Towards Sunday, July 5, 2015

Reading:  Psalm 23
Theme:  Quit calling me Shirley!

"The Lord is my shepherd..." 

These first five words are sometimes all we need to say or hear, to feel the comfort of this psalm steal into our hearts and create a buffer of peace against whatever stress or distress we may be facing in our lives at that point.

But if we read or remember the psalm through to the end, what about the last two lines -- the last verse of the psalm?

     Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
     and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

The Hebrew phrase from which we get "my whole life long" is actually "for length of days," which helps explain how we end up with the traditional King James rendering of "forever," which most of us take as a reference to living in God's heavenly house (a la John 14:1-4) forever after we die. 

No doubt we will always take this meaning from Psalm 23.  The psalm never denies the reality of evil, fear and sorrow in life, and there's something in us that needs the reassurance of peace and wholeness beyond what we experience here.

But is this last promise only about the here-after?

What does it mean, for instance, that goodness and mercy "shall follow me"?  The Hebrew verb is radaph which means "to pursue" as an enemy would pursue you to over-take you and over-power you.  Does the psalm mean that goodness and mercy pursue us as much as evil and sorrow seem to, and that those with eyes to see can let it overtake, surprise, capture, and overwhelm them all the days of their life?

And when we do that, how can we not know that no matter what may come and what we may fear, we really are living in the household and within the loving reach of God our whole life long?

Towards Sunday, June 21

Reading:  Not sure yet
Theme:  Fathers Day, the Pan Am Games and Communion

Question
How do you worship and celebrate communion in our church on Fathers Day from 10:30 to 11:30 when the Pan Am Games Torch is arriving across the street at Puddicombe's at 10:45 and being carried along Hwy 8 right past our front door at 10:55?

Answer?
We listen to the call and the nudge of the day to celebrate the Father who loves to see all his children playing together.  Perhaps we spend the first half-hour outside with everyone else who has come to celebrate the arrival and the progress of the Pan Am Games Torch.  And then we spend the second half-hour in the sanctuary, sharing communion at the table of the God who is just dying to see all his children playing (...and living..and working) together as one.

Perhaps we even include in our worship the theme song of the Pan Am Games -- "Together We Are One" by Serena Ryder.  You can see it yourself at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SsWQEDgLHxY.  Maybe you'll also see it in worship this Sunday.  Just imagine it in that context.

Perhaps we even offer a Pan Am Games version of the Lord's Prayer, which you can also read right now:

O Holy One, source of all that is, of each and of all,

You who loves to see

all your children playing together

May we remember – and remember to love, your way

May we learn to live and work together always

in the same spirit of peace and harmony

that we live out and enjoy when we gather for these Games 

May all who come have all that they need –

          food, shelter, help in times of crisis, safety, and friendship

May the Games draw us all into a wider world – your world

          of greater understanding, respect and co-operation

May we learn to look beyond

the emphasis on competition and winning

to embrace the deeper experience of being one and together. 

For this world is not mine or theirs

It is yours and ours

And there is unimaginable delight in learning to share it in peace.

Amen.

Reading:  John 12:20-26
Sermon:  Call to be Wheat .. or, 1001 Ways to Die

When Megan and I were planning the liturgy for today and deciding who would do what, she was happy and quick to design the bulletin cover and agree to light the candles.  She was just as quick to say she didn’t want to do anything that would involve speaking or reading in front of people.  I don’t think she used these words, but it was something akin to “I’d die if I had to do that – I’d die of embarrassment or fear or something just as bad.” 

So I didn’t ask her to do anything like that.  I didn’t want her to die, until someone wiser than me in the ways of leadership development and in the ways of her daughter said to me, “Just tell her what you want her to do.”  So I did.  And she did it.  And did well.  And we all benefitted from it. 

Sometimes we have to let ourselves die – whether of embarrassment, fear or anything else just as bad, and let ourselves die to the fear of the dying, in order for new life to emerge and for ourselves to have a part in. 

On June 10, 1925 when 8000 people were gathered at Mutual Street Arena in Toronto for the worship service to celebrate the newly inaugurated United Church of Canada, they heard a sermon on our reading for today, and on the holy wisdom of dying for the sake of allowing new life to emerge and grow.   

The 8000 people were members of what to that point had been Methodist, Presbyterian and Congregationalist churches across Canada, and together they were letting go of their old and separate identities to open a way for God’s work to flourish in new ways and with new strength in their time.  They were finding a way into what they believed God was doing and wanted to be doing, by being willing to die to what they were used to being.  As Rev. S.P. Rose said in that inaugural sermon, the challenge was to be willing to die in order to “enter into a larger life,” because the grain of wheat that does not die will perish. 

