Scripture: Psalm 80
Sermon: Facing the World; Face-ing the Future
I haven't preached often from the Psalms, but when I do I am struck by their honesty about human experience.
This psalm is a national lament. Imagine all of us in Canada in our homes, and houses of worship, and provincial legislatures, and Houses of Parliament crying out together to God for help and for renewal from our sin and corruption as a people.
Sometimes our government offers official apologies for things like the treatment of Japanese Canadians during World War Two, or the tragedy of the residential schools. But these apologies do not hold a candle to the intent and depth of biblical lament, nor do they require the radical soul-searching and repentance of real lament.
Nor do we really gather up all our personal woes and bring them to God in worship. We share concerns with a friend or with the minister before worship starts, and we offer calm prayers of intercession in our worship for people in need and distress. But I don't recall ever hearing a prayer in worship beginning with words like those of v. 5: "You give us nothing but tears, O God; tears and more tears are our whole food and drink all day long" -- except maybe at a memorial service on the McMaster University campus a few days after the Montreal Massacre.
But outside of Blue Christmas services and the annual Service of Light and Hope organized by the local funeral home, does the sadness in our life find a way into our Advent and Christmas worship of God?
One thing I like about Psalm 80 is the thrice-repeated simple prayer: "Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved." (vv. 3, 7, 19) What a wonderful image, and what an honest and helpful prayer.
The people know they cannot conjure new life for themselves. No number of resolutions, no amount of restructuring, no choice of "new leadership", no degree of spin they might put on the situation will save them. Only the face of God -- be it judgemental or forgiving, challenging or encouraging, or all of the above, will give them the hope and assurance they need that they are once again on the right track and in real relationship again with God and real life, no matter where it might take them.
And isn't that what Christmas is about? About the face of God shining on us, bringing us hope and new direction once again, bringing us both judgement and forgiveness, in the person of Jesus bringing us both the challenge and the encouragement we need to live as God desires?
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Sermon from Sunday, Nov 23, 2014 (Reign of Christ Sunday)
Scripture: Ezekiel 34:11-24 and Matthew 25:31-46
(Note: In addition to Reign of Christ Sunday, the liturgy also included a baptism of a near-newborn named Ethan, son of Mark and Jenny, whose grandfather Stew read the Ezekiel lesson.)
When I talked with Stew this week about reading Scripture and I told him about the Ezekiel passage, and the judgement God promises to make between the greedy sheep and those who are deprived, between the pushy sheep and those who are pushed away and pushed out, his immediate reply was, “And you’re going to relate this to the baptism? Right?”
And I said just as quickly, “Of course.”
Of course. Because today really is all about Ethan, isn’t it? And about all the little ones that come into and under our care.
Mark and Jenny, no doubt you have already learned this hard truth, that now you are no longer just Jenny and Mark. Rather, you are now first and foremost, Ethan’s mommy and daddy. And that’s not gonna change. Your house, your routines, your sleep patterns, your lifestyle, your finances, your vacation choices, in time your choice of music and what concerts and parties and entertainments to go to will for a very large part all revolve around Ethan and what’s good for him – because you love him, and from your strength you want to care for him in his weakness, from your abundance you want to provide for him in his need.
And that – that understanding of life is where our readings this morning try to point us – to the understanding that God cares, and cares especially for the weak, the vulnerable, the needy, and the wounded ones of the world – God cares so much that God’s house, God’s routines, God’s sleep patterns, God’s lifestyle, God’s finances, God’s vacation choices, God’s choice of music, and God’s choice of where to travel and where to dwell all revolve around the poor and the weak of the world, around those who are wounded and in need.
One side of our baptism of Ethan is our desire and shared commitment as family and church to provide a safe, supportive place for him in the world. Jenny, even before you and Mark were able to cradle him for the first time in your arms, you bore him for nine months and you and Mark together did all you could to ensure he was safe and had all he need to grow and mature well. And now that he is born you will not stop doing that; the commitment to his safety and to what will help him grow well only increases, and your family and friends around you are now able to share more directly in this great work.
And we have committed ourselves as a church to do what we can as well. That’s why I cleansed my hands before taking him in my arms to baptize him. That’s why we provide nursery care for when he is older – not to keep him out of worship, but to offer him a place that we hope he can call his own. That’s the reason for Sunday school and Vacation Bible school and anything else we might be able to offer – not primarily to grow the church, but to offer Ethan and others a good place to learn about God, about love, and about what makes life good and meaningful. That’s the reason we adopt and place on our bulletin board downstairs the provincial guidelines and church protocols around abusive behaviour, bullying and any kind of assault in this place – not because we have to follow the law, but because we want this space to be as safe, welcoming and comfortable as possible for all.
And in the midst of all this, we also hope – as you do, as parents, grandparents, god-parents, uncles and aunts and cousins – we all hope that Ethan will be able to grow up to a life that is also caring and nurturing of others around him who are weak, or hurt, or in need.
That too is an understanding of life to which our readings want to point us. In Ezekiel’s time it was a matter of relieving people of the notion that they simply have to put up with greedy or oppressive or blind leaders – with the equivalent of what we would describe today, as leaders who are servants and protectors of the 1%. That’s the only kind of leaders the people of Israel had known, and they suffered because of it. In time they lost all they had when their leaders’ misguided policies led to total collapse.
