his back on being a Pharisee, we might imagine he could be critical too, or at least less invested in making them look good. His account of the Jewish Revolt is critical of both Jews and Romans, so we know he can show balance.

It gets messier. In the same chapter Jesus sends the disciples out to be prophets, sages and teachers, granting the very title he argued against. In the next chapter he give the Great Commission, the same one we follow, saying “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” Throughout the Gospels Jesus is called both teacher and Rabbi, the very titles he spoke against.

Clearly, something else is going on here. I have no doubt that Jesus was harshly critical of the religious leaders of his day, but the way Matthew records his words point to something more. Remembering that Matthew is writing in a time when church and synagogue were competing for the hearts and minds of believers, the words he records may say more about AD60 or AD70 when Matthew writes than AD30 when Jesus expressed sentiments just like this.

Since I spoke to you about the Occupy Wall Street it is no longer ignored. The story non-story finally became mainstream news and then spread to cities here and in Europe. I think I even mentioned the “We are the 99%” notes that people were writing and posting online to describe their situation. Without saying much more on this topic, I find it interesting that a number of counter-point notes popped up, with people explaining that they got everything they have through hard work, never borrowed money from anyone, never complained, etc., etc.

Two things on this: First, if you were paying attention, you could smell a rat. One guy started out his note by saying he was responsible for his own success, describing how, and then saying he had sympathy for the 99% who could not claim the same. A day later someone cribbed his exact words, wrote them out, and wrote the opposite ending, condemning the protesters. Curiously, this person didn’t show their face.

The second thing is precisely what Jesus said: These counter-protest note-makers want “all their deeds to be seen by others; They love to have the place of honor at banquets and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces.” Why else brag that you are self-made. Yes, there is reward for hard work. Yes, you won’t get far in life if you don’t push yourself. But there is no such thing as a self-made person, just as there is no minister, priest or rabbi deserving pride of place, since all clergy are servant leaders, no less, no more.

Humility dictates that everyone of us acknowledge the real sources of our success: the parents who raised us, the school nurse who mended that gash, the first grade teacher who taught you to write good, the heavily subsidized college or university that gave you additional skills, the government that licensed your craft, and even the Internet Al Gore invented for you.

Jesus said “be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect,” but he he could also have said, “be humble, as your Father in heaven is humble.” God, in humility, is the author of all that is and the parent to us all, and then like a good parent retreated to allow us to discover our way in the world. We were fully prepared for life after leaving home, but then left to live that life, and not hovered over like some latter day helicopter parent. God give us all the guidance we need: to treat each other with respect, keep an eye out for hypocrites, to acknowledge the debt we owe others, and always be humble. Thanks be to God, Amen.

Proper 25

2011-10-23T15:26:00.000-07:00

Preached on the occasion of Appleby United Church's 187th anniversary.

Matthew 22
34When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, 35and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 36“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” 37He said to him, “’You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38This is the greatest and first commandment. 39And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ 40On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
41Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them this question: 42“What do you think of the Messiah? Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” 43He said to them, “How is it then that David by the Spirit calls him Lord, saying, 44‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand, until I put your enemies under your feet”’? 45If David thus calls him Lord, how can he be his son?” 46No one was able to give him an answer, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

If I had to sum up everything I know about Burlington, I might say “there’s a hole in the lake.”

Not a hole in the lake itself, but a hole in the wind, in the lake, just off your fair city. Imagine our surprise, sailing from Toronto to Hamilton, feeling smug that all our trim and strategy gave us a competitive position in the race, only to sail into a hole in the wind.

But it gets worse: local sailors, those blessed with knowledge of the area and the wisdom to steer clear of the hole in the wind, sailed past without so much as a wave. I’m not bitter, and my feelings about Burlington are not determined by a hole in the wind, but I do think about it.

For you see, in the realm of sailing, and in the realm of a few others areas I will look at in a moment, local knowledge is essential. Prevailing winds, the direction of the current, the location of peril hidden beneath the waves: all these fall under the broad heading of local knowledge. If you know what’s coming, or what’s typical for a particular location, or what has changed since the last time you were there, you have the racing advantage. Some might say it’s life-and-death, but again, that’s jumping ahead.

Jesus never seemed to tire of being tested. He silenced the Sadducees, according to the word on the street, and the Pharisees thought, “We need to have a go.” So they set a trap for him and asked him to name the one commandment in the law that he felt was the greatest.

So, how is this a trap? First off, the assumption here is that whatever he said, whatever he named as the greatest commandment, could be debated. The Pharisees saw an opportunity precisely because they trusted in their own ability to make a counter-argument. That was a mistake.

What they didn’t anticipate, what they couldn’t anticipate, was that Jesus would not only answer the question, but also create a two-sentence summary of a ten-point summary that would sum up all of the law. Hence the ending of the little episode, when Matthew says, “from that day on, no one dared asked anymore questions.”

Here’s how it works: Take ten fingers, and recite with me the top ten commandments. More than one scholar argues that the ten finger/ten commandment thing is no accident.

No other gods
No idols
Don’t use God’s name in vain
Keep the Sabbath
Honour parents
No killing
No adultery
No stealing
No lying (false witness)
No coveting

Now take the first five (gods, idols, vain, Sabbath, parents) and imagine how you will “love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” Then take the second lot (murder, adultery, stealing, lying and coveting) and imagine how you will “love your neighbour as yourself.”

Like Dan Brown and a bad novel it all seems to fit. By loving God and loving your neighbour, you’re not keeping two commandments, you’re keeping 10 commandments. But not just any ten, the big ten, the same ten that are summary of the 613 laws that makes up the whole of the law. So two is ten and ten is 613 and fully half can be summarized with the simple sentence “love your neighbour as yourself.”

Before I go on, I want to you visit Youtube when you get home and search for “Stephen Colbert 10 commandments.” In this wonderful 56 second video, Stephen listens to an impassioned Georgia Congressman make the case for posting the ten commandments in every courthouse in the U.S., then Stephen asks him to name then. The congressman gets three.

So, fully half of the law can be summarized with the simple sentence “love your neighbour as yourself.” But what does that require? It requires local knowledge. It requires the kind of local knowledge that only comes from living in a place, knowing the people, and understanding their story. Local knowledge.

This year marks the 100 anniversary of J.S. Woodworth’s book “My Neighbour,” a sequel of sorts to his previous book “Strangers Within our Gates.” Woodsworth was Methodist minister, born to the manse, and went on to become the first leader of the CCF, forerunner of the NDP. And while Woodsworth didn’t invent outreach ministry, he was certainly among the first to write about it in Canada.

He wrote from the mean streets of North Winnipeg, where poverty and disease were rampant, and the church was struggling to respond. In the conclusion to a chapter called “A Challenge to the Church” he wrote, “The effort must be not merely to preach to the people, but to educate them and to improve the entire social condition.” In other words, love your neighbour as yourself.

In his six years ministering in the north-end of Winnipeg, Woodsworth became a student of place, gathering the kind of local knowledge that demanded two books be written. It was never a case of telling them what they needed (although when it became obvious, he told others), it was a case of learning the context, knowing the people, and understanding their stories. Love your neighbour.

One of the advantages of being a guest preacher is that I can say things that are really provocative and then just drive away. It seems, however, based on my chats with Tim, that the most provocative thing I can say is “keep doing what you’re doing.” Keep thinking about the needs of others, keep engaging the children, keep supporting local need. Now I can linger for coffee, having offended no one.

In many ways, the church I serve and Appleby are sister congregations. Next month we will celebrate 190 years of ministry (not that we’re competing) and we even share a connection through Edgerton Ryerson, the seventh minister to serve our congregation. We also try to keep the focus on local mission, through our drop-in and through an attached senior’s building that makes pastoral visiting a snap. And we try to look forward, imagining what it will mean to be faithful not in 10 years or 25 years, but when we’ve been at the corner of Weston Road and King for another 190 years.

When I described local knowledge in sailing as life-and-death, I was being only slightly dramatic. The old Celtic prayer goes “O God, thy sea is so great and my boat is so small.” And you don’t need saltwater to experience it, you need only head that way (pointing southeast). The curvature of the earth means that you can only ever see fifteen nautical miles in any direction, and when you cross the lake there is a time when you mostly lose sight of land. A sturdy boat and all the lifejackets the regulations require never fully eliminate that feeling of vulnerability.

So we seek to gain knowledge, we never stop being students of our setting. And should we ever feel we know everything we need to know to make decisions about out life together, Jesus is calling us to head our once more and gather more local knowledge. “Love your neighbour” is a summary, and a command, but it is also a way of life. It is a way of life that assumes that the streets around us are always changing, and that the things that we did in the past are not likely to work any longer. It is a way of life that accepts that expecting change is the only constant in our lives, and remaining faithful means being prepared set aside treasured things in favour of the new need that will inevitably make itself plain. It means understanding that the decisions we make will effect the life of the community and may (for some) even be life-and-death.

If we had more time, I would spend more time on the first half of Jesus’ summary, loving God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. But you can’t preach all day, so I have to draw to close. I love Jesus’ summary, and no preacher would try to suggest a change, but I will share a restatement. The command, you see, to love God with heart and soul and mind can sound to some like a command, with even a slight note of judgment. And I don’t think that was the intention. I think a long ago group of Presbyterians made a helpful restatement, taking out the command vibe and finding the joy. Pardon the old-style language:

1. What is the chief end of man? Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy God forever.
The Westminster Shorter Catechism has 106 more questions, which we don’t have time for, but question one pretty much sums up when we follow Jesus and keep two great commandments: They allow us to glorify God and enjoy God everyday. This is good news, may it always be so. Amen.

Thanksgiving

2011-10-09T06:22:00.000-07:00

Luke 17
11 On the way to Jerusalem Jesus* was going through the region between Samaria and Galilee. 12As he entered a village, ten lepers* approached him. Keeping their distance, 13they called out, saying, ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!’ 14When he saw them, he said to them, ‘Go and show yourselves to the priests.’ And as they went, they were made clean. 15Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice. 16He prostrated himself at Jesus’* feet and thanked him. And he was a Samaritan. 17Then Jesus asked, ‘Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? 18Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?’ 19Then he said to him, ‘Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.’

“Okay, now say ‘thank you.’”
“Thank you.”
“Okay, now say it like you mean it.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you really say it like you mean it?”
“Not really—thank you.”

Have you heard this dialogue before? Or how about this one:

“Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry.”
“No really, I’m sorry.”
“Okay, sorry.”

That one was two Canadians trying to pass in a narrow aisle. It seems some (maybe most) of us were trained up to be polite. It is one of the gifts we give our children, called politeness or perhaps the more general heading of etiquette. As I typed this I realized that I had no idea how to spell etiquette, even though I have some etiquette and have been using the word for 40 or so years now.

Thank heavens for spell check and Google then, because I can now spell it and tell you that it began life as a French word. It came into it’s own during the reign of Louis XIV, in the form of little cards scattered all over Versailles that said things like “keep off the grass.” So the French word that literally means “tag” or “memo” crossed the Channel to become rules of behaviour in polite society. So you pretend you don’t know.

Of course it starts smaller than anything you might find at Versailles. “Don’t hit mommy,” is an early example, or “share that with your sister,” or “use your napkin.” Our parents send messages, direct or indirect, on how to behave, how to react, and how to acknowledge others. We tend to learn them, but do we take them to heart?

While passing on the way, Jesus begins a period of group healing. Ten cry out, and never wanting to waste time, he healed them all. He cautions them to go to a priest, for verification and the way for ex-lepers to reenter society, and they are “healed on the way.” Ten lepers, 30 seconds of interaction, and Jesus’ work is done.

But wait. One turns back. Now he is on the ground, praising God for the gift of healing and thanking Jesus. Jesus notes the absence of the other nine, and says ‘Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.’

As I was raising my now fairly polite son, I realized that while etiquette can be taught, you can’t make anyone feel it. You can create in them the automatic responses “thank you” and “here, let me get that for you” but you can’t teach gratitude. Thankfulness is a worldview—not a set of rules—and as such, cannot be taught. Maybe the message of Luke 17 is that one-in-ten will be truly grateful, a clear signal that maybe our Lord was a little tired the day he met ten lepers on the road.

Now Jesus, being Jesus, did not retract the gift of healing on the nine ungrateful ones. Grace is grace, and whatever the nine failed to do did not warrant returning them to lives of pain and isolation. The only difference between the nine who fled and the one who turned back was the blessing-of-sorts that concludes the passage: ‘Get up and go on your way; your faith has made you well.’

‘Get up and go on your way’ is consistent with the “now go, and tell no one” approach that Jesus brought to most of his healing ministry, and really just a restatement of the original command to see a priest to verify the healing. But the second thought, “your faith has made you well,” is both a theological conundrum and a historically regrettable statement all at once.

First, the regret: Out of context, the statement “your faith has made you well” creates the impression that degree of faithfulness and the opportunity for healing go together. For as long as there have been believers there has been the misapprehension that my ability to heal hinges on the level of faith I have somehow achieved. The shadow side of this, of course, is the sense that if I fail to heal I am somehow lacking in faith or trust or some other impossible-to-measure element.

I can say with certainty that God is a source of healing and new strength, but I cannot tell you how and I cannot tell you why some and not others. To accept this unknowing, this ultimate mystery, is my definition of faith. To remain devoted to a God I cannot fully understand takes faith, and the ongoing sense that something far beyond my level is comprehension is happening. To say “your faith has made you well” must mean something else.

Over his doorway, Karl Jung engraved the words “Bidden or unbidden, God is present.” (vocatus atque non vocatus deus aderit) He didn’t write it, he found it in the writings of Erasmus, who found it among Greek sayings, who said it belonged to the Spartans. Some translate it to ‘Acknowledged or unacknowledged, God is present.’ Either way, the adage recognizes something that every parent of the teenager knows: Some day they will appreciate me, acknowledge me, and understand why I do the things I do. Until then, I’m just in the way.

So God is present to ten lepers through the gift of healing, and for nine God is unbidden. For the one, fallen to the ground, God is bidden and very much present. ‘Your faith has made you well,’ says Jesus, recognizing that for one-in-ten at least, God is the source of healing. You were going to be healed anyway, but in your case, leper number ten, your faith has made you well.

Thinking way back to last week, I mentioned the myth of self-reliance and the abiding sense some possess that you create your own reality, your prosperity, even your health. One wonders about nine lepers, passing by the way, crying out for healing. Was it bad parenting that led them away? Did they somehow think that they brought about their own healing, by simply crying out? Did they doubt the veracity of the healing they received, wanting verification before making a fuss? We can’t know, we only know that one came back.

Every once and a while I will offer some feedback or make a comment about something and the person will say “can you write that down and send it to me” or “can you say more” and I get the sense that if no one offers an opinion, opinions don’t really exist. Remember the tree falling in the forest? Like the tree that no one hears, when we don’t voice something, it’s like the thought never existed. I can feel grateful, but if I don’t tell someone, it’s like I was never grateful at all.

So it is with nine lepers, undoubtedly grateful, but unable to turn back and say it. We can correctly assume that at some future date, maybe pressed by friend or family, the silent lepers will say “Jesus made me well, and everything changed.” Maybe they will give God the glory, in a future moment of reflection, then tell their story. But we didn’t receive that story, we received another one, and it forces us to ponder what it means to be truly grateful.

Sometime soon, maybe today or maybe tomorrow, Jesus will say “Get up and get your turkey, your faith has made you grateful.” Plenty of people will feel thankful, for a good land, for the harvest, and for the farmers. But only a few will say it out loud, or make a fuss, or make an extravagant prayer, and to them we can say, “your faith has made you grateful.” Thanks be to God. Amen.

Proper 22

2011-10-02T11:05:00.001-07:00

Philippians 3
If someone else thinks they have reasons to put confidence in the flesh, I have more: 5 circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; in regard to the law, a Pharisee; 6 as for zeal, persecuting the church; as for righteousness based on the law, faultless.
7 But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. 8 What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ 9 and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in[a] Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. 10 I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11 and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.
12 Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13 Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

My favourite TV personality is a tiny gecko. I get my hair cut at the Little London Barber Shop by Nigel (he’s from South London). This summer I read The Eagle of the Ninth, The Thames: A Biography, and five books by Bernard Cornwell centered around the life of Alfred the Great, who (for me) really defines what it means to be British in the ninth century. Yes, I’m an Anglophile.

My Dutch ancestors are not pleased. Four wars fought between the English and the Dutch, and maybe a fifth going on inside me now as I confess my love for all things British.

Carmen tries to help. She won’t let me watch Coronation Street when she’s home. She won’t allow me to rent the latest film version of various Bronte or Austen novels. I’m discouraged from talking like the aforementioned gecko. I don’t think she’s noticed yet that my favourite online newspaper is The Guardian.

Speaking of The Guardian, a fine newspaper, with just the right politics, they always cover international news from a unique perspective. There are few Canadian news items, of course, because not much happens here. But their US coverage, sometimes edgy, sometimes a little condescending, is usually worth a read.

The Guardian has been reporting for a few days on the Occupy Wall Street protests, which is a good thing, because the US media has mostly ignored it. At one point there were 5,000 protesters in the streets of lower Manhattan, and it might as well have been happening on another planet, or some other country. And at least one astute blogger made the point that if it was happening in another country, the mainstream media would likely have covered it.

Last week I mentioned all the social action training I received when I was an impressionable young seminarian, all that training focused on the principle of getting people to take notice. Help the media get your story out, we were told, or make it hard for them to resist, so that the news people can’t, well, resist.

But when worldviews are threatened, or narratives are challenged, the media becomes strangely silent, unable to report a story, and will turn instead to Ashton and Demi, or that thing Brad said about Jen, or an 800 lb. Pumpkin, as described this morning on CNN.com.

Worldviews and narratives are a powerful thing. Paul knew it, and he wrote about it, in the very letter that Jim read this morning. Paul’s narrative was this: if you are circumcised, if you honour your tribe, if you follow the law, if you show zeal in defending your faith from all adversaries, you are a great success. If you demonstrate this type of righteousness, you will receive an appropriate reward. But then he pauses, and says:

But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I now consider them garbage.

Dung is a more accurate translation, according to some. So for Paul, whatever were gains to him, whatever the status, whatever satisfaction he felt is now dung. This is a change in narrative. Whatever he valued before, now has no value. Whatever gave his live meaning, now has no value, what ever he pursued with the zeal only Paul could show, now has no value. He is a new man.

Now, the traditional picture of Paul is a man struck from his horse, upbraided by a heavenly voice, temporarily blinded, and finally won to the cause of Christ. It has drama, it is the literal ‘road to Damascus experience.’ But the passage Jim read, the passage that begins with Paul’s C.V. of righteousness, is more reflective. It is a conversion in retrospect, without the flash of light, but just as profound in scope.

Profound, I would argue, because it documents this new worldview, the end of one narrative and the beginning of another, the shift from earning God’s favour to dying with Christ. Minus the flash of light, it is just as dramatic a transition.

It is the same dramatic transition that Luther made, and then Wesley made two hundred years later while listening to Luther read aloud. It is the transition from an earned righteousness to a righteousness freely given, given solely on the basis of a relationship with Christ. All the zeal in the world was for naught—
something else Luther and Wesley learned the hard way—because God’s zeal for us is freely given.

If you will permit me to go back to Wall Street for just a minute, you will see the same transition playing itself out. The great myth of our southern neighbour, some describe it as a dream, is that people who work hard and rely only on themselves will achieve material prosperity. It is the national narrative, an article of faith that is held just as tightly has Paul’s loyalty to tribe and law and the outward marks of faith.

But somehow, when people were not looking, the narrative changed. They found themselves ‘under water’ while the banks did not. They lost things, precious things like homes and self-esteem, and the banks did not. Suddenly it seemed the entire system was tilted away from the very citizens it was designed to protect, and very few noticed.

One of the remarkable aspects of the last two weeks, aside from being a story you had to actively search to find, is the personal testimony. Under the heading “We are the 99%” people have begun posting photos of themselves holding hand written notes that describe their situation: staggering student debt, unemployment, lost benefits, homelessness. The notes conclude with “I am the 99%” meaning not a member of the 1% that controls 40% of the wealth in the US.

Another article this morning, again on CNN.com, is a look at the way preachers have approached the economic downturn. The title of the article is “Preachers confront 'last taboo': Condemning greed amid the Great Recession.” More than one pastor argues it is always easier to preach about sex than money. Some simply avoid the topic altogether, and others preach that being more charitable is the answer. The article does mention Walter Rauschenbusch, the father of the Social Gospel Movement, and his effect on government policies toward the poor 100 years ago, and even draws a link between Dr. King’s anti-poverty work and his assassination. The last word: “There just aren’t that many prophets left.”

Paul said: “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.” Notice the lack of hubris in his words, the new humility that he finds even as he is busy being the architect of this new faith. He wants to participate in the suffering of Christ, crucified for speaking truth the world that could not hear, in the hope that he could somehow attain Christ’s resurrection.

He is willing to suffer (and his letters record he did) because his worldview has changed. He no longer seeks for a life of comfort, the life he felt was owed him for his righteous zeal. He seeks to be faithful to Christ, enduring whatever comes from describing Christ and following in his way. He is willing to put on Christ, to be his ambassador, even at the cost of this own safety and eventually his life.

To follow Christ means having new goals. It is no longer seeking individual reward for good deeds, it is the way of the cross, and the way of loving and serving others wherever it leads. It is no longer standing up for tribe and creed, but standing up for whom ever follows in the way of mercy and compassion. It is no longer accepting that this is all there is and this is where we seek rewards, but rather understanding that there is always much more than we can see and the reward is always a relationship with Jesus Christ. Thanks be to God, amen.

Proper 21

2011-09-25T05:25:00.001-07:00

Matthew 21
23 Jesus entered the temple courts, and, while he was teaching, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him. “By what authority are you doing these things?” they asked. “And who gave you this authority?”
24 Jesus replied, “I will also ask you one question. If you answer me, I will tell you by what authority I am doing these things. 25 John’s baptism—where did it come from? Was it from heaven, or of human origin?”
They discussed it among themselves and said, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will ask, ‘Then why didn’t you believe him?’ 26 But if we say, ‘Of human origin’—we are afraid of the people, for they all hold that John was a prophet.”
27 So they answered Jesus, “We don’t know.”
Then he said, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.
28 “What do you think? There was a man who had two sons. He went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work today in the vineyard.’
29 “‘I will not,’ he answered, but later he changed his mind and went.
30 “Then the father went to the other son and said the same thing. He answered, ‘I will, sir,’ but he did not go.
31 “Which of the two did what his father wanted?”
“The first,” they answered.
Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you. 32 For John came to you to show you the way of righteousness, and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes did. And even after you saw this, you did not repent and believe him.

I like to torment Americans.

Back when I was studying in Chicago, I had no greater pleasure than tormenting my American classmates. Talk about free healthcare for a few minutes, and watch then wither. Or the dollar: at the beginning of the program we endured all the jokes (“dinner is $10, thats $20 Canadian”) but by my second year we were briefly at $1.10. We mostly swaggered.

The real fun was in describing a Canadian theological education. Watching their eyes bug out when I told them that I had a half-course on the virtues of communist Cuba, including a visit to the workers’ paradise. Or when I mentioned that I had another half-course on how to lead a successful protest. For the final project my group detailed an action called “Pigs on Parliament,” which included releasing pigs on Parliament Hill. I got an A.

All in all, it was helpful to reinforce how odd we truly are, on this side of the border, and remind them that we are not Americans.

Looking back on all that social action training, my favourite story remains a man named Bob, I think he was an architect during the day, but at night, and on weekends, his thing was getting arrested. He visited the class and told us the story of ARMEX, an exhibit of military hardware held at Lansdowne Park in Ottawa.

Bob knew he couldn’t stop the show, but he figured out a clever way to disrupt it. He put on a light blue shirt and black pants, he held a clipboard, and he started directing traffic. Well, redirecting traffic might be more to the point, because by the end of the day he had caused traffic chaos throughout the area. There were people who tried to see tanks and guns for sale that day, but just couldn’t get to the show.

So Bob discovered the two essential ingredients to a successful action. One, establish yourself as some sort of an authority figure, preferably with something easily regognizable such as a blue shirt and a clipboard, and two, create unavoidable chaos. After that, it was mission accomplished. He didn’t have to break anything, or set anything on fire, he just had to convince a couple of bus drivers that they needed to back up.

“By what authority are you doing these things?” they asked Jesus. “And who gave you this authority?”

Jesus is teaching and healing, making a stir, and generally disrupting the natural flow of things. He speaks for God, always a dangerous thing to do, and he is bold enough to forgive sins. All in all, he makes life uncomfortable for the clergy of the day, the professional types who are content with their diplomas and their offices with ensuite and their mid-size sedans.

And so they ask the question—a good question—about what authority Jesus can point to that allows him to do all he does. But Jesus won’t answer, at least not directly, and certainly not before he gives them a quick lesson in the ways of the Kingdom. He challenges them with a question and he shares a parable.

The question is a question about John the Baptist, recently martyred and very much on the minds of the people. Did his authority to baptize come from heaven or earth? Smelling a trap, the religious ones do not answer. ‘Quid pro quo then,’ Jesus says, ‘I will not answer you. But I will tell you a parable.’ Which, of course, is something that he would have done anyway.

Two sons are told to get to work. One refuses, but eventually goes, and the other agrees readily, but never shows up. Who does the will of the father? It is the first, everyone agrees, much in the way tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom ahead of troublesome clergy. Jesus added that part.

By what authority does Jesus teach and heal? Who gave him authority? It would have been easy enough to point heavenward and leave it at that. John’s Jesus, the Jesus found in John’s Gospel, seems to have had an easier time saying ‘I am the way, the truth, the light’ and just leave it at that. And I’m certainly there may have been times—maybe at the end of a long day—that John’s recollected Jesus may have simply said ‘I am’ or ‘I have’ or ‘I’m the authority.’ But in Matthew he’s more quixotic, telling stories and being idealistic and a little impractical with his words.

By being a little vague, almost evasive, he leaves it to the listener to see that you recognize authority when you need something. The first son needed to help his father, maybe needed to please his father, and in spite of his initial reaction to the question, he finally helped. Not so with the second son. Easier to say ‘sure mom, I’ll do the dishes’ and get her out from between the controller and the television than to actually get up and do the dishes. The second son sees no authority, and wants to please no one, and so plays in uninterrupted.

The same, Jesus tells us, for those given to sin—tax collectors, prostitutes, anyone in need of forgiveness—may push back at the beginning, may deny at first that they need anything, but will eventually come around. The self-righteous, the self-satisfied, those who think they got it right the first time: they tend to have a harder time recognizing the authority of the one sent to forgive sins.

All this seems to lead to the question: Do we need God? Do we need the authority that forgives our sin, encourages us on the way, and does all the other things we ascribe to God. Do we need God?

At first glance, we might say ‘yes,’ the people in here need God and the people out there not so much. Maybe that seems harsh, and maybe you disagree, or maybe you want to go a step further and say actually, there seem to be a lot of people in church who don’t seem to need God either. Now that’s harsh. And I’m sure you don’t mean this church, specifically.

Ultimately, I think both church and society are a mixture of people who need God and those who don’t know they need God. Notice that Jesus says ‘tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom ahead of you,’ not ‘in place of you.’ We all get there eventually, he insists, and the people who don’t know they need God will eventually figure it out, as surely as autumn follows summer.

But let’s take a closer look at the idea of need. One theory about the United States, a much more religious country where more churches grow, even mainline churches grow, is that the need is greater. Churches comfort and help the sick, many of whom have no health care. Churches run food banks and drop-ins, but do it in a country where 45 million people live below the poverty line (that’s more than one in seven!). The need is real, the stakes are higher, and the ethos of self-reliance means more people turn to the church for help.

For the United States, it would seem, more people need God, or at least God’s church. Back in the 1950’s, before the full-flower of the welfare state, the church in Canada had libraries, gymnasiums, daycares, and even bowling alleys to meet local need. When the state moved in and began to provide for all these things, the role of the church at the centre of the community came to an end. We were no longer needed.

Or maybe we were no longer needed in a physical sense. Maybe the provision of community resources was an easy way to meet the community, when what they really needed was something else. Maybe they needed someone with authority.

Back to our definition: you recognize authority when you need something, and the church of the past had it. We provided community resources (including a handy place to dump the kids for a couple of hours on Sunday) and people gave us pride of place at the centre of the community. City or province begins to replace us, right down to organized sports on Sunday, and we lose authority. So we had it, and lost it, but maybe it wasn’t real in the first place.

This may seem like an aside, but there is wonderful quote for Prof. Elizabeth Warren, that addressed the idea of needing others:

There is nobody in this country who got rich on his own. Nobody. You built a factory out there—good for you! But I want to be clear. You moved your goods to market on the roads the rest of us paid for. You hired workers the rest of us paid to educate. You were safe in your factory because of police forces and fire forces that the rest of us paid for.

In other words, the self-reliant, the people who think they made it on their own are just wrong. The imagine they don’t need government, or label government the enemy, when in fact no one can prosper without the authority called government.

So how do we regain our authority, how do we convince people that we are on a path to God that can represent the ultimate authority in their lives? By telling them. We are very much the first son, falling down on our duty to describe the role that God plays in our lives, but showing through our actions the wonderful role God plays in our lives. We protest ‘no, I’m not that kind of Christian’ when faith comes up at work, but we fail to fill in the rest, to describe just what type of Christian we are, and by what authority we love and serve others. May God give us the words, to speak with authority, and give thanks, amen.

