I wonder who he's marrying (and bringing home with him) this time?

Reading:  Luke 12:32-40

When Jesus taught, healed and gathered alternative communities of all kinds of people, some people saw in him the perfect expression and fulfilment of every good thing about religion and God.  Using the language and imagery they knew, both they and he also called what they were experiencing, "the kingdom of God."

After his death, resurrection and ascension, the early church believed he would return to continue and complete that transformation of the world, and in writing the Gospels they remembered and collected different things he had said about it.  In today's reading, three of these sayings -- or "sound-bites about the kingdom and Jesus' return," are edited together to create a single teaching sequence.

“My little flock,” Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,

for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.

Sell what you have and share with others in need;

for where your treasure is, there your heart will be, too.”

Oh, how we count on this!  The promise of the kingdom of God! 

Whether we believe all the time in God or not, or even know what we believe about God at different times in our life, I think we somehow still all the time believe in and hang on to the promise of the kingdom of God.  With all that it means about peace and justice for all; the provident abundance of life; the well-being of all creatures, all people, all creation itself; the balance of all needs and wants; the fulfilment of our deepest potential as persons and as a species; and the expression of the glory, the life and the love of God in all things.

Something in us resonates with that promise, and we count on it being true in some way.

But at the same time, it’s easy to fear.  Because we are so little.  What’s that old Celtic fisherman’s prayer?  “Oh Lord, my boat is so small, and the sea is so big.”  A prayer without the courage to ask for anything while out on the sea.  Not fish.  Not safety.  Not anything but that God be aware of my little boat, and not let me be alone.

And we are a little flock, we few summer-folk here today.  But that’s not uncommon for folks who gather around Jesus.  When Jesus first spoke these words his followers were a little flock, a handful of disciples not always sure just what this, he, and they might in the end come to.

The church that emerged after the resurrection was also for the most part small in numbers.  Scattered.  Unsure a lot of the time about their future.  Kind of making it up as they went, following the Spirit’s lead one step at a time, trusting that after each one there would be another.

And aren’t we there again today?  We here in Winona and the church in general in a post-Christian world.  Fewer in numbers than we used to be.  No longer sure of the big picture.  And no longer as convinced as we used to be of our grand scenarios of what we thought God would do.  Having to learn again to follow the Spirit’s lead one step at a time, and to trust that after each one there will be another.

And don’t we feel the same way as individuals?  Small against the powers and events of the day.  Unsure in the face of the world’s problems and dysfunctions.  Anxious about all we have to face in the course of a lifetime.

When my mom died unexpectedly in hospital after heart surgery I flew to Winnipeg as soon as I could to see her body before anything was done to it, and what struck me and has stayed with me is how small she seemed.  In her life she had always seemed so big – strong and capable of doing so much.  But as she aged and suffered accidents and illness, she shrank and in the end was so diminished, such a small echo of what she had been.

But “fear not, my little flock,” Jesus says.  “For it is the Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.”  All the fullness of creation completed, all the joy of a world of abundance, peace and well-being for all.  Without exclusion, injustice or isolation.  Where all have a home and safe place to be, and be together as one.

And how does this happen?

I think of two other passings here within our congregation that show us something of the giving and the living of the kingdom among us.  A number of years ago, Jack Durfey died.  Jack was a pillar and patriarch of this church and of Winona.  By his spirit of public service and personal commitment he helped make this church and this village, good places to be.  He could have left for bigger pastures early on in his life, but he stayed and for the rest of his life he used whatever he had and did whatever he could for the good of others around him.  For many of us it’s summed up in the directions he gave his children from his hospital bed when he knew he was dying.  “Be sure the people get their cherries.”  Every year he shared the fruit of his orchard as much as he could with a number of people around town, and even from his hospital bed he wanted to be sure this was done.

I think too of Marg Aitken, who passed away last Sunday.  For so many years she fought through pain, illnesses and crippling weakness, none of which, though, dimmed her desire to be of use to others, and do good to them.  And even this last time as she grew so ill that she had to go into hospital, one of the last things she did was to follow through on a commitment to her grandchildren that she had begun as soon as they started coming into her life, and that she certainly wasn’t going to stop doing now just because she was dying.