Against this tragic experience, Ezekiel says God will come and will “him-self” be their shepherd. God will let the self-serving bullies fall away into history’s dust-bin, will not call on their service anymore, and God will gather those who have been scattered and forgotten, those who have suffered and are in need.
And who knows how? Maybe by populist movement, maybe by insurrection or revolution, maybe by groundswell, maybe by an Idle-No-More or Occupy movement, maybe by little pockets of new community. However it happens, God will do this gathering and nurturing work out of love for the little ones, and then God will raise up a new prince for them – not a king – God has had enough of kings – but a prince who will act compassionately under God’s direction, and with only the authority that comes from love.
And who is that prince? Well, we believe it’s Jesus – the one whose birth in a stable, for the sake of life and love and death and new life among and with the poor, we celebrate just a month and two days from now.
And it’s also many others. It’s all who live in the spirit and the way of Jesus – all who accept the invitation to be the body of Christ in the world. It’s all who truly live in the spirit and the way of God – all who live in the world as people of faith, hope and love.
And that too is part of our baptismal prayer and desire for Ethan – that he be able to grow up to become part of that body, and part of that great community of people who live out God’s love in the world.
I saw something recently about parents’ wishes for their children. In a recent study in North America, when asked what they most wanted for their children, a majority of parents said they wanted their children to be happy. Those same parents, though, when asked what they most wanted for themselves, replied that they wanted a meaningful life – a life that they could look back on as having been lived to good purpose. Happiness – as we are taught to understand it, and meaningfulness are not always the same. Why would we not want for our children the same thing that in our growing maturity we want for ourselves?
I saw a story in The Spectator this summer titled “Teach Them to be Kind” which makes the startling claim that 80 % of young people in a recent Harvard study indicated that their parents “were more concerned with their achievement or happiness than whether they cared for others.”
On one hand, that shocked me, because here for instance that’s not what I see. I see families and households that do teach their children to be kind and caring for others beyond themselves, and who care that their children grow up this way.
On the other hand, though, I think of my own parenting, and I wonder what my primary concern was when my son was young. Would I not have said, “that he be happy”?
The article mentions five things that can be done to “teach them to be kind” – make caring for others a priority that you talk about; provide opportunities for children to practice caring and gratitude; expand your child’s circle of concern; be a strong role model and mentor; and guide children in managing destructive feelings so that the desire for caring for others is not undone by anger, shame, envy or feelings of powerlessness.
That’s what we’re about at our best, as parents and family and friends and church around Ethan, and around other children in our care and in our circle. It’s what we are at our best even just for ourselves, in our own life.
Because we really do believe in what this Sunday is about – the celebration of a new life among us, created and nurtured into being by God; placed in our care to be kept safe and encouraged to grow in good ways; all under what we celebrate as the reign of Christ, the lordship over all the world of the God who cares most especially for all those who are weak and vulnerable, who are poor and in need, who are hurt and deprived – all the little ones of the world.
(Note: In addition to Reign of Christ Sunday, the liturgy also included a baptism of a near-newborn named Ethan, son of Mark and Jenny, whose grandfather Stew read the Ezekiel lesson.)
When I talked with Stew this week about reading Scripture and I told him about the Ezekiel passage, and the judgement God promises to make between the greedy sheep and those who are deprived, between the pushy sheep and those who are pushed away and pushed out, his immediate reply was, “And you’re going to relate this to the baptism? Right?”
And I said just as quickly, “Of course.”
Of course. Because today really is all about Ethan, isn’t it? And about all the little ones that come into and under our care.
Mark and Jenny, no doubt you have already learned this hard truth, that now you are no longer just Jenny and Mark. Rather, you are now first and foremost, Ethan’s mommy and daddy. And that’s not gonna change. Your house, your routines, your sleep patterns, your lifestyle, your finances, your vacation choices, in time your choice of music and what concerts and parties and entertainments to go to will for a very large part all revolve around Ethan and what’s good for him – because you love him, and from your strength you want to care for him in his weakness, from your abundance you want to provide for him in his need.
And that – that understanding of life is where our readings this morning try to point us – to the understanding that God cares, and cares especially for the weak, the vulnerable, the needy, and the wounded ones of the world – God cares so much that God’s house, God’s routines, God’s sleep patterns, God’s lifestyle, God’s finances, God’s vacation choices, God’s choice of music, and God’s choice of where to travel and where to dwell all revolve around the poor and the weak of the world, around those who are wounded and in need.
One side of our baptism of Ethan is our desire and shared commitment as family and church to provide a safe, supportive place for him in the world. Jenny, even before you and Mark were able to cradle him for the first time in your arms, you bore him for nine months and you and Mark together did all you could to ensure he was safe and had all he need to grow and mature well. And now that he is born you will not stop doing that; the commitment to his safety and to what will help him grow well only increases, and your family and friends around you are now able to share more directly in this great work.
And we have committed ourselves as a church to do what we can as well. That’s why I cleansed my hands before taking him in my arms to baptize him. That’s why we provide nursery care for when he is older – not to keep him out of worship, but to offer him a place that we hope he can call his own. That’s the reason for Sunday school and Vacation Bible school and anything else we might be able to offer – not primarily to grow the church, but to offer Ethan and others a good place to learn about God, about love, and about what makes life good and meaningful. That’s the reason we adopt and place on our bulletin board downstairs the provincial guidelines and church protocols around abusive behaviour, bullying and any kind of assault in this place – not because we have to follow the law, but because we want this space to be as safe, welcoming and comfortable as possible for all.