Proper 20

2011-09-18T06:18:00.000-07:00

Exodus 16
The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. 3The Israelites said to them, ‘If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.’
4 Then the Lord said to Moses, ‘I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. 5On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days.’ 6So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, ‘In the evening you shall know that it was the Lord who brought you out of the land of Egypt, 7and in the morning you shall see the glory of the Lord, because he has heard your complaining against the Lord. For what are we, that you complain against us?’
13 In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. 14When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. 15When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, ‘What is it?’* For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, ‘It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.

I looked for you in my neighbourhood.

Every year, a million people come to the Danforth, and I wander around looking for people I know. Simple math, right? Two-and-a-half million people in the city, a million come to my street, I’m gonna see you and say ‘hi.’ Maybe you were saving yourself for a taste of Poland, which continues this afternoon. Maybe the beer is better.

Having welcomed a million friends to the neighbourhood over the years, you begin to see changes. When I first went to Taste of the Danforth, they didn’t even close the street to traffic, adding some excitement to your traditional souvlaki. Then the premise seemed to change, going from cheap samples to an obvious attempt to make money, from a dollar for that burnt pork stick to $3.75.

Some changes are good, of course. Corn-on-the-cob was a nice addition, and watermelon too. But some just leave you scratching your head, like the first time I saw quail. Before I go on, I should confirm there are no quail farmers out there, no one who has written the definitive quail cookbook, or anyone keeping a quail as a pet?

Good, because they seem like foolish food. I did my research, and it turns out they are lazy little things, flying only when they absolutely need too, and otherwise just hiding in the long grass. And they’re dangerous, not like ‘quails attack’ but dangerous in that they can become poisonous depending on what poisons they eat while migrating. Even Aristotle, as early as the 4th century BC, said ‘watch out for that little bird.’

There is even a warning in the Bible, in Numbers 11, a warning that quails can kill. I would give it to you to read as homework, but it’s too pressing to ignore, so we better look at it while we can.

When Doug read Exodus 16, you were likely thinking ‘I know this…fleshpots…manna from heaven…gather what you need…quail in the evening…nice to have a little meat.’ All very familiar. But what about the uncensored version, the version of the story that doesn’t give it the nice polish, the version that the writer of Exodus would rather you didn’t read? For that, we have Numbers 11.

In Numbers 11, they are already tired of the gift of manna. ‘The rabble began to crave other foods,’ it says, and then they make a list: ‘If only we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt at no cost—also the cucumbers, melons, leeks, onions and garlic. But now we have lost our appetite; we never see anything but this manna!’

Now Moses hears all the grumbling, and he begins to grumble too, not because he wants meat, but because he’s in charge, and is getting more than a little tired of all the complaints. ‘God,’ he says, ‘did I make you angry? Is that why you’ve given me this burden? I didn’t conceive all these people, I didn’t give birth to them, so why me? Where on earth will I get meat for this crowd? If this is how you’re going to treat me LORD, then just kill me now. (that’s verse 15, if you decide to quote it while dealing with teenagers)

So the Spirit of the LORD came upon Moses, and give him words to speak: ‘Consecrate yourselves in preparation for tomorrow, when you will eat meat. The LORD heard you when you complained. Now the LORD will give you meat, and you will eat it. 19 You will not eat it for just one day, or two days, or five, ten or twenty days, 20 but for a whole month—until it comes out of your nostrils and you loathe it.’

Before I continue, I want to say that whenever something arrives with ‘you’re gonna eat it until it comes out your nose and you’re going to be sick of it,’ you might want to reconsider the whole thing.

So a wind came up, and drove in a flock of quail from the direction of the sea, and the quail were piled high in every direction, and the people gathered all they could manage. More barbecues appeared than a NASCAR weekend, and they finally had what they wanted. We pick up the story at verse 33:

33 But while the meat was still between their teeth and before it could be consumed, the anger of the LORD burned against the people, and he struck them with a severe plague. 34 Therefore the place was named Kibroth Hattaavah, because there they buried the people who had craved other food.

It’s not really suitable for Sunday School. A little too edgy for the kids, poison quail and Kibroth Hattaavah, which literally means ‘graves of craving.’ But we’re all adults here, and we can spot a warning when we see one. And while God may have stopped the whole business of killing with quail, it does serve as a tidy reminder to be satisfied with what you have.

So how do we respond to this unedited story of longing and woe? How do we internalize all the anger and the disappointment? How do we integrate what we’ve learned with what we do? We want our quail.

In 1950, the average house was 800 square feet, by 1970 it nearly doubled, and today it is four times the size. We want our quail.

In Canada, greenhouse gas emissions, chemicals like carbon dioxide, methane, nitrous oxide are four times the world average, better than Australia, but worse than the U.S. We want our quail.

In the U.S., 70% of all economic activity is based on some form of consumption, buying and using stuff, and just before you begin to feel all smug, Canada is not far behind at 60%. We want our quail.

There are 72 million credit cards in Canadian wallets owing together a staggering 72 billion dollars, up from 50 billion in 2004. We want our quail.

We want our quail. We want our quail and eat it too, and it even gets worse: we want money for nothing too.

Doug also read the story of the workers in the vineyard, a personal favourite, and also a story that if read alongside the story of the prodigal son, pretty much tells you all you can know about human nature and God’s inexhaustible grace. To recap:

A vineyard owner went to the market at six and hired some workers for his vineyard, promising them the usual daily wage. He hired more at nine, and noon, and at three o’clock. At five, he found a few more, and said ‘still standing around and no one has hired you yet? Get to my vineyard.’

Evening came, and the owner told the foreman ‘pay the wages now, but start with those hired last.’ So the foreman turned to those hired at five and gave them the usual daily wage. By the time those hired early in the morning stepped forward, they were expecting a far greater wage for a long day in the sun, but they too got the usual daily wage. They shouted in anger, but the owner said, ‘have I not paid you what we agreed? Can I not spend my money as I choose? Why should my generosity make you so angry?

Well, because we want our quail. The Israelites were promised the usual daily wage of one omer of manna, no less, no more, but they wanted quail. The workers in the vineyard agreed to work for the usual daily wage, but when they saw what some others got it without breaking a sweat, they wanted more, they wanted some quail.

So is this an Israelite problem? Or a problem for the Matthean brotherhood of vineyard workers, local 20? No, it seems to be a human problem, a problem without beginning or end, stretching from Sinai to Galilee to oil-soaked Alberta and even self-righteous Ontario. We want our quail.

And if God is no longer putting a little poison in our quail, just to get our attention, how will we learn the way of contentment and the need to be satisfied with what we already have? How will we learn to say, ‘quail, no thanks, I’m already full’? How will we learn to accept the usual daily wage, without always longing for more?

The first answer, this one from Jesus himself, is pray. ‘Give us this day our daily bread,’ he taught them, which was never a prayer about getting bread, but about getting a daily portion, like an omer of manna, and feeling satisfied. There is more wisdom about overcoming the urge to consume in those seven short words than any others I know.

The second answer, also from Jesus, is found at table. Indicating the cup and the bread he said, ‘take this and share it among yourselves,’ and taking the bread, he broke it, and said ‘this is my body broken for you, every time you break bread, remember me.’ Broken and shared, the communion is Christ himself, redeeming the whole world, where no one gets a greater share.

The final answer is from God: The God who is generous beyond measure, even to point that the generosity makes us angry, remains generous. We can rail against it, we can demand less for some and demand more for ourselves, or more for others and less for ourselves, but the daily portion remains, grace upon grace, love that knows no end and forgiveness that never fails, amen.

Proper 19

2011-09-11T12:04:00.001-07:00

Exodus 15
3 The LORD is a warrior;
the LORD is his name.
4 Pharaoh’s chariots and his army
he has hurled into the sea.
The best of Pharaoh’s officers
are drowned in the Red Sea.[b]
5 The deep waters have covered them;
they sank to the depths like a stone.
6 Your right hand, LORD,
was majestic in power.
Your right hand, LORD,
shattered the enemy.

21 Miriam sang to them:
“Sing to the LORD,
for he is highly exalted.
Both horse and driver
he has hurled into the sea.”

Matthew 18
21 Then Peter came and said to him, ‘Lord, if another member of the church* sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?’ 22Jesus said to him, ‘Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven* times.

Where else, other than TIFF, can you see a movie at 9 am? Attending films through the years, some stand out more than others, and the film Buffalo Soldiers is in that group.

Now, I tend to follow two simple rules when selecting a film for the film festival. The first is to avoid films that will be released widely in the weeks that follow the festival. The current price is in the neighbourhood of twenty-five bucks a ticket, so why see it at the festival when it will come out at ten bucks in the near future. The second rule, choose short films, follows from the first. If I’m paying nearly twenty-five dollars, why not see six or eight films instead. Call it the Scottish-Dutch approach, I won’t be offended.

Back the film Buffalo Soldiers, I broke both rules, or so it seemed, by choosing a film starring Joaquin Phoenix and Ed Harris. I guess I couldn’t wait. The film is set in West Germany, circa 1989, and follows a US Army Specialist (played by Phoenix) as he overcomes Cold War boredom through a combination of theft, black-marketeering and the production of various opiates.

After the movie, my brother and I retreated to the nearest restaurant to share a bite and discuss the film. Before eating, I stepped out to wash my hands and heard on the radio that all domestic flights in North America have been cancelled and all overseas flights forced to land. When I sat down a moment later I said to Andrew ‘what could possibly happen to shut down North American airspace?’ The person next to us leaned in and said ‘you haven’t heard?’

I recall telling Andrew, either the next day, or the day after, that Buffalo Soldiers, and it’s negative portrayal of the US military, would never see the light of day. Sure enough, the release came two years later, on a very limited number of screens.

Ten years is a long time, and as we reflect on the anniversary of the 9-11 attacks, it is hard to separate out the original events and all the subsequent events down to the recent killing of Osama Bin Laden and the ‘credible threat’ on New York today.

And I’m not the only one trying to do this from the pulpit. CNN featured a story on Friday that looked at pastors trying to prepare sermons for September 11th. And just to prove that the US is a far more religious country, the article even referred to the lectionary readings for Sunday, Jesus saying forgive seventy-seven times, and the irony that such a motif would appear on the anniversary of the attacks.

What the article didn’t mention was the full tension built into the readings for the day, readings that end with forgiving seventy-seven times, but begin with Exodus 15:

3 The LORD is a warrior;
the LORD is his name.
4 Pharaoh’s chariots and his army
he has hurled into the sea.
The best of Pharaoh’s officers
are drowned in the Red Sea.[b]
5 The deep waters have covered them;
they sank to the depths like a stone.
6 Your right hand, LORD,
was majestic in power.
Your right hand, LORD,
shattered the enemy.

21 Miriam sang to them:
“Sing to the LORD,
for he is highly exalted.
Both horse and driver
he has hurled into the sea.”

Few Sunday readings, and few Sundays, live with such tension. The Lord is a warrior, shattering the enemy, while God says, in Jesus, that when someone sins against you, the appropriate response is to forgive them not seven times, but seventy-seven times. And we are left to sort it out. We enter the tension, not to resolve it, (since it may never be resolved) but to live in it, and allow it to speak to our life together.

Let’s take another look at Exodus 15. It describes the key moment in the liberation of the Hebrew people. Pharaoh has suffered various plagues, including the death of his first born, and in his great despair decides to release the Hebrew enslaved in Egypt. Moses and his people march away, and the scriptures tell us that God hardens the heart of Pharaoh and compels him to change his mind.

The pursuit begins, and the Hebrew people cry out to Moses ‘were there not enough graves in Egypt that you have brought us out here to die?’ But Moses cries out to God on their behalf, and God instructs Moses to part the sea and lead the people to freedom. Of course it follows that the sea returns over the army of Pharoah, and every one of them drowns. The passage, our passage for today, concludes with the Song of Myriam:

“Sing to the LORD,
for he is highly exalted.
Both horse and driver
he has hurled into the sea.”

Some scholars have suggested that this may in fact be the oldest verse in the Bible, and certainly among the oldest, a song that records the liberation of God’s people and the celebration that follows. And once again, it creates tension.

The tension it creates is in the celebration of the death of Pharaoh’s army. We, in our day, are accustomed to celebration of victory in way, but we moderate it to remember the lives lost the sacrifice of so many young lives. We might mark a particular battle like Vimy Ridge or the cessation of conflict, such as VE Day or VJ Day, but we don’t sing about the death of our enemies. We don’t describe the details of their death, horse and driver hurled into the sea, an enemy shattered by the right hand of God.

So we’re uncomfortable, but the Exodus remains at the heart of our story, the story of the people saved by God and set on a path that would lead to the full-flower of the Jewish religion and the eventual birth of Christianity. The liberation is our story, because we cling to the idea that God will save those who cry out, and God will hear the suffering of God people, and God will act to redeem them.

We could be bold and say Jesus is the new Moses, leading us to freedom from sin and death, redeeming our sinfulness and setting on a path to new life through him. In troubled places around the world, believers imagine that their suffering is the suffering of Jesus, that Christians persecuted in places like North Korea are on the cross with Christ, waiting for a release from suffering and death. They await liberation, and turn to the stories of the Exodus and Calvary as proof that God hears their suffering and will respond.

This is the very same warrior God that Myriam celebrates, and the very same God that says in Jesus “forgive seventy-seven times.”

So which God do we turn to on the tenth anniversary of 9-11? Which God do we call on, or heed, as we enter the tension between seeking victory or following the way of radical forgiveness? And what would the latter mean, anyway? Why all that forgiveness?

It is Peter who makes the suggestion that maybe sevens times is adequate when the question of forgiving the transgression of the fellow believer comes up. Not seven, Jesus says, but seventy-seven, or some translations seven times seventy, or even seventy-seven times seven. Either way, forgive a lot. And to make this lesson perfectly clear Jesus shares a parable, painting a Kingdom lesson on a canvas large enough for the twelve to understand.

A king wants to settle his accounts. He calls his first servant, the manager of a vast fortune, and discovers a shortfall. Immediately he orders that the servant and his family be sold into slavery, which leads the servant to fall on his knees and beg for mercy. Feeling compassion, the king cancels the debt and the man leaves. Just then, another man passes by, a man that owes the newly forgiven manager a small sum. He grabs the man by the throat and demands repayment. The king is alerted to this act of ingratitude, and punishment follows.

It is really the story of every believer. God has forgiven our sins, and we can respond by “paying forward” this forgiveness or operating like that forgiveness we received was somehow deserved while the forgiveness we might extend is not. In some ways it is a restatement of Matthew 5, ‘love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.’ God loves us when we are at our most unlovable, and we are called to extend this same love to those we find unlovable too.

Someone is thinking ‘yes, preacher, but we live in the real world.’ We live in the world of ‘credible threats’ and the ‘war on terror’ and have been told by no less than the Prime Minister himself that we have definable enemies and we need to remain on our guard. We want to imagine that nearly ten years of war in Afghanistan was worthwhile, and that the fallen Canadians we mourn died to overcome an enemy and did not die in vain.

It seems the tension between the liberating God and the God of radical forgiveness cannot be resolved. Maybe the only way we can come close to a resolution is to add to the list, to add to the list of things God is doing in our midst and give thanks.

God continues to hear the cries of those who suffer, those who cry our in grief and those who suffer.
God continues to act in history, to comfort those who suffer under repressive regimes, to urge on those who struggle for change.
God continues to insist that we forgive, not just those closest to us, but also our enemies, and in doing so to reflect on why we imagine them enemies, and maybe change our mind.
God continues to walk with us each day, to guide our thoughts and prayers, to help us live in the tension that lies at the very heart of every believer, Amen.

Proper 12

2011-07-24T05:17:00.000-07:00

Matthew 13
31 He put before them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; 32it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.’
33 He told them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with* three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.’
44 ‘The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which someone found and hid; then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
45 ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls; 46on finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it.
47 ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; 48when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. 49So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous 50and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
51 ‘Have you understood all this?’ They answered, ‘Yes.’ 52And he said to them, ‘Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.’

Junk mail can change your life. Perhaps I overstate.

Many moons ago a catalog came through the door, the kind of junk mail that is generated when companies sell their mailing list and you get the result. This particular catalog was from “The Teaching Company,” also know as “The Great Courses,” a collection of recorded lectures from some of the best lecturers that schools have to offer. Carmen ordered a set of CD’s related to her field.

Imagine the scene where Harry is set to receive his invitation to Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, letters by the hundreds streaming through the mail slot and you will understand what happens when you order something from the Teaching Company. They just don’t let up.

Fast-forward to today, and I find myself on my fifth set of lectures, Old Testament, Famous Romans, Famous Greeks, The Early Middle Ages and London: A Short History of the Greatest City in the Western World. I seem to have a monkey on my back. I have a learning addiction, or maybe I just spend too much time in the car. Whatever it is, I’m feeling better informed on things that may have very little practical application. Except in preaching.

The reason I tell you all this, beyond extending the Prayer of Confession, is to say that it is helpful to hear about your tradition from someone outside church-world. All academic writing strives to be non-confessional, meaning that it strives to present arguments in a neutral way, not in a way that would necessarily bolster your faith. It may have this effect, but that would be unintentional. The point of academic writing is to present an argument for the sake of presenting an argument, not to convince the listener that one expression of faith is better than another.

So various lecturers describe the Christian Church at a given moment in time, and try to be completely factual, presenting a scholarly consensus on what was happening and why it happened when it did. An example would be Dr. Philip Daileader, lecturing on the Early Middle Ages, describing who might be attracted to Christianity in the days before the great Constantine.

The Emperor Constantine was the first Christian Emperor, and as such takes the credit and the blame for what happens when Christianity goes from being barely tolerated to being the religion of Rome. There could be a whole series of sermons on this topic alone, but for today we will stick with the question of who would be attracted the Christianity back in the day where attending church would be somewhere between quirky and outright dangerous.

Slaves, freed slaves, women, and people who were new in town. And that was about it. If you belonged, in the sense that you had some personal power, or some standing in the community, you tended to steer clear of the church. The church was the purview of the powerless, the place you found some sense of community with the people who were just like you. And why the powerful attraction for people who had no power?

‘The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed’
‘The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman mixed’
‘The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field’
‘The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls’
‘The kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind’

Think for a moment about having great power, and vast wealth, and a following befitting someone such things, and then do a James Cameron “I’m the king of the world” thing in your minds eye, and then rewrite the parables. ‘My kingdom is like a mighty oak, my kingdom has the finest chefs, my kingdom has treasure enough that all can see, my kingdom has the finest pearls on display and my kingdom has nets filled with the really good fish, not the slimy kind or the fake fish you find in fish sticks.’

It’s a different kingdom from the kingdom of heaven, the kingdom with puny seeds and a little yeast and treasure you struggle to find and nets that don’t seem to discriminate. It’s a different kingdom altogether, maybe the kind of kingdom that would be attractive to slaves, freed slaves, woman, and strangers in town.

***

It’s a handy rule of thumb in these parts to never preach against the Bible. Kinda like biting the hand that feeds you, you might say, or at the very least preaching against the very thing we are here to promote. It is, therefore, difficult to address something in the lesson for the day that is such an obvious addition, without seeming to be preaching against the text. So I’ll try to be careful.

It’s unlikely that Jesus presented all these parables at the same time or in the order that we read them today. The Bible comes from an oral tradition, and all these parables were in the memory of the first audience, passed around, and eventually collected in the form of a unified passage. You can certainly hear it in the way the parables are presented: “The kingdom of heaven is like, and like, and like, and like…” People just don’t teach like that. They would pass by a mustard bush, lesson shared; they would spot a woman making bread, lesson shared, and so on. These were recalled and collected and presented together by the author of Matthew for maximum effect. It’s just what writers do.

But there is a problem with the pattern. In each case, save the last, it is expectation (‘the kingdom of heaven is like’), surprize (a mustard seed? yeast? a merchant?), and then great surprize (‘it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.’) Expectation, surprize and great surprize. Then we get to the final parable of the set:

47 ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; 48when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. 49So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous 50and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

It’s been a while since Sesame Street for me, but ‘one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong.’ Weeping and gnashing of teeth, how did that get in there? Let’s just call it ‘scribal error.’

The scribes, not the Jewish kind, but the Middle Ages-kind, were famous for making errors. Imagine spending year upon of year of copying ancient documents, read a line, write a line, read a line, write a line, and do it for ten or twenty years. I’m bored and making mistakes just thinking about it. Now imagine you come across something you don’t like, and can’t agree with, or think that somehow misses the point. The Abbott is out of the room, your colleagues are all busy, and you add a word to the text, maybe a ‘not’ like a famous cabinet minister I shall not name. See, no harm done, and in his tiny monk mind there was no real problem with the change. In fact it’s better he might think, just correcting something that some other scribe should have done long ago.

I’m willing to bet that the last parable of the bunch probably read something like this: ‘Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind.’ Jesus was cryptic, he loved to be a little vague, he loved to tease the imagination with brevity, and he was never really one for weeping and the gnashing of teeth. That would be our imaginary scribe. And the scribe even leaves us a clue, heck, his finger prints are all over it. From verse 51:

51 ‘Have you understood all this?’ They answered, ‘Yes.’ 52And he said to them, ‘Therefore every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of his treasure what is new and what is old.’

This guy had some nerve, he even inserted himself into the text. Jesus talked about scribes (the Jewish kind) and Pharisees, and teachers of the Law, but he didn’t talk about a ‘scribe trained for the kingdom of heaven,’ that would be future tense, that would be an addition, that would be ‘ah ha, caught you red-handed,’ or red-lettered.

The kingdom of heaven is not about throwing the evil fish into the furnace of fire. Creative, but not true. The kingdom of heaven is not about weeping and gnashing of teeth. The kingdom of heaven is not about dividing one from another and assigning some to hell. And how do I know? Expectation, surprize, and great surprize.

I’m fairly certain that each of us has pondered the question, ‘I wonder what the kingdom of heaven is like?’ We might have a vague sense, we might have a fond hope, or we may just live with a strong sense of expectation. Jesus knew this. So we hear the words “the kingdom of heaven is like” and we lean in. Then he serves up a surprize. It’s like yeast, that a woman took and mixed into three measures of flour, until it was all leavened. In other words, the kingdom of heaven is not like entering the spiritual olympics and hoping to win, it is something both commonplace and wonderful at the same time. That’s the great surprize. It is something remarkable that you also see everyday. Like forgiveness, and love, and all the other things that Jesus preached. Some will try to insert judgment into the kingdom of heaven, but it just doesn’t fit. Rather, God thinks we’re treasure, hidden treasure, and is willing to spend everything to include us in the kingdom of heaven. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Trinity Sunday

2011-06-19T06:40:00.001-07:00

Matthew 28
16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. 17When they saw him, they worshipped him; but some doubted. 18And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. 19Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, 20and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.’*

This week I finally asked my brother the question that’s been on my mind since the beginning of racing season: “Andrew, what have you done with my brother Andrew?”

Andrew, it seems, has mellowed. Now this, in and of itself is not a bad thing. He has always been wound a bit tight, the yin to my yang, the anxious presence to my non-anxious presence, the guy I am pleased to give my anger work because he does it so well.

Then this new guy got on the boat. There is no swearing. There is no shouting “Starboard” or “I need room” or my favourite “I have rights.” It’s like someone nefarious switched out my brother and gave us a Zen master instead. I don’t like it.

In racing, you see, the object is to press your rights right up to the moment the other boat threatens to cut you in half, shouting all the while, then taking great pleasure as they are forced to tack away. The word Schadenfreude comes to mind, taking pleasure in the misfortune of others, but only in Humber Bay, and only on race nights.

If there were a Father’s Day message in all of this, it would be that little Jacob, at age 2.5, has done the seemingly impossible, and turned a sailing Pit Bull into a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. And in the spirit of the day I will accept our finishes to date, a third, a third, a fourth and a third, and celebrate the gift of fathers.

***

If we were to get our minds off sailing for just a minute, we might reflect on the lessons for Trinity Sunday. It’s a minor holiday in the liturgical calendar of the United Church, right up there with Reformation Sunday and Christ the King Sunday. It will be marked, I expect, in many of our churches, maybe even celebrated with clover and Neapolitan ice cream, but it will always remain in the minor league of liturgical occasions.

If only we were Anglicans, if only for today. Back in March I had the great pleasure of visiting The Cathedral Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, known locally as Downpatrick Cathedral, a church that shares the very same name with cathedrals in Bristol, Carlisle, Ely, Norwich and Waterford. It seems the Middle Ages had no trademark law, or it simply points to the popularity of the doctrine.

Now, note the phrasing. The Holy and Undivided Trinity is much more than a cathedral name, it expands our understanding by adding the word ‘undivided.’ God-in-three-persons, the triune God, is always and forever undivided, something that our medieval forbears want to emphasize, and something they found in scripture.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me,” Jesus said. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. And teach them,” he continued, “to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

The first reminder is authority. The earthy realm, the heavenly realm, each lives under the authority of the Risen Christ, governed with the Spirit’s help, and perfectly reflecting the threefold nature of God. God came into the world in Jesus to save us, and remains present to us in the sacraments of the church and the Spirit that moves in and among us now. It is a theological system that rests on the authority of Jesus to lead us and intercede for us.

The second reminder is to make disciples. Here again is where the United Church becomes exceedingly shy, or at least cautious, at the command to make disciples of all nations. Some of the caution is appropriate, particularly when we confess that in the past we too often forced our culture on others while we were sharing our religion. It would be sad, however, to allow the mistakes of the past to deter us from sharing the Good News of new life in Christ with so many in our midst who are crying out for meaning.

The third reminder found in this rich little passage is obedience, and concept that can only be fully understood by returning to Humber Bay.

But before I return to my happy place, I will note that obedience is a tough sell in 2011. It is a tough sell among Canadians generally, among young people for sure, and a maybe the baby-boomers most of all. It’s just a tough sell. And of course, it is a tough sell in the church. Sermons on obedience are rare bordering on endangered, and the most popular hymn on the topic is more often mocked than sung:

Trust and obey, for there's no other way
to be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.

So whatever happened to obedience? How did it go the way of prudence and temperance? How did it become so unpopular that rejecting obedience seems to have become the higher virtue?

Sailing is all about obedience. First you must obey the wind. The direction, the intensity, the variability, every aspect of the wind effects whatever wish the sailor may have. You are not in control of the wind. If you have a powerboat I salute you, because you have achieved a level of mastery over the wind. That is, until there is a storm, then you are back in the same boat (pun intended) as everyone else.

Then you must obey the limitations of your boat. Like everything that is manmade, it is strong and purposeful, but can suddenly become fragile. Shallow water comes to mind first, but also equipment failure or simple mistakes like choosing the wrong sail.

Finally, you must obey the Racing Rules of Sailing, which are really just a fancy way of saying you must share the water. There are literally hundreds of rules, governing every aspect of the sport, but the real action is in Part Two, under the rather prosaic title “When Boats Meet.” From experience, I can tell you that ‘when boats meet’ there is shouting, scraping, and the sudden smell of fiberglass. Better to obey the Racing Rules of Sailing than find yourself in the protest room when you should be upstairs telling tall tales over a pint.

If we were really candid about the structure of our lives, we would quickly see that obedience is pretty central. We obey the rules of the road, not just to avoid punishment, but to protect our safety and the safety of others. We pay taxes, not with delight, but generally with the recognition that the common good is served when our taxes support the things have come to depend on, such as health care and schools. And we obey social conventions, for the sake of maintaining relationships, like answering yes when the question demands yes and answering no when the question demands no. It puts me in mind of my colleague Robin, who has a sign on the door of her office that says “Tell me, does this pulpit make my butt look fat?” The answer is no.

Jesus said “Teach them to obey everything I have commanded you.” Teach them to be obedient to my teachings, and to follow in my way. Teach them to pick up their cross. Teach them to forgive seven times seventy times. Teach then to turn the other cheek and walk the extra mile. Teach them to visit the sick and the prisoner, to offer cup of water and the clothes off your back. Teach them to have compassion for broken people. Teach them to pray for the living and the dead. Teach them to love one another and never cease to add to their circle. Teach them to remember that they are always a child of God.

Some of these come easily to us, and some, not so much. Some of these come with an obvious reward, and some, no reward at all. Some are deeply counter-cultural and some are just good advice if you want to live with other people. Some we know, if we are really candid, we may never achieve, and they take us back to the forgiveness prayer. No one said obedience would be easy, or popular, or even feasible in this day and age, but try we must.

Maybe the most helpful conclusion comes from Julian of Norwich, in her hut across the town from the Cathedral Church of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, who wrote:

God did not say,
‘You shall not be tempest-tossed,
You shall not be weary,
You shall not be discomforted.’
But God did say, ‘You shall not be overcome."

Pentecost

2011-06-12T03:34:00.000-07:00

Acts 2
1 When the day of Pentecost came, they were all together in one place. 2 Suddenly a sound like the blowing of a violent wind came from heaven and filled the whole house where they were sitting. 3 They saw what seemed to be tongues of fire that separated and came to rest on each of them. 4 All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues[a] as the Spirit enabled them.
5 Now there were staying in Jerusalem God-fearing Jews from every nation under heaven. 6 When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken. 7 Utterly amazed, they asked: “Aren’t all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language? 9 Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,[b] 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome 11 (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!” 12 Amazed and perplexed, they asked one another, “What does this mean?”

