Toward Sunday, January 31, 2016

Readings:

Luke 4:21-30 (The end of the story begun last week, about Jesus reading and preaching in his hometown of Nazareth.  Things started well, with all amazed at how he made the Scripture and the promise of God's blessing come alive.  But things turn ugly when Jesus reminds his listeners that the blessings are not so much for them, as for people outside their circle.  Feeling spurned by their hometown boy, they almost throw him off a cliff in their rage.)

I Corinthians 13 (The congregation in Corinth is terribly divided -- different factions each presenting themselves as the more gifted, and as the real backbone of the church.  So after putting them in their respective places through the early parts of his letter, Paul now answers the question they all have been fighting about.  He tells them what really is the greatest gift of all -- love.)

After worship last week someone was talking with me about how slow in developing the momentum seems to be in our area for helping Syrian refugees.  After an initial outburst of compassion and a rush to form an inter-church support network to sponsor at least one, and maybe more Syrian families, the issue seems not to have gained much traction beyond the small circle first engaged.

Is that true?

This stands in such contrast to the response a generation and more ago, to the crisis faced by the Vietnamese boat people.  As soon as their plight became widely known, this congregation and many others quickly mobilized and stayed engaged over the long haul in sponsoring a family, supporting them, and befriending them into the community in relationships that persist to this day.

Why the difference?

Is it because we now face more anxious and less secure circumstances ourselves?  And because of that, feel less generous and open?

I know I close up into self-defensive and even aggressive mode when I feel insecure about myself.  Just ask any of my family, or members of the congregation I work with. 

And it's only when I practice what I have learned about centering and rooting myself in the gracious love of God for all life, that I am able to become more open, patient, collegial and compassionate.

So I really can't be too critical of the people of Nazareth when they react with offence and rage to Jesus' apparent openness to help everyone but them -- to help "those people" of Capernaum (a "dirty" town if there ever was one!) before helping them (the good, faithful folks of the Nazareth synagogue who saw him through all the turmoil of his growing up).  Don't they need and deserve help, too?  What's the point of the messiah being their home town boy, if it doesn't get them some cred at the heavenly blessings desk?

Really ... what is the point of being in with Jesus, if "in" is not where the blessings flow?

Sermon from Sunday, January 24, 2016

Readings:  Nehemiah 8:1-10 and Luke 4:14-21
Sermon:  The greatest part of feeling God's hear-t is hear-ing God's Word

A number of years ago at a minister’s retreat, I heard a minister who was quite well regarded as a preacher and worship leader talk about his preparations for Sunday worship, and what he considered most important.  Surprisingly, what he said he most cared about and gave the most careful attention to, was not the sermon.  Nor was it the music, even though he helped pick the hymns.  Nor was it the prayers or the children’s story. 

He said it was the Scripture reading.  What he most cared about, and what he never compromised even when a busy week might mean cutting corners in other areas, was his preparation for reading the Scripture.  He took time to understand what it was saying in its context, and what it was not saying, and then to imagine what manner of inflections and pauses, even gestures of facial expression or posture, might best help open the reading up for the congregation, and help them hear it new and afresh. 

His reasoning was that even if the sermon was bad – or good, but not for everyone, and even if the hymns and prayers and even children’s time went flat, at the very least every person in worship would still have the chance to hear the Word of God read well – encounter it in some personal way, be drawn into its story and message for the day, and perhaps have it weave its way into their heart and mind in some meaningful way. 

That’s what our stories are about today – about really hearing the Word of God, in such a way that it actually penetrates your learned ways of being, thinking and acting in the world, and when necessary changing or transforming who and how we are in the world as believers in Jesus and children of God. 

We have the story from Nehemiah.  The people of Israel are back in their land and it’s a wonderful time.  God’s promise to bring them back from exile and let them inhabit the promised land again, has been fulfilled, and now they are back and beginning to rebuild. 

And their leaders decide to do it right.  Once the people are settled and starting the rebuilding, the leaders appoint a special day when all will gather in the great square before the temple and the city they are working on.  And the leaders arrange a grand, public, official, celebratory reading of the Word of God – specifically the Law of God given through Moses to the people at the time of their first beginning. 

And the leaders make a good job of it.  Ezra the high priest is doing the reading in front of all the tribes.  The Levites of each tribe undertake the interpretation of what is read, to their own tribe.  And all the people – not just the men, but also the women and any children of an age to understand, are there and they get it.  They hear the Law read and they understand it, and it cuts them to the heart. 

At first they weep and wail as they consider how far they have wandered from the way that the Law of God spelled out for them – how un-godly they had become as people of God.  And then Ezra tells them not to lament, but to rejoice – to let their tears be tears of joy and thanksgiving that God still is their God, and is giving them now this grand chance to start all over again. 

This is not the first time they have heard the Law of God, or read it.  Even in exile they kept their traditions as much as they could – their stories and bo0ks and practices and laws.

But this was a special time.  Now they are home and rebuilding.  They are ready and open to hear the old Law with brand new ears and hearts.  In that setting, it really is as though they are hearing it – really hearing it, for the very first time.     