And in the midst of all this, we also hope – as you do, as parents, grandparents, god-parents, uncles and aunts and cousins – we all hope that Ethan will be able to grow up to a life that is also caring and nurturing of others around him who are weak, or hurt, or in need.
That too is an understanding of life to which our readings want to point us. In Ezekiel’s time it was a matter of relieving people of the notion that they simply have to put up with greedy or oppressive or blind leaders – with the equivalent of what we would describe today, as leaders who are servants and protectors of the 1%. That’s the only kind of leaders the people of Israel had known, and they suffered because of it. In time they lost all they had when their leaders’ misguided policies led to total collapse.
Against this tragic experience, Ezekiel says God will come and will “him-self” be their shepherd. God will let the self-serving bullies fall away into history’s dust-bin, will not call on their service anymore, and God will gather those who have been scattered and forgotten, those who have suffered and are in need.
And who knows how? Maybe by populist movement, maybe by insurrection or revolution, maybe by groundswell, maybe by an Idle-No-More or Occupy movement, maybe by little pockets of new community. However it happens, God will do this gathering and nurturing work out of love for the little ones, and then God will raise up a new prince for them – not a king – God has had enough of kings – but a prince who will act compassionately under God’s direction, and with only the authority that comes from love.
And who is that prince? Well, we believe it’s Jesus – the one whose birth in a stable, for the sake of life and love and death and new life among and with the poor, we celebrate just a month and two days from now.
And it’s also many others. It’s all who live in the spirit and the way of Jesus – all who accept the invitation to be the body of Christ in the world. It’s all who truly live in the spirit and the way of God – all who live in the world as people of faith, hope and love.
And that too is part of our baptismal prayer and desire for Ethan – that he be able to grow up to become part of that body, and part of that great community of people who live out God’s love in the world.
I saw something recently about parents’ wishes for their children. In a recent study in North America, when asked what they most wanted for their children, a majority of parents said they wanted their children to be happy. Those same parents, though, when asked what they most wanted for themselves, replied that they wanted a meaningful life – a life that they could look back on as having been lived to good purpose. Happiness – as we are taught to understand it, and meaningfulness are not always the same. Why would we not want for our children the same thing that in our growing maturity we want for ourselves?
I saw a story in The Spectator this summer titled “Teach Them to be Kind” which makes the startling claim that 80 % of young people in a recent Harvard study indicated that their parents “were more concerned with their achievement or happiness than whether they cared for others.”
On one hand, that shocked me, because here for instance that’s not what I see. I see families and households that do teach their children to be kind and caring for others beyond themselves, and who care that their children grow up this way.
On the other hand, though, I think of my own parenting, and I wonder what my primary concern was when my son was young. Would I not have said, “that he be happy”?
The article mentions five things that can be done to “teach them to be kind” – make caring for others a priority that you talk about; provide opportunities for children to practice caring and gratitude; expand your child’s circle of concern; be a strong role model and mentor; and guide children in managing destructive feelings so that the desire for caring for others is not undone by anger, shame, envy or feelings of powerlessness.
That’s what we’re about at our best, as parents and family and friends and church around Ethan, and around other children in our care and in our circle. It’s what we are at our best even just for ourselves, in our own life.
Because we really do believe in what this Sunday is about – the celebration of a new life among us, created and nurtured into being by God; placed in our care to be kept safe and encouraged to grow in good ways; all under what we celebrate as the reign of Christ, the lordship over all the world of the God who cares most especially for all those who are weak and vulnerable, who are poor and in need, who are hurt and deprived – all the little ones of the world.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Towards Sunday, Nov 23, 2014 (Reign of Christ Sunday)
Scripture: Ezekiel 34:11-24 and Matthew 25:31-46
Christ the King Sunday (the official name of the day) is a recent addition to the liturgical year. It was established by decree of Pope Pius XI in 1925 as a day for the faithful to celebrate the lordship of Christ over all creation, and to commit themselves anew to the coming of God's kingdom of God on Earth, rather than to the rising tide of secularism and consumerism.
Makes one think we still need this day today! (Maybe the day can give us a kind of vaccination against the commercial and consumer excesses of the season ahead.)
But calling Christ the king is not an easy matter. The difficulty is evident for me in two images or icons of Christ I came across this week.
This is the traditional image of Christus Pantocrator -- or Christ, Ruler of All. It is majestic, awe-inspiring and expresses well the faith that Christ is above and before all, holds all things together in heaven and on earth, and ultimately is the One by whom all things are both judged and redeemed.
The problem we have today though, is that it's a very hierarchical image in a world that knows the danger and poison of hierarchy, a monarchical image in a world that values egalitarian and democratic authority, and an image of Christendom in a world that is consciously post-Christian. If this is the leading image of the Christ we want to affirm as lord of all the world, are we really going to reach many people? Are we really offering a constructive witness? Are we really making a convincing case for committing anew to the way of Christ as the answer for the world's waywardness?
And then there is this -- Christ of the Margins, an icon by Brother Robert Lenz, OFM. It's arresting in what it says -- like the place of Christ in the world, the reality of suffering, and even the ordinariness and weakness of Christ in the midst of it. It's also thought-provoking in what it doesn't say -- like which side of the fence Christ is on, is he a victim or a rescuer, is it he or we who are imprisoned (or even both), and what is the hope?
I have a feeling that if we celebrate this One as lord whose way holds all things together, and by whose way the world is redeemed, we have something worth saying and celebrating that the world around us might just resonate with, and want to know more of.