And this is how the door opens to the kingdom God wants to give to us.  It happens when we open the door to others, to do what we can for them, and to share with them what has been given to us and put in our hands.

It’s like Jesus goes on to say, when he invites us to

“Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit;

be like those who are waiting

for their master to return from the wedding banquet,

so they may open the door for him

as soon as he comes  and  knocks.

For, those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes?

I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat,

and he will come and serve them.”

In this passage, the word for “he comes” – referring to the coming of Jesus, is not future tense verb – as though it’s in some time still to come.  Nor is it the idea of a once-for-all coming – some singular event that by itself changes everything.  Instead, it’s a present tense verb, meaning he comes here and now.  And it refers to ongoing, repetitive action, meaning he comes again and again, probably all through our life and the life of the world.

And the way Jesus tells it, he comes not in judgement.  Not in great displays of power and threat.  But more happily, even joyfully.  He comes from a wedding banquet – back home at last at some ungodly hour with his new bride on his arm, ready to bring her into his household, to introduce her to his servants, and to show them who they will be expected now to welcome into their lives, to serve, and even take orders from.

Jesus often speaks of the kingdom of God as a wedding banquet – as that happy occasion when God and what God loves are brought together and made one.  God is the bridegroom, and the bride – the desire of God’s heart, is all people, all creatures, all creation itself that God has called into being.

So when Jesus comes to us – comes home over and over again from some wedding banquet, it’s with some person, some group of people, some creatures, some part of creation that he tells us he loves, that he has bound himself to for life, and that he now expects and invites us as his servants to love and serve as well.

And what can we do, but be ready?  We don’t know exactly when he will come.  Nor do we always know just who he will bring with him this time.  Or if we will like her, or him, or them, or it.  Whether it will be an easy fit into the household as it’s been, or will everything now be changed, maybe even turned upside down.

But it doesn’t really matter, does it? 

What matters is that we are called and invited to love and to serve whoever and whatever he loves, and God loves.  And that as we bend and spend ourselves to share what we can, to serve their needs as we are able, and to use the things that have been put into our hands for their well-being, we ourselves will be cared for, be nurtured and fed by him, and will be counted eternally and happily as God’s beloved and faithful servants, part of a greater company than we might ever imagine.

*     *     *     *     *

A few questions that emerge:

• The sermon names two members of the Fifty congregation in whose ways of living and of dying we see something of what it is "to live and to give the kingdom of God."  Is there someone else you could name in the same way?  What about them makes you think of them like that?
• In the sermon Jesus is pictured as the master of the house who goes out to marry the desire of his heart -- some person, group of people, creatures, or part of creation itself he especially loves for some reason.  And we might never know who or what this is, until he brings his beloved home to us, and invites us (as servants of the house) to welcome whoever or whatever it is, serve them, and put the resources of the house at their disposal.  What persons, groups of people, causes or parts of creation has Jesus brought home to the United Church, or even just to Fifty, that we have easily welcomed and served?  Or that we have have found it harder to welcome and serve?
• We all are also his beloved.  Is there a time when you felt especially "led home" by Jesus as his beloved, and then thoroughly welcomed and served (or not) by his servants in the house?

Suffering the winds of time ... or channeling the wind of God

Reading: Ecclesiastes 1:12-14; 2:18-26

The mood of the Book of Ecclesiastes (literally the "Book of the Teacher") is despairing.  What a way to start back after vacation!  But ... do not fear: despair is not the whole of the story.  

"The Teacher" purports to be King Solomon, son and heir of King David, living in the 9th century BCE in the upbeat heyday of the kingdom.  Probably because from where and when he is really living, that seems like "the good old days."  

