Love Binds Us Together

A Children’s Story for Proper 17, Year B

James 1:17-27 (EasyEnglish Bible)

17 Remember that every good gift comes to us from God. He only does what will help us. He is our Father in heaven. He made everything in the sky that gives us light. Those things do not give us the same light all the time. They change, but God does not change. 18 He chose to make us his children. He used his true message to do that. Because of that, we are like the first special gift that belongs to him from among everything that he has made.

19 Understand this, my Christian friends: We must all be careful to listen. We should not be too quick to speak. We should not get angry quickly. 20 God wants us to do what is right. But when someone is angry, they do not do those right things. 21 So stop doing disgusting things. Stay away from the wicked things that are all around you. God has put his message deep inside you, and it can save you. So be careful to accept that message.

22 But be careful to do what God says in his message. Do not only listen to it. Do not make that mistake! 23 You must obey God’s message. Do not be like a man who quickly looks at his face in a mirror. 24 That man looks at himself, but then he goes away. He immediately forgets what he is really like. 25 So do not just listen to God’s message and then forget it. It is a completely good message that makes people free. Look at it carefully and keep it in your mind. Do what it tells you to do. God will bless anyone who lives in that way.

26 Maybe some of you think that you are serving God well. But if you also say bad things about people, you do not serve God well at all. You are doing something bad even when you think you are doing good things. 27 If you want to serve God in a completely good way, do things like this: Help children who have no parents and women who are widows. Help them in their troubles. If you serve God our Father like that, he will be pleased with you. Do not let the bad people in this world make you bad too.

EasyEnglish Bible Copyright © MissionAssist 2019 – Charitable Incorporated Organisation 1162807. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

 

Love Binds Us Together

TEXT: James 1:17-27

OBJECTS: tape, glue, paper clip, bolt.

THEME: Love keeps us close.

 

Look what I’ve got! A roll of tape, some glue, a paper clip, and a bolt. These all do the same kind of job.

Who knows what that job is?

They are all used to hold things together.

Almost everything we can think of has to be held together by something. Can you name a few of them?

  • A letter of many pages (paper clip).
  • Crafts or artwork that you do in school (glue, tape).
  • Big machines—like your family car (bolts).

Something else that has to be held together is … US!

We need to be close to other people—especially our friends. If we are not close to others, we become sad and lonely.

What sorts of things make us become not close to others? What makes you want to run away from somebody?

  • If they yell at you.
  • If they get mad and shove you.
  • If they don’t pay any attention to what you are saying.

In the letter that he wrote, Jesus’ brother James says this:

“We must all be careful to listen. We should not be too quick to speak. We should not get angry quickly. God wants us to do what is right. But when someone is angry, they do not do those right things.” (James 1:19b-20)

We need to be close to our friends, and also our family. Most importantly, we need to be close to our church family—because Jesus told us his disciples (that’s all of us) should stick together.

So what makes people stick together? What makes you want to be friends with someone?

  • If they share things with you.
  • If they listen to you and comfort you when you are sad.
  • If they care about other people and help them.

I know one thing that does it better than anything else: LOVE!

When it comes to sticking people together, love is better than tape, glue, paper clips, or bolts. How can we show love for other people?

  • Sharing
  • Listening
  • Caring

There are other things that we sometimes think will keep us close to others, but they don’t work as well as love does.

You may think that you are friends with a person because you live on the same street—but if that is all that makes you friends, it will be over the first time you have a serious disagreement.

Or you may think you are friends with a person because you like the same sport (or the same games)—but this usually doesn’t last, either.

Even living in the same house with your family will not automatically make you close to them.

In every case, what we really need is love for that person.

If you want to be close to someone, love is the thing that will help you stick together.

Remember:  “[God] chose to make us his children. He used his true message to do that. Because of that, we are like the first special gift that belongs to him from among everything that he has made.” (James 1:18)

Hear that? We are all God’s children. We are a special gift—to God, and to one another. God wants us to love each other.

 PRAYER:

Thank you, God, for loving us and making us your children. Help us to share with each other your special gift of love. In Jesus’ name we ask it. Amen.

SIGNS OF THE TIMES

TEXTS: Matthew 26:6-13; Ezekiel 37:1-10; Luke 21:5-19

“For you will always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me. By pouring the ointment on my body she has prepared me for burial.” (Matt. 26:11-12)

“Prophesy to these bones, and say to them: ‘O dry bones, hear the word of the LORD’ … ” (Ezekiel 37:4)

“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.” (Luke 21:9)

 

  • July 26, 2024: Speaking at the Turning Point Action Believers’ Summit in Florida, former president Donald Trump said, “Get out and vote just this time. You won’t have to do it anymore. Four more years it will be fixed. It’ll be fine. You won’t have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians.”

  • August 14, 2024: Dr. Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, Director-General of the World Health Organization (WHO) declared that the rise in mpox cases constitutes a public health emergency of international concern (PHEIC).

  • August 15, 2024: The death toll in Gaza has surpassed 40,000, health officials in the territory say. As the Israel-Hamas war enters its 11th month, it is firmly entrenched as one of the most destructive conflicts in recent memory.

  • August 22, 2024: The U.S. National Weather Service Hurricane Center has identified four tropical waves in the Atlantic Ocean that warrant monitoring as we approach the peak of the 2024 Atlantic hurricane season. Hurricane Ernesto struck Bermuda last week, causing dangerous surf and rip currents along the East Coast. In July, Hurricane Beryl became the earliest Category 5 hurricane on record, causing catastrophic damage and leading to 20 deaths as it ravaged several Caribbean islands.

“Signs of the Times”—that could be the theme for the summer of 2024. Not to mention the preceding decade. And, to be sure, our three Scripture readings all have something to do with “signs” of one kind or another.

In today’s passage from Matthew, Jesus sees a sign in his anointing by the woman with the alabaster jar—a sign pointing to his own imminent death.

In Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of dry bones, a sign is given to the defeated and exiled peoples of Judah and Samaria, who have been crushed under the heel of the Babylonian empire. It is a sign of hope—hope that, through the power of God, the bleached bones of their dead nations would one day live again.

And in the 21st chapter of Luke, Jesus responds to a question from his disciples, who have asked him what signs would precede the “end.” Probably, this is what most of us are thinking about when we refer to “signs of the times”—we really mean “signs of the end.”

But what do we mean when we speak of “the end?”

Well, we probably mean that time referred to in the Apostles’ Creed where it says that “Christ shall come again to judge the living and the dead.”

It is a day of both judgment and transformation, when God will bring an end to warring factions and divisions based upon race and ideology and national origin. On that day—the “Day of the Lord”—God will forever do away with warfare and every form of violence.

This idyllic vision points to a time when all lives will be lived with God at the centre, and all other things in balance. God will judge the unrighteous, destroy evil once and for all, put an end to death and suffering, and establish his rule and dominion over all the earth.