Christ the King Sunday (the official name of the day) is a recent addition to the liturgical year. It was established by decree of Pope Pius XI in 1925 as a day for the faithful to celebrate the lordship of Christ over all creation, and to commit themselves anew to the coming of God's kingdom of God on Earth, rather than to the rising tide of secularism and consumerism.
Makes one think we still need this day today! (Maybe the day can give us a kind of vaccination against the commercial and consumer excesses of the season ahead.)
But calling Christ the king is not an easy matter. The difficulty is evident for me in two images or icons of Christ I came across this week.
This is the traditional image of Christus Pantocrator -- or Christ, Ruler of All. It is majestic, awe-inspiring and expresses well the faith that Christ is above and before all, holds all things together in heaven and on earth, and ultimately is the One by whom all things are both judged and redeemed.
The problem we have today though, is that it's a very hierarchical image in a world that knows the danger and poison of hierarchy, a monarchical image in a world that values egalitarian and democratic authority, and an image of Christendom in a world that is consciously post-Christian. If this is the leading image of the Christ we want to affirm as lord of all the world, are we really going to reach many people? Are we really offering a constructive witness? Are we really making a convincing case for committing anew to the way of Christ as the answer for the world's waywardness?
And then there is this -- Christ of the Margins, an icon by Brother Robert Lenz, OFM. It's arresting in what it says -- like the place of Christ in the world, the reality of suffering, and even the ordinariness and weakness of Christ in the midst of it. It's also thought-provoking in what it doesn't say -- like which side of the fence Christ is on, is he a victim or a rescuer, is it he or we who are imprisoned (or even both), and what is the hope?
I have a feeling that if we celebrate this One as lord whose way holds all things together, and by whose way the world is redeemed, we have something worth saying and celebrating that the world around us might just resonate with, and want to know more of.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Toward Sunday, November 16, 2014
Scripture: Matthew 25:14-30
Sermon theme: While the master's away ...
I got bogged down this week trying to figure out what the "talents" are that the master entrusts to the servants in this parable.
Are they skills and abilities that God wants us not to hide, but use to good purpose? Is it time we are given, to make the world a better place? Is it literally treasure -- the money, property and assets we are blessed with, that we are to use faith-fully? Or is it other stuff yet -- relationships in which we are to grow the kingdom, Earth that we are to serve and nurture as God's garden, life that we are to make possible for others?
The answer, of course, is the famous "all of the above."
So then I begin to see a few other things in the parable.
One is the risk the master takes in entrusting the current assets and the future health of the estate to the servants. Will they take good care of it? Do they know what they are doing? What will be left of the estate when the master returns?
Another is that the master expects things to happen while he is gone. As far as the master is concerned, the worst thing is that the servants play it safe and focus just on survival.
Which leads to a third thought. Jesus identifies two servants whose ventures are wildly successful and are rewarded for it, and a third whose timidity leads to total inaction and who is excluded because of it. But what would the master's response be to someone -- maybe a fourth servant, who like the first two tries to do something with what he was given, but whose venture fails or loses money?
What do you think the master's response would be?
Afterthought: This week I happened to come across this thought from William James:
Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work, genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?
Sermon theme: While the master's away ...
I got bogged down this week trying to figure out what the "talents" are that the master entrusts to the servants in this parable.
Are they skills and abilities that God wants us not to hide, but use to good purpose? Is it time we are given, to make the world a better place? Is it literally treasure -- the money, property and assets we are blessed with, that we are to use faith-fully? Or is it other stuff yet -- relationships in which we are to grow the kingdom, Earth that we are to serve and nurture as God's garden, life that we are to make possible for others?
The answer, of course, is the famous "all of the above."
So then I begin to see a few other things in the parable.
One is the risk the master takes in entrusting the current assets and the future health of the estate to the servants. Will they take good care of it? Do they know what they are doing? What will be left of the estate when the master returns?
Another is that the master expects things to happen while he is gone. As far as the master is concerned, the worst thing is that the servants play it safe and focus just on survival.
Which leads to a third thought. Jesus identifies two servants whose ventures are wildly successful and are rewarded for it, and a third whose timidity leads to total inaction and who is excluded because of it. But what would the master's response be to someone -- maybe a fourth servant, who like the first two tries to do something with what he was given, but whose venture fails or loses money?
What do you think the master's response would be?
Afterthought: This week I happened to come across this thought from William James:
Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work, genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?
Monday, November 10, 2014
Sermon from Sunday, Nov 9, 2014
Scripture: Matthew 25:1-3
Sermon: Is this marriage ever going to happen?
Is this marriage ever going to happen?
It’s easy for us to imagine this question in the mind of the bridesmaids as they tire of waiting for the bridegroom to appear, and they lay down – all 10 of them, to sleep for a bit.
We imagine the question in their minds because it’s a question in our minds: is this marriage – the marriage promised of heaven and Earth, ever going to happen?
For as long as, and longer than we can remember God has been promising the marriage of heaven and Earth, the coming of the kingdom, the birth of a new world in which wrongs are all righted and right is upheld, and the world is a place of justice and peace, reconciliation and shalom, where none are poor, none die prematurely, all is shared, where the weak are protected and blessed, where the strong are merciful and compassionate.
Is it ever going to happen?
