The most world-changing journey is still made only one step at a time (sermon from Sun, Jan 24, 2021)

Opening Thoughts

This past week we have seen a momentous change in the country to the south of us -- another of many seemingly seismic shifts that have dominated the news and have shaken the world for some time now. It's hard not to get caught up in it, and to let ourselves be drawn into the chorus of folks clamouring and chattering from the wings in support of one side or another.

Against that temptation -- two things.

One is the Serenity Prayer -- for serenity to accept the things we cannot change, courage to change the things we can, and wisdom to know the difference.  Whatever that means at any time!

The other is the old eco-saying about thinking globally, acting locally -- to be aware of the big issues and challenges of the day that need to be addressed for the world's well-being, then put our best energy and creativity into acting in ways available to us, to make a timely and effective difference for good right where we are.  Because it's through little steps, do-able actions, and meaningful involvement, no matter how little, that the kingdom of God is unfolded day by day in the world.

Let us open ourselves to God who holds us in the cradle of her embrace, and takes our hand as he walks with us through the world.

Reading: Mark 1:14-20

In the Gospel of Mark, the story of Jesus’ unveiling of the kingdom of God in the world begins with his baptism by John in the waters of the Jordan, and a voice from heaven identifying him as God’s beloved Son.  It seems an auspicious beginning.

But then … he disappears for forty days and nights into the wilderness, where he is tempted by Satan.  And when he re-emerges, it is to bad news.  Herod the king has arrested John the baptizer, and everyone who knows the story, knows this will not turn out well for John.  He will be beheaded while in Herod’s custody.  It seems a crushing blow.

But … Jesus is not deterred.  In fact, this seems to be a trigger for him and for others to see and to live in the world in a new and transforming way. 

Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, saying, "The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God had has come near; repent, and believe in the good news."

 As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the sea -- for they were fishermen.  And Jesus said to them, "Follow men and I will make you fish for people."  And immediately they left their nets and followed him.

As he went a little farther, he saw James the son of Zebedee and his brother John, who were in their boat mending the nets.  Immediately he called them; and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired men, and followed him.

 

  

Meditation:  Monologue by Andrew

Thank you for reading the story.  Nice to know it was saved.  "Cuz who doesn't wanna be saved?  And hearing it refreshes the memory.

I’m Andrew, by the way – Simon’s brother and one of the four fishermen turned “fishers of men”.  We liked that title; it worked better than some of the others.  Saying you’re ex-tax collect-ors turned into “God’s new collect-ive,” or a herder of sheep who’s now “heard” the good news, just didn’t have the same appeal.  Being fishermen was good for something after all; it made us memorable.

But I have to tell you we were not the radically heroic visionaries some make us out to be.  You know, totally committed, self-sacrificial servants of God who at the drop of a hat gave up everything for God – the kind of people whose stories you admire and whose lives you venerate, and who also make you feel guilty or somehow “less Christian” because you could never do what they do – never give yourself that unconditionally to a call of God on your life.

We weren’t like that, either.

I mean, we envisioned a better world than the one were living in, and the way it was structured.  Who wouldn’t?  Our time was as bad as yours.  As bad as any.

We were near the bottom of Galilean society – landless, poor, poorly paid by the fish marketing board for what we brought in, overtaxed by unscrupulous collectors, many of us having to rent back our own boats to do our fishing in, because they were held as security by the people we owed money to.  We were in a hole we could never work our way out of, and we were not the only ones like that.

And it’s not that we wanted to be on top.  We just wanted the world to be fair and just.  For the goodness of God’s good world to be shared by all in the God intends.  For government to care for the poor and the weak against self-centredness on the part of the comfortable and powerful, the way God intends governments to act.

But the people on top didn’t seem to care.  They had their own way of defining what the issues were, and what problems needed to be solved.  A way that suited their interests most of all, and that they said was God’s will.

