Second Sunday of Advent, Year C

TEXT: Luke 3:1-6

 

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins … (Luke 3:1-3)

Have you ever thought to yourself, “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be”?

Maybe it was the latest report of rockets falling in Ukraine. Maybe it was images of starving children scrambling for food amidst the wreckage of Gaza. Maybe you heard about the 16-year-old boy who made his first appearance in Saskatoon youth court this week, charged with first-degree murder in the death of a 20-year-old woman in a hotel parking lot. Maybe it was the latest family gathering that ended in shouting. Maybe it was the stupid thing I said when I should have just kept my mouth shut.

“This is not the way it’s supposed to be.”

If you’ve ever felt like this, then you have an idea of what the Bible means when it talks about sin.

And the biblical concept of sin is complex. When you say, “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be,” two things are going on. First of all, you have a sense that something is not right. But there is also a second thing happening.

To be able to say that something is not right, you first need a vision of what things are supposed to be like. In other words, sin is a derivative concept. You have to have some sense of what is right, to begin with. Only then can you say that something is wrong.

The Bible’s vision of how things ought to be is called shalom. We translate this word as “peace,” but it means much more than an absence of warfare or a calm state of mind. In the scriptures, shalom—or “peace”—means universal flourishing, wholeness, harmony, delight.

The prophets spoke about a day when crookedness would be made straight, when rough places would be made smooth, when flowers would bloom in the desert. They looked forward to a world where weeping would cease, where the lion would lay down with the lamb, where the foolish would be made wise, and the wise would be made humble.

They foresaw a time when dealers of death would become givers of life, beating their swords into ploughshares. All nature would be fruitful and benign. All nations would sit down together at the same table. All of Creation would look to God, walk with God, and delight in God.

According to the writer Cornelius Plantinga, shalom is a “rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as its Creator and Savior opens doors and welcomes the creatures in whom he delights. Shalom, in other words, is the way things ought to be.” *

Sin is the way things are not supposed to be. Sin is the violation of shalom. Sin is an affront to God because it breaks the peace of God. And what is it that breaks God’s peace? Twisting the good things of Creation so that they serve evil purposes. Splitting apart things that belong together. Putting together things that ought to be kept apart. The corruption of integrity—personal and social and natural integrity.  A moment’s reflection or a look at the evening news can supply endless specific examples.

I know, I know … All this talk about sin is kind of a downer—especially on the Second Sunday of Advent. I mean, we’re supposed to be getting into the holiday spirit, right? Decorating the tree. Listening to Christmas carols. Feeling jolly. But, today—instead of the baby Jesus and heavenly choirs of angels—we get John the Baptist, a shaggy prophet from the Judean wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

Not exactly “Have a Holly, Jolly, Christmas” … is it?

But here’s the strange thing. We still refer to this message as “good news.” It’s in the gospels of the New Testament that we hear about John the Baptist. And the word gospel means “good news.”

How can this be? A hellfire-and-brimstone preacher wagging his finger at us and calling us sinners … Well, that sure doesn’t sound like very good news. Certainly, John’s message is important. But it’s important only as a prelude to good news, right? It tells us how we can prepare for the good news of the Saviour’s birth … right?

We need to go through the hard process of acknowledging and repenting of our sins so that we’ll be ready for the gift of Christ.

It’s necessary—but we still wouldn’t call it “good news,” would we? The doctor who tells us we have to lose weight and start exercising may be proclaiming a truth we need to hear, but when we hear it, we don’t exactly celebrate, do we?

And yet, John’s message is much more than just a necessary, grin-and-bear-it prelude to good news. In and of itself, John’s message is good news.

John the Baptist proclaimed a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. I think there are three ways in which we can hear his message as good news. And all three ways have to do with hearing and responding.

First, if we hear John’s message and it rings true for us—if we have ever said, “This is not the way things are supposed to be”—then, obviously, we already know what God’s peace is meant to look like.

As I said before, sin is a derivative concept. If we know that things are not the way they’re supposed to be, then we must already have a vision of how things ought to be.

This is good news, my friends! We do have a vision of God’s shalom. We do have a sense of God’s peace, and our Christian hope is rooted therein. It has been given to us in our scriptures, and in our religious traditions, and in our reflection upon creation.

We have been given a vision of the world as created and redeemed by our good and generous God. It is a vision of a transformed and restored world—one that is fruitful, abundant, and harmonious. The world of shalom is life-giving, peaceful, and whole; it is filled with a deep and abiding joy.

