The Greatest Gift

Remembrance Day

(Gospel: Revised Common Lectionary for Proper 27, Year B)

TEXT: Mark 12:38-44

Jesus sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on”’ (Mark 12:41-44)

At eleven o’clock each morning, as the largest bell in Ottawa’s Peace Tower chimes out the hour, a solemn, and usually private, ceremony takes place in the Memorial Chamber.* Within this chamber, faced with stones taken from World War One battlefields and from France and Belgium and on altars constructed of Hopton Wood stone, lie six books of Remembrance which honour Canada’s war dead. According to a timetable which ensures that each of the more than 118,000 names is shown for at least one day a year, a member of the House of Commons Protective Service Staff turns the pages of these books according to a set military protocol.

On November 11th, we assemble before cenotaphs and in chapels. We gather on the day which ended the First World War. On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918, the Armistice signed six hours previously took effect and, as New York Times correspondent Edwin L. James wrote from the front, “four years’ killing and massacre stopped, as if God had swept His omnipotent finger across the scene of world carnage and cried, ‘Enough!’ ”

The “Great War” was called the “war to end all wars.” Sadly, it did nothing of the sort. World War II and the Korean War—along with numerous other conflicts—also claimed many Canadian lives and caused untold suffering. We know that this year’s National Silver Cross Mother, Maureen Anderson, lost both her sons as a result of their overseas service in the Canadian Army.

Sgt. Ron Anderson served on several tours of duty overseas, twice in Afghanistan. On one of those missions, he jumped into action under dangerous circumstances to save the life of a child. Upon his return, however, he was never the same, and later took his own life. Sgt. Ryan Anderson had served in Afghanistan alongside his brother, as well as on several other overseas deployments, including in Bosnia, Ethiopia and Haiti. He too, experienced a severe personality change and later passed away. Both men served with the Royal Canadian Regiment and each brother was being treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) before passing.

We come here today to mark the end of war, to honour those who gave their lives, to say thank you to those veterans who are still alive, and to speak that hope that lies in each of us, “never again”.

Historians can do little more than catalogue the victories and the losses. The history books tell us of the Somme and Vimy Ridge, of the assault on Dieppe and the liberation of Holland. The Battle of Britain and the invasion of Normandy all speak of the bravery of Canadians and other Allied soldiers who risked everything to bring peace back to the world. The casualties are listed in numbers almost too large to imagine.

Yet in the history books there are few names. Oh, the generals, politicians and strategists receive their due, but the front-line soldiers, navy personnel and air crew are generally forgotten and unnamed.

Forgotten and unnamed; except, that is, in the hearts of those who waited and worried and prayed, and who mourned when that dreaded message was received, “we regret to inform you that … was killed in action.” And as those who can remember die off, they will remain unnamed. Except on the war memorials which dot our vast nation. These simple or ornate slabs of stone speak aloud that otherwise silent tale: a tale of personal worry and sacrifice, of exceptional bravery and heartbreaking loss; a story of victory and peace won at enormous cost; the price of Canada’s beloved sons and daughters.

In one of the places I have lived, a veteran always read those names, from the monument. Many were remembered by some of those assembled and others knew them as parents and grandparents they had never met. But what was important was that their names were spoken aloud. In this way they would not be forgotten, so that this horrible time that demanded so much of families and communities could never pass out of memory.

It has been a long time “The Great War” was seen as the war to end all wars. Slogging through rat-infested trenches, engaging in hand-to-hand combat, enduring hours of boredom punctuated by fierce and bloody battles, did little to change how the world dealt with conflict and dissension. Since that time millions have died in war, both soldiers and innocent civilians. Yet at the end of each conflict there is the hope that the sacrifice meant something, that leaders will pause long and hard before they teach their children war once more.

In the gospel of Mark, we read the story of the “widow’s mite”, about the woman who gave her last penny to the temple treasury. The significance of her gift was measured not by its small size, but by the fact that it was all she had. On Remembrance Day, we do not recognize the victories or the losses as they are recorded in history books as much as we remember those individual sons and daughters who gave their all, who gave more than they ever thought they could; who died so that others might live in freedom.

Today, I’d also like us to think about those who have waited at home, who have endured sleepless nights worrying about daughter or son, sister or brother or parent or spouse; who have waited for letters which never arrived; who have had to celebrate when a neighbour’s loved one returned even when theirs did not.

As we remember those who did not return and honour those who did come back, let us not forget those who were their primary connections to their homes; those who gave them a reason to return, those who added a personal face to the freedom they were fighting for.

Canadian doctor John McCrae would more than likely have wished to be stitching up the injured in an antiseptic hospital, but he was not; he was in Flanders trying to save lives in the heat and the dirt and stench of battle. Overhead the larks still fly, and to us has been thrown the torch; let us not break faith with those who died; let us keep their memory, for they have earned their sleep.

Amen.

__________________

https://www.veterans.gc.ca/en/remembrance/memorials/canada/memchamb

 

JESUS WEPT—AND SO DO WE

All Saints’ Day

TEXTS: Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21:1-6a; John 11:32-44

Then the Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces … (Isaiah 25:8b)

God will wipe every tear from their eyes. (Rev. 21:4)

Jesus began to weep. (John 11:35)

There are tears in all three of our scripture readings today. In Isaiah and Revelation, God wipes away humanity’s tears; and in John’s gospel, we hear that “Jesus began to weep” when he saw the distress of Lazarus’s friends and family.

The first two readings speak of a coming day when—after all things are made new—death and mourning and crying and pain will be no more. And our gospel lesson also points us toward the future: to the promise of resurrection which lies at the heart of Christian faith.

But, the future is … Well, the future is not here yet. And the promise of resurrection for ourselves and our loved ones has yet to be fulfilled. And so, for now, we watch and wait; we hope and remember.

On All Saints’ Day, we commemorate those who have gone before us—those who have passed on to us the flame of Christ. And in this, we remember all of the giants of faith—from Peter and Paul to Teresa of Ávila to John Wesley to Fanny Crosby to Dietrich Bonhoeffer to Esther John to Oscar Romero … and thousands more. But we also recall some who were personally close to us. And while we look back with fondness and thanksgiving, the remembrance is mixed with grief over their loss. They are no longer with us, and their absence hurts. All Saints’ Day brings tears as well as rejoicing.

We followers of Jesus have had a somewhat uncertain relationship with grief and tears. Some will tell you that it is not appropriate to grieve over the death of a Christian.

“Those who die in Christ have gone to be with Christ,” they say. “The dead have passed into everlasting joy, so we should be happy and rejoice in their victory over death.”

That’s an attitude with a long history in the church. In ancient times, one of the most obvious differences between Christian and Roman funeral practices was that, in a Christian funeral procession, everyone wore white instead of black and sang hymns of praise to the God who triumphs over death. And I get that. I understand that Christians who die are—as the Salvation Army so wonderfully puts it—“promoted to glory.” But should our faith in Christ’s victory over death truly banish all our grief and tears?

Some would answer, “Yes!” And those who make that argument can find support in our readings from the prophet Isaiah and the Revelation to John. Remember? Isaiah says, “The Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces,” and John’s revelation says that “God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”

On the other hand, we have our reading from the Gospel according to John, where Jesus bursts into tears at the grave of one of his closest friends.