If you don’t read the Luke passage carefully, it can sound like this is what Jesus is talking about when—standing in the temple precincts—he tells his disciples that the day is coming “when not one stone [of the temple] will be left upon another.”

Now, such words may sound like a foretelling of the coming of the Day of the Lord—but they are not!

Jesus is not talking about the Day of the Lord, but about the time before the final day—the “time between time,” if you will. He makes that clear when he warns that those who say the end is near are wrong. And he warns us: “Do not go after them.”

Jesus, of course, always tended to brush off people’s questions about signs—especially signs about the Day of the Lord. He insisted that no such sign would be given, except for the “sign of Jonah,” the very sign he was living out as he preached to the people of Jerusalem in those final days before his own death and resurrection.

However, to prevent people from being misled, he identified a number of things which would take place before the temple’s destruction, quickly adding: “but the end will not follow immediately.”

So the first thing for us to recognize is that Jesus is not talking about the “Day,” but about the days between now and then—in other words, the time the people of God have been living in ever since his Ascension. Jesus’ words on the signs of the times are about our times, today.

Jesus warns of false prophets and charlatans—and they did appear on the scene, claiming to be him and exploiting people’s fears and anxieties. They still appear. In fact, in times of crisis, they seem to show up by the busload. I guess that’s not surprising. When people feel like they are dry bones—or fear that they soon will be—they become desperate for words from a prophet. And for many of us, any prophet will do.

Yet Jesus’ words are clear: “do not go after them.” Do not be distracted or misled by them. There is work here to do, and this kind of speculation only serves to take us away from our mission as the people of God. Ignore the false prophet who claims to be “the chosen one.”

Cataclysmic events, both natural and international, are not a sign the end is near. Wars, insurrections, earthquakes, famines, plagues, dreadful portents and other great signs from heaven will continue to occur.

But you know, these signs are so general that they could be applied to almost any day and any age—and they are anything but signs that the end is near.

No. To the contrary, they are signs that the end still lies in the distant future; Jesus says as much. For us, they are not only the stuff of our nightly newscasts, but also signs that we cannot bury our heads in religious sand. We must not retreat from the headlines. We must not let the world go to hell in a hand-basket.

Why? Because we are still God’s stewards of life. We are still bearers of good news. We are still the ones to whom God looks for the implementation of his justice and of his mercy.

We are still bearers of the power and presence of God. The headlines are not signs of the future day, but signs that it is time for you and for me to invest in God’s future and follow Jesus ever more closely—here and now.

That is what stewardship is all about: following Jesus Christ more seriously in every area of our lives—even our finances, even when times are hard—because hard times are always God’s times.

Hardship is an occasion for witness. For more than 2,000 years, people have been giving in costly ways for this gospel: not just of their time, talent and treasure, but their very lives.

Jesus’ words about the signs of the times are not about “the day,” but about today. Today, we are called to be faithful witnesses—no matter what.

When famine, plague, wars, insurrections, and earthquakes occur, these are not signs of Christ’s imminent coming.

Rather, they are signs that we need to become true disciples of Jesus—feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, working to overcome sickness and death.

Famine, plague, war, insurrection, earthquakes—these are all signs that the church still has a gospel of salvation to proclaim. We are to be members of Christ’s body, entering into life’s storms and crying out, “Peace, be still.”

Signs of the times; they call us to silence the storm, to calm the waters, to pour out the oil of mercy in wounded places. In the midst of hardship, Jesus calls us to wait upon him—and he promises us that we will prevail.

Through such endurance, through such stewardship, through such faith and faithfulness, Jesus promises that we will not only save the lives of others, we will gain our own as well. And that, my friends, is what makes the good news … good news!

Thanks be to God. Amen.

BEING WHAT WE ARE

BEING WHAT WE ARE

Now I should remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain.

For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to someone untimely born, he appeared also to me. For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace towards me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them—though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me. Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.

— 1 Corinthians 15:1-11 (NRSV)

 

“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.” (v. 15)

It is very easy to read right past this little sentence, buried in the middle of Paul’s proclamation of the resurrection. It is easy to get caught up in his passionate defence and his historical synopsis of the events which he relates as proof of the gospel promise.

In the spiritual life, there is always the temptation to allow the easy intellectualization of doctrine to take the place of the harder work which leads to a personal experience of the living Christ. Eloquence and rhetoric too often serve as substitutes for the intimate love which is found in relationship with the Redeeming One.

That’s why this little sentence is so enormously important. “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.”

That statement is really the point of everything Paul is proclaiming about the resurrection. This sentence explains why the promise of God in Jesus Christ is so powerful—why the promise of life beyond the temporal and material is so earth-shattering.

It is a promise of infinitely-recurring abundant renewal. It is a statement about the transformative power of God’s grace—and a profound affirmation that such grace is never in vain.

We can test its importance by asking the simple question, “Could I make the same claim?”

I suspect that many of us would have a hard time saying with any conviction that “by the grace of God I am what I am.” We are more likely to attribute our intelligence, physical attributes, or good health to our genes. We are more likely to attribute our gifts and strengths to personal attention and to wise decisions about schooling or training. And likely, when it comes to our achievements, we give the credit to our own hard work.

Not very often do we thank God or praise God for the complexity and wholeness of our very being.

However, even those of us who do see our lives as an outpouring of God’s love and abundance—as a statement about who God is, rather than an opportunity to feel self-satisfied—might have trouble with the second part of the sentence: and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.”

We are only too well aware of the compromises that mark our decisions and choices. I suspect that few of us truly live—with any consistency—the values which we know to be the highest.

I suspect few of us own the radically subversive message of the gospel as the pole star by which we navigate our spiritual journey.

Yet the promise of the resurrection is all about being changed so that what we are is a reflection of God’s desire for us. Changed so that what we do manifests that holy desire in ways that co-create, that redeem, and that sustain wholeness and holiness within creation.

The resurrection is not merely about how God responded to Jesus. It is not merely about Jesus’ commitment to embody God’s desire upon the earth. No.

The resurrection must be about us, or else it has no meaning for us. If Jesus—and Jesus alone—is to be raised into oneness with God, then our whole “faith” is about a historical event that is over and done with.

The resurrection is the promise that the power of God will always be stronger than the brokenness of the world. It is the promise that the power of God will always be broader than human possibilities.

It was God’s power working in Jesus that raised him from death. It is the profound identity that Jesus was willing to claim with God that could not stay dead, even when the body had been slain.

“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and [God’s] grace toward me has not been in vain.”

Paul’s statement tells us where we are to ground ourselves if we are to be faithful people of God. It tells us who we are to be as a people professing God’s incarnation and the resurrection God offers.

In our daily routine, we are called to be who we are in God’s eyes. We are called to be people who are liberated from slavery to any destructive force, whether it is:

  • Love of money;
  • Lust for power;
  • Addictions—whether to substances, or gaming, or persons, or control;
  • Eating disorders;
  • Pornography; or a myriad of other things, including the most destructive of them all …
  • Self-righteousness.