If we hear and respond to John’s message about sin, then we must already know something about God’s peace. And that is good news; it is good that we know this.

A second way we can see John’s message as good news is this: if we hear and respond to his call to repentance for the forgiveness of sins, then we must believe that there is something we can do about sin.

John’s message is not a hopeless message. He does not say to us, “Things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be—and they never will be! Get used to it.” No. John’s message is liberating and joyful, because it calls us into harmony with the purposes of God. If we already understand God’s vision of shalom, then we see the way in which harmony can be restored.

Yes, the Creation is broken—but the breach can be repaired. John’s proclamation is good news, because it holds out the possibility of salvation. Despite the fact that things are not the way they should be, John’s message is: things can change, and so can we! We can hear God’s call, and we can respond to it. People can stop killing each other. We can decide to feed hungry people. Parents can love their families and raise healthy children. Enemies can become friends.

We can make shalom happen! And that is the best kind of good news. It is joyful, liberating news.

Finally, John’s message about repentance and forgiveness of sins is good news because: if we dare to respond to the call of God’s peace, that means we already trust in the eventual triumph of God’s peace. It means we believe that shalom is not a lost cause.

Referring to John the Baptist, our gospel lesson quotes the prophet Isaiah: “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God’” (Luke 3:4b-6; cf. Isaiah 40:3-5).

What an emphatic message: all flesh shall see the salvation of God! This is good news. In fact, this is the Good News!

It’s true that things are not the way they’re supposed to be.

But we already know God’s vision of shalom. And so, we can turn our hearts and our minds toward God’s purposes.

We can trust that someday all things will be put right, all tears will be wiped away, all swords will be beaten into ploughshares, and all flesh will see the salvation of God. God’s peace will win out in the end.

And we know this because—in the birth of Jesus—these mortal eyes of ours have seen the Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, and he shall be called “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6b).

Things are not the way they are supposed to be. We know this because we already know God’s vision for the world. But—through a process of repentance—we can align ourselves with God’s purposes.

God is calling us to usher in his reign of peace, where things are as they should be. And we can do this in spirit of gratitude, joy and trust.

Why? Because—in the birth of a baby who is the Prince of Peace—we have been given a promise. And the promise is this: God’s shalom will be triumphant!

Thanks be to God.

___________________________

* from Cornelius Plantinga’s book Not the Way It’s Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin; quoted at: http://flourishonline.org/2011/05/the-goal-of-creation-care/

First Sunday of Advent (Year C)

TEXT: Luke 21:25-36

[Jesus said:] “It will seem like all hell has broken loose—sun, moon, stars, earth, sea, in an uproar and everyone all over the world in a panic, the wind knocked out of them by the threat of doom, the powers-that-be quaking.

“And then—then!—they’ll see the Son of Man welcomed in grand style—a glorious welcome! When all this starts to happen, up on your feet. Stand tall with your heads high. Help is on the way!”

He told them a story. “Look at a fig tree. Any tree for that matter. When the leaves begin to show, one look tells you that summer is right around the corner. The same here—when you see these things happen, you know God’s kingdom is about here. Don’t brush this off: I’m not just saying this for some future generation, but for this one, too—these things will happen. Sky and earth will wear out; my words won’t wear out.

“But be on your guard. Don’t let the sharp edge of your expectation get dulled by parties and drinking and shopping. Otherwise, that Day is going to take you by complete surprise, spring on you suddenly like a trap, for it’s going to come on everyone, everywhere, at once. So, whatever you do, don’t fall asleep at the wheel. Pray constantly that you will have the strength and wits to make it through everything that’s coming and end up on your feet before the Son of Man.” ¹

Well, that sounds like a wake-up call, doesn’t it? That’s our gospel lesson for today, from Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase of Jesus’ words, in The Message version of the Bible.

I like The Message because it’s written from a 21st-century perspective—which is probably why its language is so hard-hitting. And I think Jesus’ words here are meant to hit us hard.

He is actually responding to a question his disciples asked.

You may remember this passage (Luke 21:5-7). Jesus and his friends were in the Jerusalem temple—which was a very impressive piece of architecture, “adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God.” But Jesus tells them, “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.”

So they ask him, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?”