The wettest spring on record finally came to an end, and the children of Noah and Mrs. Noah spread all over the earth.

And they came to the Plain of Shinar. And they said, let’s build ourselves a city, constructed with bricks from clay and we’ll use bitumen as mortar (must be a biblical story from Alberta). And they decided to include a tower, not just any tower, but a tower to reach to the heavens, to make a name for themselves throughout the world. And so they did.

Now God came down and saw what these people were doing, and God being God, was able to quickly get the heart of the problem. “These people,” God said, “speak one language, planning together and working together, and proving that when they work together, they can achieve the impossible.”

Remember these are early days for God. Punishing Adam and Eve, cleansing the earth at the flood, God appears to be coming to terms with the tension between human disobedience and the power to destroy them all.

Back to our story, God hits upon a plan: ‘If I confuse their language, so that they can’t understand each other, then take the added measure of spreading them all over the earth, it seems unlikely that they will be building any more tall towers.’ It was good in theory. Then the editor adds a note to the end of the story, this story recorded in the 11th chapter of Genesis, saying, “This is why it was named Babel, because the LORD confused the language of the whole world.”

Now, Babel is a funny word. The note in my Bible suggests it comes from Babylonia, the region in the east where all this happened. Then it suggests Babel is Hebrew for confused, a suggestion that might better fit the editors of my Bible. My own theory, though the Internet tells me I’m not the first to think of this, is that Babel is simply onomatopoeia, a word that does what it says. Spoken at once, these languages sounded like nothing more than babble.

I sometimes wonder if Toronto is the story of the Tower of Babel in reverse. Back in 1968, when Canadian National first decided to build a tower to the heavens, Toronto looked pretty different from today. The world was on its way to our fair city, but it was near the beginning of our story of great diversity.

So they began to build, and when it was complete, the world began to notice the city by the lake, and our open spirit, and down to today we have the tower and we have a population that speaks over 140 language and dialects. We are not just diverse, but the most diverse in the world, according to the United Nations, so take that New York and London!

So here we are, sitting in the shade of our tall tower, speaking 140 languages and dialects, and living in relative harmony. Then God spoke:

6 When they heard this sound, a crowd came together in bewilderment, because each one heard their own language being spoken. 7 Utterly amazed, they asked: “Aren’t all these who are speaking Galileans? 8 Then how is it that each of us hears them in our native language? 9 Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,[b] 10 Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome 11 (both Jews and converts to Judaism); Cretans and Arabs—we hear them declaring the wonders of God in our own tongues!”

I sometimes wonder if Pentecost is the story of the Tower of Babel in reverse. Back in Shinar, languages were invented to confuse and divide, but in Jerusalem that day, languages are used to clarify and unite. Here are the Galileans, humble fishers and farmers, speaking the languages of the known world, and even speaking a dead language, the language of Medes, just in case we forget that the message of Jesus is for all time.

They speak and they declare the wonders of the God, then Peter preaches, and we read that those who were moved by the message were baptized that day and 3,000 were added to their number.

Does this mean that the Babel is ended, that we have overcome the burden of human division? Clearly, no. The scattered peoples of the world erected new towers, and build weapons and defenses, and moved against each other on far too may occasions, and generally made a mess. Pentecost is the birthday of the church, and the beginning of a new age in human development, but not the answer to the very problem that God identified near the beginning: we continue to demonstrate that nothing we set our minds to is impossible.

No, maybe you’re thinking to yourself that this is, in fact, the promise of humanity, that nothing we set our minds to is impossible. And you would be partially right, for our clever minds and opposing thumbs have done extraordinary things, taking us from caves to the moon in just a few thousands years, a mere speck in the sands of time. And for you ‘glass half-full’ people I have only one word: Plutonium.

You see, back at the beginning of the atomic age, the scientists who were developing the brave new world of nuclear energy were confronted with a choice: thorium or uranium. Thorium is more abundant than uranium, it is less radioactive, meaning unable to meltdown in the same way we know uranium can, and useless to anyone wanting to make an atomic bomb. So governments chose uranium, and its evil by-product plutonium, as the atomic fuel of choice. Neil Reynolds, in describing all this, points to the wonderful irony found in the names: Thorium is named for Thor, the guardian of the earth, while Plutonium is named for Pluto, the God of Hell.

So the day of Pentecost was not the answer to the problems of the world, and not the beginning of an obvious progression toward some type of human perfection. Going a step further, the birth of the church was clearly not the answer to the problems of the world, and not the location of an obvious progression toward some type of human perfection. Quite the opposite, in fact. For the church is the place were broken people come together, where those in need find other people in their need and they speak. They speak in any one of 140 languages and dialects (in Toronto at least) and they declare the wonders of God. They declare God’s grace, that unconditional love that only God can give. They declare God’s mercy, the forgiveness extended in the face of all of our foolishness, and they declare God’s compassion, best demonstrated in God’s son, Jesus the Christ.

And is was Jesus, in the simplest way possible, that described the heart of Pentecost long before Pentecost, in close to his shortest parable of all:

And again he said, Whereunto shall I liken the kingdom of God? It is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal, till the whole was leavened. (Luke 13.20,21)

To Parthians, Medes and Elamites; residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya near Cyrene; visitors from Rome, Cretans and Arabs, the disciples of Jesus were leaven, nothing more than common yeast, hidden in three measures of meal untill the whole world is leavened. It can’t happen over night, or even in 2,000 years, but slowly, mostly hidden, and happening still. It is Pentecostal hope, and the only hope we have. Amen.

Seventh Sunday after Easter

2011-06-05T05:31:00.000-07:00

John 17
10 All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.
11 And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.

There’s a stage near the beginning of life when you imagine that the world revolves around you, that when you leave the room the people you leave behind freeze until you reenter.

There’s a stage in life where you feel completely alone, that the world outside has forgotten you, or worse, never knew you were there.

There’s a stage where you pick and choose your relationships, aware that some make you feel more like the real you and others do not.

Finally, there’s a stage where you accept that you are you, and others are not you, and because you know this, you are better able to love them and forgive them.

You will notice that each stage is unique in how we meet others. In the first, they are our playthings; later they are a threat; then they help define us; and at the last, they live beside us. They are no longer plaything, or threat, or definer, but another child of God.

In the nativity, the world existes more as a tableau than a real situation, and Jesus is the centrepiece, an adoring world frozen around him, time stopped.

In the desert, Jesus is tempted to by the adversary through long conversation and elaborate promises, but is mostly alone, forty days and forty nights, which always means ‘a very long time.’

In his ministry, there were always people who could not follow: the rich young ruler is the best example, but there were entire towns that became shaken dust on the road to the next place, the next set of potential friends.

And at the end, Jesus could only pray. He prayed that his followers be unified, and kept safe, and learn to love and forgive one another for the sake of themselves and the world.

You will notice that each stage is unique in how Jesus meets others. In the first, they are pieces in an elaborate crèche; then they are gone, leaving only the adversary; then people help define him, or at least define his mission in the world; and finally he prays for them, and for us.

***

John’s Gospel is one part introduction and two parts conclusion. It begins at the moment of creation and it ends with a little grilled fish, just Jesus and his friends. And in between the Word made flesh and the shore of Lake Gennesaret, there are many signs, and many wonders, all of which point to Jesus’ relationship to God and Jesus’ relationship to you and me.

And John 17, where we pause today, is a chapter of prayer. Jesus prays that cross and resurrection will demonstrate God’s glory, that eternal life will be known. He prays that the certainty his disciples know through this direct relationship with God will continue, and he prays that God keep them safe.

***

People say it is a comfort knowing that others are praying for you. As a minister, I can tell you that it brings great comfort knowing that people pray for their ministers and wish them well in their vocation. And when we pray in this place, for people in need, I make a point of mentioning it to them the next time we meet. It brings comfort.

If I was going to make a summary, then, I would say simply that prayer brings comfort. We can call this the least mysterious aspect of prayer: that prayer brings comfort. This is not to diminish it somehow, but to acknowledge that it is something anyone can do and anyone can understand.

And it works on reverse too. We gain comfort when we pray for others, or when we express thanks to God, or when we quietly ask God for help. But the act of praying for others, in particular, serves to strengthen our bond to them, and to somehow strengthen the fabric of the universe. And how could it not? The act of prayer creates a bond that lives beyond normal interaction. It opens a third dimension to our relationships, and invites God to enter.

People say it is a comfort knowing that others are praying for you. And I would argue it is a necessity, because human life is something best not attempted alone, something that requires the care and attention of others, something that requires prayer.

***

That Jordan River water I mentioned, a gift to Grayson from Sylvia, appeared quite suddenly on my desk in the middle of the week. It was too small to be a bottle of drinking water, something that we banned from the United Church long ago, and it was helpfully labeled, “not for drinking, for religious purposes only.” Always good to read the fine print.

If we ponder for just a moment the connection we made, baptizing Grayson in the same water that Jesus was baptized in, and in the same water that countless pilgrims were baptized in through the ages, and the same water that modern pilgrims have received and carried off to the far corners of the world, it is hard not to be astounded. Add to that all the people, young and old, who were baptised here at the corner of King and Weston Road, over the last 190 years, it is hard not to be astounded. And add to that the everlasting connection you and I now have with Grayson, and the varied times and places where we were baptized, and it is hard not to be astounded.

And even more astounding are the words that Jesus prays on this very topic: “All mine are yours, God, and yours are mine…protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

There is a stage, before font and table, and gathered believers, when we imagine we are the centre of things.

There is a stage in life where we feel completely alone, sometimes even in church, unsure how we relate even to the people closest to us.

There is a stage where you approach the font, as millions have before, understanding that is not about who gets to heaven and who doesn’t, but about the relationships formed when we enter into a new life in Christ.

Finally, there’s a stage where you understand that you are a child of God, surrounded by other children of God, and you understand the call to pray for one another, love one another, and forgive one another. It is the stage where we realize that our prayers are also Christ’s prayers and he intercedes for us in a mysterious way we cannot begin to understand. And it is a stage that brings comfort, for us and others, now and always, Amen.

Fifth Sunday after Easter

2011-05-22T06:41:00.000-07:00

John 14
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.
4And you know the way to the place where I am going.” 5Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 6Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. 7If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”

It seems unfair to end the world on a long weekend.

It’s been a long winter, and so it also seems cruel to schedule the apocalypse on the first decent day of spring. Do I need to weed the garden if the whole thing is coming to an end anyway? Should I worry about the phlox that seems intent on pushing everything else out of the garden? Should I finally split the sedum? At least we harvested our first rhubarb, preparing for the end with a belly full of tangy sweetness.

I’ve often wondered about the end of the world. I’m not sure I understand the attraction, or the fascination, but I have three theories, so you can decide for yourself.

The first theory I’m calling “the world is lost and cannot be redeemed.” In this theory, those who wait for the end of the world are convinced that humanity is too depraved to save, that sinfulness has taken over, and that only a fiery end will cleanse the earth. Think of a modern Noah minus the ark. In this case, salvation doesn’t come through saving a family and animals two-by-two, but in the rapture, a topic I will return too in a moment.

The second theory we might call “creation is complete, time to move on.” In this theory, we have done all we can to and with the earth, human history has reached an endpoint, and now it must conclude. This may be a slightly more positive expression of the first theory, but the result is the same. This theory most often involves the State of Israel, and the rebuilding of the Temple, and any number of other factors. On this last point, you can trace many of the outbursts of apocalypticism to the various wars in the Middle East, especially 1948 and 1967.

My final theory, I’m calling “I can't go on, plus or minus.” On the plus side, there seems to be a link between the enthusiasm of the newly converted and the end of the world. If you have just begun a passionate relationship with your Lord and Savior, there follows a desire to meet him as soon as possible. Apocalyptic hope can mean accelerating the process. On the minus side, and related to the first theory, is the sense that the world is not just a terrible place, but a terrible place for the individual believer, and the sooner the suffering ends the better. These are the scariest folks, because trying to speed up the process can have the side-effect of making it happen. The Israeli tourist people love conservative Christians, but there are a little wary of them at the same time.

It seems unfair to preach on the end of the world on a long weekend. It should be light, and pleasant, more flowers, and less hellfire. But it’s not my fault, it’s the lectionary, which gave us an end-of-the-world passage on the same weekend it made the news:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. 2In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? 3And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

There are twenty-one chapters in John’s Gospel, and already at chapter twelve Jesus is be anointed for death and we begin to understand the role Judas will play in the unfolding story. Later in twelve, Jesus predicts his death, and in the chapter that follows he predicts both the betrayal and Peter’s denial.

And so you see, almost half of the last Gospel concerns the passion of Jesus, his end, and the promises that follow his passage to new life. It is in this context then, that we hear the words “and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.” This is a very personal promise of the end, a pledge that has sustained many through the centuries.

Many of you, of course, will recognize John 14 as a regular funeral reading. “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms.” For the faithful, for those who have lived under the promises of God, there seems no better expression of the Christian hope. If John 14 has a serious rival, it might be Matthew 25, the Parable of the Sheep and Goats, with the conclusion “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it also for me.” It almost becomes a Mary and Martha-type division, where the tireless workers get Matthew 25 and the rest of the faithful get John 14.

Turing back to John 14, the promises continue: “I will not leave you as orphans,” Jesus said, “I will come to you. Before long, the world will not see me anymore, but you will see me. Because I live, you also will live.” You begin to get the sense why this is among the most beloved chapters in scripture. And you also get the appeal for those who look forward to the end of the world. “…the world will not see me, but you will see me…I will come again and take you to myself”

Now, I promised a word on the rapture, and this might be the moment. If we return to Matthew, and we go back a chapter to twenty-four, we will find Matthew’s “Little Apocalypse,” his recounting of Jesus’ teaching on the end-time. It starts with a promise that the Temple will be destroyed, it outlines the various thing that will happen near the end, and concludes with this prediction: “That is how it will be at the coming of the Son of Man. Two men will be in the field; one will be taken and the other left. Two women will be grinding with a hand mill; one will be taken and the other left.”

Since the beginning of the last century in particular, and before that to a lesser extent, there has been an ongoing and lively debate about the moment believers will be taken up. If you study the parallel passages in Matthew 24, Mark 13, and Luke 21, you will see that the predictions are similar, but also vague enough to spark rival interpretations. These interpretations ended up with names, such as pre-tribulation rapture, mid-tribulation rapture, and so on. People have spent a great deal of time worrying about the hour and the day, but also the degree of suffering they will witness before the event actually comes.

You may have gathered from all that I have said that I’m unconvinced that everything will end in fiery tribulation. Yes and no. On a planet where the average yearly temperature is on the rise, and species such as the pine beetle can spread throughout our northern forests for the first time, and the constant risk of lightning strikes and forest fires is only increasing, and entire towns face destruction that seems to relate directly back to climate change, I’m keeping an open mind on the fiery tribulation. Call it a variation on the first theory of the apocalypse, call it “the world may be lost and may not be redeemed.” If we cook ourselves into oblivion we might prove the May 21st crowd correct after all, an outcome we would do well to avoid.

It might surprize you to learn that the roots of the United Church, and in particular the movement called the Social Gospel, was very much an end-of-the-world movement too. It came about around the very same time as the first fundamentalists were arguing pre-trib and mid-trib, and it also welcomed the end of history as a fitting goal for believers. It was related to the second theory I shared above. It argues that the goal of the Christian life is to bring about God’s realm, to usher in a new realm of peace and equality and at that moment history would be complete.

It was the movement that sparked the urge to unite the various churches in Canada, assuming that Christian unity would be a natural first step to creating the Kingdom, and based on the belief that improving the human condition superceded denominational tradition and worship practice. The union would not be completed until 1925, but the movement that gave birth to it—the Social Gospel—it died in the trenches in Belgium. For you see, the Social Gospel was based on the idea of human progress toward common goal, something that become a hollow fiction as so-called Christian nations fought the “Great War.”

And it was about that time that the mainline churches, United and Anglican and others simply stopped talking about the end of the world, and handed the entire conversation over to the conservatives. Mainline churches moved on to other topics, the problem of evil, Christ and the modern world, and gave a discussion of the life to come to others.

To all of this, to all of the discussion and all of the debate, I say ‘it just doesn’t matter.’ And the reason it doesn’t matter is found in John 14: “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms.” It doesn’t matter if there is a fiery end or your life ends peacefully in your bed, the promise is the same: In my Father’s house there are many rooms. Yes, we need to leave the world better than we found it, and yes we need to work for a healthy planet and healthy children and healthy relationships, but the matter of my end and your end individually, it really doesn’t matter.

What matters is the promises of God. What matter is knowledge that a place is prepared for us, whatever route we take to get there. What matters is the assurance that a loving God waits to welcome us, forgive us, and embrace us in eternity. I believe the earth will go on, and people will smarten up and clean up the mess around us, and my children and grandchildren will enjoy life on earth as much as we do. But I also believe that death is something you train for, something to be pondered, something we can even welcome like an old friend if you work at it long enough.

We can make fun of the end of the world, as most newspapers and bloggers and preachers will today, but it doesn’t negate the fact that the world will end for each of us, that we will each experience our own little apocalypse, and that this place is always the best place to do your preparing. So enjoy the rest of your long weekend, and when someone asks you Tuesday what you did to celebrate the fact that the world did not end, tell them you went to church, to train for the next time. Amen.

Fourth Sunday of Easter

2011-05-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

John 10
1 “Very truly I tell you Pharisees, anyone who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber. 2 The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3 The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep listen to his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes on ahead of them, and his sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 But they will never follow a stranger; in fact, they will run away from him because they do not recognize a stranger’s voice.” 6 Jesus used this figure of speech, but the Pharisees did not understand what he was telling them.
7 Therefore Jesus said again, “Very truly I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8 All who have come before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep have not listened to them. 9 I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.[a] They will come in and go out, and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

No one wants to be described as a gatekeeper. A quick look at Wikipedia, and you will see the various ways ‘gatekeeper’ has gone from keeper-of-the-city-gate to, well, a gatekeeper.

Newspaper editor, admissions officer, financial advisor, each has been given the informal title of gatekeeper. They decide which stories, applicants and financial instruments made the cut, which ones deserve a place in the newspaper, organization or portfolio.

Informally, gatekeepers are anyone we resent for having authority to decide. Within the United Church, the presbytery Education and Students Committee are often described as gatekeepers, charged with determining the suitability of candidates for ministry. In this sense the charge is both accurate and unfair at the same time. They have the authority to make decisions on the future of an individual, much like an HR department, but they are also a metaphor for the people who control access to something sought after. If you could call ordination something sought after, that is.

The non-literal role of gatekeeper, keeping some out of the club, is likely as old as the literal gatekeeper, keeping watch over the entrance of the city. You see, anytime a group has exercised a right to choose who is in and who is out, the gatekeeper function has existed. There are more than a few examples in the Bible, of course, but I think my favourite is the story of Simon the Magician found in Acts 8.

Simon is a local magician who follows St. Philip, accepts baptism, and is astounded that the apostles can give the gift of the Holy Spirit through the laying on of hands. Simon offers to buy the right to do it too. Unimpressed by the offer, it is St. Peter who says, "May your money perish with you!" (8.20). Simon repents, and even asks that Peter pray for him, but this doesn’t stop the early church from giving his name to the terrible sin of buying a position in the church, forever called simony.

So the church does it, and business does it, and your broker does it, so why the negative connotation? We depend on the gatekeeper function everyday to make sure that the right people are doing the right job in the right way. I kind of like the idea that the College of Physicians and Surgeons is on the lookout for quackery and incompetence (do you know how long I’ve wanted the use the work ‘quackery’ in a sermon?). Seriously, the gatekeeper over at the MTO, saying yes to one driver and no to another, is performing a valuable public function.

Generally, though, the idea of the gatekeeper seems to offend our inner Canadian, some deep part of us that thinks everyone deserves a shot, that taking on the role of gatekeeper is somehow haughty, and that really we just want everyone to have a chance to play too. I once made the mistake, while talking to my dear friends Ted and Caroline, to refer to the National Yacht Club as “the club where I belong.” “Oh, do you now,” came the reply, and another statement I’ll never live down was born.

I guess I meant “the club to which I belong,” but the moment passed and I gave up my membership anyway, not out of shame, but because you don’t need a membership to sail, something you golfers might want to note.

It was Groucho Marx that said, “I'd never join a club that would allow a person like me to become a member.” And as funny as that line is, it points to the truth that we have a healthy ambivalence about being in or out, member or non-member, part of the club or forever on the outside.

So what do we do with John 10? A good commentary will note that the passage Joyce read has two parts. In the first part, Jesus is the shepherd, who enters the sheepfold, and speaks to the sheep. The sheep know the shepherd’s voice, and they follow him. They will not follow a stranger’s voice, a voice they do not know, only the voice of the shepherd.

In the second part, Jesus is the gate, stating it twice in three verses, and using the “ego eimi” (I am) formulation that reminds us to pay attention, to note that this idea is foundational to Jesus’ self-understanding. So Jesus is the shepherd, but he is also the gate, a somewhat confusing passage that has tripped up many a preacher through the ages.

The simple solution, for this passage, is to assign the role of shepherd to God and follow the “I am” clue, making Jesus the gate. And this certainly fits with the other assigned lesson for the day, with Psalm 23 (“The Lord is my shepherd”) underlining that for John 10, at least, it is the God that the sheep follow, through the gate, that is Jesus Christ.

And this certainly fits with that other very famous passage in John, where Jesus is the ‘way, the truth and the life, and no one gets to the Father except through me.’ John 14 is perhaps the clearest statement of Jesus as gatekeeper, certainly on par with saying “I am the gate.”

But once again, we are ambivalent. We have learned, in this post-modern age, that truth claims are tricky and saying Jesus is the only way to salvation excludes four or so billion others who have their own version of the truth. And so, in the spirit of the age, we correctly say that our truth may not be their truth, and that all roads (with a few nasty exceptions) can be said to lead to God.

And it even fits with our revised understanding of the Gospel of John. It was the last to be written. It was the book written at the peak of a competition between emerging church and existing synagogue and therefore it reflects the politics of the day. “Religious leaders” become “Jewish leaders,” even though everyone in the story was Jewish, and John even goes so far to have the chief priests say “we have no king but Caesar,” something they would never say.

So the context determines the nature of the claims made, so we can support some and retire others, but we are left with the gatekeeper Jesus and his role in our life together. Now it gets really muddy.

I don’t tend to read the National Post, but I followed a link, and read an article published yesterday on the emerging split in the United Church. A couple of things first: split is an intentional over-statement, I think, but you will need to read the article for yourself and decide. Next, the National Post is famous for highlighting problems with the United Church, most often the church’s approach to the State of Israel, and occasionally on social issues.

The split, as described in the article, is between the theists and the post-theists, the people in the church who continue to believe in God and those who have moved on. Not moved on from the church, mind you, but moved on from a belief in God and continue to exercise leadership in the church.

For most people, particularly people outside the church, this is one of those scratch you head, “what the heck” kind of ideas that belongs in the “oddly enough” section of the newspaper and not the religion section. It begs the question why someone who no longer ascribes to the core beliefs of the church would choose to remain in the church, and to that I can only say ‘we live in strange days.’

The debate, of course, is not new. There has long been a fringe group in the church who long to shift Jesus from the centre to the margins, and this too is noted in the article, through a fine quote from my friend and colleague Connie den Bok:

“In the 1960s and ’70s we became embarrassed about Jesus. And so we distanced ourselves from Jesus, and the point is without Jesus there’s no point in having a church. iTunes has better music and the NDP has better policies; everything else we do now somebody else does way better. The only thing we can do is this Jesus thing,” she said.

And here I think Connie finds the heart of the matter. Theist and post-theist is just fancy language for the process that starts when you decide that Jesus is no longer at the centre of the church. It is his church, it belongs to him, and while not the founder (that honour belongs to Peter or Paul) he is certainly the reason for the whole enterprise.

And so, once again, Jesus is the gate. Jesus is the narrow way that some choose to enter and some cannot. We avoid the language of in and out because it offends our modern sensibility, but in the case of where the church is headed and who will be at the centre, Jesus is clearly the gate.

But back to the Post article for a minute, it follows the assumption that rogue leaders, post-theist leaders, and the high church officials that tolerate them are the root of the problem, but I have a different view, and I’ll tell you why.

A few years back I ran into a minister I once knew, and we talked about old times. We compared journeys and stories, starting back in Kingston and catching up to present times. My friend’s story was much more interesting, and he told it like this:

One day I woke up and I said to myself, ‘ don’t believe any of this anymore. I just can’t believe in anything I’ve preached all these long years.’ So I went to the Board of the congregation and I told them what I had discovered and told them I was happy to go but then something surprising happened: they asked me to stay. ‘We love you too much to lose you,’ they said. ‘Great, I said to them, let’s have an adventure together!’

Back in my day, when a minister lost his (or her) faith, they became a teacher or a social worker or a night guard at the mall. They didn’t continue being a minister. The story my friend told me, is a breakdown of an accepted tradition that understood loss of faith as loss of vocation. And without wanting to be too judgmental, this was a case where the congregation, the people who hold the mission and do the ministry, should have said, ‘you’re right, you should move on. We love you, but you should move on to something else.’

Jesus is the gate, not in a negative way, not in a judgmental way, but in a definitional way. He helps us to see where we are, in the fold or outside the fold, in the church or outside the church. Not in a “take sides” kind of way, a way to serves no one, but in a way that allows us, as individuals, to know where we stand and know where we belong.

To follow Jesus and follow in his way is a choice we make, something we ‘put on’ to define ourselves. It should never be something we extend to some and not others, rather, it is something that we allow people to claim. Even Simon the Magician, guilty of simony, wasn’t ejected from the church, but told to repent, and then prayed for. Jesus is the gate, not to exclude, but to allow people to self-exclude. It should be no other way.

God has given us the gift of God’s son, a source of mercy and truth, a source of healing and fullness, a source of new life and life everlasting. It is the greatest gift, and one we accept with humility. May it always be so. Amen.

Third Sunday of Easter

2011-05-08T06:42:00.001-07:00

Luke 24
28 As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. 29 But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them.
30 When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. 32 They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”
33 They got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together 34 and saying, “It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.” 35 Then the two told what had happened on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the bread.

How often does this happen to you? You see someone, you know you know them, but you just can’t place them. Let’s call it the problem of context: take someone out of their usual setting and you’re ability to place them is diminished.

Now, the issue is not recognition. Unless you suffer from prosopagnosia, a diminished capacity to recognize faces, you know the face, you just can’t remember who they are or where you know them.

Of course, you are in good company. Our passage this morning is the classic story of two followers unable to recognize Jesus, unable to place him, until he breaks the bread. Suddenly the context is reestablished, they have new sight, and they know that this is Jesus. Then he is gone.

And this is not the only example in the Bible. Joseph, sold into slavery by his brothers, manages to become the Prime Minister of Egypt before he reintroduces himself to his very surprized brothers. You might even make the same argument about Isaac, unable to recognize his son Jacob, but that situation involved stew and trickery, so it’s hardly a parallel.

Back to Luke 24, the two who walk to Emmaus are not part of the twelve, and we only learn the name of Cleopas and not his companion. Discouraged, they leave the Holy City and travel the road, only to be joined by a stranger, a stranger seemingly unaware of the events that have unfolded in recent days.

As the two describe and struggle to understand the death of Jesus and the story of the empty tomb, the unrecognized stranger offers an explanation. Beginning with Moses and the prophets, the stranger pulls all the recent events on their proper context.

They pause for a meal, and in the course of the meal, and in particular the moment when the bread is broken, the two recognize Jesus. No sooner do they see and he is gone. The scripture records they asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”

One of the things to note in this story is that at no time does Jesus refer to himself. Now, part of it is the structure of the story itself. They story only works when the moment of recognition comes at the end, and if the stranger on the road spoke of himself (Jesus) then the ending would be preempted and the whole thing would fall apart.

Instead, and certainly not by accident, the conversation begins with Moses, moves to the prophets, and ends with communion. So why Moses? The story of Jesus is always a story about liberation. Sins are forgiven, the broken are mended, the outcasts embraced. At every step of the journey, Jesus freed people to love God and love their neighbour.

So Jesus is the new Moses and the new Elijah and the new covenant in the bread and the wine. All of this was revealed on the road and at the table and within the hearts of the two from Emmaus. And then it was revealed, in scripture, to us.

***

How often does this happen to you? You see someone in someone else, say your parents in your siblings or your mother in yourself? Call it Mother’s Day in reverse, the gift that my mother gave me, that I see more of her in me all the time. And Dad too, of course, I can’t leave out Dad, although he gets his own day and will just have to wait his turn.

For me it’s making the most of every situation, valuing relationships over whatever happens in the day-to-day, and being able to laugh and enjoy the smallest things. For these I say thank you, Marilyn. If you’re reading this online, mother, I will call you soon, if only because Harold keeps reminding me.

***

How often does this happen to you? You see Christ in someone else. If fact, it is the goal of the Christian life, the goal of the faith we spend our lives developing, the goal that began moments after the bread was broken and he was gone.

The first lesson of the Road to Emmaus is watchfulness. I can imagine Cleopas and his blessed companion not only recounting this story for the rest of their days, but continued to look for the Risen Christ in everyone they met. How could they not? Every stranger, every traveler on the road, every dinner guest became a potential Christ. It required a new attentiveness, a new imagination, and willingness to disregard the ordinary before them and look for Jesus.