And what happened to John the Baptizer seemed to push us to the point of being ready to do something about it.  John was a voice – was God’s voice – for a new way of being a society, for God’s way of living together.  And Herod silenced him.  Arrested him and put him in jail.  And we all knew how that would end.

Have you ever had an event like that in your time?  Something so horrendous and unthinkable, that it makes you stop and think?  So dark and evil, that you suddenly see the light?  So divisive and deadly, that you finally know what side you’re on?  That where you are is suddenly at least one step away from where you were as you tried to straddle the fence?

In the face of something like that, you just know “the time has come.”  Time for what, of course, is not always clear.

Some might see it as time finally to rise up – to take up arms, fight fire with fire, ride whatever horse no matter how evil as long as it helps you win and get rid of the bums at the top.  Others, as time to find a safe place to hunker down, just try to survive the apocalypse – maybe even profit from it and make a few bucks along the way if you can.

Or, it might be something else – a time to say enough is enough, enough of the old and unhelpful ways of being altogether, time to start living a new way, start practicing a better way of being together that maybe we shoulda been following right from the start.  As challenging as it may be.

Anyway, however differently different kinds of people might have seen it, it was that kinda time.  So when Jesus said, “Follow me, and I’ll make you part of God’s work of making the Earth right,” we were ready.  

And the thing is – I think this is what I’m trying to tell you – we didn’t know quite what he had in mind, or all it would involve.  Maybe a 20-minute TED talk about some new way of seeing things?  An afternoon workshop to show us how we could get our boats out of hock?  A weekend retreat to give us the skills and support to start a fisherman’s co-operative so we could control our own future?

I don’t think any of us had 3-year commitment, or even a 3-month plan in mind.  It was just the next step in a journey.  A good idea – whatever it was – whose time had come.  A nudge we decided to accept.  A window of opportunity to do something we probably hadn’t done before.

And isn’t that how we end up living life as God intends?  By heeding little nudges.  Fanning faint sparks of inspiration, taking tiny steps of faith, feeling just enough of a holy breeze to turn us in a new direction?  Until step by step, day by day, deed by deed at some point we find ourselves on a journey of faithful discipleship, doing our part in God’s work in the world.

This worship is sponsored by Fifty United Church, and I’m told the congregation is also not the type to sit down for hours on end in discernment and visioning exercises to come up with a five- or ten-year plan to re-invent themselves.  But give ‘em a problem to solve, a need in the community to meet, or a crisis in the world to address and you couldn’t ask for a more faithful and hopeful company of disciples, no matter the cost.  A community of faith ready to do what’s needed, when it’s needed.

Of course, sometimes that means putting ourselves at odds with others around us, like that day by the seashore when the invitation we accepted put us at odds with our fathers, our families and our friends.  To them, we were leaving them in the lurch.  We were being irresponsible and selfish.  We were becoming something and doing something they thought was foolish and unnecessary.

But don’t we often need to step out from beyond the familiar and take a step outside the comfort of the closed circle, to serve the greater good?  To know there is a greater good?  And to help create it?

The greatest of journeys is made step by step, and some of those steps are away from what we have been, and from what people near to us want us to be.  Taking the step, answering the knock, opening the door, and following a new way can cause upset.

So there’s one thing I want to pass on about opening yourself to what God may be leading you to do next.  Be as sure as you can, that it’s God who is leading you, it’s God’s will you are giving yourself to do, and a holy Spirit you are letting into your life.

Because there are impulses, nudges and next steps that the devil will try to sell you as being God’s good will.  Not everything that seems good – not even everything that seems religious and godly, is worth giving your life to.  Not if you want to feel good about yourself at the end.  Not if you want to know at the end that you spent your one sweet, wild life in ways that have helped do some real good in the world.

From our time with Jesus we learned to look for two things when testing the spirit of any new thing.  Often the two are together, and if only one of them is really there at the start, the other is sure to follow.

The first is whether the nudge you’re getting is something that will help you know and love God more tomorrow than you did yesterday.  If something will help you do that, go for it. 