If you think about it for a moment, you will realize that—for most of us—grief has nothing to do with what we think is happening to the person who is gone.

Have you ever spent an hour or two in the international departure lounge at a busy airport? Families who are bidding farewell to a loved one are not all smiles and happiness. If the person is leaving forever—even for a better life—there is grief everywhere. Mothers and daughters and sisters are crying. Fathers and sons and brothers are fighting back tears. And nobody has even died! What gives? Why is there so much weeping? Why is there such loud wailing?

Why? Because grief is about loss—our loss. And no matter how wonderful is the life they are going on to … we are losing them! And our lives are going to be poorer for their absence.

Even if we can celebrate their good fortune, our grief is still real and raw and worthy of tears. A hole has been left in our world, a hole we will live with for the rest of our days, and we will grieve over that hole.

Certainly, Isaiah and Revelation speak of a day when tears will be wiped away and mourning and crying and pain will be no more, but they don’t tell us when that day will come. It may be on the horizon, but it is a promise yet unrealized. That’s why—along with Jesus—we begin to weep.

Yes, Jesus wept, and so do we. But I think there is a bit more to the story of Jesus weeping: something that is both related to our experience of grief, but also something more and different. Perhaps some of you are already wondering about it. John’s account of the story of Jesus raising Lazarus makes it quite clear that Jesus already knew what he was going to do. Nearer to the beginning of chapter 11, Jesus tells his disciples, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” That’s right there in verse 11. Then we read:

The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe …” (John 11:12-15).

So, here’s a question: if Jesus knows he’s going to raise Lazarus, what’s he crying about? There is no Lazarus-shaped hole that he is going to have to live with forever. He knows Lazarus will be up and about in a few minutes.

The simplest and most commonly-given answer is that Jesus is grieving over the continued intrusion of death into God’s good creation. Death wasn’t part of God’s intention when he made human beings. Even though this particular death will be reversed—at least for a while—Jesus still grieves the existence and continued impact of death. He feels the pain it causes people. He’s angry that death is still able to break human hearts and bring devastation wherever it visits.

But maybe there’s something else, too. In this situation, I think there’s something that’s unique to Jesus—a grief that was his alone. Chapter 11 of John is a long chapter. And if you keep reading past verse 44, you will find a troubling and tragic report. In direct response to this incident—this raising of Lazarus to life—the chief priests and the Pharisees hold a council meeting; and, at that meeting, they decide that Jesus has to die.

“What are we to do?” they ask. “This man is performing many signs. If we let him go on like this, everyone will believe in him, and the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (John 11:47-48).

Raising Lazarus to life was the trigger for the chain of events that led to Jesus being killed. And I’m sure Jesus could see it coming. As he stood outside Lazarus’s tomb, Jesus knew how much this miracle was going to cost him.

Have you ever read C.S. Lewis’s book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? If you have read it, you’ll remember that after the Lion, Aslan, has committed to offering himself to be killed in place of Edmund, he becomes sad and moody and depressed. He goes off his food and becomes withdrawn and morose.

Well, wouldn’t you? Just because you’ve accepted your fate doesn’t mean you welcome it. Aslan was saving Edmund from death, but only by resigning himself to dying in Edmund’s place. I think today’s gospel lesson tells us the same story. Jesus is saving Lazarus from death, but only by resigning himself to his own death.

Now, maybe I’m reading too much into the shortest verse in the Bible. In the King James Version, all verse 35 says is: “Jesus wept.” But I wonder: in this little story, are we seeing a snapshot of a bigger story? Jesus is saving us all from death, but only by accepting death in our place. I wonder: is that why Jesus wept? Well he might. And well might we. As the Letter to the Hebrews asks, “how can we escape if we neglect so great a salvation?” (Heb. 2:3)

Yes, there is a promise of a day when tears will be wiped away and mourning and crying and pain will be no more. Clearly, on that day we will be reunited with our loved ones and with the whole communion of saints who have gone before us. This must be so. Otherwise, how could every tear be wiped away? How could every grief be banished?

Yes, great will be the rejoicing when that day comes. But between here and there—between now and then—there is still a road of tears that we must tread. The good news is that—in Christ—our griefs are gathered into his grief. Our griefs participate in his grieving. In his redemptive weeping, in his offering of himself for the life of the world, Christ stands in solidarity with us.

The Letter to the Hebrews (12:1) speaks of the “great cloud of witnesses” which surrounds us; this includes saints we have known, who have inspired us to follow them in following Jesus. In many (if not most) congregations, an All-Saints’ Day service includes the Sacrament of Holy Communion. As we come to the table of the Lord, we join in celebration with that very same cloud of witnesses.

For now, this is only a taste of the glory to come, a sip of the first fruits. It’s not going to wipe away every one of our tears, or fill the holes of bereavement that various people have left in our lives. But at the Lord’s table, even our grieving, even the mix of fondness and sadness that our remembering brings us—even our brokenness—is gathered into Jesus’ wholeness. And all of that is offered to God as we wait for his kingdom.

On All Saints’ Day, we remember that Jesus is “the pioneer and perfecter of our faith” (Heb. 12:2). All the saints—and we, ourselves—stand upon his broad shoulders. Therefore, with all the saints—and even through our tears—let us forever say, “Thanks be to God.” Amen.

OUR GREAT HIGH PRIEST

Reformation Sunday

ATEXT: Hebrews 7:23-28

“Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession” (Heb. 4:14).

That is a quotation from the Letter to the Hebrews—but it isn’t part of our epistle reading for today. So, why mention it?

Because—in my tradition, anyway—October 31 is “Reformation Day”, and the Sunday preceding it is designated as “Reformation Sunday.” To me, that passage from the fourth chapter of Hebrews—along with our passage from chapter seven—sums up the very heart of the Protestant Reformation.

My purpose is two-fold— first, to present Jesus Christ as our great high priest, as described in the book of Hebrews; and second, to answer a question: “If we’re Protestant, why would we ever need a priest?”

Let’s begin with some history. On the Eve of All Saints’ Day in 1517, a rather obscure Augustinian priest and university professor named Martin Luther nailed 95 theses—95 questions for discussion—to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenburg, Germany.

Now, that, in itself, was not a particularly unusual thing. In those days, church doors were often used as bulletin boards. All Luther wanted to do was start an academic discussion. He did not realize he was kicking off a movement that was going to tear apart the Church—and Europe along with it. But that’s what happened. That day in Wittenburg, Martin Luther sparked a religious revolution.

One thing Martin Luther insisted upon—and which millions of Protestants since have insisted upon—is “the priesthood of all believers.” That’s the idea that every Christian already is a priest. To quote First Peter, chapter two, verse nine, we are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people.”

Each one of us is already somebody important in the eyes of God. Each one of us has a special calling—like a priest—whether we know it, or not. You don’t need a guy like me to speak to God on your behalf. You can speak to God directly—so, there’s no need for a priest.

Or is there?