We are called to be people who are set free from imprisonment in prejudice or hatred; in anger, greed, lust, or violence; in apathy or self-serving.

God calls us to be people who are strong in generosity and compassion, in purity and love, in holiness and mercy—reflecting the One in whose image we are created.

We are to be people who act on behalf of justice and equity and respect, on behalf of human dignity, on behalf of gentle inter-dependence with the other species who share this world—and with the earth itself.

We are called to reflect God’s own tenderness toward all creation—for we are God’s hope for its health and abundance.

Who we are by God’s grace are people whose lives enable God’s being to be revealed in the moments and the movements of time.

And we are to be people who can claim that God’s grace toward us has not been in vain.

Of course we will make mistakes—just as Paul did—but we are to be people who, again and again, reach beyond those mistakes to the vision of who God sees us to be.

We are not perfect, but we are people who seek over and over to act in such ways that God’s perfection can be glimpsed through us.

When we are willing to live so that God’s grace in us has not been in vain, then we are living in a deep and abiding relationship with God. And that is the building material from which God’s realm will be crafted.

Then—and only then—will the power of God be so intense within the boundaries of the universe, that time will stop. Time will stop because nothing can die any longer. Then our belief in the resurrection will become abundant reality—for all that was, and is, and is to be. Amen.

IT’S TOO SIMPLE!

NAAMAN AND ELISHA

Naaman, commander of the army of the king of Syria, was a great man with his master and in high favor, because by him the Lord had given victory to Syria. He was a mighty man of valor, but he was a leper. Now the Syrians on one of their raids had carried off a little girl from the land of Israel, and she worked in the service of Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, “Would that my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.” So Naaman went in and told his lord, “Thus and so spoke the girl from the land of Israel.” And the king of Syria said, “Go now, and I will send a letter to the king of Israel.”

So he went, taking with him ten talents of silver, six thousand shekels of gold, and ten changes of clothing.* And he brought the letter to the king of Israel, which read, “When this letter reaches you, know that I have sent to you Naaman my servant, that you may cure him of his leprosy.” And when the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes and said, “Am I God, to kill and to make alive, that this man sends word to me to cure a man of his leprosy? Only consider, and see how he is seeking a quarrel with me.”

But when Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes, he sent to the king, saying, “Why have you torn your clothes? Let him come now to me, that he may know that there is a prophet in Israel.” So Naaman came with his horses and chariots and stood at the door of Elisha’s house.  And Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh shall be restored, and you shall be clean.” But Naaman was angry and went away, saying, “Behold, I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call upon the name of the Lord his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?” So he turned and went away in a rage. But his servants came near and said to him, “My father, it is a great word the prophet has spoken to you; will you not do it? Has he actually said to you, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” So he went down and dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God, and his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean. (2 Kings 5:1-14, ESV)

* “ten talents of silver” and “six thousand shekels of gold” would amount to over $7.5 million today (2024)

The formula was simple. A child could understand it. “Go wash yourself in the Jordan seven times, and you will be made clean.” However, the person receiving this simple formula was not a simple man. Naaman was a great general in the Syrian army. We know he must have been a great general because he was the commander of the king’s army even though he was a leper—despite having this terrible and dreaded skin disease.

Had Naaman been an Israelite, his leprosy would have forced him to live apart from everyone else. Apparently, as a Syrian, he did not have to live in quarantine—but his disease was still considered both hideous and incurable. According to our passage from Second Kings, he was willing to pay millions of dollars, if only his affliction could be relieved.

After a couple of twists in the story, Naaman arrives at the house of Elisha the prophet, gold and silver in hand, ready to pay for the cure he so desperately needs. But, guess what? Elisha won’t even come to the door! Instead, Elisha sends a messenger to give the great general the simple formula: “Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and you will be healed.”

Well, Naaman is furious! What a snub! He has travelled a great distance to obtain a cure for his dreadful condition. He is prepared to pay a fortune for it, and—as one of his servants points out—he is willing to perform any number of difficult tasks to receive this gift from God. But all Elisha tells him is: “Go and wash in the river, and you will be healed.”

It was all too simple. Naaman thought Elisha was mocking him, trying to make him appear foolish. The great Syrian general—bathing in the muddy waters of the Jordan because a Hebrew prophet said so. Fortunately, Naaman’s servants manage to persuade him, and the Bible tells us that he emerged from the waters not only healed in his body, but also giving praise to the one true God of all the earth.

You know, I can sympathize with Naaman. Sure, he was an arrogant so-and-so … but so was Elisha. And the prophet’s remedy really did seem too simple. Ridiculous, even! But it worked. Naaman was healed.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve done what Naaman did—over and over again. I’ve done the hard stuff and skipped the simple things. If something looked too simple, I figured it was unimportant—so I skipped it. I could do years of university-level theological study, but not bother with half an hour a day of silent prayer. Too simple to bother with. I didn’t bother with such things for years because they were so simple I did not imagine they could have any value.

But when you think about relationships—whether with God or with another person—it’s the simple things that determine whether they are healthy relationships. If, in relating to your spouse, you put all your energy into the big events—the birth of a baby or an annual holiday or a Valentine’s dinner—but forget about the ordinary, day-to-day, little kindnesses … Well, the relationship won’t last very long. It’s the ongoing small things—things that seem too simple to bother with—that keep the relationship alive.

You know, most of what we do in church—Sunday by Sunday—is relatively simple. In worship, we simply gather with our friends, sing some songs, say some prayers, listen to some Bible stories, spend some time in silence, maybe break some bread. All very simple stuff. Perhaps Naaman wouldn’t have bothered. Perhaps sometimes we wonder why we bother! But remember how Naaman was healed.

In between our Sunday gatherings, there are lots of simple little things that are easy to overlook, and not get around to. Prayer is one of those things. It ought to be part of everyone’s daily routine—and yet, I suspect that many of us try to make the weekly church service carry the weight of our entire prayer life.

However, much of the value of the worship service is actually rests upon foundations of regular prayer and Bible study that we build in to the rest of our week. Yet, strangely, most of us would find it easier to enroll in a demanding and expensive course on spirituality somewhere than we would to spend even 30 minutes a day reading Scripture and talking to the Lord. Those simple little things seem so unlikely to yield any benefits, and those big impressive things appear so much more promising.

But remember Elijah—who was Elisha’s predecessor and mentor. Elijah did not hear the voice of God in the storm or the earthquake or the fire, but in the sound of utter silence (1 Kings 19:11-13). And Naaman was not healed by paying millions of dollars and performing some great act of devotion. No. He was healed when he swallowed his pride and applied himself to the simple and the small.

The road to life in all its fullness is made up of a whole bunch of little steps, most of them seemingly insignificant—even irrelevant to our hoped-for destination. A dip in some ordinary water. Listening to stories from long ago. Some regular silence and prayer and study. Sharing ordinary bread and a shot of grape juice.