Remembrance Day – especially this year in Hamilton, is a reminder of how far-off that promise is from being true. One hundred years ago young men left home and hearth to give their lives in war. Terrible losses were suffered – so horrific that people called it The Great War and really believed it would be the war to end all wars. Only twenty years later, in what would be called the Second World War, young men again went off – many of them also to die.
And how many wars since? Has there been a year without war in our time?
In 1956 we thought we had stumbled – or been led into a new and better way, the way of international peacekeeping crafted by Lester Pearson. Surely sign of a new day dawning.
But since then, even though we resisted the call to full participation in the war in Iraq, we found ourselves in armed conflict again in Afghanistan for more years than we counted on. And then last Tuesday, Canada once again found itself at war, this time against ISIS, with bombing raids against some of their construction sites and materials and personnel.
Is it ever going to happen – the promised marriage of heaven and Earth, the appearance of the kingdom of God among us? Is it any wonder that even those who believe in the promise, decide for now just to lay down and go to sleep – to wait it out, and pray it won’t be too long until Christ the Bridegroom returns and the promise of a new world is finally consummated?
I wonder, though, if we’ve got it right. If we’ve understood the promise accurately, if that’s the way we picture it.
For us, a wedding is a singular event – a big, one-day splash that takes a lot of time to plan and prepare, but that happens in one fell swoop – ceremony at 3, dinner at 5, first dance at 6:30, speeches to follow and then party and departure at midnight or maybe 1 or 2 in the morning to end the wedding. It’s finely tuned single-day extravaganza with a set time to begin and to end, and we constantly worry about anyone or anything being late or delayed, and ruining everything.
And that’s largely how we view the second coming, and the marriage of heaven and Earth.
For Jesus, though, a wedding was a very different kind of thing. A first-century Middle Eastern wedding was an event of several days length. It began – not at a single time, with festivities in the separate houses of the families involved. It moved through a number of stages, only one of which was the arrival of the bridegroom at the bride’s family’s house, to begin the procession of bride and groom together back to his house or the new home the couple might have for themselves. And even that was not the end of it. Beyond that there were more stages yet – different kinds of festivities and rites that would unfold.
And in all of this delays were not uncommon. People would get held up. Dowry negotiations might hit a snag for an hour or a day. There was a natural rhythm of festivity and rest, festivity and rest, and people would even come and go as they needed.
So what would happen when the bridegroom was delayed? Rather than fretting about whether the marriage would happen, people – the guests, the bridesmaids and even the bride, would simply wait for some sign of it once again continuing, so they could once again get caught up in its progress, and commit themselves to it. And they’d want to be prepared to do that – to have ready what they’d need to be part of the on-going wedding, the on-going creation of one new life and a new world for all involved.
“So keep awake,” Jesus says; “for you know not the day nor the hour. Because the wedding is happening and it is on-going, and I’d love you to be among those who are ready to do what most needs to be done.”
Around this year’s Remembrance Day I have been struck by two voices in the midst of all others in the media and in our local and global community. Both are voices of women.
One is that of Andrea Polko, a girl friend of Nathan Cirillo who says in a Facebook posting that she wishes the media and the government would stop worrying about whether Nathan was a hero or not, and how we can better defend ourselves against terrorists, and focus instead on the question of what needs to be done to strengthen Canada’s network of criminal justice and mental health care – that Nathan Cirillo’s murder is a wake-up call to what she calls “the dismal state of mental health care in our country.” I wonder if she’s right.
The other is that of Malala Yousafzai, the young Pakistani woman shot and nearly killed by the Taliban because of her advocacy for the education of young women in Muslim society. In response to the crisis with ISIS and the formation of military alliances against them, her reply has been that instead of sending bombers and fighter jets, she wishes we would send more teachers. And I wonder if there’s anything to what she says.
In the context of Remembrance Day each woman in their own way raises questions about what it means for us to remember the horror of past wars and to honour rightly the lives that have been lost. What does it mean for us today “take up the Torch and hold it high” (to use John MacCrae’s words) , or to “let our light shine” (to use Jesus’ words)?
No doubt it means lots of things – sometimes even still going to war in defence of things like freedom, justice, compassion, openness and inclusiveness, protection of the poor and of minorities.
But surely it also means working for these things in other ways as well. Because it is happening – the marriage of heaven and Earth is an on-going affair. Maybe not everyone thinks so. Maybe not all who think so, are really prepared for what needs to be done.
But in the parable Jesus tells, he figures that five out of ten, one out of every two is a good guess as to how many at any time are prepared to be part of what needs to be done. And he encourages us to do what we can to be part of that half of humanity that is ready to help the marriage of heaven and Earth to keep happening.
Sermon: Is this marriage ever going to happen?
Is this marriage ever going to happen?
It’s easy for us to imagine this question in the mind of the bridesmaids as they tire of waiting for the bridegroom to appear, and they lay down – all 10 of them, to sleep for a bit.
We imagine the question in their minds because it’s a question in our minds: is this marriage – the marriage promised of heaven and Earth, ever going to happen?
For as long as, and longer than we can remember God has been promising the marriage of heaven and Earth, the coming of the kingdom, the birth of a new world in which wrongs are all righted and right is upheld, and the world is a place of justice and peace, reconciliation and shalom, where none are poor, none die prematurely, all is shared, where the weak are protected and blessed, where the strong are merciful and compassionate.
Is it ever going to happen?