So the message and practice of dying to allow new and good life to emerge, is part of who we are right from our beginning.  It’s been spoken into our spiritual DNA. 

But that still doesn’t make it any easier to live out.  The challenge to die takes different forms at different times and in different situations, and at times it can be very difficult. 

In the context of individual United churches, for some United Church members today it means accepting the death of their congregation – either simply disbanding, or maybe amalgamating or combining in another way with one or more other congregations for the sake of new and more vital ministry and mission together.  In situations like this, the grain of wheat that does not die but tries to stay as it is, will perish.  But the dying can still be hard. 

In the context of the United Church as a whole, this may be what the Comprehensive Review is all about.   The proposal that’s been worked on for three or four years and that’s going to General Council this summer is for a smaller, leaner United Church with fewer levels of government and oversight, less paid staff beyond the congregational level, and hopefully more resources to support those individual congregations that really have a vision and passion for God’s new work.  Sometimes – and maybe it’s now, the outer shell of our life as God’s people – as good as it’s been for us for 90 years, now has to be cracked open and let go of, so the new life within can emerge and really grow.  And that can be hard. 

In the context of Canadian society and the United Church’s place in it, maybe the life-giving dying we’re called to, is to let go of the feeling we had in 1925 of being especially and uniquely called by God to be the guiding conscience of the emerging country of Canada.  That was one of the major reasons for Church Union, and the United Church has always tried to live up that call.  Canada has no less need now than it did then for a soul and a spiritual conscience, but maybe it’s time to die to that feeling of our specialness or uniqueness in that call, to recognize that there are other religious voices and traditions that now are equally part of our country’s conscience and soul, and to die to any lingering feelings of exclusiveness and superiority so we can work more intentionally and humbly as partners with others.  As Rev. Rose challenged the United Church in 1925, the grain of wheat that remains alone and unmixed with others in the soil of its day, will shrivel and perish. 

And speaking of soil, and to return to Environment Sunday and our call to care for the goodness of Earth that God has created, in that context how can we not see in the teaching about the grain of wheat’s willingness to die for the sake of a greater harvest, an encouragement to us as human beings – as individuals and as a species, to die to some of our practices and attitudes, to give Earth and all life on it a chance to live well and into the future.   

Today more and more doesn’t it seem that our choice is either to continue to grow as a noxious weed on the face of the Earth – inserting ourselves into every nook and cranny of Earth, taking over and dominating its life, or to learn to be good wheat and wheat seeds – accepting along with others the necessity of dying to our own desires, limiting who we are and what we do and maybe even where we go for the sake of a good future for all of life. 

It’s a dying to self that happens in all kinds of ways – both little and big, both relatively easy and very hard. 

It can be as simple and quick as a Girl Guide dedicating an afternoon to designing a bulletin cover for her church’s worship service on Environment Sunday, instead of watching TV or just relaxing … or as complex as a global network of scientists, engineers, economists and politicians honestly working to design a fossil-fuel-free economy and society, as hard and professionally suicidal as it may seem at times to work in that direction. 

It could be someone agreeing to read Scripture because it’s a way of encouraging and reaching out to others, even though they die of fright and embarrassment every time they do it … or it could be a variety of churches and other communities of faith working together in reading the signs of the times and offering good and holy wisdom to the wider community, even though it means stepping outside their shell and committing themselves to something bigger than just their own survival. 

It could be something as simple as walking forward to light a candle to begin a worship service … or as complicated and demanding as learning to lighten your own footprint on Earth, and to enlighten your children and grand-children about alternate ways of living for the good and well-being of all, even though it means dying to many of our society’s notions of success and what makes for a happy life, and exposing yourself perhaps to ridicule and embarrassment. 

There’s some form of dying, some kind of letting go, some form of self-denial for the sake of the greater good in all these things.  And it’s the fear of dying that can hold us back. 

Almost 40 years in theology school – in a class on the theology of John Calvin, the professor said one day that all spirituality – all spiritual practice, whether private prayer and devotions or public worship and ritual, is about learning to die. 

At the time I thought he meant that our faith and our spiritual life are about preparing for the day at the end of our life when we will finally die, to be able to die that one day in such a way that when we leave this Earth we can be assured of going once and for all to heaven.    

Now, I wonder if it means that spirituality – all true spiritual practice, is about learning to die all through our life in the 1001 ways that will leave the Earth a better place, the way God intends and hopes for it to be, and for ourselves to have a true and good part in it. 

“Unless a grain of wheat is sown into the earth and dies to its own little self, it will shrivel and perish; but if it dies to its own little self, it bears much fruit and will be part of a great and good harvest.” 