As Paul said in his letter to the Galatians (6:12-15), there will always be people trying to complicate matters by telling us we need to add this or that or the other thing—bigger, more impressive things. All that really matters though, Paul says, is that you are a new creation.

And as Jesus said once (Luke 10:1-11, 16-20), even though you might occasionally see some spectacular results as you minister for him, don’t make that the measure of your relationship with God. The real cause for celebration is that our names are written in heaven.

It might seem ridiculously simple next to watching Satan fall from heaven like lightning—or being able to cast out demons. It might seem too simple to be of any consequence …

But remember how Naaman was healed. Remember, and do likewise.

GIVE US SOME MORE OF THAT BREAD!

A COMMUNION MEDITATION

TEXTS: John 6:24-35 and Ephesians 4:1-16

 

Come in, come in and sit down,

you are a part of the family.

We are lost and we are found,

and we are a part of the family.

 

There’s life to be shared in the bread and the wine;

we are the branches, Christ is the vine.

This is God’s temple, it’s not yours or mine,

but we are a part of the family. *

 

I think Jim Manley’s joyful song is the perfect opening hymn—especially for a Communion service.

“Come in, come in and sit down …” Why?

Because “you are a part of the family.”

Families are great, aren’t they? At least, most of the time, they are. But then, there are those relatives who …

Well, there are relatives like my brother-in-law Tim. When our son Samuel was six years old, somehow or other Iris and I thought it would be a good idea to leave “uncle Tim” in charge of him for a day.

So, what happened? Well … it’s like this …

For lunch or dinner or some meal (I can’t exactly remember), Tim decided they should both go to a restaurant.

To what kind of restaurant would you take a small child? Chuck E. Cheese? McDonald’s, perhaps? Or Denny’s?

Tim took Sam to a very high-end eatery. You know—the kind of place where you’re met at the door by a maître d’.

Yeah. I’m surprised they’d let a six-year-old boy in to a place like that. It’s not exactly “family dining.”

Anyway, to make a long story short … Tim wanted to expose Sam to some of the finer things in life. So he ordered a plate of escargots. That’s right. Snails. Sautéed in garlic butter.

I have to say … I am 70 years old now, and to this day, I still have not been able to bring myself to try fried snails. Call them by whatever elegant French name you want to, I immediately think of slugs in the garden! And that puts me off.

Apparently, Sam wasn’t too keen on the idea, either, at first. But then uncle Tim offered my son the one thing he’s never been able to resist: cold, hard cash! Tim told Sam he’d give him a toonie if he’d try one—and that was all it took. Down the hatch went the sautéed snail. And then another. And another. Turns out Sam really liked escargots! Who’d have guessed it?

Fried snails instantly became Sam’s favourite thing. He would actually ask for them—and beg to go to places where we could get them. I think they remained Sam’s favourite thing until he started having to pay for them himself.

Do you know how expensive those things are? A saucer with four fried snails in it can cost you 20 bucks!

THANKS A LOT, UNCLE TIM!

In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus says, “I am the bread of life.”

Jesus does not say, “I am the escargot of life,” or “the rich semisweet dark chocolate of life,” or “the medium rare standing rib roast of life.” Nor does he compare himself to a bucket of KFC. No. Jesus says, “I am the bread of Life.”

Bread. Certainly not disgusting. But nothing fancy, either. Ordinary, everyday bread. Every culture, it seems, has some kind of bread. As a dietary staple, bread is common—and yet it is also uncommon because it has so many varieties. There’s white bread, whole-wheat bread, pumpernickel, French, Italian, pita, tortilla, sourdough, gluten-free … and the list goes on and on. Say the word “bread” and chances are some pleasant image—or taste, or smell, or texture—quickly comes to mind.

But listen carefully to what Jesus says:

“Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal … Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world … I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:27, 32-33, 35).

All of those other breads will quickly grow stale and mouldy. Even the manna from heaven that fed the Hebrews in the wilderness was temporary.

Remember that story from the Book of Exodus? In chapter 16, we read about the miraculous bread that fell from heaven to sustain the children of Israel in the desert. And it didn’t cost twenty dollars a plate! It was free for the asking—but God warned the people not to try to hoard it or keep the leftovers until morning. If they did, the Bible tells us that “it bred worms and became foul” (Exodus 16:20).

Jesus came offering a new and different kind of bread—bread that will not go bad or get stale, bread that is not temporary, bread that nourishes perpetually and lasts forever. This bread encourages and preserves hope. Where there is life, there is hope. The bread of life is the bread of hope.

Human beings have always craved the bread of hope. We still do. And yet, so very many people today live—or rather, existwithout the bread of hope. So very many of us live hope-deficient lives. We all know people like this. Their spirits are pale and gaunt from lack of sustenance. Some of them suffer from eating disorders as they try to fill their empty lives with food that does not satisfy.

Others search endlessly for “Prince Charming”—or “the girl of their dreams”—to bring the delicacies of romantic love that will make all their loneliness and insecurities disappear. Still others gorge themselves on material possessions only to discover that more is never enough.

Like starving children with swollen bellies, they live as if they were simply waiting to die. They live in a state of desolate alienation: estranged from family and loved ones—estranged from their parents, or children, or spouse; estranged from old friends; estranged, even, from themselves. But, most of all, estranged from God. Hopelessness breeds this kind of alienation—and alienation, inevitably, starves the human soul.

In our text from John, we follow up on last week’s reading, where Jesus fed 5,000 people with five barley loaves and two fish. Remember? Now these people were sticking to him like glue. The miracle of the loaves reminded them of the manna in the wilderness. “Could this man be the new Moses? Could this guy work wonders for us?”

So they demanded that Jesus prove himself by making some bread from heaven rise up on the spot. Jesus ignored that request, and instead he offered them … himself.

But this was not at all what they had in mind. A relationship with this traveling preacher? What good is that? They were thinking more along the lines of escargot, prime rib, and semisweet dark chocolate. They wanted good food and great wonders. They wanted miracles on demand. They wanted that bucket of KFC!

So Jesus tries to correct their faulty suppositions. He tells them: “It was God—not Moses—who gave the manna in the wilderness, and it’s God who gives the true bread from heaven, the bread that gives life to the world.”

“Give us some of that bread!”

I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” (John 6:35).

Unfortunately, that remark just confused them. But maybe we are confused, also. How exactly is Jesus the bread of Life? And how is Jesus like—and not like—the manna in the wilderness?

Well, Jesus is like manna in that, through him, God reminds us that we live because God provides! Not necessarily what we want—but exactly what we need: some food, some love, some breath, some water. More than that, God offers us a relationship with the One who is the bread from heaven. And here’s where Jesus is markedly different from the manna in the wilderness; because it is through this relationship that he sustains us. In Christ, God comes to reconcile us to himself. In Christ, the Holy Spirit works to heal our alienation—to put an end to our estrangement.

There are all kinds of reasons people become estranged from one another and from God. None of us are immune to broken relationships. And yet relationships are as necessary for life as is bread.