The book actually dates from the 4th century BCE -- a time of spiritual and moral decay for Israel after centuries of curruption, defeat by their enemies, exile in a foreign land, and the eventual return of some of the exiles to what was left of their once-proud kingdom.  At a time like this, how can any honest teacher not feel and communicate despair.  The lesson of history, both political and personal, is that everything we do, accomplish, learn, work for, and achieve is "vanity" ("hebel" in Hebrew, which means "transitory and insatisfactory, fleeting and transient like the wind).

But just as he looks to the past for a sense of better times, there are also clear signs -- for any with ears to hear and eyes to see, of hope and the presence of the glory of God in the present.

 In the Good News Version of the Bible, part of the reading is translated this way:

What is it all worth –

all you spend your time trying to do all your life?

You work and worry your way through life, and in the end,

it gets left to someone else to do with it as they will

and who’s to know what that will be?

And to worry about it is useless – like chasing after the wind.

And that’s the Good News version!

Barb McMullen and I were talking about this, this week.  Kind of.  She saw my car at the church and stopped in to leave her summer offering.  She knew she wouldn’t be here today and didn’t want to let the summer go by without doing her part to help us get through.  And one of the things we ended up chatting about was all the stuff we inherit and accumulate from our parents and our children, how at first we hang on to everything, and then over time bit by bit let a lot of it go, pass things on to others, or just dispose of it – Rubbermaid binsful of old photos and big bags of keepsakes that we send the way of all flesh, to the dump.

We can’t keep everything, and not everything is worth keeping forever.  We want to remember and hold on to what’s important; it just takes time and a little distance to sort out what’s eternal and will never be lost, from what’s transient, temporary and disposable.

I think of when my dad died.  In his life he was always fixing, maintaining and improving what was around him – in the house he provided us as a family, in the apartment he and my mom moved into in the end, in the apartments of others in their building.  It could be as big a job as turning an unfinished attic into comfortable and roomy bedrooms for us kids or helping his daughter and son-in-law stain their deck, or as small as installing an extra shelf in a closet in an apartment of a woman down the hall.  All his life he happily seized on any chance to help someone out in a tangible, practical way. 

And when he died and I first saw his body – lifeless, my first thought was, “Is that all?  Is that all it is?”  I thought he would always be there building and making things for others.  But now already with each passing minute all he did and all he was, was fading into the past.  Already I could sense him and all he did being lifted and carried away in the winds of time.

But then the second thought was that, yes, that is all there is – in a more positive sense.  That his constant attention to another’s need and his willingness to do what he could to meet it, is all there is to life – at least to a good life, a life that survives the mere passing of time.  Even though the things he made will break down, in time will also need to be fixed or improved, and in the end be thrown away, the underlying love for others that was expressed in what he did, will never die or be lost.  It will and it does survive.  

Because unlike stuff that gets swept away in the winds of time, his attention to the needs of his neighbours was how he became an instrument of the good will of God, and a channel in his time and in his way of the one wind – the one Spirit, of God always wanting to be breathed into the world in some way.  And how can that ever be lost?

Henri Nouwen has written:

[We spend much of our lives, it seems, preparing for] questions that never will be asked.  It seems as if we are getting ourselves ready for the question “How much did you earn during your lifetime?” or “How many friends did you make?” or “How much progress did you make in your career?” or “How much influence did you have on people?” or “How many conversions did you make?”

Were any of these to be the question Christ will ask when he comes again in glory [or we come to the gate of Heaven], many of us could approach the judgment day with great confidence.  But nobody is going to hear any of these questions.  The question we all are going to face is the question we are least prepared for.  It is: “What have you done for the least of mine?”  As long as there are strangers; hungry, naked, and sick people; prisoners, refugees, and slaves; people who are handicapped physically, mentally, or emotionally; people without work, a home, or a piece of land, there will be that haunting question from the throne of judgment: “What have you done for the least of mine?”

How much money we amass, how many friends we make, how successful we are in our career, and how many people look up to us, in the end will all disappear and be swept away in the winds of time.  What lasts and what counts is the ways we care for the stranger, help the poor and the hungry, sit with those who are imprisoned and disabled, and reach out to love those who are in need and who are different from us.  Because this how we become channels of the wind and the Spirit of God being breathed into and through our time.