It’s the same in the Gospel story about the people of Nazareth in the synagogue the day Jesus reads the Scripture.  In many ways that sabbath day was not unlike all other sabbath days.  The Jewish people in town went to synagogue.  There a reader would be appointed.  The reader would read the appointed lesson for the day.  He would read standing up, with appropriate ceremony and reverence, but it was something that happened every sabbath.  And then the reader would sit – distinguish any commentary that followed from the Scripture itself, and he would begin to comment on the passage.  Perhaps the rabbis and other leaders would join in, and together they would piece together the meaning of the passage for them and their day. 

Except this time is different.  For one thing, Jesus is  reading and Jesus is different from the way they remember him.  He has been away from Nazareth for a while.  He went to be baptized by John at the Jordan, and then word is that he spent some time – maybe 40 days, in the wilderness encountering God and the devil and who knows what, sorting out what’s real and holy and what’s not, what God is up to in the world, and how to be part of it.  And now he has returned.  He’s been visiting different towns, proclaiming God’s kingdom, teaching, healing, gathering disciples. 

So as he stands in the synagogue and reads there’s a new power visible within him, an authenticity and depth and integrity that wasn’t quite there before. 

And this in turn changes the people who listen to him read.  They’ve heard this passage before – many times.  Many know it by heart.  It’s something God promised to the people ages ago through the prophet Isaiah when they hard-pressed and oppressed, broken and in need of healing.  It’s something they expect God will do – a promise God will fulfill some time in the future – some day. 

There has always been that double sense of distance about this reading – distance between the time of the prophet and their time, distance between their time and the time of the fulfilment.  But now somehow they are opened to hear it without that distance – as though the distance melts away, and the time of the prophet and the time of fulfilment both become also their time – the day and the time they are living in right then – right now. 

In their hearing – as Jesus himself comments on, in their hearing and the way the Word of God penetrates and changes their life and their view of the world right now, the Scripture is fulfilled.  The Word of God comes to life. 

It’s because this is what God longs for, and what our lives and our world most long for – the melting of that distance between us and God, between God’s Word and our living, that I think one of the most important prayers we say every Sunday is the one just before the Scripture is read: 

One:   O God, our Teacher,

All:     open our hearts and minds by the power of your holy Spirit,

that as we listen to your Word

          we may hear what you are saying to us today. Amen. 

One last thing, though – what part of God’s Word is God really speaking and trying to breathe into the life of the world today? 

The Bible is a big book, and it’s good for us to know it as fully as we can, to gain as wide a perspective and understanding as we can about what we are given to know about God.  But the Bible is made up of different words from different times and situations, and it remains a compilation of different words for different times and situations. 

Just consider the two stories we have read.  In Nehemiah, the people are rebuilding – starting again from scratch, so the perfect Word for them at that time was the old Law of God given through Moses at the time of the first beginning.  It was exactly what they needed and were ready to hear. 

Then in the Gospel story, in the synagogue of Nazareth, the reading was from the prophet Isaiah – a promise of hope to people in despair, a promise of healing, release and freedom to the people of Israel when they were broken, imprisoned and oppressed by more powerful people around them.  And isn’t that what the people of Nazareth were ready and open and needing to hear?  They were living in their own land, but were very much oppressed, imprisoned and broken by the Romans and the empire that controlled their lives and owned their land.  They were ready and open to hearing God’s promise of freedom and healing, and in their own hearts and homes and communities, to start living into and towards that reality. 

So what is the Word of God for today?  What word, what part of the Word is God trying to breathe into the life of the world today, and into the hearts and actions of communities of faith today? 

I know for some in this congregation, a Word that catches and changes their life is a hymn – number 509 in Voices United, “I, the Lord of Sea and Sky.”  The words are based on two Bible passages – Isaiah 6:8 and I Samuel 3.  For others, it’s a single verse from the prophet Micah:  “He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you, but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?” 

And it’s easy to see how this is something all the world needs to hear – as divided, violent and unjust as it is, and needs to have at least some communities take to heart. 

In the wake of climate change and the threats that we pose to the balance of life on Earth, some are beginning to really hear Genesis 2, rather than Genesis 1 as their creation story.  Their ears and heart are turning cold and deaf to Genesis 1’s great assertion of human superiority and dominion, and they are finding themselves warming instead to the more humble command of the Genesis 2 creation story to live in, and to take good care of the life of the garden God has created. 

This past Christmas Eve, as I pondered the Bethlehem story for the later-night communion, I was very aware of the debate in Canada and in our own community about the Syrian refugees, the threat they may or may not be presenting, and what we should or should not be doing.  And what I found myself hearing in the story is the role of the people who filled up the inn ahead of Joseph and Mary – the ones who have reservations, and who got there early enough to have a room and shelter for themselves.  I could not escape hearing that that was me and that is us.  And what I heard in God’s story is that if we want to see Jesus, we have to come out of our room in the inn to where he is in the more open and risky places.  We have to give up some of the warmth and shelter we have found. 

So I wonder … what Word of God … what passage or part of all that we know of God’s Word, is God speaking and trying to breathe into the world today?   

It may be something different for each of us. 