Now, it’s easy enough to see Christ in the people we admire. Imagine the most generous person you know, the most loving, the most forgiving, and it’s easy enough to claim an encounter with the Risen Christ. The goal of the Christian life, at least according to C.S. Lewis, is to become “little Christ’s,” an imitation of our Saviour and Lord that would be fairly obvious to even the most casual observer. “They will know we are Christian’s by our love,” the song says, and it remains the gold standard for Christian behavior to do what Jesus would do. What would Jesus do? I should write that down.

It’s easy enough to see Christ in the people we admire, but that about the people we don’t? Or the people we barely see at all? John Bell’s hymn “Jesus Christ is waiting” is one of the best expressions of this phenomenon. He wrote the hymn to support youth ministry in Glasgow, a city troubled by gang violence second only to London within the UK.

Jesus Christ is waiting, waiting in the streets;
no one is his neighbour, all alone he eats.
Listen, Lord Jesus, I am lonely too.
Make me, friend or stranger, fit to wait on you.

Like the Emmaus two, we practice watchfulness, but we do it in the most unlikely places. We don’t do it because it’s a rule or something we’re compelled to do, but because it’s how the Spirit moves. “Listen, Lord Jesus, I am lonely too.” When I’m vulnerable, when I’m diminished, when I falling apart, someone just may see the Risen Christ in me. We trust that we can be Christ to others, not just at our best, but when we share in the suffering that Christ experienced.

Watchfulness, recognition and blessing. The Spirit moves in our midst, in the most humble places, in the most unlikely people, in the midst of our everyday. May we see Christ in others, and may others see him in us, now and forever, amen.

Second Sunday of Easter

2011-05-01T04:00:00.000-07:00

John 20
19 On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jewish leaders, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” 20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and side. The disciples were overjoyed when they saw the Lord.
21 Again Jesus said, “Peace be with you! As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” 22 And with that he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”

Red is in free-fall, orange is surging, blue hasn’t changed, light blue is more than a little frustrated, and I have no idea about green. If the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge have done anything of note thus far in their marriage, it is to distract the good citizens of Her Majesty’s largest Dominion in the hours before an election.

It was going to be a sleeper, with likely the same outcome as last time ‘round, but that now seems far from the case. Just a week ago I confidently bet my mother that a Conservative majority was coming. But a week is a lifetime in politics, and she can probably use the twenty bucks anyway. Maybe I’ll put it in a card for next week.

The thing that makes me most frustrated about politics is the surplus of certainty that politicians bring to the election. Just once, I would love to hear someone running for high office address the challenges of governing and describe a sense of their personal limitations. Just once I would love to hear a politician say: ‘I’m not altogether certain about the future; I don’t know if our program has all the answers; I don’t know what challenges lie ahead; and the challenges I do see may be too great for any one person or any one party to tackle.’

But that would be asking too much. We have come to expect perfection, or at least the power of a strong denial in public life. And showing vulnerability, and being completely honest, will never fly in this time and place. Scars and brokeness are to be carefully hidden, mistakes denied, and uncertainty case aside.

What a great contrast to that first night after the resurrection, when Jesus enters the locked room, speaks his traditional greeting, and shows them his scarred flesh. This is no return in glory, there is no trumpet blast and no choir of angels, but a turn of the hands, a turn of his side, and the assurance that he was there in their midst once more.

And the response was utter joy! The disciples were all Thomas’ at that moment, hopeful that the testimony was true, ready to believe, but also ready to see for themselves. And see they did. He extended his peace to them, he breathed the Holy Spirit on them, and began to teach the theme that would define the church down to today. But that is getting ahead of ourselves.

The first message, after extending the peace, is this: “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” We should never forget that this is a sending religion, a faith based on taking the message out to as many people as possible and never hesitating to share it. It would be a mistake to imagine that confirmation is some sort of graduation, or completion, but rather it is a sending out, a tangible example of the message “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” Abby, Liam and Robert are being sent into the world, to represent the Gospel and represent us, with a message and a level of articulation (as demonstrated in the creedal statements they wrote) that is truly impressive.

The second message, the core message that the disciples need to hear at this moment, is forgiveness: “If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.” There, in a locked room, the disciples were no doubt relieved that their teacher and friend lives, but this does not mean they give up on the very human response to hate. The religious leaders (mistakenly call Jewish leaders—recall everyone in the story was Jewish) are at best guilty of collusion with the Roman authorities and at worst guilty of trying to destroy God. The disciples would naturally feel anger, and some guilt, since the foot of the cross was empty, save the faithful women.

So the message, “If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven” is first and foremost a message as the disciples prepare to make their way into the world. They could be consumed by anger, they could seek revenge, but Jesus says ‘forgive, do not cling to your anger, do not let your anger get in the way of your mission to take a message of forgiveness to a hurting world.’

Implied in this message of forgiveness, is the recognition the disciples need forgiving too. They did flee away at the critical moment in the story, Peter did deny Jesus, and their first response to the resurrection was disbelief. The message Jesus shared, first pronounced from the cross, is that the disciples are forgiven. The oversights, the anger, the disbelief are all forgiven.

Back to our politicians for a moment, one of the true marks of leadership is acknowledging limitations. It is knowing when to seek help, when to admit you don’t understand, and when to declare that something about us makes it impossible to be effective. This is weakness as strength, the same weakness as strength that allowed Jesus to surrender in the garden and accept what was about to unfold. He had to be weak, he had to accept the suffering and death that was coming, in order to demonstrate that relationship between God and humanity could be righted. He had to accept death in order to defeat it, to be weak in order to be strong, to die on the cross that we might live.

So here we are, redeemed sinners, broken people in need of forgiveness, ready to forgive and be forgiven. This is not a “poor me’ message, or a message that we’re somehow born bad, but rather a message that takes the scars and the limitations and the brokenness that we all possess and transforms them into something good and faithful. St. Augustine, in a prayer, said: "By loving the unlovable, you made me lovable." (Yancey, p. 159)

"By loving the unlovable, you made me lovable [God]." You took the weariness and the doubt, the anger and the shortsightedness, and turned it into the last, best hope for the world. You, God, took a group of ordinary men and women, gave them a message of forgiveness and love, and unleashed them on an unsuspecting world. You took water and clay and fashioned us into worthy vessels, and when the vessels were spoiled on the wheel, you refashioned us into your children once more.

I could say that the message of forgiveness is needed in our world more than ever. But that would be to misread human history. Now, as much as ever, the challenges of the world, the wars and rivalries, the mistrust and the foolishness, can best be met with forgiveness. “If you forgive anyone’s sins, their sins are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.”

Our three new disciples, newly sent, need our constant support and need to see an example being set. May God strengthen us to set that example, now and always, amen.

Easter Sunday

2011-04-24T07:49:00.000-07:00

John 20
11 Now Mary stood outside the tomb crying. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb 12 and saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had been, one at the head and the other at the foot.
13 They asked her, “Woman, why are you crying?”
“They have taken my Lord away,” she said, “and I don’t know where they have put him.” 14 At this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not realize that it was Jesus.
15 He asked her, “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it you are looking for?”
Thinking he was the gardener, she said, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.”
16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.”
She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means “Teacher”).
17 Jesus said, “Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. Go instead to my brothers and tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’”
18 Mary Magdalene went to the disciples with the news: “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them that he had said these things to her.

Christ is Risen!

I know I was in the door, but may not have had my coat off when the questions came. I say ‘came’ rather than ‘began,’ because they came in a cookie tin, on little post-it notes, ready for me to face.

I was forewarned—Taye told me—that the confirmation class would have a few questions. They retreated to beautiful Fergus, Ontario, where they were fed and watered, given a variety of tasks, and primed to try and ‘stump the chump.’ I’m the chump.

Now, it was pitched to me as ‘filling in the details,’ answering those last minute questions that remained unresolved, maybe giving a thumb-nail sketch or two of some esoteric aspect of church life. Taye worked with them for weeks, I thought, what else could they need to know, I thought, then I opened the tin.

Question: Why do chocolate eggs and bunnies represent Easter?

How on earth should I know? “Okay kids, time to go swimming again!” They actually did swim, on April 10th, courage enough to guarantee anyone’s confirmation. But they were not to be distracted, not even by lunch, so I soldiered on. “They are both images of new life,” I said, without getting into the details that in “one season a single female rabbit can produce as many as 800 children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren” (Wikipedia). That, my friends, is new life.

The truth is, when confronted by large and mysterious things, we tend to retreat to the symbolic. The tomb was empty. His body was gone, he appeared to Mary with tender words. Most of all, the tomb was empty. And so, confronted with an empty tomb, a symbol that is hard to fathom and equally hard to represent in chocolate, we tend to eggs and bunnies.

But before I go any further, I want to talk about Donald Trump. At the very least, I want to you say over lunch, ‘boy, I didn’t see that coming.’ So here goes. Donald Trump is running, but not running, for President of the United States. How can we know? Because he is telling everyone who will listen that he is running, but not running, for POTUS.

And it seems lots of people are willing to listen, at least at this early stage in the election cycle. And he has an unorthodox strategy, a strategy that no other candidate will touch, and that strategy is helping the birthers. Birthers, you see, are people who refuse to believe that Barack Obama was born in the United States. If you are not a native born American, you cannot hold the highest office in the land. For some reason (one that I’m unwilling to investigate), the President has a Certificate of Live Birth, but no Birth Certificate. Everything spirals from there.

The reason I share all this is an interview I heard with Mr. Trump where he lays out the situation with the various certificates. The interview listened patiently, then said, “Yes, Mr. Trump, but we did a full investigation, including statements from people who were there and remember his birth.” Then Trump’s response: “And you believe that?”

Now, I’m no linguist, but I am stumped and amazed by the power of those four little words: “And you believe that?” It has become the doubter’s creed, the manifesto of a cynical age, when any evidence and any description of reality can be quickly refuted by simply saying “And you believe that?”

How does it work? How does this little phrase manage to punch so far above its weight, to be so disarming, that just saying the words can cast doubt on the most certain truth? Fans of Election 2011 already know the secret: don’t attack your opponent’s argument, attack your opponent. Both the words and the tone say “don’t be naïve, don’t be so foolish, and don’t be taken in by the word of other people.

For the hearer, the audience, we immediately feel self-conscious. We’re thrown off by these four little words, not because we lack confidence, but because we know that people can make false testimony, that sometimes people make mistakes, and that time tends to reconstruct memory. We know all these things, so when someone says “And you believe that,” we’re suddenly thrown off.

Back to eggs and bunnies. When a doctrine becomes hard to believe, when the bodily resurrection of Jesus becomes a point of debate and the first thing non-believers point to when they want to highlight what’s unbelievable about the Christian faith, the resurrection is quickly thrown under the bus. How did bodily resurrection become the single-most discardable tenet of our faith? Why no cave made of chocolate?

The first answer to the question, ‘how did bodily resurrection become the single-most discardable belief’ is Jesus. Jesus is such a compelling figure, such a great teacher and healer, that most Christians are content to stop there. They don’t need trinity and resurrection to get excited about Jesus.

The second answer is historical. The early creeds of the church, the ones we seldom recite, put an emphasis on the very things we tend to ignore: virgin birth, decent into hell, resurrection of the body. Somewhere along the line we stepped away from the faith of Constantine and began to long for the days before creeds and Christendom.

The third answer is scientific. Since Newton and Darwin we have allowed science to define the extent of human experience, drawing a line between fact and superstition. Now, I’m not opposed to science, and I’m happy to be a monkey’s uncle (nephew?), but I know for certain that there is a range of human experience that is undefined, mysterious, and fully the realm of the Spirit.

Christ is Risen!

To recap then, eggs and bunnies are a symbolic substitute for something that is hard to represent (an empty tomb) and even harder to believe. And we stand in good company. If we look over at Luke’s version of the same events, the women’s testimony and the other’s response, this is what we hear:

When they came back from the tomb, they told all these things to the eleven and to all the others. It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the others with them who told this to the apostles. But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense.

From the very first day, and among the company most likely to respond to the message of resurrection, we get the same four-word reply: ‘And you believe that?’ Even those closest to Jesus, those that received the promise that after death he would return, were lost in doubt. What hope is there for us?

One of the most remarkable things about our tradition, and the Jewish tradition that gave birth to our tradition, is the willingness to portray weakness, failure and doubt. If I’m going to create a portrait of the ideal king, I’m unlikely to include every embarrassing detail we learn about King David. If I’m going to compose a collection of 150 sacred poems, I’m unlikely to include angry lament toward the object of my worship. And if I’m recounting a story about the very first Christian testimony, and I put the works “I have seen the Lord!” on the lips the very first witness, I’m unlikely to follow this with the words “I cannot believe” from Thomas. But John did.

John did because John’s gospel is personal: it is a recounting of a time and place and a series of events that reflect John’s experience of Jesus. And that experience included triumph and longing and even doubt. It is permission giving, carefully crafted to allow us to suspend our disbelief and imagine ourselves among the disciples. We are permitted to weep in Gethsemane, peer into the empty tomb, and even express some uncertainty and still remain faithful.

I want to conclude with John’s last word, when he steps out of the role of narrator and adds a little commentary. It is the last verse of his gospel:

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

In other words, he says ‘if you found that amazing, and even a little hard to believe, you should hear my other stories.’ This is the world I want to inhabit, where the best stories of Jesus go unwritten, where the empty tomb is only the beginning, and where the open-ended invitation is walk with the Risen Christ each day. Thanks be to God, amen.

Good Friday

2011-04-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

Hebrews 10
19And so, dear brothers and sisters, we can boldly enter heaven’s Most Holy Place because of the blood of Jesus. 20This is the new, life-giving way that Christ has opened up for us through the sacred curtain, by means of his death for us.
21And since we have a great High Priest who rules over God’s people, 22let us go right into the presence of God, with true hearts fully trusting him. For our evil consciences have been sprinkled with Christ’s blood to make us clean, and our bodies have been washed with pure water.
23Without wavering, let us hold tightly to the hope we say we have, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. 24Think of ways to encourage one another to outbursts of love and good deeds. 25And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage and warn each other, especially now that the day of his coming back again is drawing near.

It has been thirteen years since the Good Friday Accord was signed in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The troubles have largely ended, but tensions remain, with the famous murals and the so-called “peace lines” that continue to divide neighbourhoods.

Looking back over the thirteen years, it is ironic that what began as an all-too-familiar act of violence became a turning point in the history of this troubled country. It began early in 2005, when members of the IRA murdered a young man named Robert McCartney outside a pub in Belfast.

Such events are most often met with silence: in this case all 70 witnesses claim they were in the bathroom when the altercation began. Families of victims were usually too intimidated to press the police, and another death was ascribed to "the troubles" that have beset the province since 1969.

What made this case unique was the response of six remarkable women: Robert McCartney's fiancée Bridgeen and his five sisters Gemma, Paula, Donna, Catherine and Claire. Rather than silently accept their brother's death, these six women publicly and persistently denounced the IRA and demanded that the killers be arrested and tried in court.

They were fearless. According to Gemma, her sister Donna "wouldn't be afraid of the devil," much less the Irish Republican Army. The IRA was so shaken by the publicity generated by these six women that they offered to shoot the members responsible, which, of course, only served to cast the IRA in a worse light.

What is it that led these six seemingly ordinary women—one is a shop owner, another a mature student—to such extraordinary places, including a visit to the White House? What did they discover within themselves in the face of suffering and loss that allowed them to begin this process of transformation? And how is death redemptive, bringing new life from the pain of separation from a loved one?

***
3He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not. 4Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows: yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of God, and afflicted. 5But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed.

We turn to Isaiah, who wrote these words, as we try to get our minds around the cross of Jesus. It makes sense that we would read backwards, into the Hebrew Scriptures, for clues on how to understand it's meaning for us and for our lives. The cross remains the central symbol of our common faith, the thing that defines us and makes our faith unique. We need to understand.

And today, on this most vexing of days in the Christian calendar, we gather at the foot of the cross once more. Troubled and anxious, confused and weary, we live at the intersection of brutal violence and ultimate meaning. We can ignore it, we can hide it, we can even disown it, but the cross remains here, in our midst, for all to see.

***
Examples of human suffering are far from unique. We give them distinct names—Darfor, Auschwitz, Columbine, Bhopal—but the substance is the same: needless suffering and undeserved death. In each case we file away the feelings in a folder labeled "too painful to face" and we try to live without the constant consciousness that such things exist.

But suffering is everywhere. We even have anticipatory suffering, news that the death we thought we could defeat is making a comeback and closer than ever. Two news items—one old, one new—that highlight the malady of our time.

The life expectancy of the average Russian is dropping: almost every year in the last 10, the forecasted life span of Russians has dropped. Deaths outpace births as poverty and government corruption only makes it worse. Some analysts are describing it as "the Russian cross."

A world away, the life expectancy of North American children is dropping. For the first time in two centuries the projected life span of our children is being shortened due to an increase in risk factors related to obesity and inactivity. Under the headline "Fat kids to take a bite out of average life span" there is growing concern that heart attacks, diabetes and cancers will increase as children continue to get bigger.

On the surface, at least, there is little to link these two stories aside from the grim statistical conclusion they draw. We might be able to point to some sort of human failure in either story, but it certainly wouldn't be any kind of related failure. The link is suffering, and suffering is the defining theme of our kind.

***
Suffering is redemptive because it links my pain to your pain to the pain of the world and the pain that lives in the very heart of God. Suffering is redemptive because it causes us to live outside ourselves—if only for a moment—and imagine that we can aid the others that walk in our way. Suffering is redemptive because God is not a distance force or a passive voice but rather the connective tissue that binds the suffering one to another. Listen to the author of Hebrews as he tries to describe this:

My friends, the blood of Jesus gives us courage to enter the most holy place by a new way that leads to life! And this way takes us through the curtain that is Christ himself.

Jesus is a curtain of flesh that leads to the holy place where God resides. The blood that flows through my veins and your veins is the same blood that fell to the ground that day and flows yet in the heart of every creature that has life. The human condition of suffering and loss is diminished by the very symbol that represents the suffering and loss in our Christian story.

We are linked, you and I, by a common experience of life on earth and a common moment in time when the shadows grew and the sky darkened and the earth trembled beneath the enormity of what happened that day. Death became a route to new life, not through a Resurrection that remains alarmingly distant, but through the solidarity that exists when suffering humanity and suffering servant meet.

***
One of the great gifts of this life that God has given me is a segue into the intimate details of people's lives. Yet it is not my gift alone. Each of you, through your active participation in a community of faith has been given the same entry into the individual stories of those around us. We know the emotional texture of marriages and friendships, we know the defining moments and we know the face of loss that looks in on many of the lives we cherish.

Hebrews has advice for us, to safeguard the community we share and always remember the cross that binds us:

And since we have a great High Priest who rules over God’s people, let us go right into the presence of God, with true hearts fully trusting him. For our evil consciences have been sprinkled with Christ’s blood to make us clean, and our bodies have been washed with pure water. Without wavering, let us hold tightly to the hope we say we have, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. Think of ways to encourage one another to outbursts of love and good deeds. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage and warn each other, especially now that the day of his coming back again is drawing near.

Six Irish woman, suffering people in distant lands, the three congregations gathered here: we have the same High Priest, the same friend willing to lay down his life, the same veil of flesh open to the very heart of God. We have a gift and a connection and a mission and a powerful symbol that binds them all. May God be praised. Amen.

(2005)

Fifth Sunday of Lent

2011-04-10T06:37:00.000-07:00

Ezekiel 37
1 The hand of the LORD was on me, and he brought me out by the Spirit of the LORD and set me in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones. 2 He led me back and forth among them, and I saw a great many bones on the floor of the valley, bones that were very dry. 3 He asked me, “Son of man, can these bones live?”
I said, “Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”
4 Then he said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! 5 This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath[a] enter you, and you will come to life. 6 I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’”
7 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I was prophesying, there was a noise, a rattling sound, and the bones came together, bone to bone. 8 I looked, and tendons and flesh appeared on them and skin covered them, but there was no breath in them.
9 Then he said to me, “Prophesy to the breath; prophesy, son of man, and say to it, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Come, breath, from the four winds and breathe into these slain, that they may live.’” 10 So I prophesied as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet—a vast army.
11 Then he said to me: “Son of man, these bones are the people of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off.’ 12 Therefore prophesy and say to them: ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says: My people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. 13 Then you, my people, will know that I am the LORD, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. 14 I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the LORD have spoken, and I have done it, declares the LORD.’”

Tell me again what happened on May 24, 1738 at 8.45 pm?

Yes, of course, John Wesley’s heart was strangely warmed. Here, in our near-cathedral of Methodism, 190 years after a few rough-hewn logs were piled one atop the other to create a place of worship, we can know with some certainty that the story of Wesley’s conversion has come up more than a few times.

I like to pair it with confirmation. And this year’s class, a small but mighty group of three confirmands, isn’t even here to hear it. Over the last few weeks they have been back there with Taye, learning, discussing, and preparing to make a profession of faith.

Today the group is in an undisclosed location somewhere near Fergus. Undisclosed only to me of course, because I haven’t asked for directions yet. It’s a guy thing.

It seems I have been summoned to Bob and Barb’s to put the finishing touches on their preparation, and so, immediately after the service Jenny and I will travel to Fergus and complete this important work. I’m not sure where the conversation will lead, but I’m certain May 24, 1738 at 8.45 pm will come up.

John Wesley, you see, was a prophet in the biblical tradition, filled with the Spirit and empowered to speak for God. He traveled a quarter-million mile on horseback, it is recorded, bringing a new vision of Christianity to a tired religion. It has even been suggested that he saved the United Kingdom from the experience of revolutionary France, addressing the inequality that existed before it came to an armed revolt.

And like the prophets of the bible, there is the sense that this is not the life Wesley chose, rather the Spirit decided that he would become the prophet needed at a particular time and place. The life he chose, that of parish priest, was a path of quiet comfort and obscurity. Without the intervention of the Spirit, we likely wouldn’t even know his name.

In Wesley’s time, eighteenth-century England, the role of minister was very different from today. In his time, young men of some means would attend college and “read theology,” accept ordination, and settle into a parish under the patronage of some other person of means. Leading services of divine worship was the extent of the job, which meant there was lots of time leftover to pursue other interests.

Indeed, many of the names we do know from the eighteenth and nineteenth century such as the author Jonathan Swift and the early social scientist Thomas Malthus were priests with extra time on their hands to write and study the world around them. Even Charles Darwin was headed for the life of a parish priest until he got sidetracked on the Galapagos Islands.

All that ended for Wesley on May 24, 1738. His relationship with God had become troubled and confused, filled with fear and the abiding sense that he was on the wrong path. His conversion, the feeling of having his heart strangely warmed, was a reboot, a timely intervention that gave Wesley a certainty of purpose and a new worldview. Everything changed.

Our other prophet of the day, Ezekiel, has much in common with our friend John Wesley. He is a biblical prophet and comes from a background that finds parallels in another century.

The first thing we learn about Ezekiel is that he lives in exile. Carried off from the land of Israel, Ezekiel was part of a group of exiles forced to settle in Babylon. They settled in, some dreamed of return, but most simply got on with their lives.

Before we take a closer look at Ezekiel, there are a few things about the exile to consider. First, we know that some time around 587 BC the Kingdom of Judah was defeated, and the people that mattered were carried off to Babylon. There is lots of debate about who and how many ended up in exile, but we know for certain that the most learned and the most connected were taken away.

There is a sense, when we speak of exile, to imagine the life of dislocated peoples in our time. Poverty and violence usually mark this type of dislocation. Ezekiel’s exile, however, was different insofar as the exiles were useful to their captors and settled in to a life of relative comfort. The Jewish exiles were literate and worldly, having lived at the conjunction of a few trade routes and noted for reading the law.

And we know from the story of other famous exiles, like Daniel, that the life of a young exile in the court of a foreign king could be exciting and profitable. We learn that Ezekiel lived on the banks of the Chebar River among other wealthy exiles, and that even though he came from a priestly lineage, he likely didn’t spend much time thinking about his religion.

So like our friend John Wesley, he has a life of relative ease, he has somewhat meaningful work, and he has a relationship with God about the change. Ezekiel gives us his moment, in his own words:

I looked, and I saw a windstorm coming out of the north—an immense cloud with flashing lightning and surrounded by brilliant light. The center of the fire looked like glowing metal, and in the fire was what looked like four living creatures. In appearance their form was human, 6 but each of them had four faces and four wings. (1.4-5)

This vision continues on for a few paragraphs, getting more and more intense, until God speaks:

“Son of man, I am sending you to the Israelites, to a rebellious nation that has rebelled against me; they and their ancestors have been in revolt against me to this very day. The people to whom I am sending you are obstinate and stubborn. Say to them, ‘This is what the Sovereign LORD says.’ (2.3-4)

Once again, we are struck by the parallels between two disconnected times. Ezekiel is commanded to prophesy to disobedient people, based on the assumption that that the exile was the result of their failure and that even in exile they continued to follow their own way. Wesley’s setting is equally troubling: think of the dark, satanic mills described by Blake and later Dickens, and think of the social decay described by Samuel Pepys in his famous diary.

And all of this leads to chapter 37, the crowning moment in Ezekiel’s ministry:

Then the LORD said to me, “Prophesy to these bones and say to them, ‘Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD! This is what the Sovereign LORD says to these bones: I will make breath[a] enter you, and you will come to life. I will attach tendons to you and make flesh come upon you and cover you with skin; I will put breath in you, and you will come to life. Then you will know that I am the LORD.’” (37.4-6)

The Lord has shown Ezekiel an entire valley filled with dry bones, a multitude that was once a great nation, now reduced to near dust. The command is to prophesy, to preach the word of the Lord, and trust that they will live once more, that flesh will return, that Spirit will descend, that these bone will live and return to the Lord. He does, and they do.

So we’ve covered Ezekiel and his century, and we’ve covered Wesley and his century, so what about our own, what about the century that belongs to the young people we will confirm in just a few short weeks from now? Exiles enjoyed Babylon too much, Georgian Britons saw the growing divide between rich and poor, so what about today?

Setting aside to obvious ones, like global warming and unrest throughout the world, what will these young people face here, in Canada and in the culture that surrounds us from south of the border?

Recently there were three songs on the list of top ten most popular songs that had the f-word in the title. In the title. I don’t even know what to say about that. A study discovered that fully fifty-percent of young people has experienced some sort of “digital abuse,” defined as bullying, teasing, or some form of inappropriate contact. And don’t even get me started on the income gap. Forbes revealed that in the US there are 400 individuals that control wealth equal to the lowest 60 percent of the population. Let me restate that: 400 people, who could all fit in this sanctuary, control wealth equal to nearly 200 million people. This is the century that the kids live in, the century that is also turning away from religion in droves.

Now I’m not going to suggest that confirmation is a going to somehow save them from the sometimes scary world outside our doors. I’m not suggesting that confirmation will save them from the anxiety and the uncertainty that every young person faces. I will suggest, however, that confirmation, and the time they are spending in preparation, and the relationship they have formed with their mentors, will give them two things: a new vision and a sense of the Spirit.

The new vision is the very same vision that Ezekiel was shown and the same vision that Wesley saw, a candid vision of both the problem and the potential of human life. They will receive a sense that the world is troubled but they belong to a community that is attempting, with God’s help, to do something about it. They will receive the understanding that this is God’s world, and that we accept together the gift and the responsibility of living in this world and trust that God is present to us.

So follows the gift of the Spirit. Together, on May 1st, we will confirm these young people, and together we will lay hands on them and together transmit the gift of the Spirit that we received when we made the same profession of faith. We will remind them that they stand in a long tradition, that the faith we pass on to them is the faith we received from other saints and prophets, and live in the hope that they will someday pass it on too.

And we trust that dry bones will live again. We trust that they will understand the place of God in their lives, that God loves and forgives them, that God has a plan for their lives, and that God seeks to act through them for a world made new. May it always be so, Amen.

Fourth Sunday of Lent

2011-04-03T05:25:00.000-07:00

John 9
1 As he went along, he saw a man blind from birth. 2 His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
3 “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus, “but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. 4 As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. 5 While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”
6 After saying this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man’s eyes. 7 “Go,” he told him, “wash in the Pool of Siloam” (this word means “Sent”). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
8 His neighbors and those who had formerly seen him begging asked, “Isn’t this the same man who used to sit and beg?” 9 Some claimed that he was. Others said, “No, he only looks like him.” But he himself insisted, “I am the man.”

If you want to sound smart in conversation, I can recommend nothing more highly that words in French. Not speaking French, though I salute you if you can. I’m talking about many of the words in English that began their life as words in French. Some examples:

The kids were fighting in the backseat, a melee broke out.
We were all sad, a malaise settled on the room.
This setting is special, it is a unique milieu.

Or taken together, the melee caused a malaise in my milieu. I’m practically fluent. And like our old friend schadenfreude (taking pleasure in the misfortune of others), there are words in French (English) that say more than our language can say and say it better.

Like bricolage. Bricolage is the art of cobbling together a variety of found objects and assembling them into something new. Bricolage. That’s sixteen words in one, bricolage. And someone engaged in bricolage is called a bricoleur. Someone who practices the art of cobbling together a variety of found objects and assembling them into something new is a bricoleur. That’s nineteen words in one, if you’re keeping score at home.