And it might be something big.  God’s desire to be with “the least of these” might lead us to to create programs, support projects, build institutions and agencies.  And it might be something small, the simplest thing, the merest gesture, the most common kind of kindness.

This year as vacation approached I was worried.  I wanted vacation to be meaningful and memorable for both Japhia and I.  I wanted us to plan something we would remember after it was over, and make it “a real vacation.” 

And we had only week planned at a cottage – which was great.  But the rest -- the other three weeks, were just going to be at home and I worried that with nothing special planned, it would just come and go like an empty wind, with nothing left after to show for it. 

But you know what happened?  One of the best parts of our vacation happened during those three weeks at home.  During those weeks there was a stretch of about a week when each and every day for five or six days in a row, Japhia and I made a little trip to our neighbourhood Metro just to pick up a few little things for dinner that evening.  And each and every time we were there we ended up in the check-out line of a cashier named Val – not my sister Val, but another Val just as warm and personable.  So day by day and bit by bit we had the most delightful week-long conversation with her about vacation – ours at the moment and hers coming up, about grandchildren – her one and our seven, and other little tidbits of personal and family stuff.

We didn’t plan it.  It started by accident; the first two days Val’s line was the shortest.  But after that, when we became aware of what was happening, it was by choice we stood in her line no matter how long the line or the time required. 

Because, you see, we have known Val as a cashier at the Metro for a few years, but a couple of years ago one night we ran into her in the ER.  We were there on one of our visits with Japhia’s gastroparesis and she was there with her married son.  That meeting deepened our connection and our awareness of what we each were dealing with in life.  So for one week this summer when we had a chance to deepen it even more, we happily did. 

And it was wonderful.  For us, for her, and I think for a few other cashiers who noticed what was happening.  The store was the same, the shopping was the same, the groceries were the same, the prices were the same, we were all the same people.  But somehow it and we were also all new, more real and vital than before, with a deepened spirit of community and caring. 

We can, and often do, just blow through this world, doing and building and making and amassing what we can, and then blow out if it like an empty wind.  But we can also choose, in big and little ways, to be opened to others around us, to be attentive to their needs, and to let ourselves become channels instead of the one good wind – the Spirit of the loving God, always wanting to be breathed into the world of our time.

And then we ended our sermon time with this little exercise:

• create groups of 2 or 3 in the congregation
• in the groups, each person take a turn saying to the other(s) in the group (looking at them as you say it): "I am glad ... you are here"
• still in the separate groups, all the group members say together (while looking at one another): "When we are opened to others ... we are a body of Christ"
• all the groups say together: "We can be part ... of the flow of God's Spirit in our time 

The answer, my friend is ...

Reading:  Ecclesiastes 1:12-14; 2:18-26

(Find the reading at https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ecclesiastes%201%3A12-14%3B%202%3A18-26&version=NRSV;CEV)
 

"I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; 

and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind."  

(Eccl. 1:14) 

The mood of the book of Ecclesiastes is despairing.  Oh, joy!  Oh, joy!  What a way to start back after vacation!

But, wait ... that's not the whole story.  Believe me, it's not.

The writer of Ecclesiastes (which means literally "The Teacher") purports to be Solomon, son and heir of King David, and thus to be writing at a high, expansive point in Israel's history in the 9th century BCE.  That's probably when he wished he was living.

But the book dates instead from the 4th century BCE which, unlike "the good old days" of King David and Solomon, was not a very optimistic time for Israel.  This was the time of Israel's moral and spiritual decline after centuries of corruption, defeat by the Assyrians, exile into Babylon, and the eventual return of some of the people to the little that was left of their once-beloved kingdom.

How could the Teacher -- any honest person, not be despairing?  The lesson of history -- both personal and political, was that everything we do, accomplish, learn, work for, and achieve is "vanity" ("hebel" in Hebrew, which means "transitory and unsatisfactory, fleeting and transient like the wind").