I have a feeling it will take a lifetime for me to really know and do what that means.  But what else is life for?

Towards Sunday, June 14

Reading:  John 12:24-26 ("unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies...")
Sermon:  "Called to be Wheat ... or ... 1001 Ways to Die"

This is not the appointed reading for today; we are going off-lectionary to celebrate Environment Sunday.  And yes, I know we are one week late in doing that.  We are not exactly orthodox here, but so what?

Quick take on the reading

The only way the harvest comes, is if the grain of wheat lets itself be sown into the earth to die. 

What harvest am I called to serve?  It may be the size and security of my own home and my retirement nest-egg.  Or might it be the kingdom of God in my time?  The continuing good life of Earth?  My children's and grand-children's well-being?  The well-being of the congregation?  The spiritual health of one another person I encounter along the way?

And what is the grain of wheat?  Is it my whole life and being?  A particular talent or gift that I can either hoard or share?  An act of love or compassion that I can choose to offer or withhold? 

Today we know our powerlessness in the midst of the massive interests (powers and principalities) that control the world.  But is it still through the small, individual acts of justice, peace and love that we sow into the common soil of our daily lives, that the kingdom comes?  (Does "sowing the kingdom" ever go out of style?)

Also, how often do we hold back from speaking, acting or giving something we can, either because we think what we have to offer is not good enough, or we would rather not expose ourself (to ridicule, embarrassment, or expectation to keep giving?) in offering what we have? But who are we ultimately to judge what we have to offer, and what good is a grain of wheat that never is sown?

Going a little deeper

A lot of the time when we read Gospel passages like this -- about dying as the way to life, we assume a reference to the sacrificial ritual of the Temple and that the Gospel is portraying Jesus as the perfect sacrifice from God that atones vicariously for our sins once and for all, and paves our way to heaven.

But this passage goes in a different direction.  The kind of dying in mind here is the dying that is part of the natural cycle of life rather than the religious rite of atonement.  The kind of dying being invited here is not a vicarious self-sacrifice to cover another's moral debt to God and get them off the hook of judgement.  Rather, it's the kind of dying of self and to self that fuels the larger cycle of life and maintains the well-being of the whole --

• from something as simple and ordinary as a mosquito losing its individual life to become life-giving food for a swallow or a bat,
• to something a little more complex like a grain of wheat being buried in the ground and losing its enclosed, self-contained life in order to give rise to new wheat,
• to something even more complex and not-ordinary-enough as human beings choosing to die to self-interest and selfish convenience for the sake of the well-being of Earth.

And can it be that our leaning to one or the other way of interpreting the Gospel language about dying as the way to life depends on whether we think God is mostly about saving us from hell, or Earth and all that God has created on it from degradation?

Sermon from Sunday, May 31, 2015

Readings:  Isaiah 6:1-8 and John 3:1-17
Sermon:  Outthh!!  Thad reawwy hurtthh!

When I was in high school I was very religious.  At age 12 I had had a conversion experience and was baptized as a believer into the church.  At home I read the Bible and said prayers every day.  At church, I attended worship, either attended or taught Sunday school, belonged to the youth group, was even president of it for a while.  I also felt a call to ordained ministry, and was preparing for it. 

I was like Nicodemus – committed to the faith and to the church, a leader in ways appropriate to my training and education, and continuing to move ahead in the call I felt to be a leader in the community of faith. 

I was like Nicodemus as well in the undercurrent of restlessness and questioning that I felt.  A vague – sometimes not so vague, un-ease.  At times a sense of emptiness or longing for something just a little bit more of God or of truth or of godly life than what I was able to experience in the place where I was. 

So one night I went by myself to a Bible study and prayer meeting that a friend had told me about.  It was the days of the Jesus People movement – that charismatic, counter-cultural revival that caught up so many dis-affected young people in the late 60’s, and this Bible study meeting was somehow related to it – was part of the Jesus People movement in Winnipeg.

The study was in a big old house in another part of the city.  I didn’t have a car then, and didn’t want to tell my parents where I was going – the Jesus People movement was not looked on too favourably in our church, so I couldn’t borrow the family car.  So I took the bus – about a half-hour ride, and found my way to the house.  I went in, and it seemed there were about 60 or 70 or maybe even 100 people squeezed into every nook and cranny and piece of furniture and floor that was available.  I didn’t know anyone so I found a little floor space in a far corner and sat down cross-legged. 

For two or three hours we sang, prayed, listened to Bible readings and teachings, and shared words of witness and testimony.  It was wonderful.  It was scary.  It was unlike anything I had been at before. 