When it really comes down to it – when we’re tossing on our bed through a sleepless night or lying on our death-bed, isn’t this what it all comes down to?  How well we love and feel loved by God?  How honestly we know, and are known by God?

The second thing is whether what you’re being nudged to do, helps you and gives you a way to love your neighbour as yourself.  To love a neighbour in the same way as yourself.  Sometimes to love and care for your neighbour in place of loving and caring for yourself.

And I mean “neighbour.”  Not just your family.  Not just your closest friends.  Not just your traditional and comfortable circle.  This is about loving someone – or a whole company of people – who are “other” than you.  Different.  Maybe difficult to be near.  Maybe impossible to like.  Maybe someone who seems more like an enemy than a brother or sister.

But isn’t the transcending of those kinds of boundaries what Jesus says the time we live in is for?  That the time has come for God’s kingdom to come into the troubled affairs of our day.  For us to start unfolding and living God’s good will for the well-being and peace – God’s shalom – for all the world?  For us to start practicing the kind of life together that we probably shoulda been practicing all along?

That’s what we were looking for and why we took the little step we did when it was offered to us.  We didn’t know how decisive and life-defining it would turn out to be.  But isn’t that how it goes?  We only really know the way, once we start walking it, step by step.

So thanks for reading our story.  Hearing it helps refresh the memory of who we really are.

Magi in a pandemic time (sermon for Epiphany Sunday, Jan 10, 2021)

 

Opening Thoughts:

It's easy to feel overwhelmed these days by so many fearful things unfolding and exploding, and so much chaos around us.  The more glued we are to the images on TV and our online news feeds, the easier it is to imagine that chaos is the whole of the story.

Brian McLaren, in his book We Make the Road by Walking: A Year-Long Quest for Spiritual Formation, Reorientation, and Activation writes this:

"It becomes more obvious the longer you life that all life is full of patterns.  Reality is trying to tell us something.  There's lost of mystery out there, to be sure, and no shortage of chaos and unpredictability. But there's also lots of meaning ...

Above and behind and beyond the sometimes confusing randomness of life, something is going on here.  From a single molecule to a strand of DNA, from a bird in flight to an ocean current to a dancing galaxy, there's a logic, a meaning, and unfolding pattern to it all.

…. Of course, we often struggle to know how to interpret those patterns.  For example, if a tornado destroys our house, an enemy army drops bombs on our village, a disease takes away someone we love, we lose our job, someone we love breaks our heart, or our best friends betray us, what does that mean?  Is the logic of the universe chaos or cruelty?  Does might make right?  Do violence and chaos rule?  Is the Creator capricious, heartless, and evil?  If we had only our worst experiences in life to guide us, that might be our conclusion.

[But the Bible and our faith tradition] dare us to believe that the universe runs by the logic of creativity, goodness, and love.  The universe is God’s creative project, filled with beauty, opportunity, challenge, and meaning.  It runs on the meaning or pattern we see embodied in the life of Jesus.   In this story, pregnancy abounds.  Newness multiplies.  Freedom grows.  Meaning expands.  Wisdom flows.  Healing happens. Goodness runs wild.”

What McLaren says feels like good medicine for our time.  And the title of the book – We Make the Road by Walking – seems a good one for Epiphany Sunday, when we remember the magi, the wise ones of Jesus’ day, who journeyed a long way to see and pay homage to the newborn messiah – the prince of true peace for all the world.   We could use some of their wisdom, their wide vision and their long perspective today. 

Reading:  Matthew 2:1-15 (Contemporary English Version) 

Jesus was born among the Jews, but his life and all the stories about it have meaning for all humanity.  Among the stories the early church cherished about his birth, is the story of magi from the East coming to worship Jesus while he was still an infant.  

Magi were like astronomers, who read the fortunes of the world in the stars.  And what they saw in the stars when Jesus was born, was a sign of the salvation of the world. 