Wow!  What a downer!  One minister has suggested the author of this book "must have suffered from a prolonged depression or his times must have been exceedingly oppressive." Gee, do you think?

But can we dismiss his teaching that easily?  As just a personality disorder, or someone having a bad-hair day (or stuck in a bad century to live in)?

I sometimes feel the same way.  When I read the news, and think of the apparently-so-easy undoing of so much good in our society and so much progress that we thought we had made.  When I wake up in the middle of the night (or even look at myself in the light of day) and wonder about the worth of what I have done.  When someone I dearly love dies, and I find myself wondering what's left of that life and of the one I so looked up to and thinking what's the point of life anyways.

And I wonder (as you might be!!) ... is that really the kind of text I want to read on a hot August holiday-weekend Sunday morning?  Is that what I want to start back with after vacation?  Yikes!!!

As you may have guessed the answer is yes, because the Teacher actually does work his way through to an answer to the emptiness and despair we suffer at times.  It has to do with relationship with God, with openness and commitment to the present moment, and with grateful embrace and faithful care and use of what we have been given.

And that's what I want to hone in on, come Sunday morning.  On the good news buried like precious treasure in all our lives, in all our wonderings (and wanderings), and in all the world.  The pearl of great price that makes life wonderful and holy no matter what.  When we take the time to see it.  When we make the effort to listen for it.

A few questions that may help us move towards Sunday:

• when do I feel despair, either about myself and my life, or about the world? 
• what good things do I see passing away and disappearing -- or maybe just going somewhere else, like the wind?
• and, speaking of the wind ...  when I'm in the doldrums, what helps lift my sails?  what refreshes my soul and renews my faith in the goodness and worth of living?

The Apostle Paul stopped by to share our Canada Day worship, so we invited him to speak ...

Good morning.  My name is Paul.  Paul the Apostle they call me, in case you haven’t met me before.

I’m happy to be with you in worship of the holy God of all the world and all people made known to us in Jesus, the Christ, on this Sunday of your country’s anniversary weekend.  Wow!  That’s a mouthful.  Being a citizen of a particular country and following Jesus is sometimes complex to work out, isn’t it?

I’ve got a few layers of identity myself.  On one hand, I’m Roman – full citizen of the Empire, which at times has stood me in good stead and I wouldn't want to leave home without it.  On another, I’m a Jew – full member of the family of Israel, and I would never want not to be that as well.  But the two hands do not always want the same things, or work together easily.  Many’s the time I struggle to know where my ultimate allegiance lies.  And then when I became a disciple of Jesus – full servant of that even greater reality, the messianic kingdom in the world, things got even more complex.

I’m sure you know what I mean, because here we are worshiping the God of all the world and all its people on this weekend of your particular nation's celebration. 

I listened closely to your national anthem that you sang before worship began, and I really like that line, “true north, strong and free.”

True north.  You know I try to keep up, and I love the way Winnipeg Jets fans – when the team plays at home, will happily and loudly sing the anthem until they reach this line, then in an even louder and happier voice will just shout out the two words, “TRUE NORTH” before going on to sing the rest of the anthem even more energized. 

And your Raptors, too, with that hash tag name of “We the North.”  I’ve no idea what a hash tag is, but I love the self-affirmation of that phrase, the happy defiance you can show against the burden and bullying of bigger countries in the world, and how you can act against the reputation you’ve had for being more meek and invisible than you need to be.

You are the “true north, strong and free.”  Freedom is a big part of who you are and what you are about – freedom for yourselves, and freedom for others too. 

And you’re right; you need to be strong to be free and to do freedom well. 

Because in a country as diverse and varied as yours – which, by the way, always has been part of your genius as a country, different freedoms can sometimes seem to be in conflict as different tribes and peoples try to share this land and its blessings, try to live together in mutual respect and harmony, try to be together like in the kingdom of God where all nations it says, shall come together in peace – all cultures, races, religions, sexual identities, national histories living together in love, making room for one another, protecting one another’s God-given dignity and purpose, all serving and seeking the greater good.

