Theme: What are we doing here?
I had a sermon written by Friday noon. Maybe some day I’ll even preach it.
But
then I watched the news Friday night and Saturday morning out of Paris, and
suddenly the only question that made any sense to wonder about was “what are we
doing here?”
What are we doing here? Why are we in church this morning?
Why
aren’t we gathering and gathering our friends and neighbours at City Hall,
holding French flags and praying together for the victims of the attacks, and
sharing in the sorrow of the people of Paris?
Why
aren’t we on our way to Toronto or maybe even Ottawa to stand in front of a
French embassy, sign La Marseilles, and hold signs that say “Nous sommes parisiennes” and “Nous sommes unis”?
Why
aren’t we on-line or in line trying to reach out to local Muslims, assuring
them of our support should they face any backlash or persecution because of the
attacks carried out by ISIS?
Or
some may wonder why aren’t we home, limiting our movements, creating even more
secure and insulate lives, to save ourselves from any terrorist attacks that
are just as possible in Canada?
What
are we doing here?
In the
words of last week, let us remember what it is we are doing here. Lest we forget.
For
one thing we are here to celebrate an anniversary – the 219th
anniversary, of this church. For 219
years there has been a community of faith and a body of Christ in this place –
on this spot – on the banks of Fifty Creek.
First the people met in the woods.
Then when that was no longer adequate, in a little wooden structure they
built. Then, when that burned down in
the late 1860’s, in this fine brick building that still is standing and that
we’re in today.
It
makes us sound a little like the three little pigs – over 219 years of faith
and faithfulness to God and the way of Christ, looking for a place of security
and stability in a world of wolfish winds and terror – looking for something to
help us survive threat and fearful vulnerability – something that will
withstand the shifting sands and storms of time and history.
And in
a sense that’s not an untrue image, because prominent among the first European
settlers of Winona and founding members of this church in 1796 were United
Empire Loyalists – in other words, refugees fleeing persecution and
displacement in the revolutionary turmoil of the United States. And this community and church have been fed,
time and time again, by the arrival of new immigrants, refugees and settlers
looking for a good, safe place to call home.
For
another thing, we are here to celebrate a baptism – the baptism of Julia
Johanna into the body of Christ and the community of Christian faith in the
world. And we are glad that you – her
family, are finally here. This is a
special place for you, Hollie. It’s
where you first experienced Christian community and friendship, and where you
received your grounding in faith. We’re
so glad that this is a homecoming for you, and that you want to build on what
you received, for Julia.
And we
were ready to do this in the spring, until life – and death, intervened and interrupted
so tragically. There was Ethel’s stroke
and disability. Then Bob’s death. And even more tragically, Bob Jr’s. It just wasn’t the time to celebrate – not
the time to start looking ahead yet in quite that way. As it says in Ecclesiastes 3, there is a time
to mourn and a time to dance, and we needed to honour each time for what it was
and what it needed.
So
that’s what we’re doing here, and both of these things – the anniversary of
this church and the baptism of Julia, have everything to do with how we face
and live into what’s happening elsewhere in the world this weekend and every
other week and weekend of the year.
Because
did you notice and do you remember what we said together as a congregation as
our statement of purpose at the beginning of the liturgy of baptism – the words
taken from “A Song of Faith” – the United Church’s new statement of faith
adopted in 2006?
“Before conscious thought or
action on our part, we are born into the brokenness of this world,” we said.
And
isn’t that true? And don’t we feel it
this weekend?
There’s
no escaping our share and our partnership in the world’s brokenness. There is no way really to escape and insulate
ourselves from it, or deny our engagement in it. Justin Trudeau poetically called the people of
Paris, “our French cousins.” Barack
Obama rightly called the French, “America’s oldest allies.” And David Cameron, British Prime Minister
said, “the victims of these attacks were not being political or trying to make any
kind of statement to anyone; they were simply going about their way of life –
our way of life.”
It
really was an attack on us as well.