Remembrance Day – especially this year in Hamilton, is a reminder of how far-off that promise is from being true. One hundred years ago young men left home and hearth to give their lives in war. Terrible losses were suffered – so horrific that people called it The Great War and really believed it would be the war to end all wars. Only twenty years later, in what would be called the Second World War, young men again went off – many of them also to die.
And how many wars since? Has there been a year without war in our time?
In 1956 we thought we had stumbled – or been led into a new and better way, the way of international peacekeeping crafted by Lester Pearson. Surely sign of a new day dawning.
But since then, even though we resisted the call to full participation in the war in Iraq, we found ourselves in armed conflict again in Afghanistan for more years than we counted on. And then last Tuesday, Canada once again found itself at war, this time against ISIS, with bombing raids against some of their construction sites and materials and personnel.
Is it ever going to happen – the promised marriage of heaven and Earth, the appearance of the kingdom of God among us? Is it any wonder that even those who believe in the promise, decide for now just to lay down and go to sleep – to wait it out, and pray it won’t be too long until Christ the Bridegroom returns and the promise of a new world is finally consummated?
I wonder, though, if we’ve got it right. If we’ve understood the promise accurately, if that’s the way we picture it.
For us, a wedding is a singular event – a big, one-day splash that takes a lot of time to plan and prepare, but that happens in one fell swoop – ceremony at 3, dinner at 5, first dance at 6:30, speeches to follow and then party and departure at midnight or maybe 1 or 2 in the morning to end the wedding. It’s finely tuned single-day extravaganza with a set time to begin and to end, and we constantly worry about anyone or anything being late or delayed, and ruining everything.
And that’s largely how we view the second coming, and the marriage of heaven and Earth.
For Jesus, though, a wedding was a very different kind of thing. A first-century Middle Eastern wedding was an event of several days length. It began – not at a single time, with festivities in the separate houses of the families involved. It moved through a number of stages, only one of which was the arrival of the bridegroom at the bride’s family’s house, to begin the procession of bride and groom together back to his house or the new home the couple might have for themselves. And even that was not the end of it. Beyond that there were more stages yet – different kinds of festivities and rites that would unfold.
And in all of this delays were not uncommon. People would get held up. Dowry negotiations might hit a snag for an hour or a day. There was a natural rhythm of festivity and rest, festivity and rest, and people would even come and go as they needed.
So what would happen when the bridegroom was delayed? Rather than fretting about whether the marriage would happen, people – the guests, the bridesmaids and even the bride, would simply wait for some sign of it once again continuing, so they could once again get caught up in its progress, and commit themselves to it. And they’d want to be prepared to do that – to have ready what they’d need to be part of the on-going wedding, the on-going creation of one new life and a new world for all involved.
“So keep awake,” Jesus says; “for you know not the day nor the hour. Because the wedding is happening and it is on-going, and I’d love you to be among those who are ready to do what most needs to be done.”
Around this year’s Remembrance Day I have been struck by two voices in the midst of all others in the media and in our local and global community. Both are voices of women.
One is that of Andrea Polko, a girl friend of Nathan Cirillo who says in a Facebook posting that she wishes the media and the government would stop worrying about whether Nathan was a hero or not, and how we can better defend ourselves against terrorists, and focus instead on the question of what needs to be done to strengthen Canada’s network of criminal justice and mental health care – that Nathan Cirillo’s murder is a wake-up call to what she calls “the dismal state of mental health care in our country.” I wonder if she’s right.
The other is that of Malala Yousafzai, the young Pakistani woman shot and nearly killed by the Taliban because of her advocacy for the education of young women in Muslim society. In response to the crisis with ISIS and the formation of military alliances against them, her reply has been that instead of sending bombers and fighter jets, she wishes we would send more teachers. And I wonder if there’s anything to what she says.
In the context of Remembrance Day each woman in their own way raises questions about what it means for us to remember the horror of past wars and to honour rightly the lives that have been lost. What does it mean for us today “take up the Torch and hold it high” (to use John MacCrae’s words) , or to “let our light shine” (to use Jesus’ words)?
No doubt it means lots of things – sometimes even still going to war in defence of things like freedom, justice, compassion, openness and inclusiveness, protection of the poor and of minorities.
But surely it also means working for these things in other ways as well. Because it is happening – the marriage of heaven and Earth is an on-going affair. Maybe not everyone thinks so. Maybe not all who think so, are really prepared for what needs to be done.
But in the parable Jesus tells, he figures that five out of ten, one out of every two is a good guess as to how many at any time are prepared to be part of what needs to be done. And he encourages us to do what we can to be part of that half of humanity that is ready to help the marriage of heaven and Earth to keep happening.
Thursday, November 06, 2014
Towards Sunday, Nov 9, 2014
Scripture: Matthew 25:1-13
Sermon: Oil shortage?
Commentators have trouble with how this parable ends -- with 5 of 10 maidens locked out of the wedding celebration because their friends wouldn't share their lamp oil with them, and by the time they get back the lord of the feast not opening the door for them, saying he doesn't know them.
Is that how Jesus works? If the wedding feast is a metaphor for the final kingdom of heaven, and the maidens are an image of all of us, will Jesus be that aloof and the door that firmly shut against that half of us who are not prepared enough for the end?
If so, no wonder there is such a substratum of fear and anxiety to a lot of our faith.
But when Jesus talks about the kingdom of God and of heaven, is he always and only talking about the end of time -- whether history's end or our own personal end?