Now, to be fair, we do have a word that is native to English that pretty well sums up the art of bricolage, and that would be to tinker. A tinkerer takes objects that we wouldn’t normally put together, say found objects, and creates something new. And tinker actually conveys the playful nature of bricolage, where the action of making something new is seldom planned, it means trying different things and trying them in different ways until something new, and perhaps useful, is born.

And so, in a bible story about our Lord the bricoleur, I give you dirt and spittle. Dirt and spittle are not the first things that come to mind when we imagine the healing arts. And certainly dirt and spittle are not the first things to come to mind if we are applying something to the eyes. And I don’t even need to explain, with muddy ground all around us, and after a long winter.

But dirt and spittle it is, and why? Because it is the only thing that Jesus had at hand. And if bread and wine can become his body, and ordinary well water can become a cup of eternal life, then surely dirt and spittle will become the kind of medicine that can heal a man born blind.

A man born blind. Notice that the very first detail of the story is the entire medical history of this young man. “As he went on his way,” John tells us, “Jesus saw a man blind from his birth.” Already we know that this will be no ordinary healing. Temporary blindness, that seems reasonable. Blind from some childhood illness, or some terrible accident at work or play, that seems possible for Jesus to heal. But the man born blind is another matter altogether, born blind is the next level.

But that’s jumping ahead. Jesus only sees the man, and somehow the disciples see him and know too. We know they know too because they have only one question: “Rabbi (teacher), who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” And the answer? “Neither,” Jesus said, “he was born blind so that God’s power to heal might be displayed today.” With this, Jesus the bricoleur assembles some dirt and spittle and heals the man born blind.

Now I have to confess that I have trouble with this passage on at least two levels. The first level is the doubt that enters my mind whenever we hear a story about the healing ministry of Jesus. It’s not crushing doubt, it’s not faith-threatening doubt, it’s just the doubt that comes from living in the modern world. It’s the doubt that comes from living in the age of medical advancements, of transplants and the human genome project. Healing stories defy what we know about the physical world, and the scope of science, and so doubt enters the mind.

The second thing that troubles me is the way Jesus chooses to describe the purpose of this disability. In effect, Jesus suggests that the young man endured lifelong blindness waiting for the day that had finally arrived, and the healing could commence. Taken this way, the story plays into all the talk we hear about “God’s will” and the unfortunate argument some make that misfortune is a test somehow, or a character-building exercise.

The truth is I cannot do anything about the first trouble, since it is impossible to unlearn the marvels of the modern world or our skepticism about anything that wasn’t tested in a double-blind trial. On the second trouble, I think I need only look again at the passage and reconsider Jesus’ response. “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” And Jesus answered “Neither.” So we stop there.

With that simple one word answer, with an answer that refuses to enter a debate as long as time itself, Jesus made a revolution in religious thinking. With a word, and no more, Jesus signaled the end of a worldview and the birth of another.

It happened like this: Long ago, and perhaps from the first moment of human consciousness, we were conditioned to see cause and effect. The rains come and the seeds germinate and life returns to the barren places. Eat those berries over there and you will get very sick. Leave your cave for the weekend in the care of your teenagers, and they will likely have a cave party. The brain is a connecting organ designed to help us remember the things vital to our survival, cause and effect being at the top of the list.

And so, in the primitive mind, it seemed obvious early on that if we fail somehow, something bad will surely follow. Before long a natural association developed between conscientious behavior and good fortune. Ditto for carelessness and misfortune. And when the primitives began to ponder the world of the Spirit, the same assumptions came into play. The gods would reward good behavior and punish the opposite. By the time the gods gave way to God, these ideas came to full flower, and no where more than the Psalms.

Part wish and part expectation, the Psalms are filled with the assumption that the good will prosper and the wicked will fail. It is called “classical wisdom thinking,” that oft stated belief that a good harvest is based on faithfulness and empty barns must indicate the opposite. “Who sinned,” the disciples asked, “this man or his parents that he was born blind?” It was obvious to the twelve that someone was to blame, someone committed some secret sin, someone was guilty of moral failure because the young man was born blind.

***

Before I go on, I want to pause and acknowledge the extent to which we remain in this primitive state and why it is so important to our sanity that we do. The truth is, we fear few things like random things. Random things scare us because random things are beyond our control, they don’t obey any set rules and they defy all the careful planning we like to do. They are random.

If I fall down and scrape my knee, I immediately seek to understand why. I want someone to blame, even if the person to blame is me. I want to know how this misfortune came upon me so that it will never happen again, even though I know that “never again” is a vain hope in a world of uneven sidewalks and distractions and inattentiveness. It’s a small example, but a good one, because no one plans on scrapping their knee and so it ends up seeming rather random.

And it’s rampant in the land. Someone dies at 115 and we want to know how they died. An earthquake and a tsunami hit minutes apart and we want to know why they weren’t more prepared. A child flunks out of school and we want to know what the parents did wrong to raise a kid somehow predisposed to flunking out. “Who sinned,” the disciples asked, “this man or his parents that he was born blind?”

***

It may not seem obvious at first glance, but John was a bricoleur too. He took the various pieces of a family and sad circumstance and an itinerant healer and threw together a story about the end of a way of thinking. He took the immediate understanding that the man was born blind, he took the obvious question the primitive disciples might ask, and he took a religious revolutionary to put together an utterly new story. He took dirt and spittle, and the power of God, and he demonstrated that the question that everyone thought was the question was never really the question at all. John, bircoleur, put together a story of new life.

Washed in the pool of Siloam, the man born blind received the revolution of healing and the new life that only Jesus can bring. To the twelve, and to each of us who stand in the place of the twelve, Jesus gave a new mind and a new understanding, a way beyond cause and effect that looks more like cause and forgiveness or cause and understanding or even cause and great love. May we be dirt and spittle to each other, a source of healing and a source of new insight, Amen.

Third Sunday of Lent

2011-03-20T08:16:00.000-07:00

John 3
Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. 2He came to Jesus* by night and said to him, ‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.’ 3Jesus answered him, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.’* 4Nicodemus said to him, ‘How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?’ 5Jesus answered, ‘Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. 6What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit.* 7Do not be astonished that I said to you, “You* must be born from above.”* 8The wind* blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.’ 9Nicodemus said to him, ‘How can these things be?’ 10Jesus answered him, ‘Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

St. Patrick didn’t drive the snakes out of Ireland.

I know this will be difficult for some of you to hear, particularly those of you basking in the glow of Thursday night. He did many things, including giving Christianity her best foothold in a pagan land, but on the topic of snakes, it is definitely snakes 1, Patrick 0.

Snakes, you see, are not indigenous to the island. They were never there. But such is the stuff of myth, taking an obvious absence and making it into a good story. 1,600 years on, who’s to know, except those pesky scientists who figured it out. It does remain one of the better Patrick legends, pictured in a parade banner I saw this week, with a smiling snake and the caption “Saint Who?”

It seems that the mythmakers and the chroniclers knew what Nicodemus knew long ago: people desire a sign. Nicodemus, the religious leader and secret admirer of Jesus said as much when they met by night. “It is your signs that impress us most,” he said to Jesus, “it proves that you come from God.”

Never one for flattery, Jesus said this in return: “Truly? The only genuine sign of God’s reign is being born again.”

But poor Nicodemus doesn’t get the metaphor Jesus shares, he is painfully stuck in the literal, saying: “Grow old? And re-enter the womb? How is such a thing possible?” The dialogue continues, one of the longest in scripture, with Jesus introducing new metaphors and Nicodemus struggling to understand. Jesus finally tells Nicodemus that there are things of heaven and things of the earth, and some will simply not understand heavenly things. Then he says something about a snake and a pole, which helps me tie all of these things together.

Poor Nicodemus, he has trouble with metaphors, and clearly Jesus loves them, so we have a problem. When one participant in a conversation is busy weaving the finest metaphors and the other participant cannot hear them, there is really no conversation at all. Nicodemus came to Jesus as an admirer of signs, not a seeker of metaphor.

So what are these things that Jesus is continually crafting, and why does metaphor seem to be his preferred mode of communication?

Robbie Burns said “My love is like a red, red rose. “ I know I’m moved from Ireland to Scotland, but I’m trying to be inclusive in my examples. Burns gives us a simile, which a really just a primitive form of metaphor, comparing one beautiful thing to another. In other words, if you struggle to understand the depth and complexity of love, them look no further than a red, red rose.

Robbie Burns is masterful in metaphor too, my favourite found in the “Address to the Haggis.” If you have ever tasted it, I am sure you will agree with Burns that the haggis is the “Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!“ Or maybe you don’t. Whatever your opinion on what is little more than an overgrown sausage, you can still admire that among Scots it is considered the most important sausage of all.

But how is it metaphor? It is metaphor because to takes two seemingly unrelated things (a high rank among people and a type of meat pudding) and throws them together. It uses a poetic device to answer the question “how important is haggis?” It is the “great chieftain.” But wait, for Burns has added a bonus metaphor, hidden in the first metaphor. He calls the haggis the “great chieftain of the pudding race,” using a human form of classification (race) and applying it to meat pudding.

So how does it work? The theory is that our example, the haggis metaphor, creates tension in our mind by throwing together two things that seem in conflict. If you were entirely literal in hearing, you might say to the Bard, “wait a minute, you took a rank that only applies to humans and applied to baked sheep innards. That’s just not right.” Oh, but it is, because in the tensional theory two unrelated things thrown together have the potential to create an entirely new meaning. Two ideas, and all the associations we bring to each, thrown together, creates new associations and new meaning.

***

You might say that if you were looking for the favourite metaphor among conservative Christians, you would need to look no further than “born again.” They talk about it, they put it on billboards, they pass it out in little tracts, they make the “cost of admission” to truly join their fellowship. It is the theme of the traditional “alter-call,” where the invitation is made to come forward and give your life to Jesus once more, something some have been known to do week-by-week.

“Born again” is so familiar to our hearing that it has become what is known as a “dead metaphor.” We are so familiar with it, and we understand it in a very specific context, that it has lost it’s power to evoke anything. It is not a dead concept, which I will explain in a moment, but metaphors go, this one no longer teases the imagination, it is dead.

Another example would be “love is blind.” The first time someone said it, the people around said, ‘good one, because the experience of being in love causes you to overlook your lover’s obvious flaws, cool.’ But then it died, because “love is blind” was killed by a thousand pop songs and became so familiar that the tension simply went away.

Another example of a dead metaphor is the phrase “nation-state.” We use it to describe countries, such as ‘Canada is a nation-state,’ when, in fact, it is metaphorical concept. It brings together the idea of nationhood (common history, language, culture) and the idea of the state, a form of government. When we accepted the idea that people with a common history, language and culture should govern themselves together as a distinct entity, the metaphor lost its power and died. But if it remains a metaphor, that means we see it as an idea and not a fact, as some would have us believe. Col. Gadaffi would argue that his nation-state is sovereign and untouchable, while the UN prefers to use a variation on the idea (metaphor) of nation-state. If you attack your own people, the reasoning goes, you forgo the sovereignty you think you have, and thank God for that.

***

So “you must be born again” flies right over the head of Nicodemus and has become so central to a religious approach we tend not to share that it misses us too. So we have a teaching that is central to the Gospel and a fine metaphor and we have largely surrendered it to others and regard it as a source of embarrassment. Some of us try it on from time to time, but the fit is uncomfortable, and the fabric itches, and so we set it aside. Even the NRSV, the scholar’s Bible, sets it aside, choosing “born from above” as a way to breath some new life into the metaphor and make it more relevant to a mainline Christian audience.

Born from above is a good try. But we can see from Nicodemus’ response that the intended metaphor was “born again,” that Jesus did compare entering the Kingdom to exiting the womb once more, and that only by reclaiming the phrase can we possibly understand the conversation.

What Jesus is really asking is that we dwell in the land of metaphor. He does this primarily by describing what the land of metaphor is like:

The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.

There is wind, there is wind direction and there is wind speed, but the wind itself is as mysterious as the land of new meaning made through metaphor. Yes, a scientist can tell you about the source of wind, the way wind interacts with the world around us, or even that the wind will come largely from one direction. But a scientist cannot tell me when the next gust will come or how long the gust will be sustained. In other words, there are limits to the scientific and the literal, and that is where the metaphorical and the symbolic come in.

Jesus says “you must be born again,” meaning something like reinventing yourself, restarting yourself, reimagining yourself, or any other “re” that fits your situation in life. The metaphor is no longer a dead metaphor if we hunger for change in ourselves. Now maybe you don’t think you hunger for change. I’m not sure Nicodemus did: he was looking for proof or some confirmation of divine authority. When you’re not looking for change, the metaphor doesn’t work, because ‘born again’ seems unnecessary. But when you’re hungry for change, for renewal, for a new life with God, the metaphor ‘born again’ can be alive once more.

I encourage you on your Lenten journey toward newness and rebirth. May we all be renewed, to live by the Spirit and see the Spirit in others, Amen.

Transfiguration Sunday

2011-03-06T13:22:00.000-08:00

Matthew 17
1 After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. 2 There he was transfigured before them. His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light. 3 Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus.
4 Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here. If you wish, I will put up three shelters—one for you, one for Moses and one for Elijah.”
5 While he was still speaking, a bright cloud covered them, and a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!”
6 When the disciples heard this, they fell facedown to the ground, terrified. 7 But Jesus came and touched them. “Get up,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.” 8 When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus.
9 As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus instructed them, “Don’t tell anyone what you have seen, until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”
10 The disciples asked him, “Why then do the teachers of the law say that Elijah must come first?”
11 Jesus replied, “To be sure, Elijah comes and will restore all things. 12 But I tell you, Elijah has already come, and they did not recognize him, but have done to him everything they wished. In the same way the Son of Man is going to suffer at their hands.” 13 Then the disciples understood that he was talking to them about John the Baptist.

In Ben Hur (1959) the Romans have British accents and the Jews have American accents. The lone Arab accent comes from a Welsh actor.

In Gladiator (2000) everyone has British accent, despite the three stars of the movie being Australian, American and Danish.

In Star Wars: A New Hope (1977) the rebels have American accents and the evil empire actors have British accents.

In the series Rome (2005) and the film Caligula (1979) class divisions were identified by the type of British accents, from upper-class snob to working-class bloke.

In The Prince of Egypt (1998) all the Egyptians have British accents, and the Jews sound American. Moses, with the only American accent in Pharaoh's palace, should have figured out is ancestry a bit quicker.

Finally, “almost every single Christ movie in film history has given the title character an extremely thick British accent,” (tvtropes.org) making the normally Jewish Jesus somehow Roman, Egyptian or an opponent of the Rebel Alliance.

With so many voices in Matthew 17—God, Jesus, Moses, Elijah, Peter, James, John—it would be nearly impossible to assign accents. There is also a flurry of movement: up the mountain, into the cloud, falling to the ground, and lifted up by Jesus. Through it all we hear described one of the most unusual events in scripture with strange appearances, a flood of divine light and a voice from the cloud.

Before we look in more detail, though, it is important to imagine the Bible as a storehouse of clues. It contains a vast web of interconnecting references, pointing to themes and stories that add meaning and flesh out the narrative. These clues, sometimes called intertextual links, add a secondary layer of meaning to the text. And sometimes they cause tension in the text, teasing us to ask why the link might appear in the first place.

Matthew 17, our example, contains two giant intertextual links in the persons of Moses and Elijah. Moses is the liberator of the Hebrew people from Egypt and Elijah is Israel’s greatest prophet (something I believe strongly, until my resident OT scholar tells me otherwise over lunch). The two add multiple layers of meaning to an already busy text and may even force us to decide, or at least cut through some of the layers to make some sense of the passage for today.

So, let’s get started. We have two paths to follow, Moses or Elijah, and the clues are in the story. They appear on the mountain with Jesus, and both come with mountain traditions: Moses on Mt. Sinai (receiving the law) and Elijah on Mt. Carmel (defeating the priests of Baal). They speak to Jesus, a parallel to the ongoing conversation both Moses and Elijah have with God. They enter a cloud, an echo of Mt. Sinai but perhaps an echo of the whirlwind from 2 Kings 2.

So here is the clue I like the best: At the very beginning of the passage, at the beginning of the chapter, we read these words:

After six days Jesus took with him Peter, James and John the brother of James, and led them up a high mountain by themselves.

After six days of what? In the middle of the previous chapter Jesus and the disciples are in Caesarea Philippi and he is quizzing them on his identity. The he predicts his death, rebukes Peter, and invites them to “pick up your cross and follow me.” There is not timeline, no geographic marker of any consequence and no introduction to the statement. Just three words: After six days.

More in that in a moment. At the end of the passage Taye read, the disciples only want to talk about Elijah. And there are a few reasons why. First, Elijah is associated with the advent of the Messiah, a top-of-mind topic for everyone in the story. Second, Elijah is more contemporary, and more human in the sense that the role of prophet is closer to the experience of the disciples than the far off Moses. Third, Elijah is cool, making a barbeque of the priests of Baal and defeating an evil queen and all that.

Okay, but after six days of what? It’s here that we discover that the passage is really about Moses. For you see, six days is the time that God makes Moses wait, six days he spends on Sinai waiting in a cloud:

On the seventh day the LORD called to Moses from within the cloud. 17 To the Israelites the glory of the LORD looked like a consuming fire on top of the mountain. 18 Then Moses entered the cloud as he went on up the mountain. And he stayed on the mountain forty days and forty nights.

They had a lot to talk about. God had a list of items to be custom made on his return to the people: ark of tokens, table of bread, golden lamp-stand, tabernacle, alter, vestments, another alter, and a bronze basin. God said “by the way, take these two tablets” and off Moses went. And what did he find when he returned, list under one arm and tablets under the other? A golden calf. Things went further downhill from there, no pun intended.

But let me back-up: Just before he left, God noticed the golden calf making and the partying and seems to have a change of heart:

“I have seen these people,” the LORD said to Moses, “and they are a stiff-necked people. 10 Now leave me alone so that my anger may burn against them and that I may destroy them. Then I will make you into a great nation.”

Moses is a little taken aback. ‘Lord,’ he says, ‘why kill the very people you just liberated from Egypt?’ And in a wonderful turn he says ‘why let the Egyptians mock you by saying “he liberated them only to kill them in the desert.”’ Moses begs God to turn from anger, and them the knock-out punch: ‘remember the covenant you made with Abraham and Isaac, that you would make their descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky?’ God relents.

After six days Jesus meets Moses and Elijah, but the primary message is from Moses, and the six days is the very same six days that Moses waited, and the message is this: You will intervene to save the people from themselves. Jesus is the new Moses, arguing with God to redeem the frail creatures that hardly deserve redemption.

The disciples witness the transfiguration and can only think about building three shelters. The Israelites see what appears to be devouring fire atop Mt. Sinai and all then can think about is making a golden calf. God gave us metallurgy and chemistry and mechanics and all we can think about is making the weapons of war. Our entire classification system for the ancient world—stone age, bronze age, iron age—is based on the ability to make better and better weapons, right up to the nuclear age, when we have the capacity to send ourselves right back to the stone age.

But after six days Jesus knew. He knew that his primary activity in eternity would be doing the very same thing Moses did so well: Forgive then, Father, for they know not what they do; forgive them their trespasses, that they may forgive those that trespass against them. I can’t even imagine that God is still angry, it’s just that God has seen it all, and Jesus remains ever patient.

“With sighs too deep for words” the Spirit intercedes for us, giving us the words to ask for help, the words that seek redemption, the words that bring new life, now and always, amen.

Seventh Sunday after Epiphany

2011-02-20T16:59:00.000-08:00

Matthew 5
38 ‘You have heard that it was said, “An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” 39But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer. But if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; 40and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; 41and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. 42Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.
43 ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” 44But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. 46For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? 47And if you greet only your brothers and sisters,* what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.

I’m trying to love Kevin O’Leary, really I am. Jesus had some famous advice regarding people who are difficult to love, and so I guess I have to give it a shot.

Kevin O’Leary, billionaire, entrepreneur, and television personality seems to just be getting started on his 15-minutes of fame. With regular appearances on three CBC programs, and soon a fourth, Kevin seems poised to take over the public broadcaster.

His job, it seems, is represent the face of pure capitalism, to speak harsh and truthful words to all the voices that might want to use business for something other than making money. He hates taxes, regulation, and anything that smacks of weakness. He’s the Simon Cowell of business and Canadian television.

You could argue he’s playing a role—much in the way Don Cherry is playing a role—making an extreme argument that paves the way for some middle-ground. Or maybe he actually believes what he is saying, something I’ve begun to fear with my capitalist brother Andrew.

Either way, Jesus says love them and pray for them, which is harder than it seems, when really all I want to do is mock them and preach about them.

The trouble started a couple of weeks ago in Matthew 5. Jesus told his disciples that entry into the Kingdom required righteousness that surpasses the righteousness of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law. To establish their religious credibility, they were required to work twice as hard as the religious leaders of the day. And they were to do the hard work without any guarantee that they would get the credit they deserved.

Continuing then, in the same vein, Jesus sets out a series of hypothetical situations: offering the other cheek, giving away your cloak, and walking a second mile. All extreme, all counter to human nature: and all alive in our imaginations. Even people who have never been in a church or picked up a Bible know about “turning the other cheek” and “walking a second mile” as examples of being counter-intuitive, doing the opposite of what’s expected.

So we’re set up to understand that being Christian has something to do with doing the unexpected, doing the last thing the world expects. Then the kicker: ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” Don’t tolerate them, don’t rationalize them, don’t contextualize them: love them.

Way back in minister’s school, my professor, Dr. Hospital, taught us that these are “hard sayings,” extreme positions to be taken seriously but not literally. Just as we’re not cutting off bits or gauging things out, we’re not supposed to find the nearest centurion and say “abuse me.” It is not cards and flowers for people we hate, rather it’s a departure from the typical human response of retribution and reciprocal hate.

In other words, it is about the transformed heart. Jesus said ‘the Kingdom of God is within you’ and as such, we all carry the potential for a transformed heart, even those who make a living being heartless or at least pretending to be. The transformed heart becomes the goal of living, the goal of our interaction with others, and really the only hope for humankind.

Okay, that may seem a little strong. So let me be specific. Dalia Ziada became an activist at age 8 when she was subjected to a form of circumcision and subsequently tried to convince her father and uncles to spare the other girls in the family. This led to an interest in women’s rights, and the rights of political prisoners. She organized Egypt’s first human-rights film festival back in the fall, and when the theatre was mysteriously closed at the last minute, she rented a boat on the Nile to show the films, somehow beyond the reach of the law.

She was, of course, at the centre of things in Tahrir Square in Cairo. But being an activist in Tahrir Square is hardly news. What made news was the publication she was distributing, an Arabic translation of a comic book with the title: Martin Luther King and the Montgomery Story.

Martin Luther King and the Montgomery Story was first published in 1958, when civil rights in the United States was still in it’s infancy, and the outcome of the struggle for racial equality was far from certain. The media was controlled by people with an interest in the status quo, and material that promoted civil rights was often intercepted and destroyed, and so a group of activists hit on the idea of a comic book.

The comic is unlike your typical superhero comic, with pictures and voices from the Montgomery bus boycott, a two-page primer on the non-violent struggle for Indian independence, and a detailed set of instructions on how to organize your movement. Page 12 includes these words:

To see your enemy as a human being, you have to stop seeing him as your enemy. Even when he does cruel, heartless things to you, he is a child of God. He is your brother, even when he hurts you.

For a generation of southern blacks eager for change, the comic was a very counter-intuitive voice. The desire to strike back, to turn to violence was natural—and expected—but not the answer. The answer, as the comic shows, was listening to Dr. King in his pulpit, seeing Mahatma Gandhi make salt at the seaside, and hearing Elizabeth Eckford of Little Rock say to the white students taunting her “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.”

Now imagine the same comic being passed around the crowd in Tahrir Square, with time, place and culture being collapsed into a universal expression of freedom and human rights. Dalia Ziada meets Dr. King, meets Gandhi, meets Jesus, meets the Little Rock Nine. A cultural and religious mash-up that takes “love your enemy” and frees the imagination to apply it to any time and place. And this is precisely where transformation begins. Jesus said:

46For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax-collectors do the same? 47And if you greet only your brothers and sisters, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same?

These are challenges to the imagination, not bylaws or religious law. Jesus says picture the worst kind of people doing the most obvious kind of loving and then do the opposite: avoid the easy route of saving your love for the people who love you and the people you’ve loved all along and do the hard thing. Jesus says find the people who are really hard to love, really hard, and them imagine loving them and imagine that they too are children of God.

It would sound unrealistic and maybe a little naïve, except that it sometimes works. The theme of 2011 may well be ‘tyrants on the run,’ in largely non-violent ways that would make Gandhi and Dr. King very proud. When President Obama was sworn into office the Little Rock Nine were present, from jeers and spit to cheers and the inauguration of a black president. Hearts can be transformed, and change can happen, and it begins when we imagine a world made new. Amen.

Sixth Sunday after Epiphany

2011-02-13T07:01:00.000-08:00

1 Corinthians 3
1 Brothers and sisters, I could not address you as people who live by the Spirit but as people who are still worldly—mere infants in Christ. 2 I gave you milk, not solid food, for you were not yet ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready. 3 You are still worldly. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly? Are you not acting like mere humans? 4 For when one says, “I follow Paul,” and another, “I follow Apollos,” are you not mere human beings?
5 What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. 6 I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. 7 So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. 8 The one who plants and the one who waters have one purpose, and they will each be rewarded according to their own labor. 9 For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.

Richard Donner has never won an Oscar. It’s two weeks to Oscar night, and Donner hasn’t made a film in five years, so odds are it won’t happen anytime soon. He almost won in 1978 for the film “Superman” starring the late Christopher Reeve, and is widely credited for inventing the modern superhero movie.

He is also credited for reinventing the “buddy film” genre, with four little movies called “Lethal Weapon” (1, 2, 3, and 4). He even gave the world “Scrooged” starring Bill Murray, a movie that is well on the way to becoming a Christmas classic. And he made a film that is wildly underappreciated, almost in the category of a forgotten gem, 1985’s “Ladyhawke.”

Michelle Pfeiffer is lovely, Rudger Hauer so-so, but Matthew Broderick makes the film. He plays “The Mouse,” a petty thief who has unraveled the mystery of the Ladyhawke and has a habit of continually talking to God. “Lord, I’ll never pick another pocket as long as I live” he begins, and the movie unfolds from there.

This ongoing conversation with God doesn’t seem completely out of place in the Middle Ages, the setting for Ladyhawke, but would seem less likely in our time, or is it? Beliefnet.com surveyed nearly 10,000 readers, and 97 percent say that they regularly talk to God.*

Now, this in and of itself should not seem like a great surprise. A website with the mission “to help people find, and walk, a spiritual path that will bring comfort, hope and happiness” should be expected to have an audience of “spiritual people,” people predisposed to a life with God.

97 percent still seems like a remarkable figure. And the details are surprising too: Three-fourths say they talk to God in prayer, 60 percent say they talk out-loud to God, just like “The Mouse” in Ladyhawke, and most of the rest say they speak to God through some form of activity: gardening, yoga, or writing in a journal.

As I said, remarkable stuff: but it gets better. Of the 10,000 who responded to the survey, 90 percent report that God talks back. ‘God is quite the chatterbox,’ the author of the article says, with three-quarters reporting that they hear God in their thoughts, 40 percent in art and music, and at least 20 percent hearing the voice of God, including one woman who said God sounds like Denzel Washington!

And what are they talking about, all the people engaged in this ongoing conversation? A little bit of everything, it would seem: Their day-to-day lives, events unfolding in the world, and lots of questions, mostly starting with “why.” A majority responded that they had argued with God, a sure sign of a mature sense of faith, and they felt challenged in return.

Again, remarkable stuff, but the most telling number in the survey? Only 1.5 percent say that they talk to God in a house of worship and only 2.5 percent think God is somehow more accessible in a church, synagogue or mosque. This poses quite a challenge to those who like to think God and church go together like peanut butter and jelly. For a time we imagined that we owned God, or at least had first dips on all things heavenly, but it seems the world has a different view. How do we make sense of all of this? Maybe St. Paul can help:

Neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. 9 For we are co-workers in God’s service; you are God’s field, God’s building.

Paul is confronted by a church on the wrong track. Things in Corinth are not going well, with fighting and divisions around the various leaders of the church. Some cling to the founder’s vision, and name themselves followers of Paul. Some point to the next minister’s vision, and name themselves followers of Apollos. You can hear Paul’s frustration boil over:

What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. 6 I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow.

Over and over Paul has been trying to convince them that the primary relationship is between believer and God; not believer and Paul or believer and Apollos, but believer and God. In some ways it seems self-evident, that is unless you recall the human capacity for taking sides and missing the heart of the matter.

The believers in Corinth are “infants in Christ” Paul says, and as such are barely weaned and stuck in the Gerber section of the supermarket. They want to argue sides, or pick teams in the schoolyard, rather than focus on what really counts: a love-affair with God.

Now we’re getting to the Valentine’s Day good stuff. It’s all about a love-affair with God. Are you blushing yet? Last week I quoted from Jesus summary of the law: love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind; and love your neighbour as yourself. But we do two things wrong. First, we tend to love our neighbours first. We love them and serve them and do all sort of things that we understand Jesus commands. As we should. But this is squarely in the realm of ‘doing,’ when part of what the law demands is ‘being.’ And that is the second thing we do wrong: we forget the command to love God, which isn’t really a command at all, it’s more like permission.