There really is a deep sense in which nous sommes parisiennes, and nous
sommes unis.
But
even then and at the same time – and this is important – it’s not simply a
matter of us and them – of us all and ISIS – even though there are ways we are
forced – and they are forcing us into thinking and acting that way. Because in a larger sense and in a larger
perspective, we are all – us and them, friend and foe – we are all in this
together. We are all of one race, one
species and one humanity on the face of Earth, all creatures of God in one web
of life, and we either somehow make it together, or we don’t really make it at
all.
That’s
the first thing we have remembered and affirmed this morning.
Then
the second is, “before conscious thought
or action on our part, we are surrounded by God’s redeeming love.”
Is
this really true? Can we see this and do
we believe this – can we believe this, this weekend?
We
look for signs, and we celebrate them when they appear. Like in the way Parisians used social media
immediately in the midst of the attack under the hash tag “portes ouvertes” to let people caught on the streets and unable to
get home, where they could go and find safety and be taken in.
Like in the way cities and governments around
the world Friday night illuminated their landmarks in blue, white and red – the
colours of the flag of France – the CN Tower, the Statue of Liberty, the White
House, the Sydney Opera House, and scores of other landmarks around the world
illumined in the colours of sympathy and support.
Like, too, in the way news commentators
showed restraint in the way they reported the attacks, not leaping to
conclusions before all the facts were in, and then when it was clear it was
ISIS making sure they included in their coverage, honest concern over the
unsteady and vulnerable place that the Muslim population as a whole is in, in
France and many other Western countries.
Which
raises the question of what happens now?
Where do we and our neighbours of all kinds go from here?
For
us, the third thing we have remembered today is that “baptism by water in the name of the Holy Trinity is the means by which
we are received, at any age, into the covenanted community of the church. Baptism signifies the nurturing, sustaining,
and transforming power of God’s love and our grateful response to that grace.”
In a
nutshell, this means that we together with others who bear the name of Christ
and Christian, are among those who are called to be salt and light, to be
leaven for good in the world.
Do you
remember the reading this morning? Jesus
and the disciples are in the Temple of Jerusalem. It has only recently been rebuilt to its
magnificent state, and the disciples like most other Jews of their day are in
awe of it. They take it as a great and
wonderful sign of God’s presence among them, and God’s renewed faithfulness to
them as a people.
But
Jesus tells them not to get too attached.
It will soon be destroyed, he says.
In a generation. By the Romans. Not one stone will be left on another. It will be rubble.
But,
he says, it will not be the end of the world.
It will not be the end of life.
It will not be the end of God’s kingdom on Earth. It will not be the end of your life and
calling and service and mission as my disciples and as servants of God. In fact, all these terrible things that will
happen not the death throes of the world, they are the birth-pangs of new life.
And
the question is, what is it that will be born?
What is it that God is struggling and labouring to bring forth? What is it that you are called to help bring
to birth as midwives of the kingdom of God in your time?
The
pains are many. The attacks in Paris are
among them. The day before, there was
the suicide attack in Beirut that killed 43 moderate Muslims. In the weeks before that, the explosion of a
Russian airliner over the Sinai that killed over 200. And who knows what more pains there may be
for us and the world to suffer.
But
it’s not the end of the world, Jesus tells us.
It’s the pain of new life -- the pain of restriction against new life,
of reaction against the new life that God is labouring to bring into being
among us and within us.
I’ll
end with – and give the last word today to a simple text exchange with my son Aaron
from Friday night:
“It
makes me angry and sad,” he texted, “that people are capable of doing this to
each other. I’m still waiting for our
global community to be realized where religion and politics don’t necessitate
violence. So much has to happen to get
there but I’d like to keep hoping.”
“Me too.”
I texted back. “I’ve been told Martin
Buber once said that the purpose and meaning of each human life is to help move
the world one inch in a good direction.”
“I
like that,” he replied.
The
question for us?
Maybe
just, what and where is your one inch?
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