But whatever it is, may God help us hear it – really hear it.

Towards Sunday, January 24, 2016

Readings:

Nehemiah 8:1-10 (When the people of God return to their land to begin rebuilding their life and kingdom, their leaders gather the tribes for a public reading and interpretation of the old Law of God from the days of Moses.  The power of the day is unmistakeable.)

Luke 4:14-21  (Jesus is beginning his ministry of proclaiming and unveiling the coming of God's kingdom.  He returns to his home town of Nazareth and preaches in the synagogue there, astounding everyone with his message that "the Spirit of the Lord is upon me" and that the time for acting out the kingdom of God for real has come.)

I heard a minister recount a story about a young couple showing up one Sunday morning at the back door of the church, asking timidly if they could come in to the worship service.  As the minister welcomed them and they chatted for a bit, the couple gained a little courage and said that what they most wanted, and why they would liken to come to church, was to be able to stop a number of bad habits in their life -- including smoking and drinking, and change their lives for the better.  They were looking for transformation, to which the minister's first -- and thankfully unspoken, thought was, "Good luck with that here."

The readings this week are about the transforming power of hearing and understanding the Word of God -- about people who after hearing God's Word read and interpreted to them, find themselves doing far more than just filing out the front door at the end of worship, saying "Nice service today."

In one, the people are moved to tears and to wailing, by the power of hearing God's Law read and interpreted to them.  Their first reaction is repentance and anguish for how far they have wandered from God's way; but their leaders encourage them to rejoice instead and to feast and give thanks that now once again they are being touched and shaped by God's Word.  How can this not be a good day, they say?

Have I ever felt that way?  Have I ever wept either in repentance or joy, and felt that moved in worship?  What does it take for worship and for the reading and interpretation of God's Word to be that powerful?

In the other reading, there is also a sense of deep, opened, life-changing connection between God and humanity.  Through his baptism, God's affirmation of him, and his time in the wilderness Jesus has come to feel holy Spirit in a new way.  In some sense, he has "grown into" being messiah, and now as he reads and preaches he does so with new conviction and power. 

But it's not just that.  He doesn't create the power of the occasion by himself.  He says to the people of the synagogue that the promise of God is coming true "in your hearing" -- not just in his speaking but also in their hearing, in the shared openness of speaker and hearer to that Word which lives and moves beyond them both, drawing both together into a new reality.

Is that what our worship feels like?  Do we feel drawn together into a new and wonderful reality beyond our selves? 

What reality does our worship draw us into?

Sermon from Sunday, January 17, 2016

Readings:  Isaiah 62:1-5 and John 2:1-11

Japhia and I were at a wedding last night – the celebration of the marriage of Samantha McEneny and Ian Hansen, and I’m sure you can imagine what a good time it was.  A lot of thought and planning went into the whole thing – the ceremony, the party after, the order of the dances, the speeches, the choice of DJ and master of ceremonies, the photographer and the venue and the menu and the music and dresses and tuxes and flowers and everything else you can imagine … because of course, everyone – especially the bride and groom and their parents, but everyone really – wants it to go well, and be a good wedding. 

But really, what can make a wedding not good?  How much needs to go wrong, for a wedding One really to be a bad wedding? 

One wedding I did some years ago now had only the groom, me, the church organist and two guests – the only invited guests, waiting anxiously and awkwardly in the church for almost an hour beyond the scheduled time, before the bride and her parents finally arrived.   The reason – which we all could see as soon as she walked up the aisle, was that, being poor, the bride had rented a wedding dress and when she tried to put it on that day, it was too small, wouldn’t do up no matter what they tried, and in the end they had to tie the back together with string.  Was that a bad wedding?  No, in its own way it was a perfect wedding and a very blessed and happy start to their marriage. 

I remember another wedding that we went ahead with just a day after the bride’s father died of a heart attack.  It was their wish to do that, and in the end it was a very deeply meaningful wedding – not bad, but deeply good in a way that none of us would ever have predicted. 

I’ve been at weddings where brides had their veil ripped off their head because someone was standing on the end of it as they began to walk away, where the couple couldn’t speak their vows at all because one was crying and the other was laughing from anxiety and nervousness, where so many of the invited guests were taking pictures during the ceremony – in the old days of click-and-whirr cameras, that you couldn’t hear the vows.  I’ve been the minister at a wedding where trying to lead the guests in saying the Lord’s Prayer, I forgot some of the words. 

None of those, though, were bad weddings because none of those kinds of things are enough to take away the meaning of what is being done and what is being celebrated.  And even the outcome of the marriage doesn’t make it bad.  Japhia and I are both divorced and remarried – and neither one of us would say that our first weddings were bad weddings.  They were good weddings that we do not regret, because we entered into those marriages freely, from and for love as we knew it, with every good intent we were capable of.  And isn’t that what it’s about – what weddings and marriage and life and the world and God are all about? 

The only wedding I’ve been part of that I think of as “bad” was one where in talking with the couple I knew I had misgivings and deep questions about their relationship, that I didn’t know how – or didn’t have the courage, to express to them.  So we went ahead with their wedding, and within months the bride showed up one day at the church where I was working, explaining how bad things were, and could she please get an annulment. 