That’s how we have been created. We need to be in relationship to be fully human. Yet—as we know all too well—the fabric of relationships can be as thin as tissue paper.

God knows this, too. God knows how fragile our relationships are—how fragile our very lives are—and he knows that we need to be fed continually. That’s why God sends the bread from heaven in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.

In Jesus, God comes as the Bread of Life: as sustenance for the sickly and sequestered; as a banquet for the bereaved and bottomed-out; as a feast for the forlorn and forsaken.

In Jesus, God leaves a trail of breadcrumbs leading out of the desert of hopelessness and estrangement—and into relationship, into community; a trail of bread crumbs to guide us home.

When we start picking up and eating those tiny bread crumbs of life, something astonishing happens.

When we partake of the hope, and peace, and unconditional love that is Jesus Christ, we come to realize—maybe for the first time—that the very presence of this bread means that there is no disagreement, no argument, no sin big enough or bad enough to make God stop loving us.

This bread is not only an invitation to life, it is life! This bread gives us life because it is our hope. It is the very life of God made real in our human experience.

  • Wherever there is humility,
  • Wherever there is gentleness,
  • Wherever there is patience,
  • Wherever there is unity in the Spirit,
  • Wherever there is peace,
  • Wherever there is truth spoken in love …

Wherever—as Paul said—we are called to one hope, one Lord, one faith, one baptism … there … in that place, we feast upon the bread of life (Eph. 4:1-3).

Wherever love triumphs over human sinfulness, estrangement, and hopelessness—wherever the walls of alienation are broken down—there is the bread of life, there is God’s own life given to us and for us.

And if that’s what God has done for us in Christ, if that’s how God feels about us—if God is truly unwilling to let sin and estrangement be the focus of our existence; if God instead chooses to feed us the bread of life … How shall we respond? How shall we live?

Will we let petty differences undermine our relationships? Will we let our disagreements cause separation and estrangement? Will we nurse grudges and coddle resentment and chew upon controversy like so much worthless gristle?

Or will we live lives worthy of our calling, imitating the One whose overcoming love rises like bread?

In Jesus Christ, the bread of life rises. It rises to overcome everything that would separate us from God and from one another. In him, the bread of life rises to conquer even death itself.

Even now, the aroma of freshly-baked bread is wafting down from heaven’s kitchen. And soon, a breadcrumb trail will lead us out into the world.

May we be nourished and empowered by this gift of bread—this Bread of Life.

May we rise up and live out the unconditional love baked into our souls through our relationship with Christ.

For in Christ, God has proclaimed a feast of the heart. In Christ, God provides the Bread of Life to nourish and sustain us—in all of our relationships, at all times and in all places … in this world and the next. What greater blessing could we ask for? Amen.

___________________

* “Come In, Come In and Sit Down” Words and Music by James K. Manley. Copyright ©1984 James K. Manley

 

FAITH BLIND SPOTS

Proper 12, Year B

Text: John 6:1-21

When he looked up and saw a large crowd coming towards him, Jesus said to Philip, “Where are we to buy bread for these people to eat?” He said this to test him, for he himself knew what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Six months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each of them to get a little.” (John 6:5-7)

Knox United Church was a typical urban church of our time.

Situated in a downtown district fled by the business community and now patronized mainly by the homeless and the drug pushers, it struggled to survive with an aging membership.

The congregation had faced and triumphed over many challenges in its long history. It had already come to the brink twice, surviving both times by merging with other congregations in the area. But now viable options were running out. After more than 100 years of mission, the Knox congregation was having to consider the possibility of ceasing to exist.

One day the minister proposed what may have seemed like the perfect solution to help keep Knox Church open.

What if the church refocused its energy toward a ministry among the poor and the homeless? In light of the economic decay of the neighbourhood, the proposal made sense. God seemed to be calling Knox to a new kind of mission, one that would make the gospel present in a concrete way among the destitute persons right outside its doors.

The proposal received some discussion in the congregation, but very few people were ready to embrace it. One hundred years of mission to be reduced to caring for the poor and the homeless—it didn’t sound right.

Besides, where was the energy to embark on this new direction? Where was the will and the money to make it all possible? It seemed more appropriate to let Knox die peacefully. Most people in the community felt a responsibility to protect the dignity of this historic institution.

Thus—after serious consideration—the church board rejected the proposal, citing the absence of the necessary resources to make it work.

This is what we might call a “faith blind spot,” a situation in which, after weighing all the options to a given problem, we conclude that it is impossible to find a satisfactory solution. So we abandon the effort.

In other words, we do not allow for the possibility that a solution may lie outside the range of our expectations or values: a blind spot that can only be illuminated by faith.

In the familiar story of “the feeding of the 5,000”—which is told in all four gospels*—the disciples are caught in a similar situation. Jesus had spent a full day of ministry among a crowd of people along the shores of Lake Galilee. As the sun began to set, the disciples became increasingly anxious. The crowd showed no signs of dissipating. In fact, it seemed to be growing larger every minute.

Anyone who has dealt with large crowds will appreciate the disciples’ anxiety. There are issues of security and people’s health to consider. What if a stampede broke out and some people got trampled on the ground?  What about food and toilet facilities?

The response to Jesus’ ministry—as exciting and dramatic as it may have been—was now posing a serious practical problem. It was a problem the disciples were neither expecting nor equipped to manage.

In Matthew’s version of this story, the disciples approach Jesus and say, This is a deserted place, and the hour is now late; send the crowds away so that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves (Matthew 14:15).

Of course. Encouraging the people to disperse seems like the responsible thing to do. “Teacher, we have to let the people go now. Enough is enough. We cannot feed this multitude. We cannot ensure their safety. The longer we allow them to be here like this, the greater the danger that something will go wrong. Send the crowds away, so that they may go and buy food for themselves.”

They were simply being realistic and practical. No doubt, seeing so many people responding to Jesus’ ministry was very exciting indeed. But a reality check was essential at this point. A serious problem was looming, and the disciples were unable to see a solution within the range of normal expectations, apart from encouraging the crowd to disperse.

Jesus disagreed. According to him, there was a spot within the range of possibilities that could not be seen by rational means alone—a spot that could only be embraced by faith. That, according to him, was where the disciples needed to focus their attention. Do not abandon these people, he told them. With a little faith, you yourselves can provide what they need.

We have all been there at one time or another, both in our individual and corporate lives. The obstacles facing us seem so large and impenetrable—and the range of possible solutions in our view so impoverished—we are ready to give up. Against all reason, we take one step forward anyway. Then we realize that the answer was there all along, hidden from our view, a solution we could only access by faith.

One of the fastest sprinters of our time once confessed to a degree of nervousness—sometimes bordering on panic—before every major race.

“You have to understand,” he said, “that each one of the competitors stands a good chance of winning. There are no guarantees.”

“Then how do you take control of your nerves and go on to win the race?” he was asked.