Sure, we can speak directly to God. And, yes, God is always eager to listen to us. But … What if you’re stumped for words? Have any of you ever had an experience like that? Like you don’t really know what to pray about? Or what to ask for? It’s like you’re stuck in the snow, just spinning your wheels.

At such times, wouldn’t it be good to have a priest? An intermediary? Someone to bring your needs before God? Someone who is always available?

In a place I lived once, there was a wrecker service—a tow-truck company—that was available 23-and-a-half hours per day. Available 23-and-a-half hours! That sounds great … but no one knew when that half-hour was!

When we recite the Apostles’ Creed, we proclaim that Jesus is seated at the right hand of God—and now intercedes for us (see Rom. 8:34). Or as the Letter to the Hebrews puts it: “[Christ] is able for all time to save those who approach God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them” (7:25).

Alfred, Lord Tennyson observed that “More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.”*  And he knew what he was talking about. I, myself, have seen mighty miracles of prayer wrought in my life, and in the lives of others.

So, isn’t it good to know we have a great high priest seated right next to God? Someone who pleads our case, and intercedes for us—always?

What a friend we have in Jesus! He’s praying for us right now—praying that we will do the right thing, find the right words to say, find the right direction. He’s praying for our health and wholeness—and for the well-being of our souls.

Someone once said that our God is a “24-7” God. He is always available. So maybe we Protestants do need a good priest sometimes—a great high priest who is always at prayer for us. Think about that. Think about Jesus praying for you—pleading for you—this very moment, and always. Jesus can help us find strength even when we feel the weakest.

And wouldn’t it be nice to have not only a good priest who is always available, but also a good priest who is always effective? In Bible times, the Temple priests had to continually make sacrifices for sin.

Picture it: all those innocent animals lined up to be slaughtered—all that innocent blood shed—day after day, year after year, century after century … and still, there was no lasting salvation from sin! Isn’t that depressing?

Then Jesus, the spotless, unblemished Lamb of God—at once the perfect priest and the perfect sacrifice—laid down his life for our sake on the altar of the cross. As it says in our epistle lesson, Jesus offered himself for us “once for all.” Once and for all, Jesus made us right with God. And to gain salvation, all you have to do is accept that sacrifice, claim for yourself the gift of faith … and trust God to process your claim. That’s another of the great proclamations of the Protestant church: we are saved through faith in Jesus Christ alone.

As the apostle Paul says in the Book of Romans (3:28), we are “justified by faith apart from the works of the law.” Rediscovering that principle kept Martin Luther from driving himself crazy.

As a Roman Catholic priest of the Augustinian order, Luther fasted longer, and prayed harder, and confessed more often than any of his fellow monks. He sacrificed more and more—more than anyone else. But still he found no peace for his troubled heart—until he turned to Scripture.

Then, finally, he realized that his sacrifices were unnecessary, because it is Christ’s sacrifice upon the cross that saves—“once for all.” The power of that revelation whipped up a mighty storm. We call it the “Protestant Reformation”—and it changed the world. Some would say it even changed the Roman Catholic Church for the better! And, if that is true, I think it would make Martin Luther very happy.

“Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16).

We have a Great High Priest who made the right sacrifice—once, and for all. Believing in Jesus Christ—crucified and risen—is the work that makes us right with God.

So, maybe we Protestants do need a good priest who is always effective.

I know I could use a good priest who always understands me. It gives me great comfort when I read: “… we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin” (Heb. 4:15). It helps me to know that—in the presence of Jesus Christ—my weaknesses, my trials, my struggles, my failures … all of these are understood. God knows what you and I go through, because Jesus has walked that path before us.

Jesus, our great high priest, is always available, always effective, and always understanding.

  • Have you lost a loved one? Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus (John 11:35).
  • Are you tempted? Jesus was tempted, too (Mark 1:12-13).
  • Has someone betrayed you? Jesus himself was betrayed and abandoned (Mark 14:43-50).
  • Have you been falsely accused? So was he.
  • Have you suffered pain? Jesus was whipped and crucified.
  • Have you had to confront death? Jesus faced death, too.

He was tested in every way that we are, yet without sinning (Heb. 4:15).

Do Protestants need a priest? I think there is one we all need, all the time: one who is praying for us, one who made the ultimate sacrifice for us, one who understands our weaknesses.

Once again, listen to these words: “Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God … Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace …” (4:14a, 16).

Yes, my friends, we have a Good Priest—one who prays for us, unceasingly. Thanks be to God. Amen.

__________________________________

* “… Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of.  Wherefore, let thy voice

Rise like a fountain for me night and day …”

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “Morte D’Arthur”
from Poems, 4th edition (London: Moxon, 1845).

 

“Not to be served, but to serve”

Proper 24, Year B

World Food Sunday

TEXT: Mark 10:35-45

And [Jesus] said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” (Mark 10:36-37)

Picture the scene in this morning’s gospel. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, aware that he is going to face a confrontation that will end in his death. His disciples—James and John—press forward, drawing close to him to speak.

Did Jesus hope for some understanding? Some words of comfort in this dreaded hour? Or did he know, even before they spoke, that this was going to be just one more example of his disciples missing the whole point of what he had come to teach?

Jesus was quite clear about how the world’s values were to be regarded by his followers. In response to the request from James and John, he tells all the disciples: “whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” (Mark 10:43b-45)

Jesus came to be a ransom for many—not only for the elite few whose clothes, possessions, and behaviour meet this world’s standards of success, but for the many. Jesus gave his life as ransom for all of us—to release us from slavery to possessions, to power, to success; to release us, especially, from the delusion that we are somehow more special, more important, more loved by God than other people are. If we have been blessed more richly than others, there is a responsibility that goes along with that—because it means we have an abundance out of which we should be able to share.

You know, we hear a lot of talk about the end of the world, about what it will be like when Jesus comes back: about how you’d better make sure you’ve got the right kind of religion, and believe all the right stuff, if you want to get into the Kingdom of Heaven. But when Jesus himself described Judgment Day—in the 25th chapter of Matthew—here’s what he said:

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’” (Matt. 25:31-36)

You’ll notice Jesus does not ask even one theological question here. There’s no religion quiz—at least, not like we might expect. Instead, it’s all about choices we make: choices to be compassionate; choices to be just; choices to clothe and feed and support other people. In other words, we choose whether to live a ransomed life—a life of liberated service—or to be co-opted by values we know to be unworthy of our high calling as chosen, servant people.

This choice is possible for all of us. We can all live more simply, in keeping with the pattern of life shown us by Jesus. Jesus calls us to live within our means—not to accumulate debt so that we can accumulate things; because, if we do that, then we will find ourselves unable to be generous with those who are suffering.

You can forgo a single cup of coffee and give that couple of dollars to the Salvation Army or to UNICEF. Most of us can donate two pieces of clothing from our closet, or a pair of shoes, or a coat, so that someone else can be warm. Every one of us can choose not to buy another book, another pint of ice cream, another television set, another car, or another house so that those resources can go to the United Way, World Vision, Samaritan’s Purse, the Canadian Foodgrains Bank, the Red Cross—or even to the Mission Fund of your local church.