That was a bad wedding. 

But most of what we worry about and fuss over, as though it makes all the difference in the world, just isn’t a problem because it’s not, in the end, what really counts or really matters.  What matters is the relationship itself, the free choice of both persons to enter into it, and their willingness to live in it and work at it no matter what may come – whether it be good or bad fortune, happiness or unhappiness over the years, and even their own and their partner’s failure and sin along the way. 

It’s interesting that when Isaiah wants to speak a word of encouragement to the people when they are thoroughly disappointed and discouraged by the state of their land and their lives, Isaiah reminds them that God is like a marriage partner to them, and God – being God and not human, will stay and live out the promise of relationship with them.  There was failure and judgement and even a sense of separation and divorce by God over the years, but Isaiah says no – don’t worry – God is God and not us – so  

⁴we shall no more be termed “Forsaken”,

and our land shall no more be called “Desolate” ;

but we shall be called “My Delight Is in You”,

and our land “Married”;

for the Lord delights in us,

and our land shall be married to God.

 

 

That’s good news – better news than we often deserve, better news than we can sometimes understand. 

And from that and the wonderful story of Jesus attending and rescuing a wedding party that almost became a dry affair after only three of the usual six days of hearty celebrating, there are three lessons about God and God’s relationship with us and all the world that I want to draw attention to. 

One is that God really has wed God’s self to the world.  God has not only called the world – all the cosmos, into being, and not only sustains it in its life from day to day and eon to eon.  But God also has committed for the world and all the cosmos to be where God is.  As Father Richard Rohr puts it in the passage that’s printed as a pondering in the bulletin this week, God is not “out there” to be found in some kind of perfection beyond this world that we live in and know as our own.  Rather, this is where God chooses to be, where God comes to us, where God is known and felt, where God’s good purpose is worked out – in the daily, yearly, lifelong thing we call ordinary living in the world as it is. 

The world is not perfect – at least not in the way we sometimes use that word to describe how we think something should be.  But the world is, and it’s in the world as it is, that God is. 

Which leads to a second thing – that if something is worth doing in the world, it’s worth doing even imperfectly, just as we are able, in the hope and the faith that it somehow is caught up and transformed by God, like ordinary water at a wedding feast, into the finest of wine.  Because really is any wedding made bad just because it’s not perfect in all its parts?  Is any act of love bad because not done perfectly?  Is any word of compassion, any gesture of justice, any attempt at confession and forgiveness, any inkling of peace, any glimpse of truth and reconciliation bad because it’s not perfect or maybe as whole and complete as we think it should be?  One thing the Gospel story tells us is that nothing happens in this world – and I really mean nothing, that cannot be turned to and into something good. 

ess, any brd of compassion, any gesture of justice, any attempt at confession and forgivenbess

y water at a wedding thingne thinBut then there is a third thing – and this is that none of this happens by magic.  When the people of Israel were discouraged and tempted to throw in the towel, it took the prophet remembering the goodness and faithfulness of God and speaking words of encouragement to the people, to help them hang in there and not give up. 

And at the wedding in Cana when it seemed that suddenly what was a good party was going to go dry, it took Mary noticing it and saying something about it, it took the servants filling the large pots with ordinary water at Jesus’ direction (even though it probably seemed kind of stupid to them), and it took them then ladling some out to take it to the steward of the feast for tasting (even though they might have thought they’d be fired doing something so silly) – for the miracle to happen.  It took all these people doing what they could and what they were told, as ordinary and even foolish as it was, for the ordinary, imperfect stuff of life to become a sign and an experience of the kingdom of God in our midst. 

I wonder if maybe one thing the Bible may be trying to tell us, is that life is a feast and a party – or at least it’s meant to be.  And that when we all do our parts – as ordinary and imperfect as they are, and even as foolish as they may seem – when we all do our parts, then Jesus and God and God’s people really are – or at least can be, the real life of the party.

 

 

  

Towards Sunday, January 17, 2016

Readings:

Isaiah 62:1-5  (The people who have returned from exile are disappointed and discouraged at how long it is taking to rebuild their land, and the prophet reminds them of the power of God's promises.)

John 2:1-11  (Jesus and his mother attend a wedding in Cana and after three days the wine runs out.  It's a major embarrassment to the host of the feast as well as an omen of bad fortune for the newly married couple.  At his mother's instigation, when the servants act at Jesus' direction, water is turned into vast quantities of very fine wine, and the party continues even better than before.)

Can you imagine Jesus at a wedding?  Does attendance at a wild wedding party fit your picture of Jesus?  What effect do you think he'd have on the celebration?

The Jesus I grew up with was a kind of other-worldly loner who bore great responsibility and spent a lot of time either in quiet, anguished prayer or in going around doing good.  I think he would have had quite a sobering effect on the party.  I picture him either sitting in a corner away from the mayhem of the party thinking noble thoughts, or seeking out quiet, one-on-one conversations of quite serious intent.

(Hmmm ... sounds kind of a lot like me at a party.  Funny how we develop an image of Jesus in our own image!)