He said, “I quit thinking, and simply go in there and do it.”

In other words, at some point he must stop analyzing the challenge before him and simply get on with the race, as a matter of faith. In doing so, he finds his way to victory.

We are not called to plunge into situations without thinking. Neither should we respond to the challenges facing us without a careful analysis of the relevant dynamics. Reason is an integral part of living by faith. On that basis, it is right and proper for us to seek trusted counsel as a means of intelligent decision making.

It is also important to remember, however, that in seeking to decide which action we should be taking in a given situation, reason alone cannot give us the full range of potential courses of action.

There are possibilities hidden from our normal, rational view, and accessible only by faith. Sometimes we need to simply take that step of faith, trusting that God will provide a way.

Jesus said not to abandon these people. With a little faith, you yourselves can supply what they need.

With a little faith, we shall become people who are accustomed to seeing mountains move! With a little faith, you and I can become human channels of grace for others. We will see the dead raised and the hungry fed.

For the kingdom of heaven to come, for God’s will to be done, sometimes we must work very hard. But sometimes, we just need to get out of the way and let God be God.

However big the problem is, it is never too big for our Creator to solve. May God grant us courage to change the things we can, and trust enough to let go of the things we can’t.

Let us never forget that, when our best efforts have been inadequate, we can place our burdens and our problems in the Lord’s hands. Thanks be to God for that. Amen.

_______________

* See Matt. 14:13-21, Mark 6:32-44, and Luke 9:10-17

A House Without Walls

Proper 11, Year B

TEXT: Ephesians 2:11-22

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. (Ephesians 2:19-22)

There is a story that comes out of Poland from many years back. From the Second World War, in fact—at a time when the nation was, by and large, still devoutly religious.

In a particular village there was a man who was well known for his compassion toward others, and who was deeply loved because of it. He was not a particularly wealthy man, nor was he a native of the village, nor did he attend the local church. He was not even baptized. Yet, within this place that he had adopted as his home, he was known for his friendliness and good works. If a stranger came to the village and needed a place to stay, this man would offer a cot in his small house. If a family ran out of food, he was among the first to offer a loaf of bread or some flour from his own meagre supplies. If someone was in trouble with the authorities, or if the Germans (or, later, the Russians), were performing a sweep of the village to collect up the young men for imprisonment, or to conscript them into the army (or worse), he would help conceal the prospective victims. He was loved very much by the villagers on account of all these things and many more.

Eventually, the man died. The grieving villagers prepared his body for burial and proceeded to the church where they asked the priest to conduct a funeral service and to bury the man in the church cemetery.

The priest, who knew and loved the man as much as they did, told them that he would gladly conduct the funeral service, but that he could not bury an unbaptized person inside the church cemetery.

“I cannot bury him in our cemetery,” the priest explained. “It is hallowed ground. He must go where those who are not baptized are buried. Those are the rules of the church and I cannot change them.”

The villagers appealed even more earnestly to the priest, saying that the man was a good person and surely loved by God as much as any of the baptized, perhaps even more on account of all the good that he had done. The priest agreed with them regarding the virtues of the man, but sadly insisted that the rules of the faith were clear and could not be broken. Then he came up with a compromise.

“In recognition of your love for him, and of his love for all of God’s people in this village,” he said, “I will bury him on church land, near to those who have gone before him—those whom he has loved. But it will have to be beyond the fence that surrounds the consecrated ground of our cemetery.”

And so, on the appointed day a grave was prepared just outside the fence that surrounded the church cemetery, and the body of the man was processed by all the villagers to the site where the priest conducted the ceremony. Then the grave was filled in and a headstone was set in place.

Sometime during the night, a remarkable thing happened—something that became apparent when the priest arrived at the church the next morning. The fence that surrounded the cemetery had been moved so that it now took in the grave in which the man had been buried. Even in death, his friends had found a way to embrace him.

For me, this story captures something of what Jesus was all about; something of what the good news is all about … namely, inclusivity.

As the villagers expanded the fence to include the grave of the one whom they so dearly loved, so God—through Christ Jesus—expands the boundaries of the sacred to include both those whom the ordinances of religion would exclude and those whom the ways of this world would exclude.

Robert Frost once wrote, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall.” That’s good news for us, isn’t it? Because we live in a world of walls. Dividing walls are everywhere we look. Barricades. Checkpoints. Border walls. Prison walls. Cultures. Religions. Ideologies.

Consider our everyday language. How often we call others “those people”, or use the term “they”, and “their kind” in our conversations.

“Those people come over to our country and …”

“They just don’t appreciate hard work …”

“Their kind always have their hand out …”

Who are “they”?

Often, they are the newcomers in our midst. People from another place. People with accents, or who don’t speak our language. People with a different shade of skin, different customs of religion and food, and different ways of being family.

But often, too, “they” don’t come from another country. Perhaps they are indigenous persons. Or descendants of settlers.

Perhaps they live in a different part of town. Perhaps they have no home to live in at all. Perhaps they are the addicted ones. Or have a mental illness. Perhaps they are minimum-wage earners who must choose between groceries or rent.

Whoever “they” are, they are different than us. Perhaps they are members of the 2SLGBTQI+ community. Perhaps they are conservatives or liberals. Catholics or fundamentalists. Oilfield workers or environmentalists. Animal rights activists or rodeo cowboys. Boomers. Millennials. Generation Z.

Perhaps they are naturists. Or perhaps they think “casual” means loosening one’s tie when the weather is hot.

The walls that we erect take many forms. Some pertain to our culture. Some to our way of life and of earning a living. Some are related to what we believe to be true about God or about Jesus.

We persist in building walls to keep away those who don’t share our understanding, who refuse to do things “our way.”

I think that’s why the Christian religion has so many denominations. I believe that’s the reason Jesus cried out when he looked upon Jerusalem, saying, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! See, your house is left to you, desolate” (Matt 23:37-38).

Consider today’s epistle reading. We are all in need of the reconciliation spoken of by the apostle Paul. We are all in need of a fresh look at just who we are in the eyes of God, and where we fit into the family of God. The key message in the entire letter to the Ephesians—the very heart of the epistle—comes from a section that speaks of the benefits offered to both Gentiles and Jews through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ:

For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, so that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Eph. 2:14-18)

Here, Paul alludes to a prophecy from Isaiah (57:18-19). The prophet says that God notices that his faithless people are suffering from their infidelities, that they are exhausted from their rebelliousness against him. God saw their ways (Is. 57:18) and withdrew from them, but now has mercy on them.

“Peace, peace to the far off and to the near,” the prophet declares.

God, through the prophet, was addressing the Jews in exile (the “far off”). But Paul applies the image to gentiles who have accepted the gospel message. Just as blood sacrifice reconciled the Jewish community in covenant to God, so the blood of Christ has reconciled us to each other and to God, building us into one spiritual house wherein God may dwell.