I do not say this to you because I have myself attained the self-giving generosity of Christ. Believe me, I have not! I preach this message today because the gospel is clear; but I preach this message confessing that I, too, need to get a lot better at this discipleship stuff.

I may pretend to be confused when I want to do something that I know in my heart is buying into the comfortable values of the world—but I am only playing mind games, because the gospel is not confusing at all; it is absolutely clear.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “Our chief want in life is someone to make us do what we can.” But Christians are not, in fact, lacking that “someone.” Jesus ransomed us and Jesus released us, so that we can be that someone.

Understand this: God does not make us do anything; God invites us to live righteous lives. Jesus does not make us do anything; Jesus invites us to live in freedom. Jesus calls us out of our bondage to possessions, and ambitions, and all the anxieties those things bring with them.

Only we can make ourselves do what we know we can. Only I can make myself do those generous, loving, compassionate things that open the gates of God’s kingdom. Only you can make yourself reveal God’s image through your words and through your actions.

I pray that we may each find the courage to live out the baptism with which we have been baptized, and to drink the cup which Christ first drank, so that God’s Kingdom may indeed come—and God’s will may be done—on earth, as it is in heaven.

 

Bless me to share my daily bread,
healthy portions of compassion and love,
not out of guilt or duty
or an eye to what I might receive in return,
but humbly, in the way of Jesus,
such that his grace
is kneaded through all my daily offerings,
broken open, blessed, and shared
with both the loneliest stranger
and the deepest friend.
Amen.*

 

_______________________________

* https://united-church.ca/prayers/daily-bread

 

 

A HARVEST OF PLENTY

Thanksgiving Sunday (Canada)

TEXTS: Joel 2:21-27; Matthew 6:25-33

“Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matt. 6:31-33)

The celebration of  Thanksgiving (at least, as we  know it) seems to be an exclusively North American tradition—one which predates both Canada and the United States, having its roots in New France and in the British colonies of this continent’s eastern seaboard.

In Canada, of course, Thanksgiving is celebrated on the second Monday in October, while our American cousins observe the holiday on the fourth Thursday of November. South of the border, the emphasis seems to be upon remembering the Pilgrims at Plymouth Rock; in Canada, our emphasis is more upon giving thanks for a successful harvest. But we hear about the Pilgrims, too! And that’s appropriate, since historically—through our British heritage, and also because we are both nations of immigrants—we are linked very closely with the U.S.A.

But did you know that the first and original Thanksgiving was celebrated in what is now Canada?

The history of Thanksgiving in Canada goes back to an English explorer, Martin Frobisher, who had been trying to find a northern passage to the Orient. He did not succeed in that. However, in September of the year 1578, Frobisher held a formal ceremony—in what is today the territory of Nunavut—to give thanks for surviving the long journey across the Atlantic. When the voyagers finally assembled at their anchorage in Frobisher Bay, an Anglican Eucharist was celebrated by the ship’s chaplain, Robert Wolfall. This is considered the first Thanksgiving service to have taken place in North America.

As other settlers arrived, they continued the tradition that Frobisher had begun.

After French settlers arrived in North America in 1608 with the explorer Samuel de Champlain, they also held huge feasts of thanks. They formed L’Ordre de Bon Temps (“The Order of Good Cheer”) and gladly celebrated along with some of their First Nations neighbours.

As for the Pilgrims … after the first harvest was completed by the Plymouth colonists in 1621, they held their first Thanksgiving as a three-day-long “thank you” celebration for the members of the Wampanoag indigenous community, who had come to the rescue of the English aliens when they were threatened by starvation and disease.

And the newcomers certainly had needed rescuing! Of the 102 pilgrims who arrived on the Mayflower, six died in the first two weeks. Eight more died during the next month, 17 more in February, 13 more in March. By April, just 54 out of the original 102 were left to sustain the colony—and half of those were children.

In New France, the situation was no better; of the 32 original colonists who accompanied Champlain to Quebec, only nine survived the first winter! Of course, more settlers arrived the following summer, to take the places of those who had perished, and take up the challenges and hardships of life in this new frontier.

When we consider the difficulties of those early settlers, we can understand why they wanted to give thanks. And, while we don’t know what Scriptures were read aloud at those gatherings, it’s not hard to imagine that today’s reading from the Book of Joel could have expressed their relief and their gratitude:

O children of Zion, be glad and rejoice in the LORD your God; for he has given the early rain for your vindication, he has poured down for you abundant rain . . . The threshing floors shall be full of grain, the vats shall overflow with wine and oil . . . You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the LORD your God, who has dealt wondrously with you. (Joel 2:23a, 24, 26a)

Yes, we can understand the kind of thanksgiving that one offers when a harvest of plenty relieves a time of want; but what does that have to do with us? After all, how many of us still grow our own food? How many of us have had to hunt wild game to put meat on our tables? How many of us till the soil, and tend the crops? There are some who still do, but most of us don’t. Most of us feel inconvenienced when the supermarket is out of our favourite brand of breakfast cereal.

How many of us have to make our own clothing? Or worry about how we would survive in a climate different than the one we came from? Most of us these days can go online and order clothing, and it will be delivered promptly—that is, if we don’t go to the mall first, and buy clothes from one of the dozens of stores there.

But the ease with which we can get these things shouldn’t make us less thankful than our pioneering ancestors; it should make us more thankful. It should make us realize how much we depend upon others—and upon God—for the things we need.

I have heard it said that, at any given time, western civilization is just three days away from total collapse. I believe it. Just imagine three days—world wide—without electrical power. No radio. No television. No telephones or internet with which to share information or transact business. Imagine the highways and rail systems interrupted. Food supplies could not be shipped from one part of the country to another.  What then? If something were to go horribly wrong, we would discover soon enough how fortunate we had been.

But it shouldn’t have to come to that, and I pray that it doesn’t. For there are plenty of things we should be grateful for—even in the midst of material plenty that dulls our senses.

For example, how many of us were instrumental in our own birth? None of us. We did not do anything to earn the greatest gift we have been given: life itself! Yet we sometimes behave as though our lives are an entitlement, and we forget to give thanks for the gift.

Those of us here today did not construct the system of laws that protects our rights. Nor did we build the system of commerce that puts food on our tables. We benefit so much from things we did not cause or create—and yet we so often forget to be thankful.

Maybe that’s because we’ve conned ourselves into believing that our success and our blessings are things which we have created. We tend to take great pride in our accomplishments and in our achievements, but we don’t very often think about our dependence upon God. This is something about which Jesus reminds us in his words from the Sermon on the Mount:

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them . . . Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these . . .” (Matt. 6:25-26a, 28b-29)

Now, Jesus is not telling us that we should not work hard, or that we need not prepare. He is telling us not to be anxious—and to remember that it is God who provides for our needs. God feeds the birds of the air, God clothes the lilies, and God provides for us, too. It is a comfort against anxiety, and a reminder of God’s providence. Listen to the first verse of this familiar Thanksgiving hymn:

Come, ye thankful people, come,
raise the song of harvest home;
all is safely gathered in,
ere the winter storms begin.
God our Maker doth provide
for our wants to be supplied;
come to God’s own temple, come,
raise the song of harvest home.
*

 Some have suggested that we ought to update this language. Instead of harvesting, we might speak of interest accrued, or wages earned; of benefits received, or goods acquired. We could speak in terms of “market share” and “dividends.” It is the 21st century, after all—and this “thanks-giving” language is so 18th-century! But maybe there’s something else at work here. Listen to how that hymn continues:

All the world is God’s own field,
fruit as praise to God we yield;
wheat and tares together sown
are to joy or sorrow grown;
first the blade and then the ear,
then the full corn shall appear;
Lord of harvest, grant that we
wholesome grain and pure may be.
*

 Do you get it? We are the harvest of plenty! We are the fruits of God’s grace and providence. We exist as individuals by God’s grace. And by God’s grace—and through Christ’s Spirit—we exist as this community called the Church.