Or is he also and maybe most deeply talking about the kingdom of God and of heaven that is with us every day, that is meant to be as near as our outstretched hand and our next breath, that is always just under the surface of the present moment waiting to appear?
In which case, this parable may be less about final judgement than about what we all experience all too often all through our life -- all those times and situations where we find ourselves on the outside looking in, not enjoying the celebration of life that others are enjoying, feeling excluded from the feast of life's promised goodness.
And the point of the parable may be to remind us what helps open the kingdom of God to us in this life -- namely, enough oil in our flasks -- oil which, in Jewish tradition, is an image of righteousness and good deeds of mercy, love and compassion.
So ... if you want to be part of the kingdom of God in this life? Be part of the grand celebration that God promises life on Earth to be?
Worry less about whether your doctrine and theology are perfect ("Lord! Lord! I know your name perfectly!") and pay attention more to deeds of love, mercy and compassion ("Oh, it's you! Come in to the joy of your master!").
Sermon: Oil shortage?
Commentators have trouble with how this parable ends -- with 5 of 10 maidens locked out of the wedding celebration because their friends wouldn't share their lamp oil with them, and by the time they get back the lord of the feast not opening the door for them, saying he doesn't know them.
Is that how Jesus works? If the wedding feast is a metaphor for the final kingdom of heaven, and the maidens are an image of all of us, will Jesus be that aloof and the door that firmly shut against that half of us who are not prepared enough for the end?
If so, no wonder there is such a substratum of fear and anxiety to a lot of our faith.
But when Jesus talks about the kingdom of God and of heaven, is he always and only talking about the end of time -- whether history's end or our own personal end?
Or is he also and maybe most deeply talking about the kingdom of God and of heaven that is with us every day, that is meant to be as near as our outstretched hand and our next breath, that is always just under the surface of the present moment waiting to appear?
In which case, this parable may be less about final judgement than about what we all experience all too often all through our life -- all those times and situations where we find ourselves on the outside looking in, not enjoying the celebration of life that others are enjoying, feeling excluded from the feast of life's promised goodness.
And the point of the parable may be to remind us what helps open the kingdom of God to us in this life -- namely, enough oil in our flasks -- oil which, in Jewish tradition, is an image of righteousness and good deeds of mercy, love and compassion.
So ... if you want to be part of the kingdom of God in this life? Be part of the grand celebration that God promises life on Earth to be?
Worry less about whether your doctrine and theology are perfect ("Lord! Lord! I know your name perfectly!") and pay attention more to deeds of love, mercy and compassion ("Oh, it's you! Come in to the joy of your master!").
Monday, November 03, 2014
Sermon from Sunday, Nov 2, 2014 (All Saints' Sunday)
Scripture: Matthew 5:1-16
Sermon: "In the same way as the prophets before you"
We don’t really know about darkness anymore. Aren’t you amazed any time you get away from the city and see the real night sky – how bright the stars appear and how dark the night really is away from the city’s night-time glow of street lamps, well-lit houses and commercial buildings, and the bluish glow of TV and computer screens that seem always to be on?
We forget what darkness is really like, and that it’s still there. Until there’s a power outage. Then we know darkness, the power of a candle, and how much of a gift light still is.
Jesus said to the people around him, “You are the light of the world.”
He was speaking to people who knew darkness and the value of light. They knew the necessity of lighting candles and the oil lamp every night -- lighting and relighting and relighting again every night of their lives – every night of the world.
They also knew the value of each and every light. Without street lamps on every corner and every ten or twenty metres in between, without the incessant artificial glow from the city all around us, they knew that if someone in that corner of town did not light their candle, or someone in the house at the end of that field did not light their lamp, their light would be missed. The light would be less; the darkness would be greater.
Today is All Saints’ Sunday – a day to remember and celebrate all people of faith, hope and love through whom some part of God’s light shines into the darkness of the world.
And who are they? Who are these people – these saints, whose light is missed if they do not shine? Who, if they fail to let their light shine, leave the world that much darker a place?
This week The Spectator printed a letter to the editor from Alasdair Paterson of Waterdown who is one of many who stood for several hours on a Burlington bridge to greet the procession of Nathan Cirillo’s body home to Hamilton. The experience of that day and of the people who shared it moved him deeply, and after describing what he saw and felt he ended his letter with these words:
and on God’s law they meditate day /night.
and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.
for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
But is that how we live all the time?
Sermon: "In the same way as the prophets before you"
We don’t really know about darkness anymore. Aren’t you amazed any time you get away from the city and see the real night sky – how bright the stars appear and how dark the night really is away from the city’s night-time glow of street lamps, well-lit houses and commercial buildings, and the bluish glow of TV and computer screens that seem always to be on?
We forget what darkness is really like, and that it’s still there. Until there’s a power outage. Then we know darkness, the power of a candle, and how much of a gift light still is.
Jesus said to the people around him, “You are the light of the world.”
He was speaking to people who knew darkness and the value of light. They knew the necessity of lighting candles and the oil lamp every night -- lighting and relighting and relighting again every night of their lives – every night of the world.
They also knew the value of each and every light. Without street lamps on every corner and every ten or twenty metres in between, without the incessant artificial glow from the city all around us, they knew that if someone in that corner of town did not light their candle, or someone in the house at the end of that field did not light their lamp, their light would be missed. The light would be less; the darkness would be greater.
Today is All Saints’ Sunday – a day to remember and celebrate all people of faith, hope and love through whom some part of God’s light shines into the darkness of the world.