In his reply, Jesus talks about all kinds of terrifying stuff: wars and insurrections, earthquakes, famines, plagues, and persecutions. He says that Jerusalem will be surrounded by armies, and people will have to flee to the mountains, “for these are days of vengeance, as a fulfillment of all that is written” (Luke 21:22).

And he goes on, saying: “Woe to those who are pregnant and to those who are nursing infants in those days! For there will be great distress on the earth and wrath against this people; they will fall by the edge of the sword and be taken away as captives among all nations; and Jerusalem will be trampled on by the Gentiles, until the times of the Gentiles are fulfilled” (Luke 21:23-24).

Welcome to the first Sunday of Advent! By now, I’m sure you’re wondering what any of this has to do with Advent and Christmas. After all, our thoughts have already turned toward putting up the Christmas tree and decorating our homes. Everywhere we go, there are happy reminders that Christmas is coming. So, what’s with the doom-and-gloom gospel lesson? On this first Sunday in Advent, wouldn’t we rather hear a message about Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus? Why does the lectionary serve us up a passage like this one, today?

Well, perhaps it’s because many of us really do need a wake-up call at this time of year, when it’s so easy to become distracted. And this time of year is full of distractions, isn’t it? Shopping. Traffic jams. Endless parties. We can get so caught up in these things that we completely miss the “peace on earth and good will to all” part.

The first message of Advent is: “Wake up! Don’t miss out on the coming of Jesus.”

The season of Advent is a spiritual wake-up call. Listening to this gospel lesson, you can almost hear the alarm clock ringing.

Not only does Advent try to wake us up, but it also invites us to look around. Advent urges us to look in two directions: back upon the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem; and forward to Jesus’ return in glory. That’s why this season begins with a text about the Second Coming. From the start, Advent looks deep into the future; to the end of history, in fact.

Now, if I’m going to be faithful to what the scriptures say about Christ’s return, then the first thing I must tell you is this: nobody knows the day or the hour of his return—nobody! One of the most radical statements in the Bible is found in Matthew and Mark’s account of Jesus’ words in the temple: “… about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matt. 24:36; Mark 13:32).

Did you catch that? Not even Jesus knew when the end of human history would come. Only the Father knows.

But we want to know, too … don’t we? And so, we try to figure it out. Lots of people focus on Jesus’ words in today’s text: “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all [these] things have taken place” (Luke 21:32).

Writers like Hal Lindsey and Tim LaHaye and many others have supposed that Jesus was speaking about the generation which saw the reconstitution of the state of Israel in 1948. That’s why—in 1970—Hal Lindsey wrote a book entitled The Late Great Planet Earth. On its pages, Lindsey cobbled together prophetic passages from the Old and New Testaments and came up with a prediction that Christ would return by the year 1988. The book sold over 28 million copies.

Of course, when 1988 came and went and Christ did not return, Lindsey merely adjusted his numbers to buy a few more years (and sell a few more books). Well over a quarter-century later, we’re still waiting.

Likewise, the psychic Jeane Dixon—who apparently correctly predicted the assassination of John F. Kennedy—asserted that an apocalyptic “war of Armageddon” would occur about the year 2020. More recently, the physicist Frank J. Tipler has asserted that the Second Coming of Christ will occur by 2057. Perhaps the clock is still ticking.

Why do we worry about stuff like this? Some people focus on prophecies and predictions because they want to prove that the Bible is true. They think that—if they can show that the Bible in fact predicted something that would happen 2,000 years later—then people will pay attention to it.

But, look: the Bible does not need proofs to make it true. The Bible reveals God to us in Jesus Christ—and that is what makes it true. I also have to tell you this: I believe that the events Jesus predicted did in fact come to pass. In the year 70 A.D., the Roman army invaded Jerusalem, destroyed the temple, and made the earth shake with violence. Jesus warned his disciples that life in this time would be difficult for God’s people—and that certainly was the truth.

Personally, I think we’ve been living in the last days for about 2,000 years. Christ could return at any time, my friends. It could be next week. It could be this afternoon. Or it could take another 2,000 years. No one knows for sure. It seems like a long time to us, but even 4,000 years is hardly a blip on God’s radar.

In any case, I hope none of you are consumed by anxiety over all this. Did you notice that our gospel lesson actually contains words of hope? There are many who want to use the sights and sounds of the apocalypse to scare people—to scare us into faith. However, this is not our Lord’s way. Instead, Jesus tells us: “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near” (Luke 21:28).