Unlike our forebears, we do not have to scratch out a living from the untilled soil. We do not have to labour to build our own shelters. We do not face a wild and hostile continent. Yet there is still a harvest we can reap. We can lead lives of grace and mercy. We can reach out to those in need. We can tend the sick, feed the poor, clothe the naked, comfort the afflicted, visit the prisoners, free the oppressed, speak up for the voiceless. We can make our lives into the fruit of the gospel!

Through God’s providence, we can become a harvest of plenty for the whole world. And for that opportunity, we ought certainly to give thanks. Amen.

 

______________________

* “Come, Ye Thankful People, Come” (Henry Alford, 1844)

 

 

A Universal Spirit

A SERMON FOR WORLD COMMUNION SUNDAY

TEXT: Acts 5:27-42

“If this plan or this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them …” (Acts 5:38b-39a)

World Communion Sunday reminds us of our global connections. It makes us think about our ties to Christians across the earth—and about the value of generosity toward others. Those are worthwhile things to consider on this day—especially given the fact that church history records more discord than harmony between Christians.

Most of that strife has been, frankly, born of narrow-mindedness, intolerance, and the conviction of all parties involved that their particular group, or sect, or denomination has a monopoly on the truth. And we so-called “liberal” Christians are as guilty of this as are the fundamentalists.

Now, when you’re absolutely convinced that your way is the right way—and if you believe that defence of the revealed truth is your responsibility … Well, let’s just say that few things can get people as worked up as can religion. Our passage from the Book of Acts demonstrates that this has been true for a very long time.

The early church was having a tough go of it. Having been energized by the universal Spirit on Pentecost, they were preaching a controversial Christian message everywhere anyone would listen. Now, you have to remember that Christian faith is a product of Judaism, and almost all of the earliest followers of Jesus were Jews. They did not intend to start a new religion, but they did believe that God had given them a new—and quite radically different—way of thinking about their Jewish faith.

The Jewish religious authorities, however, were not impressed. They had the disciples arrested and brought before the council. It looked like the entire leadership of the early church would not leave that place alive.

In the midst of this explosive atmosphere, a big-spirited rabbi named Gamaliel stood up to offer some wise counsel about tolerance. He said:

“Fellow Israelites, consider carefully what you propose to do to these men … In this case it might be best to leave them be; because if this undertaking is of human origin, it will fail. But if it is of God, you will not be able to stop it—you might even be fighting against God!”

Fortunately for the Apostles, Gamaliel was a person of no small influence. A prominent Pharisee, he was a highly-respected scholar and teacher, and had been a pupil of the esteemed Hillel. The council took Gamaliel’s advice and let the apostles go.

Gamaliel was a voice of moderation in an age that was every bit as intolerant as our own. His instincts were inclusive and progressive. He favoured modification of some of the stricter Sabbath laws, and championed the rights of women. Quite an interesting figure.

You know, there are two kinds of tolerance. One kind is a permissive attitude that says, “Anything goes. Nothing matters. Live and let live.” It’s easy to be tolerant when you don’t believe in anything!

But that was not Gamaliel. His was a tolerance of conviction. He was loyal to Israel’s covenant. He believed in God. In fact, his attitude toward the disciples was rooted in his belief about God. “Don’t worry; if this is a human venture, it will fail.” On the other hand, “If God is behind it, there is nothing you can do to stop it.” And then this little zinger: “In fact, you would be opposing God!”

This really is a pivotal point in the church’s story. It was a situation where all the apostles could have been put to death at once, and there might be no Christianity today—if not for Gamaliel. It’s no wonder, then, that he was a beloved figure to Christians. And it’s no wonder that the church has never forgotten him.

But then, God always seems to have some Gamaliel type around to preserve his cause: people who have a universal outlook, who are compassionate, and caring, and cut others some slack. I think this story from the Book of Acts has a lot to teach us about causes that appear to be lost but which—in the end—win. And I think it has something to say also about causes that look very promising at first, but end up losing.

When two men came after dark to bury Jesus’ body, it looked for all practical purposes that they had bet on a lost cause. But that all changed on Easter morning!

When Rosa Parks refused to give her seat to a person just because he was white, she appeared so outnumbered. What could possibly come from such an insignificant event in Montgomery, Alabama? How could she ever hope to win? Yet her courageous act of protest marked a turning point for the American civil rights movement. It didn’t look like much at the time, but when Rosa Parks sat down, the world sat up and took notice! The universal spirit prevailed, and the better side of the American conscience made necessary changes to end discrimination because of a person’s colour or gender.

Conversely, some movements appear destined to win. Adolf Hitler’s Germany was a seemingly unbeatable power in the early 1940s. With overwhelming military might and an agenda intent on conquering the world, it looked for a while as if it would happen. European Jewry had been decimated. Russia had its back to the wall. England was hanging by a thread. Canada and America were going to be next.

But God had Dietrich Bonhoeffer. And God had Harry Truman, and Winston Churchill, and Dwight Eisenhower. God had the Canadian Third Division at Juno Beach. And in the end, the racist claims and hateful actions of the Nazis came to nothing.

Things come and go. Gamaliel was wise enough to know that. And he had faith enough to know this: those things that are of God will last! And those things that are not of God … well, they won’t make it.

Be patient. Wait and see. Things are not always what they appear to be. You have to “winter and summer” with some movements before you understand what they’re really like. There are always things about which people were very sure once-upon-a-time, that they aren’t so sure about anymore. Sometimes what people once thought was the will of God, later seems to clearly not have been from God at all.

Throughout history God has worked in ways none of us understand. To his everlasting credit, Gamaliel seemed to recognize that, which is why he advised: “Be careful here. God may be at work!”

That’s why some things that are clear now are the opposite of things that were clear to people of yesterday. Sometimes it pays to be a little tentative and wait for God to act—to wait for a clearer picture, for more time, for more events to happen—so we can see in which direction God is leading us.

In any event, when we buy that kind of time, we allow ourselves to reserve judgment about certain things—and certain people. And we Christians are a diverse group, you know. Just within my own denomination, we have religious liberals and religious conservatives; we have feminists and we have traditionalists. We have young and old, male and female, people who love the old hymns and people who want to experiment with new music and new forms of worship. If we had a motto, it might be this: “We reserve the right to accept everybody.”