Jesus gave us permission to be effusive, to write love letters, to bring chocolate and flowers, to get down on one knee and tell God that we’re in love. Jesus gave us permission to add “in a relationship” on Facebook, send an e-card, and let all our friends know that we’re getting serious with God.

Are you blushing yet? And like all relationships, Jesus doesn’t suggest it’s going to be all sunshine and flowers. There will be arguments, there will be things neither partner can understand, and there will be petty disagreements like the cap-on-the-toothpaste or the size of our offering.

When I started doing what I do, back when I was barely weaned myself, it become obvious quickly that many of our churches no longer reflected the neighbourhoods that surrounded them. This situation has only grown, and one-by-one churches have been thinking about being intercultural their outlook, being open to other cultures and ways of being, particularly when they are right outside the front door.

Sometimes this takes the form of outreach, like the drop-in downstairs, and sometimes it means things never assuming that English is a first language. But there is a missing element to re-engaging our context, and that would be assuming that most of the people “out there” don’t already have a pre-existing and lively relationship with God. I fear that we sometimes believe that we have something to offer that people do not have, when the facts on the ground may be quite different.

Maybe Paul is speaking to us when he reminds his readers that seeds were planted and seeds were watered, but it is God who has been busy out there building a relationships with people and making that relationship grow.

So what is our role? Why are we here, if the relationship between a people and their God seems to be happening out there? The answer may be found in the survey. If three-quarters of the people responding hear God in their own thoughts, when are they really hearing God and when are they hearing what they wish God would say? The author of the article finds a Rabbi to respond:

"That people think God sounds like them is quite beautiful,” the Rabbi says, “but if you hear God and he is always telling you what you want to hear, you should be honest and say you are not listening to God, but to yourself. Part of listening to God should be to occasionally be surprised or unnerved. There should be moments of sacred surprise and growing that comes from the discomfort of not always hearing what you want to hear."

And this is where a community of faith comes in. Our task is to discern together what God is saying, to help people discern between their own thoughts and the ‘still small voice’ speaking inside. It is our job to demonstrate God’s love and model God’s forgiveness so that the feeling they have inside is make real in the world of their everyday. It is our job to read together the scriptures and see how ancient words can help understand new words and make a conversation with God even more meaningful. And our job is to encourage: to encourage ourselves and encourage everyone to stop ‘doing’ and try ‘being’ once and a while, so the God we love that be heard.

The end of the survey collected things God said to nearly 7,000 respondents and made a summary of God’s words. I give God the last word:

Listen. Stop complaining and just listen to me. Love one another. Love unconditionally. Don't worry, I will always be with you. Trust me. Be patient. I am not finished with you yet. Be at peace.

*http://www.beliefnet.com/Entertainment/Movies/2006/09/Look-Whos-Talking-To-God.aspx

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

2011-02-06T06:25:00.000-08:00

Matthew 5
13Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.
14Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.
15Neither do men light a candle, and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.
16Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
17Think not that I am come to destroy the law, or the prophets: I am not come to destroy, but to fulfil.
18For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.
19Whosoever therefore shall break one of these least commandments, and shall teach men so, he shall be called the least in the kingdom of heaven: but whosoever shall do and teach them, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.
20For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.

I’m pretty sure I was in grade five when I received my first Bible. It was small, and red, and presented by a nice older man representing something called the Gideons. He might just as well have been an alien visitor from another planet.

Speaking as a member of the unchurched, a boy who had never been to church before, the thing that strikes me now was the lack of context. Why give every ten year-old in Mount Albert a tiny Bible? We were encouraged to read it, I remember that much, but I don’t remember much of the visit beyond that. Having never encountered a Bible before, I may have even given the first few paragraphs a go, but the book begins with the “begats” in Matthew, hardly stimulating reading for your average ten year-old.

And it turns out, the tradition continues. Outside the bigger school boards in Toronto and Ottawa, the Ontario branch of the Gideons is still busy visiting schools and handing out Bibles. The current version is still red, with a number of children’s faces on the cover, and the title “The Little Red Answer Book.”

I learned this from a recent article in the Waterloo Record, along with the surprising fact that 200,000 ten year-olds in Ontario are still getting Bibles. There have been recent objections from parents (hence the article) and a School Board vote to continue the practice in Waterloo schools.

I guess I would categorize this information under the heading “you know you have been in Toronto a long time when.” But it gets even more surprizing: According to the American Hotel & Lodging Association, in 1998, 79% of hotels surveyed said they had Bibles in the room; that figured jumped to 95% in 2006.

I have to say, however, that my favourite fun-fact related to this is the Provenance chain of hotels, based in Oregon, that decided that rather than discontinue the practice of having a Gideon Bible in the room, they would supplement it with copies of the Book of Mormon, the Bhagavad Gita and the Quran. Suddenly there is a small library of religious texts available, yet it remains unclear if they will track down others on request. One is tempted to call the front desk and demand a copy of “The God Delusion,” the new go-to guide for atheists.

Back to my little red Bible, I do remember scratching my head at the language. I had heard of Shakespeare, Mount Albert isn’t that far into the woods, and this Bible had the distinct sound of Shakespeare. You might say the Gideons were behind the times in giving out copies of the King James Version of the Bible, but you might also argue they were ahead of their time.

2011, you see, is the 400th anniversary of the first publication of the King James Bible, also known as the Authorized Version, and journalists and scholars have already started to spill ink on the topic. And if you’re looking for a good book on the topic I recommend “God's Secretaries: The Making of the King James Bible” by Adam Nicholson.

The articles seem to breakdown into a few consistent themes:

1. The KJV is the only real version worth reading, all the others are terrible;
2. The KJV does more to develop the English language that any book before or since;
3. The 400th anniversary is a literary celebration and not a religious one since the church has turned its back on the KJV anyway.

I guess I would say ‘not really, true and true.’ The KJV is remarkable, if slightly inaccessible to the average reader, it is an anchor of the English language, and we have largely turned our backs on it. But not today. Today we turn our attention back, beginning with verse 18. First I will remind you of what Jenny read, then what she would have read if she was standing in the same place in 1887:

For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished.

For verily I say unto you, Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.

I don’t know about you, but I think ‘jot and tittle’ is much more fun than ‘the smallest letter, and the least stroke of a pen.’ And this is precisely the argument that various authors have made: modern translations have sucked the poetry out of the scripture and made it too literal, too prosaic to delight or inspire.

Okay, now you’re just itching to know about ‘jot and tittle.’ Of course you are, who isn’t? First let’s get tittle out of the way, a word that has made generations of schoolboys giggle and simply means the dots on top of the letters ‘j’ and ‘i.’ There is nothing as small as a tittle, except maybe a jot.

A jot is defined as ‘a tiny amount.’ Like the smallest amount you can imagine, and therefore likely smaller that a tittle. Jot is one of the rare words that comes to English from Hebrew, having first passed through Greek. So ‘yod,’ the smallest letter in the Hebrew alphabet becomes ‘iota’ in Greek and eventually ‘jot’ in English. Ask Carmen nicely and she will sing you the Hebrew alphabet song, the same one that she teaches to graduate students (who suddenly feel like pre-schoolers).

William Tyndale, priest, scholar and eventual martyr, wrote about 80 percent of what would become the KJV and he phrased it this way:

One iott or one tytle of the lawe shall not [e]scape tyll all be fulfilled.

Writing 75 years before the committee that would put together the KJV, Tyndale wrote with an economy of language that was poetic and understandable at the same time. And Matthew 5.18 Is a sterling example: in both the New International and the King James the emphasis is on the law itself, and the way in which the law is fixed and cannot change. “Not the least stroke of a pen will by any means disappear from the Law” is a rather wooden way of saying that the Law is immutable, and Jesus did not come to take it away.

Tyndale’s version, however, shifts the focus from the law to the reader: “Not one jot or tittle of the law shall escape till all be fulfilled.” He chooses ‘escape,’ a word with Anglo-Norman roots, and the opposite of ‘to capture.’ In other words, he takes something static like alterations to the law and adds a strong verb instead. The entirety of the law cannot escape us, we are captive to it, and it will not let us go.

So if I’m correct, and we are captive to the law, what does this mean? Let’s try a for instance.

The pioneering women in the in the 60’s and 70’s who entered parts of the workforce dominated by men reported that they had to work twice as hard to achieve half of what the men around them could achieve. In other words, they were compelled to prove themselves at every turn, because conventional wisdom held that they couldn’t do it was well as the men could.

Back to Jesus: The disciples were considered inferior to the scribes and Pharisees, the religious leaders of the day, and were continually being challenged to prove themselves, to establish their religious credibility. In other words, they had to work twice as hard to achieve half as much in the eyes of the population. They were pioneers, and as such they had something to prove.

And Jesus makes sure his disciples understand this even before they head out into the world:

For I say unto you, That except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no case enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Not only are the disciples captive to the law, but they have to exceed the righteousness of the other religious leaders in order to the kingdom-worthy. Except when they can’t. In that case, and in our case, they would depend on the forgiveness that Jesus freely gave, the same forgiveness he extended to the foolish disciples throughout the Gospels.

Being captive to the law does not mean giving children little red Bibles. I don’t think being captive to the law means setting up little religious libraries in hotel rooms either. No, being captive to the law means following in the way of Jesus best read in the KJV:

36Master, which is the great commandment in the law? 37Jesus said unto him, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. 38This is the first and great commandment. 39And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. 40On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets. (Mt. 22)

Being captive to the law means loving God and loving your neighbour. Do these, and not a jot or tittle will be missing. And this means being seen to love God and love your neighbour, never hiding your love under a basket. Why go to church? To love God. Why give away hamburger and clean needles? To love our neighbours. We have tended to make it seem more complicated that it need be, but Jesus is all about clarity: “14Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.” Thanks be to God. Amen.

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

2011-01-30T14:00:00.000-08:00

Matthew 5
1 Now when Jesus saw the crowds, he went up on a mountainside and sat down. His disciples came to him, 2 and he began to teach them.
He said:
3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
4 Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
5 Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
7 Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
8 Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
9 Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
10 Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
11 “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. 12 Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

When my son was eleven, he wanted to be the ruler of his own island nation. Where do kids get these ideas? And through the miracle of Google he was able to do quite a bit of research on issues such as unilateral declarations and international recognition. Maybe I bought him a book on the topic. The sad reality, however, is that there are few islands available for nation-building and so Isaac’s dream went unrealized.

Next, he wanted a foreign passport. Surely there are nations with relaxed rules around who can get a passport, and the lad was determined to find out. Mozambique, it turns out, will basically sell you a passport, and I had to break it to him that I wasn’t sending a cashier’s cheque to any consulates so he could have a foreign passport.

In the course of helping him develop this false hope, I discovered that there is an entire sub-culture dedicated to reinventing yourself. Forget the passport, what about buying a manor that includes the titles Lord and Lady? Maybe a Swiss-numbered account? It turns out there is even a Princess from some minor noble family that will meet you in Vegas and transform you (for a hefty fee) into a prince. I didn’t tell my son.

I share all this with you because it occurred to me this week that buying your own island nation or becoming a prince is really no different that expecting to be a military dictator or president-for life. What we are witnessing in Tunisia and Eqypt and perhaps other places is the ultimate reality-check, where ordinary people wake-up to realize that there are other ways to be governed.

And if there was ever an occasion where we could point to the television and point to our Bibles, this is it:

5 Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.

The outcome of events in Egypt is uncertain, of course, and we pray for a peaceful resolution. When world events unfold we often feel helpless or uncertain, and it has the effect of testing some of our core assumptions. Governments around the world have valued stability over individual freedom, and we are left to decide. What criteria do we use?

Now that we’ve reached the end of the first month of the new year, you no doubt have your tree down and all those decorations put away. It is helpful, I think, to remember where we are in the year. A month ago, the holy family was on the run from Herod. Three weeks ago, Jesus was baptized. Two weeks ago, Jesus picked his first batch of disciples, and last week he found the rest.

These are early days, and that becomes the context where we read the Beatitudes. The disciples have settled in to listen: there is a pause in the initial rush of preaching and healing, and Jesus has something to tell them.

The first thing to notice is that this is not a list of instructions. There will be some concrete direction given toward the end of Matthew’s Gospel, but for today it is only teaching. And even the idea of teaching doesn’t seem to fit the Beatitudes. They are more like a manifesto.

Curious word, manifesto. It is one of the few words we borrowed from Italian, and it simply means “clear.” You share a manifesto when you want to make things perfectly clear. In Canada, we tend to use the word “platform” when we’re discussing the political realm, where the Europeans still seem to prefer manifesto.

So Jesus wants to make these things clear. He wants to define to beginning of his ministry, and for Matthew it begins with an introductory section that will unfold into what we call the Sermon on the Mount. So why begin here? And why begin with the “poor in Spirit?” We’ve only reached the first sentence and already we’re into a debate. Luke says simply “blessed are the poor, for yours is the Kingdom of God.” So why the poor in spirit?

The best and most plausible answer is that Matthew is writing to a Jewish-Christian audience that would have resonated more with the idea of spiritual poverty and the new spirit that Jesus brings. What Jesus actually said remains unknown, and is a source of perpetual debate. I wonder if the answer may be “Jesus says what we need to hear at the moment we tune in to listen,” but some will find this unhelpful.

Then he continues: those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted are all blessed. Each will be rewarded in a unique way, and each is a particular object of God’s concern.

Before I go on, I want to go back to Egypt for a moment. Not back to the unrest but farther back in time, to the time of Pharaoh and the time of Moses. Imagine all you know about the conditions under Pharaoh, even picture Yul Brenner and Charleton Heston if you have to, and listen again to the list that Jesus made: Blessed are the poor, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted.

I’m going to suggest that if we want a window in what God is thinking about, if we want a window on the things that Jesus pondered as he prepared for the beginning of his ministry, we should collapse our sense of time. In God’s time, the suffering of the people under Pharaoh, and the suffering of the people under Caesar, and the suffering of the people under any garden-variety dictator we can serve up is the same suffering. There are no grades of suffering based on historical timeframe, only the same response to suffering based on the words Jesus shared.

But there is another element here that I want to test out, and that is the ordinary Egyptians who are left behind. I’m still with Pharaoh and Moses here, and I want you to think back to the story of the Exodus. Notice that we only meet Pharaoh and his kin, an evil overseer or two, and God’s people set to be liberated. We don’t actually get to meet any ordinary Egyptians.

But we know that the structure of the ancient world was a tiny elite and everyone else living in poverty ranging from dire to worse. And so it follows that while the Hebrew people where led through the Red Sea to safety, the countless poor under Pharaoh remained behind. And if we picture them, and in particular the ones who were forced to pick up the work that was no longer being done by slaves, we can imagine that among them we would find the poor, the meek, the persecuted, and the rest.

Nowhere on the list does it say “Blessed are the poor among the Hebrews” or “Blessed are the poor among the Christians” or even “Blessed are the poor among the deserving poor.” It is just a blessing, extended by a God that doesn’t see the categories of humans we see, only the humans themselves.

And what about the rewards? Jesus said, in this order: They will be comforted, they will inherit the earth, they will be filled, they will be shown mercy, they will see God, they will be called children of God, and theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

The first thing we notice is that they are in the future tense, that the rewards will come in time, that they are in the realm of things hoped for and not yet received. And so it is with life on earth. Watching the news this week I was struck by the voices that said “we have been hoping for this day for 30 years.” Even when the hoped for reality has not come to pass, there is still gratitude and the recognition that even the act of protest is a realized dream.

And so we wait. We wait for the Kingdom to come, for the hungry to be filled and the meek to inherit the world. We wait both the poor and the spiritually poor to gain the Kingdom. We wait knowing that the blessing of God begins with those in need and extends far into the future. We wait for God. Amen and amen.

Third Sunday after Epiphany

2011-01-23T06:09:00.000-08:00

1 Corinthians 1
10 I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree with one another in what you say and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be perfectly united in mind and thought. 11 My brothers and sisters, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you. 12 What I mean is this: One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.”
13 Is Christ divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Were you baptized in the name of Paul? 14 I thank God that I did not baptize any of you except Crispus and Gaius, 15 so no one can say that you were baptized in my name. 16 (Yes, I also baptized the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I don’t remember if I baptized anyone else.) 17 For Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with wisdom and eloquence, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.
18 For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

Are you a technophobe? Do you fear the latest innovation in the realm of technology? Still sticking your finger in the number hole and rotating in a clockwise direction toward the little metal thingy that means you have dialed the number? Do you refuse to get a cell phone but find yourself borrowing one occasionally with an embarrassed smile and a bit of envy?

A favourite radio ad begins something like “my practice was drying up and finally I googled myself…” The voice explains the first result on Google was unfairly negative, and then a voiceover says “how will you protect yourself when the internet turns on you?” Chilling stuff. By the way: If I’ve scared the pants off you, the internet can’t really turn on people, it’s only a conduit for information.

That being said, it is helpful to google yourself from time to time. Not only to discover if the internet has turned on you, but to find out what’s happening to any content you chose to share with the world.

An example: A few years back I received my one and only royalty cheque for hymn-writing, a staggering 87 cents (US). I was delighted, of course, so I took a picture of the cheque and posted it on my Flickr page (photo sharing site). I didn’t give it another thought.

Months later, while googling myself, I discovered that the image had been borrowed by no less than three Russian newspapers to illustrate articles on something related to chequing. Maybe they were writing about how poorly writers are paid in the West. Whatever the content, I was both pleased and feeling a little ripped-off. Maybe the internet turned on me.

***

The reading this morning from 1 Corinthians 1 can best be described as google-worthy. If Chloe or Crispus or Gaius wanted to know what Paul was saying about them in his letter to the church at Corinth, they could simply turn to an ancient near-eastern version of Google (that would be an avid reader with a good memory) and say “did you see my name?” And the answer would be yes.

There are lots of ways to obtain immortality. One would be to have your followers copy down everything you say (Jesus, Socrates), another would be to conquer the known world (Alexander) and another would be gaining a mention in an ancient source that never goes out of print. Enter our famous four.

Just before I get to them, though, you will recall that there seven people mentioned in the passage Jim read, eight if you count Jesus. But three are part of the unfolding story, and get frequent mentions, so they have sainthood to fall back on. Paul references himself (he wrote the letter, and one-third of the New Testament), Apollos is mentioned (Jewish Christian from Alexandria who did follow-up work for Paul) and finally Cephas (aka Peter, aka Simon), the only disciple who must have been in a witness protection program to account for all the names.

The famous four, then, are Chloe, Crispus, Gaius and Stephanus. Taken in reverse order, little is known about Stephanus, except that came from a household of believers. If he was a saint, I would nominate him for patron saint of forgetful people or the patron saint of parenthesis, based solely on Paul’s afterthought: (“Oh yes, I also baptized the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I don’t remember if I baptized anyone else.”) Man after my own heart.

Gaius is a little more difficult. There are two or maybe three Gaius’, the first being noted for his hospitality in Corinth. He may have also traveled with Paul, but this is less certain. Crispus was the chief of the synagogue at Corinth, and also baptized with his entire household.

Then there is Chloe: She is the most intriguing of the lot. It turns out that someone from her household, a family member, a slave, maybe a member of the staff, was in touch with Paul and told him about the divided state of the church in Corinth. Did she instruct them to send word? Did she have a scribe send word without attaching her name? Was she even aware that Paul was being informed? These are open questions, but I think the tone of Paul’s letter speaks for itself:

“My brothers and sisters, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you.”

She is clearly a leader in the community, and her name is forever attached to a desire for accountability and oversight. Assuming they acted in her name, members of the household were worried enough about divisions in the Corinthian church to write the founder and seek help.

***

There is always conflict in the church. Just yesterday, Lang and I were off to a presbytery retreat to represent you and to help develop a strategic plan for the next few years. There were maybe fifty of us, and we divided off to discuss several ideas that the presbytery might focus on as the future unfolds. And while ideas like enhanced communication and measures of congregational viability may not sound very sexy or engaging, they represent the kinds of things a presbytery must do to effectively represent the church in this part of the city.

The conflict began almost immediately when someone felt excluded. Later, some felt that we were moving too quickly and they needed more time. Still later, some refused to vote for the priorities established because the presbytery lacks a mission statement to guide the entire process. Just another day in churchland. Still and yet, the day ended with handshakes and best wishes, the odd apology from some of the more forceful ones, and a general sense that the work continues and somehow we will get it done.

The afternoon, however, contained some surprises beyond bickering church people. We heard from the Rev. John Buttars, a retired colleague, and an expert in Ignatian spirituality and an all-round wise person. He spoke of discernment techniques, and the ways in which we can set aside the “stuff” that gets in the way of understanding God’s intention for our lives and see things more clearly. I’ll have more to say about this towards Lent, so stay tuned.

For today, he added an idea that I think helps to clarify a few things, including 1 Corinthians 1. John Buttars said that the church, at this moment in time is being “dismantled.” The church is being dismantled. Now, we all have our favourite metaphors to describe the state of the United Church of Canada at this moment in time, the most popular being “dying.” And while it might feel that way to some, it seems too dire and maybe too general at the same time.

“Dismantled” seems much more helpful, because some churches have closed, and others will follow, there are some who will persist for many years to come. Dying only fits when the whole dies, whereas “dismantling” indicates that some parts are being taken apart while other parts are allowed to stand. If you dismantle the whole thing it is no long dismantling, it has become demolition. And that is not what Rev. Buttars said, nor is it the situation on the ground. It is piece by piece these days, and anything that happens piece by piece requires constant discernment. And may cause constant conflict.

Back to Corinth for a moment. Things are tense and here is why:

My brothers and sisters, some from Chloe’s household have informed me that there are quarrels among you. 12 What I mean is this: One of you says, “I follow Paul”; another, “I follow Apollos”; another, “I follow Cephas”; still another, “I follow Christ.”

To follow is to subscribe, to adopt a viewpoint that is distinct from the others. The people of the Corinthian church were functioning based on adherence to ideas belonging to others. Wise others, but others nonetheless.

In this early chaotic period in the church, every leader had a different opinion on the way forward: Jewish Christians only, Gentiles and Jews, what to eat, how to mark adherence, how to stand apart. All these topics are debated in Acts and Paul, all these topics are resolved in more or less satisfactory ways. But conflict never ends, first because it is the human way, and second, because every age of the church is as chaotic as the first.

And many of the voices yesterday calling for a clearly defined mission before proceeding could easily have been visitors from long ago Corinth. Each style of baptism named for an early leader was little more that a worldview, a set of ideas, in short, a mission. And Paul has no choice but to cut through all this, to make things clear:

Christ did not send me to baptize, but to preach the gospel—not with wisdom and eloquence, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power. For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.

Baptisms, and what they might represent are one thing, but the power of God can only be found in the Gospel, defined this way:

God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling-block to most; but to those who are the called, (people of faith), Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God. (my paraphrase)

And that power comes through surrender. Jesus didn’t gather power, he gave it away. He didn’t run from the cross, he gave himself over to it, to lead by example and save us all. He didn’t say ‘argue endlessly about mission statements,’ he said “go and make disciples of all nations.’ He didn’t say ‘debate each other,’ he said ‘feed my sheep’ and ‘whatever you do for the least of these by brothers and sisters, you did also for me.’

We don’t need a mission statement, we just need a Bible and a good index, one to look up “the poor” and “the vulnerable” and “the way of the cross.” And we don’t need to explain the cross—foolishness to those who are perishing—we need to live at the foot of the cross, where people continue to be crucified, and where the clearest word Christ said is “forgive.”

Second Sunday after Epiphany

2011-01-16T12:45:00.000-08:00

John 1
35 The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. 36 When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”
37 When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. 38 Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”
They said, “Rabbi” (which means “Teacher”), “where are you staying?”
39 “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”
So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.
40 Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. 41 The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). 42 And he brought him to Jesus.
Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You will be called Cephas” (which, when translated, is Peter[a]).

My mother tells me I was born in a snowstorm. I still don’t like snow. I’m sure she told me the exact time, but that bit of information was been overshadowed by the snow.

My son was born at 8.21 in the morning, on a hot day in June, exactly six months from Christmas Eve. If you want your gifts to arrive evenly spaced, go for June 24th. They also throw a big party for you in Quebec, which is a nice touch.

It is the details that make things real, the ability to add that extra bit of information that says “this part matters.” When I say “son, you were born at 8.21” it adds gravity to an already important event. He, like me, may not remember his own time, but he knows I know, because the time matters to me.

Likewise with place. Travel through London and you will see countless signs that begin “On this spot.” Births, deaths, important events in the history of the UK, all revealed with a geographic maker. I can tell you that Benjamin Franklin was a printer’s apprentice behind Great St. Bart’s in Smithfield, but stand at the spot, and you can’t help but be impressed.

So imagine Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, spending three years traveling the length of the Holy Land to discover the places described in the New Testament. Like an early Indiana Jones, she read and pondered, explored, ask questions, and decided between sites that are already in dispute.

Some were simple: a cave near Bethlehem, a tomb in Jerusalem. But some were not: the site of John the Baptist’s ministry is uncertain, likely in modern-day Jordan, but always subject to a river that has changed course many times through the centuries. The baptism of Jesus site is always listed as “traditional,” which seems to suit most pilgrims because there is nothing much to see.

So the place is part of this story from John, but not the whole story. The author builds in a timeline, something any good author will do. It gives the narrative a sense of direction, not simply ‘where did they go’ but ‘how long did they stay’ and ‘was it this day or the next.’

And we might say the author John is ambitious: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning.” You might as well begin at the beginning. That’s verse one and two. Verse nineteen seems to be ‘present day’ or the same day. It is not named as such, but suddenly the human action begins, and John the Baptist is busy defending himself:

“I baptize with[e] water,” John replied, “but among you stands one you do not know. 27 He is the one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.”

Then a time marker: “The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him.” This is the day of Jesus’ baptism, though you would hardly know it from reading the passage in John. We have gone form the heavily descriptive in Matthew, Mark and Luke to the vague and oblique in John. I mentioned this in Advent, this discomfort with John baptizing Jesus, so John gives it a gloss and makes it an event that fits his agenda for the whole book: a sign.

John’s Gospel is a really just a collection of signs, beginning formally at Cana but also present at the Jordan. John says “the reason I came baptizing with water was that he might be revealed to Israel.” If the author is uncomfortable with a human baptizing the Light of the World, than what better approach then to create distance between Jesus and the event. John doesn’t tell the story, he makes John an eyewitness:

“I saw the Spirit come down from heaven as a dove and remain on him. 33 And I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water told me, ‘The man on whom you see the Spirit come down and remain is the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.’ 34 I have seen and I testify that this is God’s Chosen One.”

The timeline continues: “The next day John was there again with two of his disciples.” So it’s creation, day one (debate), day two (baptism), and day three (present day). John is still there, still doing his thing, but the narrative is about to move on, literally.

“Look,” John says to two of his own disciples, “the Lamb of God!”

37 When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. 38 Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”
They said, “Rabbi, where are you staying?”
39 “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”
So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.
40 Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. 41 The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). 42 And he brought him to Jesus.

Not bad for a day’s work. Three new disciples, including a disciple recruited by one of the original two, came together that day. How did John the Baptist respond? Was he annoyed? Did he bless them on their way? We’re not told, but we have to assume that his testimony indicates his blessing, and he knew all along this day would come.

One more thing: my favourite detail, found in verse 39: “So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.”

Four in the afternoon. Jesus and his friends would have called this the tenth hour, following the Jewish practice of numbering the hours from sunrise to sunset. Daylight was fading, with little time left in this third momentous day. The author John records that Simon is renamed Peter some time after four, and the day comes to an end.

Twenty-eight verses to cover 13.75 billion years, minus two-thousand, five verses for day two, and four verse later it’s day three at four in the afternoon and time to slow down.

***

A friend recounted meeting a smiling young woman on the street one day. She was passing out some written material and telling everyone “today is my birthday.” My friend stopped. “Congratulations,” he said, “how old are you?”

“I’m three,” she said, “I was born again three years ago today.”

I’m certain that if he asked, my friend would have discovered the time of day.

What happened to John Wesley? (heart strangely warmed)
Where did this happen? (Aldersgate Chapel, London)
What was being read? (Preface to Luther’s commentary on Romans)
What time? (8.45 pm)

What time were you born? Four in the afternoon? For at least three of the disciples, they seem to point to four in the afternoon. Like Wesley and my friend’s new friend, there is a day, and there is a time, and the day and the time mean much more that a day on the calendar or a spot on the clock: they mean life.

***

If you are a news person like me, you know that everything happening south of the border is larger than usual this week. A struggle for meaning is taking place. A nation is waiting for more miracles and stories of ordinary lives are being told.

One such story is the story of Christina-Taylor Green, just nine years old, her life stolen by a madman with a semi-automatic pistol. A nation mourns. But this story has a strange and inexplicable twist, with little Christina born on another tragic day, September 11, 2001.

She was featured, we learned, on page 41 of a book called “Faces of Hope: Babies Born on 9/11.” It seems like a very American thing to do. Extend the national obsession with 9/11 to include those born on the day, forever marked with reactions like “poor you” or “that must be terrible.” Instead, these children became “faces of hope,” with a book and a story and a new way to see reality.

Until tragedy struck again. Call it the shadow side of remembering, the terrible task of trying to understand where the hope went when the first “face of hope” dies a victim of the violence that haunts the U.S. every day of the year.