The rituals and regulations of the Law that were given as a covenant with the people of Israel are by no means cancelled for them. But they no longer separate “the chosen” from the unchosen.

In Christ Jesus, all are made one—Jews and Gentiles alike. For, through Christ, all have access to the Father by one Spirit. The barriers of hostility, the walls of division, are broken down. God has seen our human condition and come to our aid in Christ, in whom God has made “one new humanity in place of the two.” A new creation has occurred. A new people of God has been made from those who formerly were enemies.

Race, gender, culture, biblical knowledge, political stance, heritage … these have no part in our salvation, for all are chosen by God and all are loved by him. God longs to gather all people together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and in Christ God has acted to do so.

That, my friends, is why the good news is good news.

UNARMED—AND DANGEROUS!

Eighth Sunday After Pentecost

Proper 10, Year B

TEXT: Mark 6:14-29

The word was getting around about Jesus, and soon even King Herod had heard what was being said … “It’s John for sure,” he said. “I had his head cut off, but he’s come back anyway, and more trouble than ever.”

—Mark 6:14a, 16 (Laughingbird paraphrase)

I write this week’s blog from Calgary, Alberta, where the “Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth” is in full swing. Thankfully, so far, the Calgary Stampede has only killed three of its rodeo animals (fingers crossed there won’t be more).

I desperately need to escape from the cowboy atmosphere which pervades everything here. So, today, I’d like to focus our attention upon a man who was anything but a gun-slinging hero from a Hollywood Western. As far as I know, he never packed a six-gun or wore a tin star upon his chest. He didn’t have to. He was in touch with something far more powerful.

You all know his name (or at least, you should). I’m talking about Mohandas Karamchand Ghandi (1869-1948), the father of modern India, who most of us probably know by the title “Mahatma” (which means “great soul”).

In the early 1920s, Gandhi and India’s National Congress Party began moving more and more towards civil disobedience as a chief political strategy in order to achieve independence from British colonial rule. In spite of numerous setbacks to his cause and violent confrontations with the authorities, Ghandi never gave up his vision that independence could be achieved without spilling one drop of British blood. He continued to walk his way back and forth across the country preaching his message of non-violent resistance.

As he did so, his reputation began to spread throughout the Indian subcontinent. Both Hindus and Muslims would come from long distances—on foot, with their bedding on their heads and shoulders, on bullock carts, and on horseback—just to catch a glimpse of him. Never before, it seemed, had any political or religious leader so profoundly inspired and mobilized the masses of ordinary people.

Even the civil authorities had to sit up and take notice. Although they resented deeply what Gandhi was attempting to do, they could also not help but admire what he had come to represent. Gandhi’s hold on the public imagination was tremendous—and that is the kind of threat that the rulers of this world fear most.

In today’s gospel reading, Mark plunks us down squarely in the real world of politics. This is the only significant story in Mark’s Gospel that is not about Jesus; and it is no accident that Mark places it where he does.

Jesus has just finished giving instructions to his disciples about how they are to embody God’s love in the world (Mark 6:7-13). Expect opposition and trouble, he tells them, but the only thing you need to take with you is the gospel and a confident faith. And then, Mark—as if to “slam dunk” his point—reminds us of the story of John the Baptist; and he does it in a very deliberate way.

He does it by reminding us that Herod was tormented by fear. Now, I should point out that this is not Herod the Great, who ruled Israel around the time of Jesus’ birth. No. This is Herod the Great’s son by his Samaritan wife Malthace. He was called Herod Antipas to keep them straight, but he was a chip off the old block.

Mark calls him “King Herod”—but in reality, he had only pretensions to be a king. True, he was the ruler of Galilee for about 43 years, and—aside from the Romans—he was the chief political authority during Jesus’ lifetime. Still, his official title was “tetrarch of Galilee and Perea,” a position made available to him as a result of his father’s accommodation with the Romans.

Herod Antipas never did get to be king of anything, but he was an ambitious man who enjoyed great power and wealth. He was also thoroughly despised by his Roman masters and by his Jewish subjects. Herod was the kind of ruler who thumbed his nose at Israel’s religious laws, both by marrying his brother’s wife Herodias and by building his capital city—Tiberias—on top of a pagan cemetery.

The story told by the gospels (and also by the Roman historian Josephus) is that he got into deep political controversy with John the Baptist. John condemned Herod for several reasons—but the one that really stuck in John’s craw was Herod’s marriage to Herodias.

John publicly accused this famous couple of “living in sin.”  That was enough to turn Herodias purple with rage, and she convinced her husband to throw the troublesome prophet in jail.

Apparently, Herod feared the Baptist almost as much as he feared his wife. He knew how popular John was with the people—and he knew that he might provoke an uprising if he mishandled the situation with John. Herod may have thought that if John was in prison, then at least he could keep an eye on him—as well as keep peace in his own bedroom.

But it wasn’t just fear that motivated Herod. He was fascinated by John and frequently visited the prison just so that he could hear him ranting in his cold, dark cell. The portrait Mark paints is of a man who is obsessed by the very thing he fears and despises.

“Herod took a perverse pleasure in listening to John speak,” Mark tells us. “Everything John said aggravated him, and yet he kept coming back for more.” (Mark 6:20b)

Unfortunately, this fascination was not enough to convince him to change his behaviour. And the day Herod decided to throw a birthday party for himself, he unwittingly set himself up for a profound embarrassment. It was a grand and decadent celebration which was bound to impress all of Herod’s political cronies.

However, the evening included an unexpected turning point (unexpected by Herod, at least). Herodias’ daughter Salome (who was actually Herod’s niece) performed a provocative dance that was intended to arouse Herod—and make him vulnerable to suggestion. Now, whether Salome herself meant anything by it, her mother saw this as the chance she had been waiting for.

Caught up in the moment, Herod gave in to both his lust and his pride by following through on an oath to Salome to give her anything she wanted. Herodias made sure that what her daughter asked for was John’s head on a platter! And that, as they say, was the end of John the Baptist. Or so everyone thought.

By the time Mark tells us this story, John has been dead for some time and Jesus has been actively preaching his own message throughout Galilee. Although Herod apparently hadn’t met Jesus, he knew that something equally as powerful as John was stirring out there among the people.

“It’s John for sure,” he said. “I had his head cut off, but he’s come back anyway.”

This is what Mark wants to tell us. This is not just a story to remind us of the dangers of preaching the truth. It is a story to remind us of the delusions of the powerful. Herod’s own actions have engendered in him a deep-seated fear about the results of his deed. He interprets what he hears about Jesus “and his gang” by imagining that John has come back to get him.

Neither is this merely a story to tip us off about what lies ahead for Jesus as the plot develops. Of course, a similar fate is going to befall Jesus, as it befalls anybody with the courage to speak truth to the powerful. But that is not something Mark’s church would ever have questioned. What they would have had doubts about was the effectiveness of such truth-telling. Would following Jesus and speaking truth to the powerful ever make any difference, in the end?