Every day, I see people displaying that kind of acceptance—probably without even realizing they’re doing it. Does it make a difference? You bet it does! To be open to others; to welcome the stranger; to focus on people’s strengths, and not their weaknesses—these are radical acts of tolerance and compassion in a too-often cruel and intolerant world.

It fell to Peter to be the leader of the early Christian movement, but he could not have done it without Gamaliel’s universal spirit.

So, on this World Communion Sunday, I think we should celebrate the ministry of Rabbi Gamaliel. Because today we are reminded that Christ has called us to a table that is universal, that encompasses all the diversities of this world—a table where all are welcome, where human differences are recognized as gifts, not as burdens.

We may not know everything, but we do know some things. We know who God is and where God may be found. And we know how to share the love that is in our hearts. And make no mistake about it: there is a lot of love to share. Soon, it will be time to gather around the table of our Lord. In the spirit of Gamaliel, I invite you. Amen.

 

September 26, 2024: Just another day in the combat zone

NATO says it wants its members to develop national plans to bolster the capacity of their individual defence industry sectors, a concept Canada has struggled with — or avoided outright — for decades. The threat of an armed confrontation between western allies and Russia or China (or both) hangs over Canada, and—according to Vincent Rigby, a former national security and intelligence adviser to Prime Minister Justin Trudeau—the country still doesn’t have a national security strategy, a formal foreign policy or a defence industrial policy.

“Given the state of the world, we have to have contingency plans in place,” Rigby said.

https://www.msn.com/en-ca/news/canada/thinking-the-unthinkable-nato-wants-canada-and-allies-to-gear-up-for-a-conventional-war/ar-AA1reCaP#

 

U.S. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin said on Thursday that the U.S. would continue to provide military aid to Israel, playing down the idea of “red lines”, even as he warned that an all-out conflict between Israel and Hezbollah would be devastating.

Israel rejected global calls for a ceasefire with Lebanon’s Iran-backed Hezbollah on Thursday, defying its biggest ally the U.S. and pressing ahead with strikes that have killed hundreds in Lebanon and heightened fears of a regional war.

https://www.aol.com/news/risk-war-between-hezbollah-israel-145948665.html

 

An Israeli airstrike hit a school sheltering thousands of displaced Palestinians in northern Gaza on Thursday, killing at least 11 people and wounding 22, including women and children, the territory’s Health Ministry said.

The Israeli military confirmed it struck the school in the Jabalia refugee camp, saying it was targeting Hamas militants inside who were planning attacks on Israeli troops.

https://www.ctvnews.ca/world/at-least-11-killed-in-israeli-strike-that-hit-a-school-in-northern-gaza-1.7053264

 

A Prayer for Deliverance

Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.” (Matthew 26:52)

 

Holy God, we who are surrounded by voices raised in protest and in anguish bring before you the wrongs from which humanity still suffers. Remembering that you are the Creator of the whole human family, we pray for those upon whom are inflicted the cruelties of war: those who are killed, maimed, and made homeless by armed conflict; those who are mistreated by members of occupying forces; those who are brutalized by what they are ordered to do; those who are forced to fight against their conscience.

We pray for those who are denied their liberty: those who are persecuted for their religious views; those compelled to live and work as slaves; those denied access to education and health care. Make us more open to new ideas—and more able to see the face of Christ in the face of every neighbour.

We pray for those who stand against injustice and oppression: those who protest publicly; those who rouse opinion by their speech and writing; those who bring just concerns to the attention of politicians and others in authority. By the power of your Holy Spirit, make them willing first of all to appeal to the judgment and the conscience; guide them as they ponder whether to use violent means to right extreme wrongs; preserve them from corrupting those whose cause they take up—from destroying some while liberating others.

Great, mysterious, Triune God, we thank you for standing with us as we work for justice and peace—for it is difficult work. In many cases it seems that we can only have one without the other: peace, at the cost of perpetuating injustice; or justice, at the cost of a broken peace. O God, show all people how they can strive for justice without recourse to the violence of war; and—if a nation must go to war—may it not cause greater evil than it seeks to remove.

O God, speak strong words of courage to those who must live out their lives facing challenge as it comes. Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy name. Hear us as we pray …

ONE:  From a spirit of contention which would destroy our unity;

MANY:  Good Lord, deliver us.

ONE:  From a spirit of rage which would destroy our love;

MANY:  Good Lord, deliver us.

ONE:  From a spirit of despair which would destroy our hope;

MANY:  Good Lord, deliver us.

ONE:  From pride of self which leaves no room for your Spirit;

ALL:  Good Lord, deliver us—for Jesus’ sake.  Amen.

BECOMING GREAT

Proper 20, Year B

TEXT: Mark 9:30-37

[Jesus] called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” (Mark 8:34-35)

Do you recognize that Scripture? It’s from last week’s gospel lesson, where Jesus issued the sternest rebuke to Simon Peter, who had tried to talk him out of becoming a human sacrifice: “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” (Mark 8:33)

Today’s gospel seems to pick up that same dismal thread: “… he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him …’” (Mark 9:31)

Jesus talks about this stuff a lot, doesn’t he? Dying. Carrying the cross. Losing your life in order to save it. The philosopher Elton Trueblood once said: “In many areas, the gospel, instead of taking away peoples’ burdens, actually adds to them.”

A cheerful message, yes? Not!

I don’t know about you, but I can get very discouraged thinking about the cost of discipleship. I always end up comparing myself to great saints like Dietrich Bonhoeffer or Martin Luther King, Jr., who literally gave up their lives for what they believed in. And there is certainly no scarcity of martyrs in the history of the Church.

Or I contemplate people like Mother Theresa, who gave her whole life over to serving the poorest of the poor in the streets of Calcutta, and then I feel guilty about the frail quality of my own discipleship.

Even when it comes to preaching—which I’m supposed to be good at—I can look at the late Billy Graham, who preached in person to more people around the world than any other Protestant in history. According to Wikipedia, Graham’s lifetime audience—including radio and television broadcasts—has exceeded two billion. More importantly, over two-and-a-half million people—including me—have accepted Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour because of that one man’s preaching. I hear statistics like that, and … brother … do I feel inadequate.

Well, for those of us who think the crosses we’re carrying aren’t heavy enough—or big enough, or rough enough—the second half of today’s gospel lesson ought to provide some small degree of comfort.

Jesus and his disciples were travelling to Capernaum, and while they were walking along, some of them were arguing over which of them was the greatest—the best, the most important, the most valuable member of Jesus’ company. They thought he was going to be king of Israel, and I suppose they all wanted cabinet positions. When Jesus realized this, what did he do?

He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” (Mark 9:35-37)

Did you hear that? Do you understand what Jesus is saying? All you guys who’ve ever had to change a dirty diaper … all you mothers who’ve struggled to get a toddler to eat vegetables … all that stuff counts! Ever volunteered to help in the Sunday School? I don’t know if that will be your ticket to heaven, but at least it’ll get your foot on the platform.

“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me,” Jesus said. So you don’t necessarily have to go out and get yourself shot, or beheaded, or crucified, in order to be a faithful follower of Christ. You just have to pay attention to the opportunities for service that are all around you, and then ask yourself what you can do—what you feel called to do—even if it’s something as simple as taking care of babies in the church nursery, or helping make sandwiches for hungry schoolchildren. Does that not sound big enough? Or important enough? Well, maybe that means it’s a good place to start.