Do you hear that? In the midst of tragedy—in the midst of war and rumours of war; in the midst of oppression and poverty, tsunamis and superstorms and earthquakes, rioting and protest, autocratic political leaders and fulminating dictators—in the midst of our own personal losses, we can raise our heads and look for the Lord because he is near. That is the message of Advent.

In the beginning God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. Where was God? In the darkness.

Moses went up into the darkness that covered Mount Sinai to receive the Ten Commandments. Where was God? In the midst of the darkness.

On Easter morning, while it was still dark, Jesus rose from the dead. Where was God? In the darkness before the dawn.

Advent is a season in which we remember that we are people of hope. We sing to Emmanuel because God is with us. When we are lost in any kind of darkness, Advent reminds us that we are not alone. The God of hope is with us. Jesus warns us not to get distracted by the cares of this world. Lift up your eyes. Lift up your hearts. Look heavenward, because—even in the worst of times—our Lord comes to us.

When you get right down to it, that’s really all the scriptures say about the end time: no one knows when it will come, but it does come, and—because God is present in it—it is a time of hope.

We should not pay attention to the doomsayers who would attach a date and time to Jesus’ return. However, we should prepare for his coming—and we should pay a lot of attention to how we prepare for it. We can prepare by living out our faith each day: living it out with a sense of urgency.

We all realize that the celebration of Christmas has changed over the years. What started out as a season of hope and promise and joy and peace has turned into a time of stress, and crowds, and shopping lists. And when it’s all over, many of us are left with presents to return, looming debt that will take us months to pay off, and an empty feeling of having missed something.

But … what if we prepared differently this year? Not long ago, I heard about a project called the “Advent Conspiracy.” That sounds kind of sinister, but it’s really not. The purpose of the Advent Conspiracy is to bring a deeper meaning to Christmas. On its website,² it lists four guiding principles: “Worship Fully, Spend Less, Give More, Love All.”

In a nutshell, the idea behind the Advent Conspiracy goes like this: What if we bought one less Christmas gift this year? You know: the sweater that will never be worn, the candle that will never be lighted, or the knickknack that will get returned the day after Christmas. And what if we took the money saved by not buying that gift, and gave it to help someone in need?

Since Christmas began with a group of people who worshipped Christ, what if we conspired together to begin this season of preparation by engaging fully in worship? What if we conspired to buy less? What if we conspired to give more? What if we conspired to love each other?

See how this works? It’s simple. It’s not easy—but it is simple. If you have a conflict with a family member or friend, offer forgiveness and seek reconciliation as quickly as possible. Don’t let it simmer inside of you until it poisons your whole outlook on life and makes it uncomfortable to be around that person. Live peacefully with each other.

Imagine what a positive difference that would make in our lives—and in our world. The Advent Conspiracy is designed to help us live well as we anticipate the coming of Christ.

Just like today’s gospel reading, the Advent Conspiracy gives us a wake-up call. As the Apostle Paul wrote: “… you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armour of light” (Rom. 13:11-12).

That’s good advice for the start of this Advent season. So, let’s do it! Let’s wake up, be alert, and stay on guard. Lift up your eyes to the Lord and stand up to face him, for your redemption is at hand. Thanks be to God.

_________________________

¹ Luke 21:25-36, from The Message Copyright © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002 by Eugene H. Peterson.

² http://www.adventconspiracy.org/

Christ the King Sunday

Text: John 18:33-37

 

We give you thanks and praise, O God, for you are the Ruler of the Universe—and you reign with justice and righteousness. You created all things in heaven and on earth, and through your holy prophets in ages past you promised to save us. Out of your deepest mercy, you have come to us in fullness in Jesus the Christ, your anointed One, whom you sent to be our Shepherd and our King.

Help us to always keep your power and your authority and your love and your majesty in our minds and to never forsake the doing of your will. Make us ever more obedient to the Word you place in our hearts and in our minds.

By the power of your Spirit, help us to live out our discipleship with increasing faithfulness; to show our commitment to Christ through our actions every day—through how we spend our time and our money; through how we employ our hands and direct our feet; through how we speak and how we think; through how we work and how we play.

In his time with us, Christ commanded us to love you, and love one another—and even to love our enemies. Therefore, we persevere in prayer for all our sisters and brothers across the whole earth. We pray for those in this world who are set in authority over us, that they might act justly and compassionately in all things.