Mark says that defenceless, unarmed, decapitated, dead prophets like John the Baptist do come back to haunt the powerful of this world. And you know, that is the truth. It is a truth that has been embodied in heroes like Martin Luther King, Jr., Oscar Romero, Cesar Chavez, Anne Frank—and of course, Mohandas Ghandi, who said that what kept him going in the face of apparently unbeatable opposition was the deep conviction, not just that love would eventually conquer, but that evil would inevitably defeat itself.

“When I despair,” he said, “I remember that throughout history tyrants and dictators have always failed in the end. Think of it. Always.”

Those words can offer us hope even in these frightening times when tyrants and dictators—and terrorists—still exert their malevolent power over the hearts and minds of many. Hatred is a powerful force; but it is also a heavy burden, and those who embrace it will, eventually, themselves be crushed by its enormous weight.

The power of love is different; it does not oppress, but rather lifts up—even in the worst of circumstances, the power of love is a buoyant force. I think that just may be what Jesus meant when he said:

“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” —Matt. 11:28-30 (NRSV)

Amen.

____________________________

 

MARK’S GOSPEL quotations from Laughingbird paraphrase ©2000 Nathan Nettleton (access at www.laughingbird.net)

MATTHEW 11:28-30. The New Revised Standard Version (Anglicized Edition), ©1989, 1995 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Prayer For a World Awash in Blood

Halfway through 2024 …

  • A deadly stalemate continues in Ukraine, with no end in sight.
  • In Palestine, we see a bleak future for Gaza and the West Bank as the spectre of a wider Middle East War looms ever larger.
  • In Yemen and the Red Sea, rising tensions threaten peace and international security.
  • Civilian casualties mount as government forces battle Fano militia in Ethiopia’s Amhara region.
  • In Sudan, thousands starve as a long war drags on.
  • In the Democratic Republic of Congo, fighting in North Kivu province has sent over 1.7 million people fleeing their homes, driving up the number displaced in Congo by multiple conflicts to a record 7.2 million.
  • In Myanmar, the Rohingya genocide intensifies as war ages in Rakhine state.
  • In Haiti, Kenyan police struggle to impose order as criminal gangs and vigilantes battle in the streets.
  • In Mexico, deadly political and criminal power struggles continue.

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 more 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.

PRAYER FOR DELIVERANCE:

From a spirit of contention which would destroy our unity;

Good Lord, deliver us.

From a spirit of rage which would destroy our love;

Good Lord, deliver us.

From a spirit of despair which would destroy our hope;

Good Lord, deliver us.

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

Good Lord, deliver us—for Jesus’ sake.

Amen.

 

“TALITHA CUM!”

טְלִיחָא קוּמִי (“Little girl, I say to you, get up!”)

Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

Proper 8, Year B

TEXT: Mark 5:21-43

When Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered round him; and he was by the lake. Then one of the leaders of the synagogue named Jairus came and, when he saw him, fell at his feet … (Mark 5:21-22)

Jesus had sailed over from the eastern shore of Lake Galilee, where he had been very busy. Now, stepping ashore on the more familiar north-western bank, Jesus was immediately met by one of the leaders of the local synagogue—a man named Jairus, whose 12-year-old daughter was gravely ill. Jairus begged Jesus to come immediately and lay his healing hands upon her. Right away, Jesus agreed to help, and they set off together.

The journey, however, was slow because of the pressure from the crowd. As Jesus worked his way ahead, a diseased woman, with astounding faith and courage, reached out her hand to touch the hem of his garment, trusting that this would heal her—and it did! Jesus publicly commended her faith, and sent her on her way in peace.

But then—just as Jesus finished dealing with the woman—a message arrived for Jairus, telling him it was too late. His young daughter was dead.

Even so, Jesus was undeterred. He simply told Jairus not to panic but to have faith. Having said this, he continued on his way to the house. Upon arriving there, Jesus found a scene of pitiful despair. Relatives and neighbours were gathered around weeping and wailing for the dead girl.

Then Jesus made a shocking statement: “Why are you making so much fuss? The girl is not dead, but sleeping.” Hearing this, they mocked him. And that’s not hard to understand.

So Jesus ordered the mourners to go outside. Then, taking with him just the father and mother, and some of his disciples, Jesus went into the girl’s room. Taking her by the hand, Jesus said: “Talitha cum!”

In the Aramaic language, that means “Little girl, I tell you, rise up!”

The girl stood up and walked. Those present were stunned. Of course! Who wouldn’t be? But Jesus, sensitive as always to the situation, said to them: “The child is hungry. Give her some food.”

Mark plainly tells this tale as a part of his unmasking of the profound mystery that was Jesus of Nazareth. Something as deep as Creation empowers this fellow.

Previous to this incident, Jesus had stilled a storm on Lake Galilee. After that, he calmed the raging voices in a disturbed man’s head. Then he healed and blessed the woman who dared to touch the hem of his robe. And now he raises up a child who was presumed dead!

What on earth is going on here? That’s what Mark wants us to sincerely ask. Who is this Jesus? From where does he derive his unique authority? What is the source of his power?

Mark knows that, if only we will pursue these questions to the end, we will come up with a divine answer—one that will forever change our lives. That is the dynamic of his gospel. But the thing I find most intriguing in this story is Mark’s quotation of the Aramaic words, “Talitha cum!”

The actual Aramaic—the common language of the people in Jesus’ day—is what Mark uses. He wrote the rest of his gospel in Greek, but he preserved this phrase in Aramaic: “Talitha cum!”

Scholars generally agree that wherever the Greek New Testament reverts to the Aramaic, it is because a particular word or phrase was especially important to the early church. They loved to repeat such words, and recall Jesus actually saying them. It put them in close touch with their roots as a community of faith.

Why and in what circumstances were these words—“Talitha cum”—so treasured and repeated? I can only speculate, but my hunch is this: often in those first years of Christianity, when a loved one died, the bereaved must have been tempted to despair, with much weeping and wailing.

But because of Christ, such despair was inappropriate. Grief was appropriate, but not despair. Jesus had banished despair. So the actual words of Jesus were often lovingly repeated: “They are not dead but sleeping. Little soul, rise up. Talitha cum!”  That is the very Word of the Lord!

I wonder how many times in that first century these words of Jesus were lovingly repeated—when disease broke out, or when bloody persecution devastated the young churches. Hundreds of times? Thousands?

Blessed were those—and blessed are those today—who whisper, or sing, or even inscribe upon a grave stone, the words: “Talitha cum.”

I do not know that the male form of the words of Jesus would be in the Aramaic language. But whatever they are, I would be honoured to have such an epitaph: “Little soul, I tell you, rise up!”

This is the very essence of our Christian faith. The Gospel of Christ is Good News—not only for this life, but for eternity. As Jesus himself said in another context:

“Very truly, I tell you, the hour is coming, and is now here, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live!” (John 5:25)

Talitha cum! Thanks be to God for such words of hope. Amen.