You know, Jesus’ attitude toward children is a good example of his attitude toward people in general. If you’re at all familiar with the gospel accounts, you’ll know that Jesus very rarely hung out with the rich and the powerful. He spent a lot of time, however, with the poorer classes: fishermen, prostitutes, petty criminals, people with leprosy and mental illness … and—perhaps the most voiceless people of all—children.

In fact, Jesus held children up as models of the faithful spiritual life. In Matthew’s gospel, when the disciples come to Jesus and ask him, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” (Matt. 18:1), his response is more or less the same as in this morning’s reading:

He called a child, whom he put amongst them, and said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (MATT. 18:2-4)

Do you want to be great in the kingdom of heaven? Do you want to be the best-ever disciple of Jesus? Then become like a little child.

Now, I have a question for you parents—and grandparents. Do your children always do what you want them to do? Do you love them any less because they don’t? Of course not. Even when they misbehave—or are lazy, or irresponsible, or rude—your children are still your children, and you love them anyway.

Or suppose you needed to move a heavy chesterfield into another room; would you call upon your four-year-old to help you carry it? Of course not. But you might ask your teenager to help. It’s the same in God’s family. Not every one of us can do the heavy lifting—but that’s all right, because others in the family can do it, and are glad to do it. There are other things that the rest of us can do, and we will be called upon to do them. But no one of us is expected to do it all.

We are God’s children, and God loves us regardless of our behaviour or our capabilities. I hope every one of you reading this believes that, because it’s true. This is not, however, meant to let you off the hook. Each of us has gifts and talents that the Lord expects us to use as he directs us.

The point is, God doesn’t call upon most of us to do anything that the world would consider great. But Jesus tells us that God has his own ideas about greatness, and they are ideas which turn our human conception of things upside down: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.”

So if you’ve got the discipleship blues, take heart! God isn’t likely to call upon you to single-handedly convert the Taliban or put an end to hunger, homelessness, or war. But he may very well ask you to play some small part. It could be something as small and symbolic as folding a paper crane and walking for peace. Or something as simple as helping mash potatoes for a church supper. Or making sure that the Food Bank collection box stays full. Or even … yes, even offering to help in the Sunday School!

Oh, the time may come when an opportunity—and a call—will come to do some great thing. But probably not until you’ve been at this discipleship thing for a while. You wouldn’t ask—and wouldn’t want—your eight-year-old to hop in the car and drive down to the market to get a quart of milk* … but the time will certainly come when she’s capable of doing that, and you’ll ask her then.

So I guess my message to you this morning is: Don’t get discouraged about your discipleship! Don’t get lazy about it, either; but don’t beat yourself up because you’re not making headline news. God doesn’t care about the headlines. God cares about you, and about how you fit into this Body of Christ called the Church.

I’m reminded of a story about a man named Leonard who came to his rabbi and said, “Rabbi, I am so worried about my life. I try so hard to be a good person, to do God’s will, but when I read the Torah, and see the great things that Moses did, I feel like I am worthless.” And if you’ve heard this familiar story, you know already what the rabbi said to the man: “On the day of judgment, God will not ask you, ‘Why were you not more like Moses?’ but rather, ‘Why were you not more like Leonard?’”

God has a purpose for your life, and it is something that will become clear to you over time as you walk this pilgrim’s path. But it won’t become clear to you by comparing yourself—favourably or unfavourably—to others. It becomes clear only as you make the journey, keeping your eyes and ears open to the landmarks and road signs that the Holy Spirit leads you past. Then, it’s just a matter of recognizing your opportunities.

Thanks be to God, who loves us and challenges us as his children, and helps us to grow “to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ” (Ephesians 4:13b). Amen.

*  https://www.ctvnews.ca/world/8-year-old-ohio-girl-takes-her-family-s-suv-drives-to-target-1.7042474

 

CHRIST AND CROSS

Proper 19, Year B

TEXT: Mark 8:27-38

[Jesus] asked them … “who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” […] Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. (Mark 8:29, 31-32)

Peter got it—and yet, he didn’t get it. He got the Christ part—but not the cross part.

If we were to look at Mark’s Gospel as a teeter-totter, this is the centre, the fulcrum—the point at which the story begins to tip in another direction. Prior to this passage, Jesus has been traveling about preaching, teaching, and healing. From this point forward, his path leads to Jerusalem—and the shadow of the cross looms over everything.

Mark sets the transformation point on one simple question: “Who do people say that I am?”

It’s an easy question. The disciples tell what they have heard. Jesus has made an extraordinary impact on the public, and people are looking for ways to explain the charisma and power of this itinerant rabbi from Nazareth.

Some think he is John the Baptist. There were rumours, you see, that John was not really killed by Herod. It was a kind of first century Elvis Presley myth.

Other people thought Jesus was Elijah—or another of the great prophets—come to life again.

Then Jesus asked the disciples a tougher question: “Who do you say that I am?”

Peter rose to the occasion, answering, “You are the Messiah.”

Jesus told them to keep his identity under their hats. And then he told them quite candidly what it meant for him to be the Messiah: “that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” (Mark 8:31)

Peter couldn’t stand it. He took Jesus aside and quietly tried to talk some sense into him. But Jesus angrily rebuked Peter, telling him that his mind was focused on human, temporal events and not on the larger perspective of God.

What a painful moment. Poor Peter! Like I said, he got the Christ part, but not the cross part.

I can relate to Peter, because I struggle with that, too—with understanding the Christ part and the cross part. Even after more than a quarter-century of ministry—and most of a lifetime as a professing Christian—the cross part perplexes me. I still wonder why Jesus had to die the way he did.

And I wonder why, after all these centuries, the cross yet casts its shadow across our paths. Suffering and calamity and brutal violence seem to be everywhere.

The tragedy which unfolded in Winder, Georgia earlier this month at Apalachee High School—where two students and two teachers were shot and killed and nine other people were hospitalized with gunshot wounds—serves to underscore our own fears as we consider the problem of evil. Why should so many innocent people have their lives so abruptly ended or senselessly changed forever?

And it was senseless—as all violence is senseless. That’s what makes it all the more tragic, and—since we are people of faith—what causes us to ask: Why did it have to happen? How could God allow it to happen?

Those are good questions. I wish I could give you some good answers—but I can’t. I don’t understand the why of suffering and death any better than you do. All I can tell you is that suffering and death appear to be part and parcel of our human condition.

Perhaps that is precisely why Jesus had to suffer and die: if he hadn’t, he would not have been genuinely human. He would not have been one of us—and if that was the case, then the doctrine of the Incarnation would be meaningless.

In Christ, God became one of us, entering our human condition, and sharing in it fully. In Christ, God came to live the life we live—not just the fun parts, but the sorrowing and suffering parts, too.

Why do innocent people suffer? Why does God allow evil things to happen? There are no satisfying answers to those questions. However, as we ponder them, we are wise if we consider the cross. Whatever may be the ultimate meaning of human suffering, we know that God did not shield himself from it. God did not shield his Son from it. In Christ, God bore our pain. In a body like ours, God’s Messiah embraced our pain. And with lips like ours, Jesus is still asking us: “Who do you say that I am?”