And then it happened.  It began as a kind of humming in one corner.  Something musical sounding.  It grew a little bit and then subsided.  It grew again.  I couldn ‘t make out the words.  If they were words, they were very strange.  But it was wondrously musical, lyrical in its own way, powerful in its attractiveness and beauty.  It lasted maybe a few minutes – maybe 5 or 1o.  And then it quieted, faded and was gone. 

In the profound silence that followed, I knew I had just heard speaking in tongues.  Glossolalia.  Charismatic speech.  It was a little scary.  I knew I was in the presence of something or someone far greater than me and anything I had known to that point.  And I was immensely happy – deeply and profoundly filled with joy. 

I went back a few more times that summer, and the experience was repeated once or twice.  I didn’t want and never asked for the gift myself.   

I wonder now what might have happened if I had.  Might I have learned to be more free and open than I am, and than I have been in my life and in my spirit?  Might I have become more open to, and more able to express simple joy and delight than I am?  Might I have struggled less with these things than I do?  Maybe openness to the holy really is healing and redeeming for us – for each of us in our own particular way? 

I don’t know.  We never know what effect an experience of the holy, and openness to it might have on us.  What change, what demand, what gift, what challenge it may have for us.  I just know I was too timid to go there at that point in my life.  Probably still am. 

But at the same time, it did open me.  It helped me see there was more – much more to God than was contained in the worship and the life of my church and my own little spiritual practice.  It reminded me – and its own way opened me in a way that cannot be undone, to the greatness of God’s beauty, joy, vitality and wonder that no single religious tradition or set of spiritual practices, as good as they are, can ever begin to encompass. 

 

The prophet Isaiah is one who was not afraid or too timid to go

there. 

When King Uzziah dies it is the end of an era for the kingdom of Judah which Isaiah serves as a court prophet.  Uzziah reigned for 40, maybe 50 years and most of his reign saw prosperity and piety throughout the kingdom – from the king on down.  But in the king’s later years pride got the better of him.  He became more self-centred and self-important.  Faithfulness to God and God’s way took second place.  Just leadership of the people and compassionate care of the poor and weak fell off his list of priorities and he ruled mostly for the benefit of his own family and those closest to him.   

So when he dies, the kingdom is at a crossroads.  It will find its way back to real faithfulness, or continue to fall into disarray and irrelevance.  In the midst of this crisis Isaiah goes one day to the Temple to do his job of trying to discern the will and word of God for the kingdom.  And it’s then that he has the vision of God that changes everything for him, about him, and for the people he serves.   

In the Temple he sees God high and lifted up, surrounded and lauded by great winged angels, great and terrifying to see, obscured in smoke and mist, the sound of the angels and their heavenly worship of God shaking the foundations of the Temple, maybe the foundations and stability of all the earth as Isaiah has known it to that point. 

Isaiah is overcome.  “Woe is me!” he says.  “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips…we have spoken of God, assumed we were speaking the truth, assumed we knew what we were talking about … but now I see how little we know, how poorly I in my prophecy and my people in their living say anything true about about the God we claim to love and serve … in the presence of almighty God, who am I and what am I?  I am lost.” 

At which point an angel flies to him with a burning coal taken from the altar of God, touches his mouth with it, and says, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt is gone, your sin is blotted out.”  Then the voice of the Lord calls out, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us, to speak what the people really need to hear?” 

According to the Scripture, Isaiah answers, “Here am I; send me!” 

 

 

But I wonder if the first words out of his mouth – his first open and honest response to God and to how God was touching and opening and redeeming his life, were maybe just:

 

 

“Ouuttthhh!  Thad reawwwy hurttthhh!” 

 

Because it does. 

 

When we encounter the holiness of God beyond the limits of our tradition of faith and our own set of spiritual practices, it can be pretty scary because it usually shakes at least some of the foundations we have known.   

When we are exposed to the greatness of God beyond the constraints of what we’ve been taught and have maybe taught others, it can make us afraid of going into new and uncharted territory and of losing control. 

When we are touched by the real Word of God in any situation, and maybe feel ourselves caught up even a little in the movement of God’s Spirit in our time, it can hurt and make us feel bad about where and how we have been to that point, can make us feel the pain of changing our mind and changing our tune and maybe even the direction of our life. 

No one ever said that being opened to God, hearing God’s word, and living God’s way is easy.  But it’s those who do, whose lives and words and deeds will really count, will help lead into God’s future, and will survive and be told for years to come as part of the story of the holy and almighty God in our little time and place. 

And I wonder what all of that means for us, in our little corner of the great kingdom of God.