When Jesus was born in the village of Bethlehem in Judea, Herod was king.  During this time some wise men – magi – from the east came to Jerusalem and said, “Where is the child born to be king of the Jews?  We saw his star in the east and have come to worship him.”

When King Herod heard about this, he was worried, and so was everyone else in Jerusalem.  Herod brought together the chief priests and the teachers of the Law of Moses and asked them, “Where will the Messiah be born?”

They told him, “He will be born in Bethlehem, just as the prophet wrote,

Bethlehem in the land of Judea,
you are very important among the towns of Judea.
From your town will come a leader,
who will be like a shepherd for my people Israel.’”

 Herod secretly called in the wise men and asked them when they had first seen the star.  He told them, “Go to Bethlehem and search carefully for the child. As soon as you find him, let me know.  I want to go and worship him too.” 

The wise men listened to what the king said and then left.  And the star they had seen in the east went on ahead of them until it stopped over the place where the child was. They were thrilled and excited to see the star.

When the magi went into the house and saw the child with Mary, his mother, they knelt down and worshiped him.  They took out their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh and gave them to him.  Later they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and they went back home by another way.

After the wise men had gone, an angel from the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up! Hurry and take the child and his mother to Egypt!  Stay there until I tell you to return, because Herod is looking for the child and wants to kill him.”  That night, Joseph got up and took his wife and the child to Egypt, where they stayed until Herod died.

Meditation

‘A cold coming we had of it.

Just the worst time of the year

For a journey, and such a long journey;

The ways deep and the weather sharp,

The very dead of winter.’

…

A hard time we had of it.

So begins the poem Journey of the Magi by T.S. Eliot.

We know what it can be like to suffer a hard journey in search of something you want to see in some place you need to get to, to see it.  I think this is one of the things we really like about the magi – that they travelled long and far to see and to celebrate a gift from God for all the world’s salvation.

We three kings of Orient are

bearing gifts, we traverse afar

[o’er] field and fountain, moor and mountain

following yonder star.

 

Star of wonder, star of night,

star with royal beauty bright,

westward leading, still proceeding

guide us to thy perfect Light.

We too are used to travelling – of leaving home and making a trip in search of sights, famous places, some special place we’ve read about and really want to see while we still can.  Of going to see friends, and spend time with people important in our life who live far away.  Of travelling to find a good time, an escape from daily life and routine, a vacation.

In actual fact, of course, not all of us – maybe not even most travel all that much.  And even those who travel don’t do it all the time.  Mostly we’re closer to home.  Just staying home, though, doesn’t match our culture’s image of the good life.

But I wonder … if one of the gifts of 2020 has been the imperative to stay home.

We cannot ignore the strain that social distancing places on us, nor the toll isolation takes on a human soul and spirit.  And sometimes people just need to get out and get away – like in the current UK lockdown and curfew that commands people not to leave home except for work, medical emergency or to escape domestic violence.

But by and large might it be that one of the gifts of the pandemic has been the need and the encouragement to find what we need and to celebrate what makes life good, right here at home and where we are?

Pema Chodron, an American Buddhist nun and principal teacher at Gampo Abbey in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, calls it “the wisdom of no escape” – the equally delightful and painful situation of “no exit,” and of having to see – and being able to see – the abundance of spiritual treasure and the richness of spiritual wisdom at home in everyday life.

It’s what Christian monastics ever since the time of Benedict in the 6^th century accept in the vow of stability that they take – that their life will be lived within the limits of their little community, and that trips beyond can be taken only with the permission of their superior and only if they are in keeping with their monastic vocation.  Because if they cannot find God and what they need for spiritual growth and fulfilment within the joys and challenges of their immediate community, will they really find them in restless travelling out there?

Christian mystics of all ages say, “God is here … right here where we are, because God is in all things.”  Or to put it another way, God is here for us in the everyday and in the most ordinary thing, or God is nowhere.

And so I wonder: have we found over the past nine or ten months, and do we find now right where we are, what we need to be made whole?  And what have we found?