Sometimes it’s all too clear, though, how far away we are yet from the kingdom of God.

I’ve been reading, for instance – like you have, about what happened two weeks ago at the Gage Park Pride Festival, with two vastly different groups using the word “freedom” to justify two very different kinds of actions that simply cannot exist together.  On one hand, members of the LGBTQ+ community exercising what they saw as their freedom to self-expression and speech in celebrating their identity and their place in society.  And on the other hand some Christian extremists and some yellow-vesters exercising what they saw as their freedom to self-expression and speech in shouting hate at the young men and women at the festival, stalking them and making them afraid to go home and show where they lived, and hitting some of them in the face with a helmet.

“Freedom” is such a slippery word, and can be used for both godly and devilish purposes.  In the true north, strong and free you have to struggle and pray sometimes to know freedom really is and isn’t, what you’re called by God to be free for and free from, and what you need to be strong about and strong against if you really want freedom for yourself and for others.

And it’s not just you and Canada that struggles with this.  Let me read what I wrote some years ago to the Christian community in Galatia – in chapter five of a letter I wrote them.

You were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence or [domination of others], but through love become servants of one another.  For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself."  If, however, you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another [and you bring the whole house down with everyone in it – yourself included]. 

Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the flesh [-- and by flesh I don’t mean your body and physicality, but more the desires of the self, of the unredeemed and fearful ego, the kind of self-centredness that makes someone or some group of people unable to live beyond the prison of their own prejudices and anxieties.]   For what the flesh desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to the flesh; these two are opposed to each other, [and when we try to serve both they paralyze us and keep us from doing the good we are called to in the world.]

But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law [because you naturally do what the law prescribes, and even more.  In other words, to use some of your language, instead of having to be ordered by laws of political correctness and mutual respect like some people have to be because they don’t like acting that way, you just naturally do these things because it’s the holy and humane way of being.] 

Now the works of the flesh are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these.  [In other words, the ways we have of using other people for our own gratification, the ways we have of using God to satisfy our desires and justify our prejudices, the ways we break faith and break relationship with others when they and we disagree; the ways we get envious and angry at what other people have or are given, because we think it should all be ours and we should dominate.]

I warn you: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.

By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  There is no law against such things.  And when you belong to Christ Jesus you crucify the flesh [ -- remember, the ego and the anxious self] with its passions and desires.  So if we say we live by the Spirit, let us be guided by the Spirit.

That’s how we’re called to be.  That’s what you and I who follow Jesus, and others who follow the best of other religious traditions are called to be in this and any other country – living ambassadors and witnesses to God’s love for all – a love that the better laws of any land can only point to and try to protect, a love that you live out in its fullness even without the law.  Just because of who you are – in tune with God, ready to say no and be as strong as is needed against the unredeemed, fearful and hateful ego, guided instead by the Spirit that guides all who are open to God, however they know and name the God of all the world and all its people.

In your anthem you sing, “God keep our land glorious and free.”  And I wonder: is this a grateful description of what is, or a longing prayer for what is needed?  Or maybe both.

It’s all people of Spirit – people who through the best of their religious traditions come to be in tune with God, as you come to be through Jesus; people like you whose religious faith and practices lead to a place beyond anxious protection of self, to loving care for others – who will keep your country strong and free, the true north you are happy to be.  They are your friends and allies in your prayers and hopes for Canada.  They are your brothers and sisters in holy spirit, and there are many of them all around you.  It’s not a single, narrow pinnacle of truth that you are building here, but a broad and wide many-pillared dwelling of love.

And so … may you be strong in your faith; may they be strong in theirs; and may you all be friends together in living out and showing others the kingdom of God that longs to be known in this land. 

From far and wide, O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land, glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee…

May it be true.  And may God – the God of all lands and all peoples, bless you as you learn to live in faith, in hope and in love together in this land, God’s blessed Canada.