I believe that is the central question for the Christian. It is the question with which we live from our baptism until our death. Over the years we will probably give very different answers to the question. But that’s O.K.—because the important thing is not our answer, but our willingness to keep the question alive in our daily journey.

Our best resource for understanding Jesus is our own encounter with him. When we pray, we may address the prayers to God the Father, or to the Holy Spirit, or to Jesus—but we understand that, somehow, we are addressing one God. And in the listening to that one God, we may catch a glimpse of who Jesus is.

Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” This is our homework assignment: to offer our lives as an answer to that question—even when the answer is painful. Although there is no due date on the assignment, I presume that God wishes to see some progress from time to time.

And prayer is one of the best tools we have for making that progress. So—do pray about specific issues and concerns that are on your mind. Do ask God all of your “why” questions. But when you have finished speaking to God, spend at least that much time listening.

As your life of faith becomes a journey with the question, “Who do you say that I am?” allow it to be open to two great mysteries which you may never be able to finally solve. They are these eternal questions: “How was Jesus God’s Messiah?” and “Why was the cross necessary?”

Like I said, I do not have clear answers to those questions. But I am constantly exploring and enlarging them, and I encourage you to do the same. With God’s help, I pray that we will begin to get both the Christ part and the cross part—for Jesus’ sake and our own.

Amen.

FAITH IN ACTION

Proper 18, Year B

TEXTS: Isaiah 35:4-7; James 2:1-17; Mark 7:24-37

From there [Jesus] set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “… you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

Then he returned from the region of Tyre, and went by way of Sidon towards the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. They brought to him a deaf man who had an impediment in his speech; and they begged him to lay his hand on him. He took him aside in private, away from the crowd, and put his fingers into his ears, and he spat and touched his tongue. Then looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha”, that is, “Be opened.” And immediately his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. (Mark 7:24-27a, 30-35)

The story is told of Saint Francis of Assisi, who entered a village with one of his monks. Their purpose was to preach the gospel. When they arrived at the village they quickly engaged the local folk in conversation and passed their time helping the villagers with their work, sharing stories, eating and drinking together, and entering into the life of the community.

As the end of the day drew near, Francis announced that it was time for them to return to the monastery. They were about to make their way out of the village, when the other monk—with great concern—said, “Did we not come here to preach the gospel to these people? When are we going to do that?”

Francis replied, saying this: “If these people have not heard the gospel today, then reading from the Bible will not make any difference to them.” And so, they went on their way.

Today, we hear the apostle James make the same point just as plainly:

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill”, and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. (James 2:14-17)

That last statement is the one that usually gets James into trouble: “faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” James has been seriously misunderstood—and roundly criticized—for advocating a “theology of works.” That is to say, for holding the view that salvation is possible through doing “good works” apart from faith.

But did he really hold that view? I’m not so sure. To me, today’s epistle lesson sounds like an elaboration upon the theme James introduced in the preceding chapter, where he exhorts his readers to: “be doers of the word and not merely hearers.” (James 1:22)

For James, the “doing of good works” is the inescapable consequence of hearing the Good News and understanding its implications. James understood that those who hear the gospel and understand its message will find themselves compelled to take up—and continue—the work of Jesus Christ. In other words, real faith always produces concrete action.

And here we see the connection between our epistle and gospel readings. For, in Mark, we are shown a picture of Jesus in action—heeding the words of a Gentile woman, and bringing healing to a man who had been deaf and unable to speak clearly.

But the accounts of Jesus’ ministry are never meant to be solely biographical sketches. Their purpose is primarily theological and spiritual. What is said about Jesus tells the reader something about the nature of God—for instance, God’s compassion for the broken and the wounded, the lost and the outcast.

It is important to remember that people such as the deaf man and the Gentile woman were effectively excluded from access to God through the temple—because they were not allowed to enter it! Jesus, however, came to them. The arrival of Jesus meant that the outcast and marginalized suddenly—perhaps for the first time in their lives—had direct access to God.

At the same time, the gracious approach and touch of Jesus holds a significance that goes far beyond mere altruism and “niceness.” For those who were able to read the signs and understand the metaphors and allusions behind Jesus’ actions, it was obvious that God was working in their midst to bring about the time of peace that had been spoken of by the prophets.

Some would assert that the story in Mark is symbolic rather than literal. To the person of faith, it doesn’t matter. Such a view does nothing to undermine the considerably more profound spiritual truths contained within Mark’s account. Faith, after all, has nothing to do with empirical evidence or verifiable reports. If the answers are clear, given, and indisputable, how can anyone have faith?

Faith always holds the unseen and the partially-known in tension with lived reality and human experience. If anything can be proved beyond reasonable doubt, then faith in it is unnecessary.

Faith speaks and hears in a spiritual language—and whatever the scholars may think or say about a particular passage, the spiritual message and meaning will remain intact. And for us, that is always the more important consideration.

In the case of this story, the underlying spirituality of hope is supplied by an oracle from the prophet Isaiah:

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert. (Isaiah 35:5-6)

Isaiah was writing for the people in exile in Babylon, offering them hope that they would return to their own land, the land promised and given by God. Yet the quotation from Isaiah contains words of hope for exiles of every time and place. And there are perhaps no sorrier exiles than those who are estranged from the living God. There will come a time, Isaiah says, when what is wrong will be made right.

Mark saw Jesus as the One who would usher in the time spoken of by Isaiah. That is the nature of the Good News for Mark: that in Jesus, what is wrong with the world is being made right, what is broken is being made whole, what is afflicted is being healed. And so, Mark makes a connection between his time and the tumultuous world of the prophet Isaiah.

Nevertheless, the continuing spiritual reality is that the story does not end with Mark’s Gospel. It does not end with any of the gospels. Rather, the story of the Good News continues right through to the present day—to this place, here and now! The gospel is meant to be a living and continuing reality in the presence of God’s people, even—and perhaps especially—in places where there is distress, injustice, and affliction.

Centuries ago, James understood this call to continuing action; and his words remain as true today as they were when they were written. When Christians seek the lost, comfort the grieving, and heal the sick, they are neither acting for their own sake, nor because they are “nice” people. They are certainly not acting because they believe they can earn their place in heaven by what they do. No.

Christians do these things because they are called to continue the work of Christ. As partners in his ministry, we are called to take his message into places where people are—for whatever reason—unable to hear it. We are called to carry the gospel into places where people have no voice, and no one to advocate for them. And make no mistake about it: in today’s world, the poor and the powerless, the deaf and the voiceless, are found everywhere—even in the church.

Mark’s Gospel is a reminder of God’s will that suffering should no longer be the common condition of humankind. The letter of James reminds us that we have an essential share in exactly the same work as Jesus. In a very real sense, when faithful people accept their calling and engage in the ministry of Jesus, they actually become Jesus, and the Kingdom of Heaven is once more brought near.

As Saint Francis once said—and as so many others have quoted: “Preach the gospel everywhere—and if necessary … use words!”