It’s worth noting that the magi after their long journey, did not find what they thought they were looking for.  When they got to Jerusalem and they stopped in at Herod’s palace, they really thought they were at the end and the goal of their journey.

And why not?  They were looking for a long-awaited king who would be as mighty and gracious as the legendary David, who would bring peace and community to the world.  He would be great and when the magi saw Herod’s palace and the temple nearby, which by all accounts at the time and since were magnificent, rich, overwhelming structures, who wouldn’t have said “this must be the place” and felt like the journey was over, and finally worth all the effort?

Except this turned out to be only a mis-directed stopover – one that Bruce Cockburn says, “got pretty close to wrecking everything” – because what they were looking for was not in the power-hungry court of a paranoid king, but instead in a little village up in the hills, in a stable, among poor and ordinary people, in “the cry of a tiny baby.”  And it is in offering their gifts and opening themselves to him in that painfully ordinary place that they find what they’re looking for.

 

And when they go home, do they see everything differently there too?  Do they see the rich and splendid palaces, the shows of power and status, the arrays of might and majesty, and the assumptions of the rich and privileged in their own land through changed and different eyes?

Do they find themselves more aware of the small places, more attentive the ordinary people, and more moved by the cries of the little and poor ones back in their homeland as well?  See them and hear them as reminders and signs of how God’s gift is given, and how all the world receives what it needs for its salvation?

And of course, the story of them is really the story of us, isn’t it?  Questions we ask of them are questions to ask of ourselves.

Where do we look for what makes life good?  Where do we see God most promisingly present?

What cries do we hear, and what simple needs do we notice and attend to in the ordinary life right around us?  Do we find in ordinary life, the part we are to play in God’s desire to make the world whole, and to bring peace and healing community to all the world?

 

The Light is not at the end of the tunnel; it's in it. (sermon for Jan 4, 2021)

Reading (from John 1)

Someone else besides Mary who pondered on all that happened in and through Jesus was the writer of the Gospel of John.  The Gospel was written near the end of the first century of the Christian Era, when those who believed in Jesus and followed him, had had time to reflect on what he meant for the salvation of all the world.

They latched on the idea of the Logos -- capital L -- or, in English, the Word -- capital W.  The Logos was a Greek philosophical concept that roughly rendered refers to the blueprint or the intended design of all creation.  It seemed a perfect way of expressing the meaning of Jesus, as one who through his life reveals in himself and sparks in us our inner knowledge of how life is meant to be.

 

From John 1:

In the beginning was the Word (the Logos), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God … and what has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of – and in, all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

 

… He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.  He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him.  But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, born not of natural descent and bloodlines, nor of human plan, nor of personal willpower, but of God and of the presence and purpose of God in each and in all.

 

The Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory – glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth… And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.

Meditation 

It's a new year.  And this year what I’ve found myself wishing people is not a Happy New Year – that seems like a bit of stretch, but a hopeful new year – that seems more realistic, more within reach.

We’re still in lockdown and will be for at least a few more weeks.  We all know why, and what that means.  No need for me to repeat the daily news here.

The vaccine rollout has begun, though.  There is light at the end of the tunnel that gives us hope.

But what about while we’re still in the tunnel?  Is there any light – at least some kind of light, even in the tunnel, right where we are right now, to give us courage and strength?

I want to show you our Christmas tree this year.   We went just with lights this year – it comes prelit, so that was simple enough.  But once it was all up and plugged in, there was a problem.  The lights at the top – hundreds of little lights, shine brilliantly.  The lights at the bottom, also hundreds, are just as brilliant.

But in the middle a string of maybe 100 or so lights is dark, not shining at all.  No matter what I tried, I was unable to fix them.  So we have tree bright at the top and the bottom, with the flow of light broken in the middle with a complete ring of darkness.

Which seems a pretty good image of how a lot of people feel this year – that somehow there’s a disconnect between above and below, between what we’re used to and what this year has given us, maybe even between what we believe and what we experience.  There’s a gap.  A missing or a broken connection.