So we live with a variety of dates and times. We trace the steps of hope and loss, the place we stood, the time on the clock, who we were with, what we were doing, how it unfolded. All these details provide the context for emotion: feelings are made real when they are given space and time. We can’t seem to help ourselves, it is the human way.

Now for the truly uncomfortable part: someone, in the next day or week or month will ask: “where is the hope?” They will not expect you to have the answer, even though you do. You will think to yourself, the answer must be four o’clock, because for John and Jesus and Andrew and Simon everything seems to settle on four o’clock. 13.75 billion years of time seems to lead to four o’clock, on the third day, the day that their relationship with Jesus truly began.

The answer is four o’clock. It may not be four o’clock for you yourself, maybe it’s another time, like sometime after nine for me. Whatever the time, whatever the location, we believe that the simple act of bringing your uncertain friend to Central may lead to something momentous for them, maybe an insight, maybe a sense of belonging, or even a heart strangely warmed. If I can be bold: not sharing the gift of this community of faith seems a tad selfish—don’t you think? Remember the question: “Where is the hope?” All we have to do is listen and wait, and our opportunity to make the time will come. Amen.

Epiphany

2011-01-02T06:10:00.001-08:00

Isaiah 60
1 “Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the LORD rises upon you.
2 See, darkness covers the earth
and thick darkness is over the peoples,
but the LORD rises upon you
and his glory appears over you.
3 Nations will come to your light,
and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
4 “Lift up your eyes and look about you:
All assemble and come to you;
your sons come from afar,
and your daughters are carried on the hip.
5 Then you will look and be radiant,
your heart will throb and swell with joy;
the wealth on the seas will be brought to you,
to you the riches of the nations will come.
6 Herds of camels will cover your land,
young camels of Midian and Ephah.
And all from Sheba will come,
bearing gold and incense
and proclaiming the praise of the LORD.

Psalm 72:4 May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

Do you ever have the sense you were born at the wrong time?

As a reader of historical books, fiction and non-fiction, I am often left with the sense that I was born at the wrong time. I read Simon Shama’s Embarrassment of Riches and became convince that I belonged in the Dutch Golden Age. I read the Hornblower saga and became convinced that I belong somewhere on the high seas. I read Pillars of the Earth and knew I should be building a medieval cathedral.

I worry, though, about belonging to another age. My sense is that everyone smells in the past, and I’m not sure how I could cope. And infection: get one, and things didn’t look good. And all the violence. It seemed Hobbes was right, that life was nasty, brutish and short, with lots of sword play and things set on fine.

Last evening we rented “Robin Hood” (no subtitle), the latest Ridley Scott/Russell Crowe effort to recreate the past. Now, in case you lost count, Robin Hood has appeared in movies and on television 112 times in the last 100 years. He has been interpreted and reinterpreted, he as been a time-traveler, a cartoon favourite, and a vehicle for Errol Flynn and Errol Flynn types from the beginning.

In case you are visiting this planet for the first time today, I should tell you that Robin Hood is an “historic outlaw from English folklore” (Wikipedia). Beginning in the middle ages, stories of Robin and his merry men have been told: living in the forest, stealing from the rich to give to the poor, defying the Sheriff of Nottingham and usually singing. It most often breaks down as Saxons good, Normans bad. Then more singing.

The 2010 version is an attempt at a “backstory” with Robin as the son of a martyred rebel, thrust by fate in to the very same conflict that cost his father his life. Evil King John must be taught a lesson about the power of the people, and Robin Hood becomes a medieval George Washington ready to fight.

The really compelling stuff, for people who like both history and Google, is the quote that Robin uncovers on the hilt of the sword given to him by the dying Robert of Locksley:

Rise and rise again until lambs become lions

It turns out to the fictional manifesto of Robin’s late father, and the idea that propels the story forward. As Robin explains to Little John and the others, it is a quote about liberty, and setting aside meekness in favour of lion-like rebellion.

Now, I’m always interested in things that sound like scripture, things that on the surface, at least, sound like they might come from the Bible. “Rise and rise again until lambs become lions” is a perfect example, and I have to confess that I must have some kind of quote dyslexia because I only realized that it said “lambs become lions” (and not the other way around) when I turned to Google this morning.

Tt isn’t scripture, of course, but it’s obvious how it could be mistake for scripture, much in the way that “God helps those who help themselves” is assumed to be in the Bible (Ben Franklin who stole if from Algernon Sydney). Digging deeper, it turns out that the “lambs to lions” quote is from an obscure Hindi source, named Maitreya, a favourite of New Age-types and none other than L. Ron Hubbard of Scientology fame. And Russell Crowe is known to be at least sympathetic to Scientology, and so the whole thing feels like a set-up.

So why the lasting appeal? The American interest seems natural, except that 330 years later they should relax and just let it go. But Robin Hood is an English legend, with a rebellious edge, in a country that remains a monarchy. How does the story survive hundreds of years and remain a steady source of interest. The answer, I think begins with the Bible.

Both passages we heard this morning, Isaiah 60 and Psalm 72, concern God’s desire for Israel, that Israel reflect the light of God’s glory, and that God’s desire for Israel be reflected in the life of the king. These are political statements, likely written in exile, and promoting values that will be needed to prevent exile from happening again.

Isaiah 60 is a message to those who remain in exile. Some were reluctant to return to the Holy City, and so the author of Isaiah describes a fond hope for Jerusalem, that it regain her former glory, that it be “a light to the nations” and source of culture and wealth, and ultimately, protection.

Psalm 72 is an inauguration psalm, the message shared at the anointing of a king, the message that those in power use it wisely, and use it to further God’s values. It is a plea for justice, the work of every ruler, and a subtle pledge that the diligent pursuit of justice with result in a long reign.

So why does it sound like a Robin Hood psalm? Verse four: “May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.” This hardly sounds like the work of the King, certainly not King John and not any of the kings since. The theme we find most often, albeit filtered through Hollywood, is that kings oppress and the people defend themselves (usually with the help of some unique individual).

The Bible posits a different view. In the Bible, the king is the unique individual, the one who stands up for the people, the one who liberates, defends, and ultimately redeems the people. The king must uphold the biblical values of peace and justice, and in doing so ensure the success of the nation. The king must offer protection to the people, from internal and external threats, and most of all, from God’s judgment. The lesson of exile, the lesson that was learned through decades in Babylon, was an unfit king poses a risk to all the people, because God may act against an unfit king in the form of other nations.

On the topic of the unfit king, I would need the afternoon to chronicle all the unfit kings of Israel. Saul, Jeroboam, Rehoboam, Ahaz, Ahab: the list goes on. Worshipping idols, ignoring prophets, failing to protect the people, the Bible is a catalog of bad kings. And all of this adds to the importance of Isaiah 60, Psalm 72, and for today, Isaiah 9:

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. (vs 6)

Aside from great music, this passage points beyond the bad kings of Israel, beyond bad King John and many of his successors, to the hope vested in a baby, “born a child and yet a king,” the light of the world, the first and last and living one. It is his government we look to, his protection we seek.

And this will come. Jesus will defend the cause of the oppressed, he will set free those captive to sin and sorrow, he will redeem all who seek his holy name. But I can tell you something he won’t do, written “Rise and rise again until lambs become lions.” No, Jesus will reject the desire to become a lion in Judah, he will resist the desire to show a strong arm and power, he will do the opposite, he will become the lamb himself, the lamb of God who takes away thing sin of the world. He will turn everything on it’s head, he will rise and rise again until lions become lambs, and give away his power, and in doing so, become power itself, the power of the living God to remake us, to save us, and lead us home. Thanks be to God, Amen.

First Sunday of Christmas

2010-12-26T20:05:00.000-08:00

Matthew 2
13Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, 15and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”
16When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. 17Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: 18“A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”
19When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, 20“Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” 21Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. 22But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. 23There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.”

Suddenly, our leaders want us to be happy.

The Economist reported this week on a new trend in measuring national success: happiness. It seems that statisticians and social scientist became so consumed with GDP, unemployment and the inflation rate, they forgot to measure something as simple as ‘are the people contented?’

It turns out to be a rather complex question. There are lots of ways to measure happiness, and lots of factors that effect any attempt to take an accurate measurement of it. Some examples:

Women, on average, are happier than men.
More extroverted, and less neurotic, happier.
Married, employed, healthy, all these things tend to make you happier.
And being any age other than 46, the peak year for being miserable. Wait, what am I turning next month?
Finally, for today’s reading, having kids tends to make people unhappy.

I wonder if Mary and Joseph pondered that little gem as they packed up and fled to Egypt. Back when all they had was their little Harbourfront Condo, working all day and clubbing at night, did they ever stop to imagine that having a kid would make their life hell? Likely not.

The passage that Jean read for us this morning takes us abruptly out of the glow of Christmas starlight and into the cold reality of life on earth. It seems like a new story, but it is, in fact, a continuation of the birth narrative. Matthew’s telling focuses on Joseph’s dream life, and the extent to which God is managing the events as they unfold. It functions as the conclusion of the narrative we have recounted throughout December, and seems to answer at least some of the questions about Jesus early life.

Now, I can’t remember all the details of my theological education, but I do remember some caution in preaching class about preaching against the Bible. “Find truth,” we were told: find the divinely inspired stuff, and don’t just say things like “St. Paul was being a real jerk when he said woman have to keep quiet in church.” He was being a jerk, or someone was being a jerk in his name, but the lesson remains that preaching week to week on what’s wrong with the Bible doesn’t make for very compelling preaching.

The reason I have laid out this long preamble is the difficulty in preaching about the flight to Egypt. The rule of thumb is that whenever a passage relies heavily on quotes from the Old Testament to move the story forward, you have to take it with a grain of salt. Like an undergrad writing a last-minute paper, it feels too much like a collection of quotes, loosely tied together, in a vain attempt to get the assignment in before it’s too late.

Looking from another angle, passages such as this one seem to come with an agenda, with something to prove, and if Matthew’s goal here is to point backward and say “ah ha!” then he is trying too hard. In ten short verses we learn that Jesus must somehow come from Egypt, that (as predicted) Herod is monster, and that ultimately the family would end up in Nazareth, just as the prophet said. It functions as a bridge, giving us a little detail, and a little rationale, but mostly just explaining the journey from Bethlehem to Nazareth.

A First Nations elder, speaking about some aspect of aboriginal history said “I don’t know if it happened this way or not, but I know it’s true.” Truth, from this point of view, is something important that stands alone without the need for facts. And if you can understand the difference between factual and truthful, and allow one to exist without the other, your trip through the Bible will be much more rewarding.

Now, having established the principle that this story will be more meaningful in the realm of truth rather than the realm of the factual, we are left with the question ‘who’s truth?’ I recall receiving a Sunday School resource in the mail a few years ago, written by someone in the United Church, that described in great detail how Mary and Joseph were Palestinian refugees and had to flee persecution in Israel. Thank goodness for recycling.

One of the resources I turn to from time to time is a site called TextWeek, with snippets and links to various interpreters, the famous and the not-so-famous and how who they have approached the text of the week. Here is a bit of a sample:

From LectionaryBlogging: “Matthew's purpose is to lift up this truth about Herod, that he was a power-mad murderer, and associate him in peoples' minds with Pharoah.”
"Putting Herod Back into Christmas," Joy Carroll Wallis, "Herod represents the dark side of the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression."
CrossMarks: "A possible application might center around forced moves: the elderly whose health or financial situation forces them to move from their home place; the young whose jobs and transfers force them to move from town to town; the expanding families who need to find larger housing, or clergy receiving a new call."

I particularly like the last one: I’m calling it ‘the flight to Weston’, fleeing from peril in Scarborough, with baby Michael floating down the Humber in a basket. Maybe we’re all just a little tired on the first Sunday of Christmas, and our interpretive faculties are dim.

I hope by now you’re not thinking ‘Okay preacher, you’ve been skating around the issue for a few minutes here, making fun of everyone else, so what do you think it all means?’ I guess it could mean any of the above, except of course for the part about floating down the Humber in a basket.

If preachers have spent the last few weeks thinking about God entering the world in a new way, and God becoming vulnerable and coming to us in the form of a baby, then the story of Herod’s madness and the decision to flee simply reinforces that vulnerability. We are fragile, and therefore the incarnation of God is fragile too, and he would do better to run away than stand and fight at this particular moment in time.

So it’s about vulnerability, and danger that too many leaders pose to their own people, but it is also about giving and receiving messages, and the power of dreaming.

The one thread that seems to leap out of this passage is the role of dreams. God has communicated with Joseph in a dream on four occasions so far in Matthew, three dreams in the last ten verses alone. In chapter one, Joseph is told not to reject Mary in her surprising state, but to understand that this is the Holy Spirit’s child and he will grow to be the saviour of his people and should be given the name Jesus. Here in chapter two, he is told in dream of the mortal threat Herod poses to the infant; he is then told that the threat is passed after the death of Herod, and he is finally told to avoid the southern kingdom of Judea in favour of the north.

The first thing to note here is the way God speaks. Back in the day, back in the Old Testament, God spoke constantly. God spoke directly to the people, sometime to converse, sometimes to argue, sometimes to comfort or condemn. God spoke through prophets: telling them in advance what to say and them sending them out into the midst of a hostile people. It has been noted with some power that God stops speaking in Job 38-39 (speaking from the whirlwind) and doesn’t speak aloud again until Jesus emerges from the water of the Jordan to receive God’s blessing. That may be true, but in Matthew we learn that God is very busy speaking in dreams.

Funny thing, dreams. They appear random in pattern and meaning, they can have an absurd quality to them, or they can seem to be simply reliving what has already happened. Sometimes they seem to further what has happened, or highlight a particular moment, for good or for ill. Freud called dreams “wish-fulfillment,” the unconscious working something out on our behalf, going places our conscious mind does not wish to go. They certainly seem to reveal things we cannot face, whether an unresolved conflict, a point we never got to make, or a do-over, something we all need from time to time.

In Matthew’s telling, God may not be speaking aloud at this moment in time, but God has much to say while Joseph sleeps. And half the story, of course, is Joseph’s willingness to listen. More often than not we wake up, shake off the dream, and say to ourselves ‘whoa, that was crazy.’ Joseph learned to listen, refusing to think the worst about the young woman he was betrothed too, following advice to safety, following it back, and ending up in the right place in the face of Judean realpolitik.

For you and me, then, the question is how do you interpret and how do you heed. If we assume that dreams may contain the prompting of the Spirit, how do we know what to follow and what to set aside. Some are obviously the crazy reworking of a bad day, or maybe too much spicy food, but I am certain there are moments when our dreams reveal something God wants us to know, or at least to ponder.

Matthew locates us in the season of dreaming, where listening is encouraged and action is required. May we always remain open to the bidding of the Spirit, and may we make ourselves vulnerable to the message God brings. Amen.

Christmas Eve, 11 pm

2010-12-24T18:55:00.000-08:00

John 1
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was with God in the beginning. 3 Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. 4 In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome[a] it.
14 The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

Things in Latin just sound better. We chickened out at 7 pm, choosing not to sing “Adeste Fideles” and sing the English words to “O come all ye faithful” instead. I scanned the crowd for any classicist rebels, but there were none to be found. There just aren’t enough Latin speakers in Weston anymore.

Latin never really goes away, of course. The Vatican still functions in Latin, proving that changing popes 265 times doesn’t mean you’re going to change the “lingua franca” that everyone is used to. And besides, if God speaks Hebrew, surely the saints in light are speaking privately in Latin.

Further proof that Latin is popular: the humble tattoo. Go home and google the phrase “incorrect Latin tattoos” and you will find countless websites dedicated to the kind of mistakes that happen when people turn to the internet for translation services rather than their local classics department.

“In principio erat Verbum,” Jim read a few minutes ago, “In the beginning was the Word.” John 1 is the other Christmas reading, call it the late night reading, when we put away the angels and shepherds and get to the heart of the matter. And getting to the heart of the matter is John’s forte.

John is less nativity, more signs. He is less travelogue, more tableau. He is less description and more conversation. He is all theology all the time, and he never tries to be anything else. The longest conversations in the New Testament occur in John, with the woman at the well, and Nicodemus, and even in risen form, with his disciples, cooking a simple meal.

You might say the conversation begins tonight. How fitting then, that John says “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Jesus is God’s conversation starter, the first word in the gift we call incarnation and the last word in human need.

By verse 14 we hear the good news that “et Verbum caro factum,” translated “the Word became flesh” and dwelt among us. Caro is flesh, or meat, the same word that gives us “carne” and “carnivore.” Makes it all seem a bit more real, doesn’t it? And “factum” is translated “became” as in “became flesh” but it also means “achieved” or “accomplished,” such as ‘the Word achieved flesh and dwelt among us.’

What if we imagine human form as an accomplishment, something God wanted to achieve tonight? What if it was less choosing human form and more achieving it: regarding incarnation as an accomplishment, and our way, the way of flesh as the prize. Hear the Latin in the word “incarnation,” literally enfleshment?

God begins in conversation, achieves enfleshment, and takes pains to dwell in our midst. We receive the gift of incarnation, God-with-us, but we ourselves are the prize. It is humanity God wants, keeping the conversation going, with the next word always being “love.” Amen and amen.

Christmas Eve

2010-12-24T17:53:00.000-08:00

Luke 2.8-20
8 And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. 9 An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. 10 But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. 11 Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. 12 This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”
13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying,
14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests.”

If you’re looking for the real grinch who stole Christmas, look no further than Oliver Cromwell. In the middle of the seventeenth century, during Parliaments dominated by Cromwell and his Puritan friends, Christmas was banned.

The logic was somewhat sound. Christmas, they argued, was becoming less religious and more secular in nature. Too Roman Catholic, they argued, with the “mas” of Christmas being the first clue. And too unruly, they argued, with Christmas Day just the beginning of twelve days of wanton celebration unrelated to the Lord’s birth.

And so they banned Christmas. Caught in worship on December 25th and you faced a stiff penalty. Close your shop on December 25th and the Lord Mayor would assess another penalty. Even the army got into the act, raiding homes and confiscating cooked meats and other obvious signs of celebration. And Parliament set the ultimate example, meeting on December 25th to reinforce their belief that this was simply one more day on the calendar.

Eventually, the madness ended. With the so-called Protectorate swept away by the return of Charles II, all legislation passed under Cromwell was considered null and void. People were free once more to celebrate openly and the public celebration of Christmas returned to England.

It’s a lot of fuss for something that began so simply. Setting aside for a moment all the noisy shepherds, the angel choirs, and all that loud proclaiming, the birth of Jesus was far from controversial. Then, as now, babies were born everyday in the empire belonging to Rome. Poor and humble, rich and connected, people were having babies. Maybe an important baby might have earned a notice in the Roman Times (New Times Roman?) or maybe noted in some written chronicle, but probably not.

Back then, you see, it was all about the grown-ups. Childhood hadn’t been invented yet, and infant mortality being what it was, society seemed to take a wait-and-see approach. You become an adult when you were old enough to lift a shovel or a sword, and off you went to do the work that empire demanded.

Even among the high-born, the wait-and-see approach dominated. Emperors had children, and children grew up to rule, but as often as not the children of emperors never found their way to the throne. It was all about who you knew, how you were regarded, and how creative you could be in creating your own reality. A quick example would be Drusus, son of Tiberius, set to become emperor but poisoned by his wife and her lover instead. But their bid for power failed, and eventually cousin Caligula took the throne instead.

Back in Bethlehem, things were dull by comparison. This child was a threat to no one, at least not yet, and would be allowed to thrive and grow up into adulthood, and only then become the threat he was born to be. Someday, the one “born a child and yet a king” would be given the title Son of God, the very same title that Augustus demanded and was given, and so you see the beginning of a problem. A Roman “son of god” felt strongly about being an only child, and was not inclined to share. But that would be jumping ahead to the spring.

Another thing common between Bethlehem and her contemporaries in Rome was a love for the theatrical: “Do not be afraid,” the angel said, “Today I bring you good news of great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.” A heavenly host gathered and sang, shepherds gathered and wondered, and a holy family basked in heavenly light. This is divine theatre, with an ensemble cast that will only grow and diversify as the story unfolds. Call this Act One, Scene One, with the stage already set for Sunday when we see Scene Two.

This past week I heard an interview with Bruce Dow, one of the stars of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Bruce spoke in general terms about acting, and how he approaches each role. He said two things: the first task of an actor is to uncover the truth at the centre of the play. What does it mean? What message is the play ultimately trying to communicate to the audience?

The second is this: The actor asks ‘what does my character need?’ What need will be met through the unfolding of this story? And how will this happen?

He could have been speaking from Bethlehem, rather than some studio on Front Street.

If the events unfolding in Bethlehem were theatre, than the answer to the first question is incarnation. The truth at the centre of the play is God’s desire to be human. We were born in the image of God, but that’s not a real connection, real like birth and all the messiness that comes with being human. God wanted more, and the truth at the centre of the play is God’s desire to feel pleasure and pain, to feel connection and loss, to feel the sun on a human face and understand what life on earth is really like. Incarnation is truth, and the truth is God’s desire to know us completely.

And what does his character need? What does God need, having gone to all the trouble of entering human experience? To be loved. We sing “come let us adore him” and so this is our chance. God needs love as we need love, because without love this baby will fail to thrive and the entire project of incarnation will fail. Remember the first question of the Westminster Shorter Catechism? (That question was rhetorical)

Q. What is the chief end of man?
A. Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.

And all the glorifying and all the enjoying begins tonight. It is what we were made to do, it is our chief aim, to love this child-king and enjoy him every day. May it always be so. Amen.

Advent II

2010-12-05T11:28:00.000-08:00

Matthew 3
In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, 2‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’* 3This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,
‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.” ’
4Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. 5Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 6and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.
7 But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruit worthy of repentance. 9Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.
11 ‘I baptize you with* water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with* the Holy Spirit and fire. 12His winnowing-fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing-floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’

Last week, my son’s girlfriend described my brother and me as two of the coolest old people she knows.

Do I laugh or cry? Do I feel joy or sorrow? How do I rationalize this bittersweet turn of events? Surely a 21 year-old can be trusted to determine who is cool (and who is not). But can she be trusted to determine who is old? No, she can’t. So I’ll take the descriptor, and wear it for a while, but my secret wish is to be edgy. Who doesn’t want to appear at least a little edgy?

Sadly, there is generally nothing edgy about being a minister. Try as I might, I just can’t seem to develop a sense of edge. I tried a leather jacket for a while, and just ended up looking like a middle-aged guy in a leather jacket. No one has ever said “watch out for that guy, he’s my minister,” at least not to my knowledge. And so, with my alarming lack of edge, I give you someone truly edgy, the Rev. Leslie Spracklin.

Leslie Spracklin had edge. We learned about Rev. Spracklin on a recent trip to Windsor, Ontario, as we were treated to a sample of the Rum Runner’s Tour of various Prohibition-era sites in and around the city. Carmen’s Aunt Marilyn has a starring role in the tour, with a dramatic turn as a member of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, the storyteller who relates the tale of the infamous “Fighting Parson.”

Beginning in 1916, Ontario experienced 11 longs years as a “dry” province, where the sale and consumption of alcohol was illegal. Luckily for Windsor, and specifically the neighbourhood called Walkerville, the manufacture and export of alcohol was still perfectly legal. You just couldn’t sell it locally, or across the river in Detroit. Cuba was still buying Canadian rye, and became the destination of choice—and so a strange fiction developed where boats would cast off from Windsor in the morning and somehow make it back from Cuba by the afternoon.

This, of course, made temperance ministers like Spracklin fighting mad. He applied to the province to become a “special temperance enforcement officer” with the right to hire a posse and the right to carry a gun. Week by week, he would rail from the pulpit of his Methodist church, denounce the local rumrunners who became instant millionaires from the illegal trade, and flash his gun to accentuate the point. Leslie Spracklin had edge.

For months, the temperance battle raged: Spracklin would raid and destroy a tavern, rumrunners sprayed the manse with bullets, and in a brief confrontation with the most notorious rumrunner in town, Rev. Spracklin shot him dead. The reverend claimed self-defence, was acquitted twice at trial, and somehow lost the confidence of his congregation. He moved on to Michigan and found another congregation, one more responsive to his unique and edgy style.

From another bully pulpit, someone else with edge said these words:

‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruit worthy of repentance. 9Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

Jesus and John make an interesting pair. One says “consider the lilies” and the other calls his guests at the riverside a “brood of vipers.” One says we need to have the faith of a child, and the other is hacking down rotten spiritual trees and casting them into the fire. And yet, John the Baptism gains the remarkable honour of baptizing Jesus, the starting point of any recounting of Jesus’ earthly ministry.

This baptism by John, in the Jordan, has caused no small amount of scandal for the church. In part, I’m leaping ahead a month, but it remains key to understanding John to ponder his role in the Gospel narrative. For centuries, theologians have tried to imagine why the Son of God would choose to submit to baptism by John. Why participate in an upside-down ritual whereby the source and inspiration of every baptism would slip below the water himself? It simply makes no sense that the incarnation of God, the author of every sacrament, would enter a ritual that would seem to belong to him alone.

I would argue that John is Jesus’ edge. Jesus forgives sin, he tells parables, and he would much rather eat and drink with his friends. Sure, he has the occasional moment of edge, at least among those who would turn the temple into a Money Mart, but by-in-large Jesus just doesn’t have the edgy exterior of John the Baptist. In this sense they need each other, John to do the anger work, and Jesus to forgive everyone who deserves the anger.

Maybe this is best illustrated late in Matthew (21) when Jesus shares the Parable to the Two Sons:

28 ‘What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, “Son, go and work in the vineyard today.” 29He answered, “I will not”; but later he changed his mind and went. 30The father* went to the second and said the same; and he answered, “I go, sir”; but he did not go. 31Which of the two did the will of his father?’ They said, ‘The first.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. 32For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax-collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.

There are two things to notice in this passage: the first is that even when Jesus is confronting his arch-nemesis (self-righteous religious people) he can’t bring himself to fully condemn them. Tax-collectors and prostitutes are going to the Kingdom of God ahead of the self-righteous, and not in their place. He wants to have edge, and maybe cast someone into the fire, but he just can’t seem to bring himself to do it.

Second is the neat summary of John: “For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him…” This, then, is the job description of “the voice crying in the wilderness.” John is the cry for purity, for holiness, for a baptism of repentance. Maybe it was John that Jesus had in his mind’s eye when he said “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.”

***

Down on Gerrard Street, very near to Yonge, stands a very impressive and very large brick building that is now the home of Covenant House, the largest youth shelter in Canada. If you look up, near the very top of the building, you will see the name of the original owner of this edifice, the long departed Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. The building served as their Canadian headquarters, and it was at least as large as United Church House, and certainly surpassed the size and clout of every other social service agency in the country. By 1921 the WCTU peaked at 350,000 members worldwide, and has since all but disappeared.

If I asked the pulpit, it might reveal to me the last time a temperance sermon was preached here. I try to avoid hypocrisy, so I won’t be preaching one anytime soon, but I know for a fact that every Methodist and later every United Church pulpit pronounced the evils of alcohol. Call it our early righteousness period, when the church could be counted on the rage against the things considered a corrupting force in society, whether it be cards, or rum, or divorce, or shopping on the Lord’s Day.

One by one these evils fell away, sometimes beginning in society and spreading to the church and sometimes the other way around. However it happened, and whatever the issue, the church could be counted on to be the home of righteousness and usually self-righteousness too.

Again, we are left with the question ‘why share readings that call for righteousness when the church seems to have headed in another direction?’ Again, we get two answers. The first is we matured, and we determined that righteousness had less to do with penny-ante poker and more to do with injustice. The second is that we lost our stomach for old-style righteousness and decided that we are forgiveness people instead. We chose Jesus over John, without ever asking the question if there was really a choice to make.

As I wind up here, I don’t want you to get the impression I’m advocating a return to the old days of excessive righteousness. Once and a while some conservative Christian will ask me “Are you United Church people against anything?” No edge there. “We are opposed to gambling and nuclear war,” I will tell them, “and I can proudly say I’ve never started a nuclear war.”

I guess I’m advocating a return to tension, an Advent return to the days when we asked ourselves if our choices are good and right for ourselves, for our neighbourhood, and for society at large. I’m advocating a tension whereby we never say something is “inevitable” or “the way of the world,” much in the way that the proponents of Sunday shopping in PEI have been saying just last week. I’m advocating the occasion look back, to a place where maybe we weren’t so wrong after all, without citing any examples, and just leaving it to your imagination.

Advent is about holy tension, the John-Jesus divide between judgement and forgiveness, and the place of both in our life together. It is about preparedness, and walking the way, and looking forward to the birth of new life, and what that means for each of us. Thanks be to God, Amen.

2010-11-14T11:16:00.000-08:00

Luke 21
When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, he said, 6“As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” 7They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” 8And he said, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and, ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them. 9“When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” 10Then he said to them, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; 11there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. 12“But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. 13This will give you an opportunity to testify. 14So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; 15for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. 16You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. 17You will be hated by all because of my name. 18But not a hair of your head will perish. 19By your endurance you will gain your souls.

I’ve lived in Toronto for half my life and I’ve only seen the Leafs once. To be fair, I’m not a huge sports fan, expect yacht racing, a sport that the Toronto Sun refuses to cover. I’m a fair weather fan, I suppose, or a play-off fan, which according to most, is the worst kind of fan there is.