But the Gospel offers a different picture.  Jesus turns out to be the life of the party -- in fact, the one who just when the fun and revelry seem about to crash and burn in a disappointing shortage of wine, replenishes the supply and helps the party continue and even be better than before.

I think there are several miracles in the story of the wedding in Cana.

One is the turning of water to wine -- the ordinary stuff of daily life, when poured out and offered at Jesus' direction, becomes just what's needed for the party to really happen.  Makes me wonder what ordinary stuff of our daily life Jesus wants to use to make the kingdom happen?  And how we hear his direction about how to use it?

A second miracle maybe is that Jesus was even at the wedding.  Surely he could have been somewhere else and doing something more "holy".  He had a ministry to prepare for, a mission to begin, disciples to recruit, good news to preach, places to go and people to see, maybe even work to do at home.  But he chooses to go with his mom to join his friends and relations at a wedding, and it turns out to be the beginning of the whole darn thing, the first sign of how the kingdom of God is as near as the next drink with our neighbours. Is God (and the kingdom of God) maybe more present in the ordinary places and activities of life (and not as much in the religious activities of life?) than we think? 

And a third miracle?  How about the fact that Jesus listened to his mom, and did what she asked him to do?  She asked him to fix the wine shortage.  He said no.  She didn't push it -- just turned and told the servants to do whatever he said.  And then he did what she asked him to.  Are Jesus and God open to suggestion?  Even though we can't order God to do everything we want and provide everything we ask for (wouldn't we and the world be in bad shape if we could?), does God maybe welcome more give-and-take in our conversations and relationship than we sometimes imagine is permitted?  Maybe Tevye in Fiddler On the Roof in his little talks with God has the more faithful approach than us?

On Sunday, I wonder if we can have some fun with the story and enjoy the good news it has to offer?

L'chaim!

The sermon preached on Sunday, Jan 10 (Baptism of Jesus)

Readings:  Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:15-23
Sermon:  Stirrings

(This is actually a second sermon written for this Sunday.  To see what was written first, and then pushed aside -- a good or bad decision, who knows? -- to make room for this one, scroll down to the post just before this one.)

There is some confusion or complexity about baptism, and I'd like to try to sort it out because it's a confusion or complexity that goes to the heart of a lot of things.  It's the confusion about whether baptism is a personal and individual act and reality, or a corporate thing.

On one hand, it seems to be personal -- all about me as an individual, about the state of my soul, about my personal relationship with God. 

Imagine yourself as one of those standing at the river's edge in the story of John the Baptizer, the people and Jesus.  John has been preaching that life, as much as it seems on the surface of things, to be the same-old, same-old -- with rich and poor, powerful and powerless all playing their part; with aspirations of righteousness, fairness and peace in our time that somehow melt into old realities of corruption, injustice and sorrow; with wars and rumours of wars; with brokenness and not always a lot of healing; things the same way now as they always have been -- as much as this seems to be the case, John says, look again -- look harder -- look in new ways. 

Because God is stirring.  Something is happening.  The surface of life is rippling in new ways.  Because God's messiah and kingdom are emerging and new things are, and shall be coming.

The time is here.  It has come.  He is coming. 

So come.  Come to the river.  Enter into its flow. Be part of his appearing before you, like the rest of the old world are washed away.

So here I am, you say.  Here you are, at water's edge, called to choose -- to choose for yourself, maybe also for your household, but to choose in your own heart whether to stay rooted on solid ground in the same-old, same-old, or step into the river -- to open yourself and your heart and life to something new -- some new way of being and doing and being yourself, and to let it and its flowing newness be your life now.

And who knows that it is for you in particular as you stand at the river's edge?  As you contemplate your life -- the good and bad of it, the satisfying and dissatisfying parts of it, the things you have done and ways you have been, and what you may sense inside as a troubling of the water, a stirring of spirit, a rising of something new.

It's a personal place to be.  A choice each one of us must make for ourselves.

But on the other hand, it's not just me and not just you standing there alone.  The story says "all the people" were there.  They came in groups and droves, in company and community, in numbers and as a people who together knew they were called to be God's people, to live in the world within that reality.

So yes, each has to decide for themselves to be part of it, but what each is choosing is to be part of this particular corporate reality, part of this community of faith, a people who together seek to find, know and live out God's good will in the world -- as people who seek and find their own salvation, their deepest meaning and purpose, together.

The key in this is the Jordan River, because the Jordan River has a special place -- is a special place, in the life of the people.

The Jordan is where -- long, long ago in their very beginning, in the days of Moses and their 40-year journey through the wilderness from slavery in Egypt to new life as God's people in the promised land, the Jordan was the last river, the last of the boundaries to be crossed.

Long, long ago -- the first time they stood at that river's edge, behind them was the wilderness where they had been -- no lost, but journeying for 40 years.  Ahead of them on the far side of the water was the promised land -- the land where they would settle and live free as God's people.  So when they reached the river they stopped, encamped, knew what was ahead of them, took time to remember where they had been, what it all meant, and what God was intending to do for them, through them and with them.  And then, when it was time, when they were ready, as a company they moved forward.  As a people, as a community of faith, hope and love they crossed the Jordan, and entered the promised land.