But is it really missing, and is it really broken?

The Queen, in her Christmas speech this year, talked about the coming of light – and the persistence of light, in any darkness we face.  “In the United Kingdom and around the world,” she said, “people have risen remarkably to the challenges of the year, and I am so proud and moved by this quiet, indomitable spirit.  We continue to be inspired by the kindness of strangers and draw comfort that even on the darkest nights there is hope in the new dawn, [seen in] the millions in our society [who unknown and unheralded] have put the lives of others above their own, and will continue to do so.”

I think often of what Mr. Rogers says he learned as a child from his mom.  Bewildered by news stories about hungry children, dying people, famines and floods and war and other disasters, he asked his mom where God is and what God is doing when things like this happen.  To which she answered, “When you hear and see stories and events like that, look for the helpers.”  For the helpers who are the connection between above and below, between belief and experience.  The people who are the incarnation in their own time of the good news of Immanuel – God with us.

What did we read?

The light shines in the darkness, darkness did not overcome it … and this light is at the heart of all people.

 

He came to what was his own, and to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, born not of natural descent, nor of human decision, nor of mere willpower, but of God.

 

The Word became flesh and lived among us.  We have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.  And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.

 

Jorg Zink, a German theologian who died just a few years ago, put it this way: “… Now this man from Nazareth comes to us and invites us to mirror God’s image, and shows us how.  He says: you too can become light, as God is light.  Because what is all around you is not hell, but rather a world waiting to be filled with hope and faith.”

 

Last year I was toying with the idea of a Lenten series about Mr. Rogers as a Christ figure – a beacon of light in our time.  With the brutalization of politics and culture that we’ve suffered for some time now, and with the violent, divisive and disrespectful kind of discourse that’s become so common, Mr. Rogers had become a kind of culture-hero as a witness to a different and better way of being.

 

His simple question, “Won’t you be my neighbour?” summed up a whole way of life and a vision of the world that we were sorely in need of.  And it was more than just a glib or pious sentiment because in his mouth we knew the question came from a man who deep in his heart had already committed himself to being a neighbour to whoever he met.  So why not celebrate him as a witness to the light – the true light that shines in the darkness and is not overcome by it?

 

And it’s not just individuals and big-name people that we have to look up at who are that, and who play that role in our time.  Communities of people are also part of the light.  I think of the Fifty congregation – and so many other communities of faith around the corner and around the world, where people get to know and care for one another.  Where people are welcomed in, and supported.  Where we share what we have and forgive what we don’t have and what we do wrong.  Where we also reach out to others, and bring light into whatever dark corners we can, in whatever way we can, regardless of our smallness, our weakness, and even our mistakes along the way.

 

And that’s the point. 

 

The light of life is in all and in each of us, no matter how darkened or shadowed our life may seem, whether by our life choices, our character, or just by circumstances that come our way.  Neither we nor our lives need to be all light and happy, for the Light to be here and real and in us.

 

I think of Japhia in the hospital the week before Christmas.  At one point it seemed she might be there over Christmas.  Not a happy thought.  It seemed a very lonely, isolated and sad place to be at Christmas. 

 

But as she came to know her room-mate a bit – a woman recovering from a fall and struggling with depression, and they began to exchange greetings and chat a bit at different times when they were alone together in the room, she began to see that it really would not be all that bad – in fact, might have its own wonder about it – if on Christmas Eve after the room was empty of visitors and nurses, they would be able to wish each other a good night sleep, and on Christmas morning in the quiet of their room and their shared loneliness, offer one another a simple “Merry Christmas.”

 

It doesn’t take much.  And things do not have to be all happy and light, for the Light to be present and real. 

 

The light – of and in all people – shines in the darkness, and the darkness not overcome it.

 

As the Queen says at the end of her speech this year, “May we let the light of Christmas, the spirit of selflessness, love and, above all, hope guide us in the times ahead.”