When I first arrived in the big city, my local funeral home would call on occasion and offer me free tickets to a ball game. Now, nothing beats free, and the seats were usually pretty good, and so off I went. “Toronto treats her clergy well,” I would think, “free tickets, nice seats,” and never give it a second thought. Times have changed.

I’m told that clergy used to get free rail passes, and that the result was presbytery and conference boundaries organized purely on rail lines and ease of travel. Why else would Owen Sound be in Toronto Conference? The perk is gone but the boundaries remain. Still, times have changed.

When I did my first funeral, in beautiful Perth, Ontario, we drove through the town and made our way to a back road cemetery, and every car on the highway pulled over as a sign of respect. Times have changed.

Recently, I learned of a project proposal, a cooperative effort between the Toronto United Church Council and one of our local community colleges. The purpose of the project will be to track the kinds of things churches do to generate social capital: the activities, large and small, that make the community a better place. And then put a dollar value on it.

All this came about when a certain GTA municipality (that shall remain nameless) decided that there were too many new religious communities in their city. It seems that new churches and mosques discovered that vacant industrial properties could be easily converted into houses of worship, with ample parking an limited interference on a Sunday morning. And, of course, no property tax, as churches/mosques/temples are exempt.

In this nameless municipality there were some city officials that viewed religion like the majority of Canadians, with a sort of benign indifference. Except that they had calculators, and a mandate to increase city revenue, not see it disappear with the arrival of each new church/mosque/temple and the rest. So they started making noise about taxing churches, or at least taxing the parts unrelated to public worship.

Eventually meetings were held, suggestions were discussed, and a plan developed that did not involve taxing all or part of churches. The winning strategy was to convince officials that religious institutions create more value to the community that they take up in lost tax revenue. It wasn’t a difficult case to make, but the audience for the case is the unknown variable, and in this case people were initially indifferent but eventually open.

It seems a similar study (to the one proposed) was conducted in the UK, and the study discovered that on average, each place of worship created $140,000 in social value each year. That is the cost of services provided that the city would have to pay for if the individual congregation no longer existed. Imagining then that the study found the same result in the GTA, and lumping United, Anglican, Lutheran, Baptist, Catholic and other “mainline” churches, say 500 congregations in total, and multiply that by $140,000, you get $70,000,000 worth of stuff churches provide every year—for free—except that we don’t pay property tax.

Essentially then, we’re planning ahead, getting local data together so that when the “gravy train” stops at the churches doorstep, we can tell the city that we do more good than harm, and that taxing us would be self-defeating and cost votes. Not a lot of votes, mind you, because of the indifference I mentioned a moment ago.

Jesus looked at the temple and said not one stone would be lift standing on another in the time to come.
Many will try to lead you astray.
There will be wars and rumours of war. Lots of bad stuff will happen.
Before this, you will be persecuted and handed over to people in power, you will be called to defend yourself, and I will give you words to do it.
You will be betrayed, some will be put to death, but somehow not one hair on your head will perish.

November is a grumpy time in churchland. Maybe the people who pick the readings are affected by the time change somehow. Whatever the cause, the final readings in “ordinary time” and the readings at the beginning of Advent are laden with “end of the world as we know it” stories and generally grim passages of scripture. The task of the preacher is to navigate these, find some contemporary meaning, and get you safely home in time for lunch.

The helpful thing, for those who faithfully explore these difficult passages, is the ample number of situations in our world that parallel the disastrous, sky-melting, world-changing events that Jesus describes. Human history is remarkably consistent, with enough natural and man-made calamity at any moment for us to say “look here” and “just like” and “the time is nign.”

On such event, an attack last week on a Christian church in Baghdad, and the death of over fifty worshippers, gives you a sense that the persecution Jesus described continues. The Vatican must appoint secret Cardinals to represent Catholics in China, a constant source of tension between the two. In countries with a significant Christian minority, such as the Sudan, persecution remains a fact of daily life.

Those of you who took my “History of the Christian Church” series will recall that in the early days of the church, only martyrs were considered saints. Martyrdom mean dying for your faith, and the whole saint-making process was informal and largely simple to administer. Saints were commemorated in the local community they served, reputations spread, examples were lifted up for others to follow, and more saints and martyrs came.

Now two things complicated the largely simple idea of sainthood. If a priest was killed for a reason other than faith (in one case, it was in a barroom brawl), then he could hardly be considered a martyr or a saint. That was the first problem. The second was the eventual end of persecution, and the end of the common experience of martyrdom. Saintmaking largely dried up, and at the some time there were lots of examples of “heroic virtue” among those who died peacefully. So a new process was born, one that hasn’t evolved much from them down to Saint Brother Andre today.

So there was martyrdom in mass numbers, then there was not.
There was a movement to take the faith to non-Christian peoples, beginning in Europe, and a few martyrs.
There was an expansion of the missionary enterprize into Asia, Africa and the Americas, a few more martyrs, but only a few.
Now there is tension in places where the church thrives, such as the Sudan, or where a church is nearly overwhelmed, such a Baghdad (where the church has existed for nearly 2,000 years).

And we fight indifference. With 85% of the population not in church this morning, we face a different type of struggle. We retrench, we close churches, we try to do with less, we apologize for the scary Christians and the embarrassing Christians and we quietly go about our business. We watch for the “signs of the times,” like the nameless municipality that wondered out loud what so many are thinking, or the fact that MPAC started sending out property valuations to churches a while ago, with a note that said ‘we realize you are tax exempt, but if we taxed you, this is what we would base it on.’

It’s hardly the stuff of a good martyrology. They won’t erect a shrine in Penetanguishene to the church tax martyrs, and it seems small to even make a comparison to the people who truly suffer for their faith. But some comparison must be made, so here goes.

If someone says to me ‘why do you help Weston’s vulnerable population? Why Central, why not leave it to others?’ First, I would argue, that if we didn’t do it, they may not be others willing to step up. Then I might say, “because it’s the right thing to do,” or “but for the grace of God go I,” and therefore we help out. I’m less likely to say “for the Bible tells me so” or “God commands it” or Jesus said love your neighbour” and “feed my sheep” and “if you do this for the least of my brothers and sisters (Jesus said) you do it also for me.”

Just last month Robert Fulford, famous man of letters and Officer of the Order of Canada wrote that no one quotes the Bible anymore and if they did they would be labeled an eccentric. He spoke at my first convocation, I have respected him for a quarter of a century, but in a sentence I was labeled and then dismissed. Or dismissed then labeled. Whatever, it wasn’t a fun time. It’s one thing to leave the mainstream, but quite another to be lumped in with people who dress like Don Cherry. I’m hardly a martyr, but the sting is real.

Still stinging, dismissed and labeled, maybe what I lack is trust. Jesus said: “This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.” This not crisis, it is opportunity. When you become irrelevant or outside the mainstream, you get to reinvent yourself, or define a new narrative, or surprize people with the new you. We don’t need to sell ourselves, or justify ourselves, we just need to be our true selves, caring for the vulnerable and talking about forgiveness and grace and all those other counter-cultural ideas. And we don’t need to create a script, or plan a careful justification, because Jesus promised to give us all the words we need.

Proper 27

2010-11-07T11:15:00.000-08:00

Luke 20
Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to him 28and asked him a question, ‘Teacher, Moses wrote for us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no children, the man shall marry the widow and raise up children for his brother. 29Now there were seven brothers; the first married, and died childless; 30then the second 31and the third married her, and so in the same way all seven died childless. 32Finally the woman also died. 33In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her.’
34 Jesus said to them, ‘Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage; 35but those who are considered worthy of a place in that age and in the resurrection from the dead neither marry nor are given in marriage. 36Indeed they cannot die any more, because they are like angels and are children of God, being children of the resurrection. 37And the fact that the dead are raised Moses himself showed, in the story about the bush, where he speaks of the Lord as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. 38Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.’

In heaven, you can eat all the Philadelphia cream cheese you desire, surrounded by muscular but seemingly dim-witted men.

In heaven, St. Joseph and the angels endlessly debate wing acquisition, and seem to favour credit unions over banks.

In heaven, a mistake like premature soul retrieval will never get in the way of Warren Beatty winning the Superbowl.

In heaven, there is a good bet you will find yourself in a line behind a minister, a priest and a rabbi.

But the Sadducees, they don’t believe in heaven. That’s why they’re “sad, you see.” (groan)

There is no trope like a heavenly trope, no familiar set-up like a heavenly set-up, with halos, wings, pearly gates and the ever-present St. Peter. Insert any of these elements, and like a well-worn pair of slippers we put on the heavenly trope and know precisely where we stand.

And this is far from new, for as long as creature has stepped out of cave to look up at the heavens, there has been a heavenly vision. So, what is heaven like? I used to think that heaven was a vast storehouse of knowledge where all would be revealed and every question answered. Then came Wikipedia. So much for heavenly longing. I could switch to Philly, or chocolate cake, but I’ll settle for resting in the bosom of Abraham, unless he should decide I’m too wealthy for such a reward. Stay tuned.

Heaven is the best known of the least known things on earth. It is hotly debated, and remains the best test to discern what style of faith you possess. Just last week, my neighbour brought me a chicken pot pie (We live in a rowhouse, we seem to share food for some reason) and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, ‘do you believe in heaven and hell.’” After giving her an hour of my best guess, we agreed that the chicken pot pie was heavenly and left it at that.

So heaven is a familiar trope, an endless debate, and a staple of dinner conversation everywhere. It has always been so. This week we listen in on just such a debate, as Jesus is tested once more. He takes on a familiar debating team and wins, and just like another time of testing, he uses scripture to defeat scripture like any good rabbi would.

The Sadducees, beyond the bad pun, were one of two main rival groups among the priestly class. The other was the Pharisees, and together they provide much of the context needed for Jesus to present his own view of religious life. He clashed with both, but there were moments when he was simply caught between them. And like any good scholarly debate, both the Pharisees and the Sadducess try to enlist Jesus to their cause, or at least determine to what extend he was a fellow traveller.

Once again, Luke defines the debate from the beginning: “Some Sadducees, those who say there is no resurrection, came to Jesus and asked him a question.” The question, it would seem, was one of those wildly hypothetical questions that come up in debate, best summarized as “seven brothers for one bride.” A man dies. Following the Levirate marriage law from Deuteronomy 25:5, he is required to marry his late brothers widow, to ensure that his name and line continue. He dies. Marriage three, more death, as so on, and so on, down to the unfortunate brother number seven. So when do you call the RCMP here? Just a thought.

The obvious question (for a Sadducee) is how does this mess get untangled in the life to come, if you believe in such a thing? They have used the classic bafflement argument here, suggesting that heaven is false simply because human life is too messy to allow for an orderly place like heaven to exist. You have to admit they make a pretty good case. But before we explore Jesus’ answer and the equally obvious truth that one should never argue with the Son of God, I want to take a detour through the number seven.

The Sabbath is the 7th day of the week.
The Menorah in the Temple had 7 branches.
There are 7 holidays in the Jewish year: Rosh Hashana, Yom
Kippur, Sukkot, Chanukah, Purim, Passover, and Shavuot.
There are 7 Noachide Laws pertaining to all humanity.
The first verse in the Torah contains 7 words (and 28
letters).
Moses was the 7th generation after Abraham.
Each plague in Egypt lasted 7 days.
In Pharaoh's dreams there were 7 cows and 7 stalks of
grain. (Genesis 41)
Joshua led the Jewish People around the walls of Jericho 7
times before the walls fell. (Joshua 6:15)
Jacob worked for Laban for 7 years (twice) in order to
marry his daughters. (Genesis 29:27)

Rabbi Salomon has 40 more, so I could go on.* Another rabbi, Rabbi Simmons, has a few thoughts about seven and why it figures so prominently in the tradition, and settles on Genesis 1. He argues that every aspect of time that humans measure is rooted in the natural world, mostly in the stars and the moon. Days, months and years pass, written in the sky above, but the week has no basis in the natural world: it was invented by God. Therefore, he argues, the week is a sacred measure, seven days of creation—and always ends in rest. Seven, then, is the number of completion, that number that God commends to us as both commandment and gift.

So the Sadducees seem to choose seven because it means completion, the end their scenario and the fullness of a really good argument. But there seems to be more, something else missing here, and I think we can blame the British and Foreign Bible Society. You see, way back in 1826, they decided to omit the Apocrypha from the newest version of the Bible, and in doing so created another gulf between Catholic and Protestant that continues to this day.

In a tale almost worthy of Dan Brown, the British and Foreign Bible Society decided that books such as Tobit, Judith, and 1st and 2nd Maccabees had no place in the newest version of the King James Bible. Until 1826 it was included, in a separate section call the Apocrypha, in a kind of biblical “no man’s land” between canonical and non-canonical. Then it was gone.

Missing, then is the story of seven martyred brothers, and “mother courage” who encourages the seven to stay true to their faith rather than turn away. I will let you read it for yourself. There is a good chance the story is the origin of the phrase “from the frying pan into the fire” and that is all I will say. It is rated M for Mature.

I tell you all this because in the Roman Catholic readings for today, the story of the seven martyred brothers from 2 Maccabees 7 is included alongside the Luke passage, and they are allowed to have a conversation, something that is missing from the mainline Protestant lectionary we use. So what is the substance of this conversation?

It is reliably true that the questions we ask may reveal more about the questioner than whatever answers are being sought. In other words, listen to the substance of the question to get a glimpse of what’s happening in the mind of the person asking the question. And for the Sadducees, this meant tension.

It seems to me that they do not ask the question of seven brothers out of idol curiosity or to settle some abstract debate, but rather to answer the nagging question of what happens to those who die a martyr’s death, those who die as a result of their convictions. Pharisee, Sadducee, Zealot, disciple of Jesus: everyone engaged in the religious debates of the day was taking a big risk, the risk the occupying power might construe belief as a threat to Rome. And a threat to Rome, however vague or firmly grounded was treason, punishable by death. So we look in on a debate and see a bit of an abstraction, but both Jesus and the Sadducees knew that Mother Courage and her seven sons were real, as real as sword, and fire and the cross itself.

And isn’t it just as real a question in Kandahar today, and on a beach in Normandy, and in a trench near the Somme? One by one the seven Maccabean brothers were asked to renounce firmly held conviction, to set aside belief and tradition, to betray the very thing they were fighting for, and they would not. And it falls to the fourth brother to speak most eloquently for them all:

When he was near death, he said,
"It is my choice to die at the hands of men
with the hope God gives of being raised up by God alone.”

Jesus said that the age to come will be different than the age we know, and “those who are considered worthy of a place in that age…cannot die any more, because they are like angels and are children of God.” They (and we) are children of the resurrection, and those who find sleep peacefully and those who suffer for belief will all find a place in the age to come.

Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the seven martyrs, and the honoured dead we lift up today, all walk together with the God of the living. And I am certain that even the Sadducees themselves, so convinced of heaven’s absence, will be there among the faithful, because the mercy of God is always infinite and wonderfully ironic. This is Good News for today, thanks be to God, Amen.

http://judaism.about.com/library/3_askrabbi_o/bl_simmons_seven.htm

All Saints'

2010-10-31T14:04:00.000-07:00

Luke 19
1Jesus entered Jericho and was passing through. 2A man was there by the name of Zacchaeus; he was a chief tax collector and was wealthy. 3He wanted to see who Jesus was, but being a short man he could not, because of the crowd. 4So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore-fig tree to see him, since Jesus was coming that way.
5When Jesus reached the spot, he looked up and said to him, "Zacchaeus, come down immediately. I must stay at your house today." 6So he came down at once and welcomed him gladly.
7All the people saw this and began to mutter, "He has gone to be the guest of a 'sinner.' "
8But Zacchaeus stood up and said to the Lord, "Look, Lord! Here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount."
9Jesus said to him, "Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. 10For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost."

A certain ruler asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life? I have kept the commandments since I was a boy.”
Jesus said to him, "You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."
When he heard this, he became very sad, because he was a man of great wealth. Jesus looked at him and said, "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God."
Those who heard this asked, "Who then can be saved?"

Zacchaeus.

The rich young ruler, not so much. But Zacchaeus can. He can be saved by being the antithesis of the rich young ruler, the answer to the very astute question “who then, can be saved.”

You see, Zacchaeus was rich. He may have been richer than the rich young ruler, because the rich young ruler likely had lands and servants and portion set aside for him alone, but Zacchaeus, he had Amway. You remember Amway, the greatest pyramid since the pharaohs made their mark. It worked like this: the harder you worked, the less you needed to. Sign up and sell some soap. Sign up soap sellers, and collect a portion of their sales. Insist that they sign up sellers and collect a portion of the sellers sellers, and so on, and so on. With a little luck, and lots of arm twisting, you could become the head of your own soap empire.

Now imagine Amway is Rome and Zacchaeus is the head of the Jericho leg. Jericho, some claim is the oldest city in the world, the centre of all those trade routes, the place where you tried out your sales pitch before you made it to some far off market. So Zacchaeus was a wealthy man in a wealthy city, made wealthier by collecting taxes from tax collectors in his own private pyramid scheme.

And they didn’t just collect taxes either. They collected whatever they could squeeze from the people, remitting the required amount to Rome. The rest, as our Mayor-elect might say, was gravy. Tax collectors were the Sopranos of the ancient near-east, using whatever threats and intimidation required to get what Rome needed and whatever else was needed for them to live well. In Luke 3, a group of tax collectors are moved by the preaching of John the Baptist and they ask “what should we do to be saved?” His reply: “Don’t collect anymore than you are required to.” In other words, starve, because what was required was required by Rome and what wasn’t required was required to eat.

Oddly, the words “tax collector” appear only once in the Old Testament, very late, in the Book of Daniel. It requires a tax collector, the author says, to “maintain the royal splendor.” But in Matthew, Mark and Luke, “tax collectors” are mentioned twenty-five times, beginning with the call of St. Matthew, a tax collector. As so it begins:

Jesus was having dinner at Matthew's house, many tax collectors and "sinners" came and ate with him.
When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, "Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and 'sinners'?"
The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, 'Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and "sinners."

Jesus had a thing for outcasts, even the outcasts people loved to hate. And Zacchaeus was chief among them. But there was a tree, and there was a path nearby, and there was Jesus passing through. To the delight of Sunday School teachers everywhere, Jesus stopped at the base of that tree and said “Zacchaeus, come down at once. I’m coming to your house for tea.”

If the question is “who then can be saved” and the answer is Zacchaeus, the reason is this: "Look, Lord!” he said, “here and now I give half of my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount." In other words, he became a slave. After half, and after four times all the cheating and all the excess, Zacchaeus has less than nothing and could do little more than sell himself to another to cover the debt he created. If there was a needle nearby, Zacchaeus would be riding a camel straight through it.

But he was already a small man. Maybe not needle small, but small enough that it merited mention the Luke’s account. So why a physical description of the man in a book that seems determined to offer no descriptions. What did Jesus look like? Doesn’t say. I guess it wasn’t important to the story. Or maybe he needs to look exactly like he looks in your mind’s eye, because this will help us love him more. But Zacchaeus was a wee little man, and between being short, and climbing trees, and needing coaxing out of said tree, we hear the lighter side of Luke, the lighter side of collecting taxes.

Notice that there has never been a situation comedy set in a tax office? It just wouldn’t be that funny. It would cause the audience tense up, and however clever the jokes and the repartee, the setting would prove unfunny. A surgical unit in the middle of the Korean War, now that’s funny. But never a tax office. But Jesus might, or at least Luke might, because the little man and the big tree has been making us chuckle for some time.

Are we being softened up? Did St. Matthew successfully lobby for a sympathetic portrayal of tax collectors in exchange for joining the group? No, Jesus is busy, once again, coaxing us from our own tree.

For Zacchaeus the tree was obvious. Remember last week: “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, 'God, have mercy on me, a sinner.'” This is Zacchaeus, or at least some one speaking the words that Zacchaeus might have said if he wasn’t busy trying to keep from falling out of that tree. Zacchaeus knew who he was, and knew what he did, and knew that Jesus was his only hope. Do we know this?

Martin Luther, father of the Protestant Reformation, was concerned with defining the true faith, the faith that had faded from the world of the early 1500’s, but he also worried that everything he believed be shared with the masses, the people who did the living and dying in churches and communities everywhere. To this end, he created The Small Catechism, a booklet that described what “the head of the family should teach in a simple way to those in the household.” It takes the form of a dialogue. Here is a section that might resonate for our wee friend, if he was time traveling and could read some German:

1. What is Confession?
There are two parts to confession. One is that we confess our sins. The other is that we receive absolution, or forgiveness.

2. What sins should we confess?
Before one another we should confess only those sins which we know and feel in our hearts.

3. Which sins are these?
Examine your place in life according to the Ten Commandments. Have you been faithful as a father, mother, son, daughter, employer or employee? Have you been disobedient, unfaithful, or lazy? Have you injured anyone by what you have said or done? Have you stolen anything, neglected your duty, been careless, or damaged anything?

4. What will a fellow Christian say to someone who has confessed his or her sins?
He will say, “According to the command of our Lord Jesus Christ I forgive you your sins.”

It is as if Luke took the temple tax collector, forgiven but not very compelling, and gave him the name Zacchaeus. It is as if he took the least sympathetic person in town and granted him more than forgiveness, and give him friendship with Jesus. Took us from the thing we struggle to understand (tax collectors can be saved too) and said they belong at the heavenly banquet, sitting near the front, at Jesus side, because his love for them was unconditional.

Imagine a world where the person you respect the most enjoys the person you like the least. I’m not sure how happy I would be in that world. I want the friend of my friend to be my friend too. Friendship is a form of loyalty, and how can I be loyal to a friend who will be friend with just anyone, or someone I can’t help but hate? This religion thing is hard.

And so we confess. We confess that the road is long and the demands are great, and our Lord made curious choices that wouldn’t be my choices and force me to confess some more. We confess that every time Jesus seems to go too far on this friend thing we push back only to have him go one step further and befriend someone else.

In the end, however, even Jesus knew where to stop. “Father,” he said from the cross, “forgive them, for they know not what they do.” What goes unrecorded, what stayed even the hand of the evangelist and scribe, is what Jesus said next: “And I still call them friends.” Amen.

Proper 24

2010-10-17T03:25:00.000-07:00

Luke 18
Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart. 2He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ 4For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’” 6And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. 7And will not God grant justice to his chosen ones who cry to him day and night? Will he delay long in helping them? 8I tell you, he will quickly grant justice to them. And yet, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?”

There’s a familiar tune we all know, and I’m told it’s three simple notes: G, E, C (downward) You might know it as the TTC chime, alerting you that the doors are closing.
In London, a pleasant voice says "Mind the gap!"
In Paris there is an annoying buzzer, and the uncomfortable experience of needing to know how to work an awkward handle to get off the train. If the station was built on a curve (odd) and announcement comes "Attention à la marche en descendant du train"
In New York, the driver says, "Stand clear of the closing doors, please.”

Where I come from, please is the magic word, and also means whatever is being asked must be important. "Stand clear of the closing doors, please.” Manhattan is also the only place I know where people don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. The door is closing, and an arm appears. Now you have a stand-off. The train can’t move, because there’s a guy with his arm stuck in the door of the train. But the driver doesn’t want to reward such unruly behaviour, so he gives the door button a nudge, enough to say “remove” your arm. It has the opposite effect. Now the guy has his shoulder in too. These things can continue for some time, because after all, this is New York.

My favourite New York experience was the woman running down the platform, both arms weighed down with very large and very bulky packages, doors closing, and what does she do? She sticks her head in the closing doors. Same routine, the doors are nudging open and closed, slamming her head, until the driver relents, I expect, rewarding her for her persistence. Call it the parable of the persistent rider, or the parable of using your head, and I wouldn’t believe if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. Don’t try this at home.

Now, there were no subways in the Galilee, so Jesus told this parable instead: “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor had respect for people. 3In that city there was a widow who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Grant me justice against my opponent.’ 4For a while he refused; but later he said to himself, ‘Though I have no fear of God and no respect for anyone, 5yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will grant her justice, so that she may not wear me out by continually coming.’”

So what is this parable about? Well, I started with a story about persistence because it’s most commonly called “The Parable of the Persistent Widow.” And that’s fair enough, because she sure is persistent. Tom Long, famous professor of preaching, frames it this way:

So she annoyed this judge constantly. She shouted aloud for justice in his courtroom: “Give me justice! Give me justice! Give me justice!” She knocked on his chamber doors, left messages on his answering machine. She probably even found him teeing off at the Golf Club shouting, “Give me justice! Give me justice! Give me justice!”

She is, if nothing else, the persistent widow. But some have turned this on its head, and called it “The Parable of the Unjust Judge.” He is, after all, the character in the story that has a change of heart, the character that bends under the pressure of the persistent widow, and the one who repents of his inactivity, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons. And maybe that’s enough meaning for those of us who choose to label ourselves sinners, that eventually we hope we can repent, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons.

Okay, so now we have two rival titles, so what about Luke? He recorded the parable, no doubt one of Jesus’ favourites, because like “the parable of using your head,” it’s just fun to tell. So you’ll notice that Luke also gives the parable a title, hidden in his introduction to the story. He writes “Then Jesus told them a parable about their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” Call it “The Parable of the Need to Pray Always and Not Lose Heart.” No much of a title guy, that Luke, maybe he should stick to recording the story.

Notice how the title determines how we read the story. And how we preach the story, and how the story is made manifest in the lives of believers. I can guarantee you that in churches across the land, ministers who use the lectionary will say something akin to “if you pray hard enough…” Be persistent in prayer, they will say, and God will hear you and give you want you want.

Now we have two problems. The first problem is God already knows what you need, even before you ask it. And don’t take my word for it, listen to Jesus: (Matthew 6)

5"And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. 6But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. 7And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. 8Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask.

And right after this he gives them the Lord’s Prayer, a prayer he introduces by saying, “this, then, is how you should pray.” You might be so bold as to suggest that this is the only prayer we need, that we pray to remind ourselves of the values of heaven such as “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us” and leave it at that. Sure we can add word or two after and before, but God knows what we need before we ask, so maybe that one prayer is enough.

Second problem: We don’t get everything we ask for, even if we do follow the example of the persistent widow. How many former believers list this as the primary reason they lost their faith? Many? Most? I can’t say for sure, but I can tell you that the promise that a prayer will be answered just because you ask earnestly and often enough will sometimes result in great disappointment and even loss of faith.

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I’m sure you all know what to do if some one grants you three wishes. What do you do? (You ask for more wishes!)

Prayer is not asking for more wishes. We humans, frail creatures that we are, have an innate capacity to understand the secret of the three wishes. We hear about potential, and we want more. We know that God hears our prayers, but our mind goes to more. Persistent or not, we always tend to ask for more than can reasonably be given because it is the human way. We want more.

Now the third problem with prayer, since we’re making a list, is ‘what can we reasonably ask for?” God is infinite, God is all-powerful, God created the heavens and the earth, and logic would say we can ask for a lot. Maybe everything, or anything. Since we know that nothing is impossible for God, suddenly our mind goes to all those additional wishes.

So the believer says, “all things are possible with God,” therefore ask away. The non-believer says “unless God can answer every prayer, prayer is false and unfair. Why would God pick and choose.” And we feel stuck in the middle. I don’t think God can raise the dead (Jesus could, but Jesus is God). I don’t think God can change the direction of the tornado to spare my town if it means that some other town will suffer. But I do think God can heal, I just don’t know how, and I don’t know why. And it’s the mystery of some are healed and some are not that brings us back to problem number two, we don’t get everything we ask for. I wish we did, but we don’t.

For the preacher to now talk about the mystery of God and the need to stay faithful would seem lame. So maybe we should give the persistent widow a second look.

She’s at the door, she sends a fax, she sends a text, she has her people call his people, she sends a telegram: I need justice. Stop. He will not listen. But she carries on, maybe she sticks her head in his door, or maybe takes the ultimate step and follows him into the men’s room. Whatever she does, he has a change of heart. Now, granted it is not much of a change of heart, he only wants peace, but it is a change of heart nonetheless.

So let’s say that we can persistently pray that hearts be changed. Let’s say we pray too for the mysterious things that only sometimes seem to happen, because, after all, we live in hope and we do appreciate that God is a mystery to us. God’s ways are not our ways. But you never know.

So what if, the primary purpose of prayer is to change hearts. Like the persistent widow, we ask and ask that change comes to the hearts of those who have power; those who make decisions that impact the lives of others; those who have the power to go one way or another on an issue; those that know what is right but must constantly choose. Have I captured everyone?

Someone decided to rescue 33 miners when conventional wisdom held out little hope.
Someone decided to give Liu Xiaobo the Nobel Prize, knowing that hearts could be changed even among the most hardened.
Someone decided to release Nelson Mandela even though it meant the end of one order and the beginning of another.
Someone decided to lay down weapons in Londonderry and Belfast, even though it meant compromise with those they were taught to hate.

And wasn’t each the answer to a prayer? Abelard taught his students that even just hearing the story of Jesus willingness to go to the cross could turns hearts of stone to hearts of love. And isn’t that an answer to prayer? That Jesus, while innocent, would carry the burden of our heart-heartedness, and our neglect, and all our failures, and face punishment on our behalf? Jesus was persistent in his journey up to Jerusalem just as he was persistent in prayer, like the widow, seeking the justice of God, the justice that sins be forgiven and human hearts be transformed and people made whole. This is the Good News, thanks be to God, Amen.