We pray also for those who have no power; who find themselves at the mercy of forces over which they have no control—economic, political, military, and social forces which bring conflict, poverty, and myriad forms of hardship; climatic and environmental forces which bring drought, famine, and natural disaster; forces which work to destroy the weakest and most helpless amongst us—forces which we are called to oppose, as people to whom you have given dominion over the earth.

We pray for the suffering and the sorrowful; the despairing and the dying; the grieving and the guilty; the lonely and the lost. We pray for those in hospital rooms, and in prison cells—and for those who will sleep rough tonight, braving the elements as winter approaches. We pray for those near to us, and for those dear to us. We pray for those whose names we know, and for those whose names—and needs—are known only to you.

All your children, O God, need a Saviour as well as a Sovereign. Through the actions of your faithful people, give voice to the voiceless, grant liberation to the oppressed, feed the hungry, and give drink to the thirsty. Let us never forget that we are the hands and feet—and eyes and ears—of Christ Jesus our King, in whose name we pray. Amen.

________________________

For other meditations upon the Reign of Christ (Year B) see these previous posts:

http://www.garygrottenberg.com/blog/not-usually-think-kings/

http://www.garygrottenberg.com/blog/not-from-here/   

Proper 28, Year B

TEXT: Hebrews 10:11-25

And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another … (Heb. 10:24-25)

Today’s epistle reading—especially the part about provoking one another to good deeds, and meeting together, and encouraging one another—reminds me of something that happened quite a few years ago now.

At the time, my son Samuel was the youth minister at a large church in the “deep south” of Calgary, Alberta (what you might call a “well-heeled” neighbourhood). And I was pastor of a smaller congregation in the city’s north-east.

Sam’s church had a sizeable youth group, comprised mostly of senior high school students, and he was always looking for ways to challenge them, and broaden their horizons, and hone their discipleship skills. So he came up with this idea of an “urban mission project.”

On a Sunday afternoon, he wanted to take a group of teenagers from his affluent part of the city into the downtown core, into the world of poverty—the realm of the homeless, the destitute, and others who must depend upon their wits to survive in a difficult environment. But of course, in order to carry this thing off, he needed some adult chaperones. And this is where I would come in. Would I help? Would I come along? Actually, I’m not sure “chaperone” is the right word to describe what Sam was looking for. The way he put it to me was like this: he said, “I need some big buys who look like they can handle themselves in a fight.”

Well, I have to tell you, I don’t particularly relish the idea of getting in a fight! But I knew what Sam was getting at; just having some heavyweights visible in the group might add an element of security. Even so, I wouldn’t have said “yes” to anybody else … but this was my son who was asking me. So I agreed to go. Then I proceeded to worry about it, because this sort of thing is entirely outside of my comfort zone.

The plan for this mission trip was simple enough. We were going to offer hot coffee and warm clothing to whomever wanted it. Then we were going to grab a fast-food supper and head to an evening service. Yes, it was a simple enough plan. But for me, it was completely foreign territory. I had grave concerns about personal safety—not just for myself, but for this whole group of kids for whom I was going to be partly responsible. What would I do, if there was the threat of violence? More than that, I had serious misgivings about our method. Would we look like just a bunch of condescending do-gooders? Would anyone resent us, or feel like their dignity was being insulted?

As I said, this stuff was outside my comfort zone. And by the time the day rolled around, I’d had about three weeks to work myself up into a frenzy of dread. But, true to my promise, after my own worship service in the morning, I headed south to meet up with the group that was going downtown. There were about 20 of us, including my son and four adult volunteers. Besides the grownups, the ages of our group ran from 12 years of age to about 18.

Before I knew it, we were in the city core. We had with us 100 cups of coffee—in those Tim Horton’s coffee boxes, which hold 10 cups each. We had 100 paper cups and lids. We had hundreds of packets of sugar, cream, and stir sticks; and we had many, many items of warm clothing.

Forming three groups, we set out in different directions, and we agreed to rendezvous later at Olympic Plaza. My group included one other adult—my friend Ernie—as well as Ernie’s 12-year-old daughter Emily, and five teenagers (three guys, two girls). Right away, we began to encounter people who looked like they might need what we had to offer. Also right away, I discovered that the young people were much less apprehensive about all this than I was. In fact, it quickly became apparent that Emily—the youngest—had no fear at all. She was by far the boldest when it came to approaching people. We had to make sure someone kept up with Emily, because she would literally run up to people to offer them coffee!