And of course it wasn't all perfect.  It was promised land, not perfect land, and there's a difference between the two.  It was a land of milk and honey, but also a land or rocks and thorns.  A place of ups and downs, losses and defeats, temptation and sin, of making do and making use of what was there for God's purposes, of turning bad into good and also seeing good turn into bad.

But in the midst of all this, when they took time to remember they were conscious of doing this together, whatever it was.  They were one people driven and drawn by the good will of God, living towards a dream and vision beyond themselves, listening as closely as they could to the Word as it was spoken, interpreted, lived out, and constantly unfolding and opening in new ways, seeking as much as possible to be open and sensitive to the stirrings of the spirit, to let themselves be led by God.

Sometimes it ended well.  Sometimes not.  But that's what happens and God can -- God does live with that.  Neither they nor the land were perfect, but they were ... they were a they.  And it's that way of being -- of being whole and good together, that the Jordan River was all about.  It's that to which they were committing themselves once again as they stood there to be baptized by John.

God was moving, stirring something in the world, and they were committing themselves to be part of it together, to grow into and towards it as a community and a body.

That meant something particular and personal for each one of them in their time.  No doubt it means something different and particular for each one of us as well.

So is God moving in our time?  Is God stirring something new in the world?  Is something emerging and rising from within the depths of our time and life, for the good of the world?

And what does it mean for us to become part of it?  To find our place and our life in the river and flowing of the people of God in our time?  To find the meaning and purpose of our life in our life together, in company and community with other people of God in the world?

And I wonder ... as we do this, as we come to the river's edge and face that question, do we maybe sense God's spirit, God's dove of peace and power, hovering and brooding over us?  And maybe -- just maybe, do we have a sense of Jesus, God's messiah and kingdom, somehow emerging and appearing among us -- in some way blessing us and calling us God's beloved?

The Sermon not preached on Sunday, Jan 10 (Baptism of Jesus)

Readings:  Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:15-23
Sermon:  "Stirrings"

(This is one of those sermons that comes along every now and then that is somehow still-born -- written by Friday, and then after a few anxious days, pushed aside by the preacher in favour of a new, second sermon written with hopefully-divine inspiration on Sunday morning just hours before the worship service.  The abandoned sermon is posted here to give it at least some breath of life, and in honour of whatever inspiration gave rise to it in the first place.)

According to the Gospel, “the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah…”  I wonder what made them so expectant?  What raised and stirred their hopes that much, at that time? 

We read in Genesis that in the beginning all that is, is without shape and meaning.  Darkness covers the face of the deep, and a wind from God broods and sweeps over the face of the waters of life – rippling, stirring and troubling them.  Into that troubling movement God says, “Let there be light” and there is.  God sees the light is good and separates it from the dark.  And so there is deep night and dawning morning – the first day. 

It seems to be all about brooding spirit and sweeping wind.  Stirring of the deep, and rippling and troubling of the water.  And the speaking of a Word.   

When I was 12 I was baptized in the water of believer’s baptism into a Baptist church.  Twelve is a turbulent time for everyone, and I was no different.  Puberty was part of it, because all through our life at whatever stage we are, the natural rhythms of our bodies and of life always affect our souls in some way, and stir up deep spiritual issues.  There was also weekly judgemental preaching in church, parental discipline at home, and my own emerging conscience and new awarenesses of the ambiguities of life that all together helped stir up significant interior storms of wondering and anxiety about who I was and where I was going.   

I believe there was also some presence of Spirit within that turmoil – maybe brooding over it, dropping and nurturing seeds of some holy Word into the roiling waters, maybe also helping to stir things up in particular ways, because it wasn’t long until I was making what was called “a decision for Christ,” followed by baptism into membership in the church. 

The night of the baptism there were 10 or 12 of us.  It was an evening service with all the church present.  One by one we entered the tank, felt the water swirl and grab at us as we waded slowly towards the minister waiting for us at the far side.  Standing beside him, each of us heard him ask a few basic questions of our faith and commitment, and heard ourselves speak the answers we had learned.  Felt one of his hands holding ours clasped in front of us, his other hand supporting our back as he dipped us down, deep down into the water, and brought us back up brand new. 

We waded out as the next waded in, then dried off, changed into dry clothes, and went back to the sanctuary.  Then the minister welcomed us one by one into membership.  As he stood in front of each of us, he called us by name, spoke a word of God’s love to us, welcomed us into the congregation and spoke a word of blessing over us – a unique and distinctive word for each one, blessing each one of our lives with deep and personal meaning that we had not known in quite that way before. 

That was not the end of it, of course.  For all of us it was really just the beginning of a lifetime of stirrings and troublings in the rhythms and unfoldings of our lives, of a variety of passages and questions to be answered along the way, different leavings and new welcomings, more deaths and new births than some us thought there would be – and even now, at this stage of my life, more darknesses yet still waiting for light to come, and so much deep water still needing to be stirred to good order.   

That night of our baptism was not the end of the journey – not for any of us.  As sure as we were about things at that moment, it was not the once-for-all resolution and answer to every question and issue.  There never is such a thing. 