And who are they? Who are these people – these saints, whose light is missed if they do not shine? Who, if they fail to let their light shine, leave the world that much darker a place?
This week The Spectator printed a letter to the editor from Alasdair Paterson of Waterdown who is one of many who stood for several hours on a Burlington bridge to greet the procession of Nathan Cirillo’s body home to Hamilton. The experience of that day and of the people who shared it moved him deeply, and after describing what he saw and felt he ended his letter with these words:
To the people who
preach intolerance and hatred, and who initiate this and any other kind of
violence against the innocent and those who stand up for them: now, more than
ever in my life, I know something you don’t seem to realize. We outnumber you – in immense proportions –
and we outdo you in courage, and kindness, and love. There is nothing
you can do to win this fight. There will
be peace one day, and you might be part of it.
I hope so. But with or without
you, it will happen.
This
letter helps me remember that the saints – the heroes who keep God’s world going
‘round without spinning completely out of control, are ordinary people. People like you and me, who are basically
good, kind, compassionate and caring for the well-being of others and of all
creation.
Jesus
sums up some of this in the verses we read today. It’s a passage we know as the Beatitudes,
because in the Latin version of the New Testament – the only version the
Western church had for a millennium, each of the verses starts with the word
“beatus” – the Latin for blessed or happy, and the noun form is “beatitudo” –
blessing or happiness.
The
form of the verses is drawn from the Hebrew Scriptures. Just think of the Psalms, like Psalm 1 that says
Blessed
(or happy) are those
who do not follow
the advice of the wicked,
or
take the path that sinners tread,
or
sit in the seat of scoffers;
but their delight is in the law
of the Lord,and on God’s law they meditate day /night.
They
are like trees planted by streams of water,
which yield their fruit in its
season,and their leaves do not wither.
In all that they do, they prosper.
The
wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind
drives away…for the Lord watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
In
other words, those who live in accord with God’s law, in harmony with the way
the world is made to work by God’s good design, will be happy in a way that can
only be called “blessed.” There is a
peace and stability, a sense of meaningfulness and good purpose that comes from
living in right relation with all that God has made, that is greater than any pleasure
or comfort that may come from the passing whims and trends of our time.
In
the Beatitudes Jesus is giving definition to the kind of life that lasts and
that has eternal meaning and significance, the kind of life that is part of how
God intends the world to be, and how it will be in the end.
Blessed
are the poor in spirit, he says – those who live humbly, not puffed up and
feeling entitled, but living gratefully as servants of others and their
needs. Blessed are those who mourn and are
not afraid to take on themselves the sorrows of others. Blessed are the meek and the merciful, those
who hunger and thirst for justice for all, the pure in heart and those who make
peace and who work for reconciliation and shalom. Blessed are those who are willing to be
persecuted, ostracized, ridiculed for doing and saying the right thing.
Rejoice
and be glad, he says, for great is your reward from God; you are part of the
kingdom of God, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets and spiritual
heroes and ordinary saints who were before you – all those who were in their
time the light of the world, like you are in yours.
The
things Jesus mentions are meant to be ordinary virtues. The Beatitudes are meant to be a normal way
of life for all. That’s probably why it
feels so good when we actually manage to live this way. As hard as it may be sometimes, it kind of
fits who we’re meant to be, and who we are at the deepest level of our being.
But is
that the case? Alasdair Paterson and
thousands of other Canadians took the time a week ago Friday to do the saintly
thing to mourn with the Cirillo family, to acknowledge publicly their own poverty
of spirit, to act out their longing for a more peaceful and reconciled world,
to join with others in quietly and meekly praying for God’s blessing on our
time and on all people. They took time
to light their candle and uncover the lamp of their deepest, most godly spirit
for all to see.
But is that how we live all the time?
Last
week Roberta Davis posted a challenging photo and caption on her Facebook
page.
My
first thought when I saw that post was a self-righteous little “Yeah! Take that you rich people! Thank you, Roberta!” (I think there was even a little mental fist
pump that went along with it.)
And
my second thought was, “Oh yeah…that’s me too, isn’t it? Do I really want to think about this any
more? What’s the next post I can click
to?” And I went on to find something
else.
Living
the Beatitudes is not easy. It takes
intention. It takes thought and careful
discernment. It takes the discipline of
recognizing the temptations of our day to live less blessedly than this, and
resisting them. It takes the willingness
to recognize the distractions of our time that offer us a more artificial or
superficial kind of happiness, and to renounce them. It takes the clarity of thought to remember
that the darkness of less-than-right living is inside us as well as out there,
and we also need ways of opening ourselves – again and again, to the light.
Dietrich
Bonhoeffer in his classic study of the Beatitudes called this need to be
discerning and to renounce what is less than God’s will for human life “the
cost of discipleship.” He in his time,
like the disciples in Jesus’ time, knew what darkness is, and that it always
is. He in his time, like we in our time,
also knew how easy it is to be lulled by artificial light generated by the
powers of our day.
But the
darkness never really goes away, and every generation, every age, every culture
and every situation is in need of light – in need of people who live the
Beatitudes – who live in this world the way we are meant to, in intentional accord
with God’s good will for all that is.
The
candles must be lit and relit, the lamp must be uncovered and uncovered again
and again every night after night. And
if someone in some corner of town does not light their candle, if we in our place
here do not uncover our lamp, the light we are meant to be really is
missed. The light will be less; the
darkness will be greater.
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