After about an hour and a half, we wound up at the Calgary Drop-In Centre, where we very quickly got rid of all the coffee we had left, as well as the clothing. Shortly after that, we had supper at a McDonald’s on Stephen Avenue, then walked to Central United Church for the evening service, which was a “Recovery Service”—that is, worship aimed primarily at people struggling with addiction. After that, we returned to Sam’s church, where we gathered in the Youth Room to “unpack” the experience. Now, “unpacking” the experience—at least, the way my son did it—involves prayer, and meditation upon Scripture, and then sharing with others. And as I sat in that circle, I heard some of the most amazing—and deep—reflections and insights from this group of teens.

I have to say that all my anxieties turned out to be completely unfounded. Nobody threatened us. Nobody was offended by what we were doing. Our gesture—small as it was—was received with what I can only describe as exuberant gratitude. It was just coffee, but these folks couldn’t have been happier if we’d given them champagne! Well, OK, maybe that’s stretching it a bit. Some of them probably would have been happier about champagne.

But the point is, they were genuinely grateful for the hot coffee, and for the warm clothing, which many of them desperately needed. This simple gesture drew us all together, and I found myself engaged in conversation with people who, a day earlier, I would have avoided like the plague. It was one of the profoundest—and most touching, and enlightening—experiences that I’ve ever had. Would I do it again? Absolutely! No question.

How does all this relate to our passage from the Letter to the Hebrews? Well, listen again to this part: “… let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another …”

How do you provoke someone to love? How do you provoke someone to perform good deeds? Well, if you’re a youth leader, one way you can provoke teenagers to this kind of goodness is by making it part of the program: by saying, “We’re going to do this. Who’s coming?” And then taking names, and demanding a firm commitment.

Taking names … making firm plans to go as a group … this touches on something else that’s important: “not neglecting to meet together.” By meeting together, and undertaking the task together, you make the whole thing do-able—and much less frightening than if you were to contemplate doing it on your own.

“Let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together … but encouraging one another …” There’s not only safety in numbers, but also mutual encouragement. Not everyone has to be like Emily—at the vanguard of things, boldly approaching people. Others can be the ones who pour the coffee, or hand out the sugar, or the clothing. Or—like me—you could be the one who carries the garbage bag (for some reason, that quickly became my job).

And there’s something else that happens when people work together: they bond! By having a common mission, you discover a common Spirit. I saw that happen, too. I had never met most of those kids before. But by the end of the evening, we felt like old friends. I felt completely accepted by them—and not just because I was “Sam’s dad.” I’d gone way beyond that. Now, I was a fellow disciple.

I also noticed—and I think this is interesting—that Emily found the same kind of acceptance. Now, you have to remember that, at age 12, she was by far the youngest member of our company. The next youngest would have been a grade nine boy, and—in the group that Emily and I were part of—the two teenaged girls were much older. So you might have expected them to treat Emily like a little kid. Or maybe even regard her as a nuisance. But that’s not what happened. In fact, quite early in the afternoon, I could see that the three girls were getting along very well. They found they had a lot in common, despite their age differences. And when we were unpacking the experience afterward, it was Emily who astounded us with her deep insights about privilege, and addiction, and the power of simple deeds.

So that’s the story. In it, I hope you’ve heard both a challenge and a promise. The challenge has to do with stepping outside your comfort zone, and encouraging others to do the same thing: provoking one another to love and good deeds. The promise has to do with the reward you’ll receive—with what you’ll learn about yourself and about others when you take the risk of discipleship. The promise is that—with the encouragement of other believers, and by acting in concert with others—you will find yourself rewarded in ways you’ve never even imagined. You’ll discover yourself to be capable of things you never dreamed you could do. And you don’t have to do it by yourself. That’s the wonderful thing about being part of a church community; we can encourage and support one other in our discipleship. And when we do that, miracles happen.

Together, we can do a lot more than any one of us can do alone. As members of the Body of Christ, we are not only called to vocations of service, we are also equipped and enabled to carry them out. And mutual encouragement is an important part of that. So don’t be afraid to stretch your discipleship. And don’t feel like you have to go it alone. Jesus promises us that when we gather together in his name, he will be with us. And when Jesus is with us, there’s nothing we cannot do. Challenges abound in Christian life. But those challenges are also opportunities—opportunities to really and truly live out your faith. Don’t be afraid to take them!

 

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

 

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.

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).

 

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

 

 

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 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.