All of which I’m sure you have known as well in the course of your own life since your baptism, however it was done, or even without baptism – because it’s not so much the water as it is the Spirit brooding over our life and our soul, the wind from God stirring up and troubling things within us, the breath and the quiet voice of God encouraging us to wade just a little bit deeper into the holy mysteries, into the opportunities and ambiguities of life, to find our way to the other side even as we fear we may fall and not be able to get up again. 

Where I’ve come to now is quite a ways from where I was then, and I wonder sometimes how that’s happened.  How does the stirring begin each time?  How is the water that seems so calm and settled, suddenly start to ripple and be troubled?  How is the passage from old to new, accomplished at different times in any of our lives?   

The time in which Jesus was baptized into the meaning of his life, was not all that different from any other time.  It was a time of haves and have-nots.  Of rich and poor, and of powerful and powerless.  Of people speaking out against what is wrong, promising the coming of a brand new day, and being put away and silenced for it.  Of people longing and hoping for something better, and their hopes and dreams not always coming true.  Of people wanting to be able to live God’s will in the world – sometimes managing it, sometimes not. 

So what made this time so special and different from others?   

Was it brooding spirit?  Sweeping wind?  A particular stirring of the deep?  A distinctive rippling and troubling of the water of life by God?  The speaking of a Word heard in not quite that way before? 

Really, though, the question is: how we know this in our time, how we feel this in our own life. 

The baptism of John in which Jesus participates and into which he calls us to follow, is in part a baptism of personal cleansing – the sign of a troubled and penitent heart praying for a fresh start in knowing God’s grace, and for a new way of following God’s unfolding good will.  It’s the act of a person asking for a blessing and for new meaning in their life. 

So is there anything you are sorry for at this point in your life, that makes you pray for cleansing and new meaning and direction, as scary – and maybe even impossible, as that may seem? 

And the baptism was also a shared communal act of re-commitment.  It was the people responding together to the call to be renewed as a holy people together in the world.  The Jordan River separates the Promised Land on one side and the wilderness on the other, so entering into it for baptism was a symbolic re-enactment of different journeys through water in the olden days: the journey from slavery to freedom through the Red Sea, the first crossing of the Jordan from the wilderness to the promised land, the re-crossing of the same river centuries later as the people returned to the land after generations of exile in Babylon. 

So what crossing or passage is ahead of us at this moment in our life as a community of faith?  What new hope or way are we being called to?  What are we being asked to leave behind?  And how can we open ourselves – individually and together, to God’s promise to lead us through, and not let us drown in the turmoil and the stirring of the deep? 

It usually begins when we find ourselves again without shape and meaning.  We can no longer see what’s deep down inside us, when a wind from God begins to brood and sweep over the water of our lives – rippling, stirring and troubling us.  God says, “Let there be light” and there is.  The new light is good, God separates it from the dark, and in the change from dark night to dawning light there is a new day. 

And so, do you sense it – the brooding of God over you – over us as a congregation?  Do you feel the rippling and stirring of life – your own, or maybe all of ours together?  And do you trust it and give yourself to it – to the troubling of what used to be, for the sake of whatever new thing God is calling to life within us, whatever new way we are being called to follow, whatever new blessing and meaning of our life is being spoken over us by God even now?

Epiphany Pageant from Sunday, January 3, 2015

A Christmas Pageant:  Part 2

(A throne is at centre front of the sanctuary, Herod sits on it, flanked by 2 scribes;

the manger is off to the west side, far from the throne, maybe even in darkness.)

Reading: Matthew 2:1-2

 

 

The Journey of Faith: the questing magi

(The magi come up the east aisle to the throne where they stand before Herod)

Melchior

Wow!  Nice church!  Great place you have here!  You’ve fixed it up real nice. 

Thanks for letting us come in.  I know we’re strange to you, and you probably wonder why we’re here.  So we appreciate your openness. 

My name is Melchior.  It’s a Persian name.  In your language it probably means something like “Curious” because that’s mostly what I am – curious about all kinds of things. 

I’m a priest in the Zoroastrian religion.  I know, I know – in your mind that’s supposed to make me evil or wrong.  But really I’m just looking for truth and goodness wherever I can see it. 

And that’s why I’m here.  I really just want to see what the One God of all might have to show me here.   

Caspar

Me, too.  My name is Caspar.  I’m Indian – from India – the real India.  People sometimes call me “Journeyer” because I really do journey a lot.  “Have question, will travel” – that’s my slogan. 

I and my friends saw a star in the heavens we had never seen before.  It was strange and new, so we studied it with all our different sciences and arts and philosophies.  And what we figured out, is that it’s a sign of a new and wonderful king being born here – a king so different from any other king the earth has ever known, a king so much better than any other, that even the stars in the heavens are happy about him being born.   

It seems like all creation – all life on Earth has been waiting for this kind of king to be born. 

So we left where we were, and have come here to see him and learn what we can.  A new age is dawning for all Earth – and we want to be part of it in whatever little way we can. 

Balthazar

Yeah, that’s really all we’re here for. 

Like the others, I am a Zoroastrian priest.     

I know, you seem to be over-run by Zoroastrians today.  But don’t worry.  We’re not trying to convert you.  We don’t want to change you.  We just want to see what we can learn together at this wonderful time. 

I forgot to tell you my name.  It’s Balthasar, and I’m Babylonian.  Yeah – another foreign country.  You’re over-run with foreigners, too. 

Anyway, my name probably means something like “Open” in your language, because that’s what I try to be. 

Because it’s like they say in The X-Files – the truth is out there.  Out there, there’s a truth or a God or whatever you want to call it, that’s bigger than all of us, and I really believe we can all grow towards it, if only we are open. 

Someone and something really good for all the world is being born here, and we want to see it and learn from it – even bow down to it if we can.   

Whatever it is will help us be the best Zoroastrians we can be, and I’m sure when you see this new king, he will help you be the best you can be, too. 

Song:  “We Three Kings”

Reading: Matthew 2:3-8

The Place of Fear: the quivering king

 

 

Herod

Oh, my goodness!  What do I do now? 

I’m king here.  I don’t always like being king.  It’s not an easy job.  Some days I hate it.  But someone has to do it and I do the best I can.   

So this is my court, my palace, my kingdom, and as king I need to know what’s going on here. 

So … Who are these strangers?  Why have they come into our kingdom?  And who is this new king?  What is this new kind of kingdom they are talking about? 

So many questions!  I hate questions! 

Something is going on here that I don’t know about.  And I don’t like that.   

I need to know everything, and I need the people to know that I know everything.   

This kingdom may be small in comparison with others, and it may not be perfect.  But at least it’s my kingdom, I know what’s best for it, and I intend to keep it that way. 

Scribe 1 

O, good king!  Good news!  Good news! 

I have looked through the old books of God that we keep on the shelf, and I found something written there about a great king coming out of the little town of Bethlehem out in the back-hill country – just like good king David did long ago at the beginning of the kingdom.   

It’s that old, old story God seems to like so much.  You know the one – about a little person coming from a little place, and becoming greater and more important than all the big people from the big places of the time.   

But it means that at least for now you don’t have to worry.  This so-called “new king” is not in Jerusalem.  He’s not even here yet.  If he is born, he’s still out in Bethlehem.  He’s out on the edge of society.  If he’s around at all, he’s among the nobodies.  He has no power – at least not any power like yours, so maybe he’ll just disappear. 

Scribe 2 

Oh, but good king, this may actually be bad news.  Really bad news! 

Because if God is going back to God’s old ways – back to the way God worked in the past, it may be that God is stirring up the world again from the bottom – showing up in surprising places – doing unexpected things – lifting up the poor and the weak, instead of serving the strong and the powerful – working through people other than us, who are used to being God’s servants and used to being in charge of things.

And you know what that could mean. 

Whenever God goes back to the old ways of working, things usually get shaken up.  It’s not usually good news for the ones on top – not usually good news for people like us. 

Herod 

OK!  Let me think! 

You magi, go find this new king you say has come into the world.  Do whatever you need to do when you see him, and then come tell me all about it.  Tell me everything – especially where he is.

Maybe someday I’ll go see him myself.  I’d love to welcome him into my kingdom – to teach him what’s what – to show him how things need to be around here – to help him fit into my kingdom and my way of doing things. 

Maybe I’ll even put him to sleep – I mean, sing him to sleep with one of my favourite songs.   

In fact, let’s sing it now.  It’s called “Blessed Assurance.”  It’s my own personal version – just to reassure ourselves – to reassure me, that even with so many questions, nothing really needs to change:

Hymn:  “Blessed Assurance” (King Herod version) 

          Blessed assurance, truth all is mine!

          O what a blessing of power divine!

          Heir of tradition, I know what’s right.

          When you’re in my court, it’s all black and white.

          This is my story, I’m never wrong,

          I have the answers all the day long.

          This is my story, I’m never wrong,

          saving my status all the day long. 

Reading: Matthew 2:9-12

The Quiet Game-Changers:  Finding Jesus

 

 

(The magi leave Herod, go to the manger, leave their gifts there; look back towards Herod, look at one another, then leave by going out the west aisle; Herod stays sitting on his throne, flanked by his two scribes, as a narrator finishes the drama.) 

Narrator 

Herod, of course, never did see Jesus or meet him.   

Unlike the magi – those strange, curious, open-minded journeyers, he wasn’t interested in a new king, or a new kind of kingdom being born in his time for the well-being of the world.   

He was afraid to let go of what he had, even for the sake of something that was promised by God to be bigger and better.  He felt threatened by the new thing God was doing in his time.  He was afraid because he couldn’t imagine not being in charge.  He couldn’t imagine bending down and putting himself and what he had, at the service of someone or something bigger than himself, and being happy about it.  So he stayed behind. 

Poor Herod.   

In this pageant, people were recruited and agreed to play particular roles.  Many thanks to them for helping us to see at least a little bit about the different roles we can choose for ourselves in the new year ahead – what roles are available to us in the unfolding pageant of God, God’s truth, God’s Spirit and God’s kingdom being born in our time.