Scripture: 2 Samuel 7:1-11 and Luke 1:26-38
You just gotta love Nathan. Quite a gutsy (and other words come to mind) prophet.
He's a court prophet to King David, which means David turns to Nathan for holy wisdom and advice from God, and Nathan in turn knows who signs his paycheque.
David is newly installed as king. Finally settled in his new royal digs, David decides to build God a house as well, as grand as his.
God has been David's and the people's saviour and guide all along -- from the time God led Israel out of their slavery to Egypt, travelled with them through the wilderness, led them into the promised land, and then helped them become a kingdom. Through all this time God has literally travelled with the people. Unlike other gods who dwelt in fixed places and shrines, God's presence has been resident in the ark of the covenant which the people have carried with them wherever they have gone, and has been housed in a tent whenever they stop and settle down.
God has been portable, but now David wants to build a house for God as grand as his own, so he and God can settle in and settle down together. He tells Nathan his plan, and Nathan (good court prophet that he is), says, "Go ahead! God is with you!"
But that night Nathan gets a different word from God, and in the morning has a different message for the king -- one of the most bitingly sarcastic and ironic messages you can imagine a court prophet giving his boss.
Nathan tells David that God's real answer is, "You plan to build me a house? Ha! Let's think back a bit about who has really built what for whom, between the two of us." And then he ends with a wonderfully delicious word-play: "You will not build me a house (of wood, stone and precious metal); it's I who will make you a house (of ancestors who will live out my good will in the world)."
How does it feel to hear that God is not interested in settling in -- with us, or with anyone? That God's only real interest is to keep doing what it takes and keep going where is needed to shape people into communities that will faithfully live out God's will for Earth, and be an example to the rest of the world of how it can be done?
Isn't that what Christmas is about, though? About God coming to us -- not to settle down in any kingdom or building or ritual or tradition or structure or system we might see as "it", but to be living and portable among us in the most radical way imaginable -- as portable as an ark, as moveable as a tent, as unexpected as a baby, as unpredictable and redeeming as a Jesus.
We need and we enjoy our structures -- our houses (holy and otherwise), our rituals, our signs of the season, our routines of worship and faithfulness -- all those good, settled things. But it's good to remember these are more God's gifts to us to help give faithful shape to our life and to help us keep following God, than they are our gift to God to give God a place to settle into, and a way to settle down.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Monday, December 15, 2014
Sermon from Sunday, december 7, 2014
Scripture: Psalm 85; 2 Peter 3:8-15
I’m growing to appreciate the Psalms more than I might have in the past. I appreciate their honesty in the variety of feelings and human experience they bring to God, and the simplicity and directness of the faith they express.
I’m growing to appreciate the Psalms more than I might have in the past. I appreciate their honesty in the variety of feelings and human experience they bring to God, and the simplicity and directness of the faith they express.
Like
the psalm this morning – Psalm 85:
Restore us again, O God of our
salvation,
and put away your indignation toward us.
Will you be angry with us
forever?
Will you prolong your anger to
all generations?
Will you not revive us again,
so that your people may rejoice in you?
Let me hear what God the Lord will speak …
As we’ve heard, this
psalm was written and shared among the people in a time that should have been
happy for them, but wasn’t.
The situation is
that they have finally returned from the Great Exile. Years earlier – generations earlier, they had
lost everything as a kingdom. Because of
their foolishness as a people and because of the corruption and misdirection of
their leaders, they had lost their kingdom and had been taken into exile – as
forced labour, really – into Assyria and then Babylon. And they have come to understand and accept
all that. They can see how they brought
their misfortune and downfall on themselves.
But now, by what
they can only describe as an act of God, they are back home. What they come home to is a mess. The city of Jerusalem – including both the
royal court and the holy temple, have been destroyed. The land around – farms, villages, small
industry, are in ruins. But now that
they are home, they can do something about it.
They have a chance to rebuild what they let fall down; they can regain
what they lost and threw away.
Except, it hasn’t
happened. Some years have passed. The people made a little start. But then they stalled. They started arguing about how they should
rebuild, and what should come first.
They divided into factions and started to fall back into old ways – the
ways that had got them into trouble in the first place. It seems nothing is really better. Under the veneer or the cover of what should
be a happy and forward-looking time, they are still a shambles and in ruins as
a people.
It’s kind of like
this past Friday’s Spectator. I picked
up the paper first thing Friday morning and what I saw on the front page,
covering three of the four columns, is the headline “Burlington’s
Christmas Cheer” with a three-column full-colour picture of a house on Spruce
Avenue in Burlington all decorated and lit up for Christmas. All above the fold. And before my first cup of coffee.
What
a start for the day – Christmas joy – I thought of silent night, and peace on
earth, good will among men, and women, and children, and all God’s scattered
and sundry beasts and creatures. ‘Tis
the season … And isn’t that what we want to feel? And do feel?
But
then I noticed the headline beside this one, also at the top of the page, in
the one right-hand column that remained: “City Hall: Council hears new approach
to noise complaints” – a story about a plan to send by-law and police officers
together to investigate noise complaints between 1 and 7 am on Thursday, Friday
and Saturday nights. It seems peace on
earth – at least peace and quiet in some neighbourhoods still isn’t quite here,
doesn’t come naturally. Disturbing the
peace is still a problem looking for an answer.
And
then inside, starting on page three, the avalanche of other stories:
·
two
stories about different groups of First Nations people seeking redress for what
they see as lies and betrayal, and cultural genocide practiced as recently as
the 1960’s and 70’s right here in Canada;
·
a
story about a Hamilton man pleading guilty to stabbing his father; another
about the need for a culture of peace at City Hall; another about Canadian
political leaders taking pot shots at each other in the media;
·
and
from around the world stories about ten police officers in Chechnya killed by
militants; the fragility of peace in Afghanistan; protests in the States
against the Grand Jury decision not to indict a white police officer caught on
video in the chokehold death of a black man.
I
went back to the first story about Burlington Christmas Cheer to recover
something positive, and read the sub-headline under the picture of the
Christmas house: “People (well, almost
everyone) love the light display that electrifies the neighbourhood.” Some are upset by the traffic and noise the
display brings into their neighbourhood.
And
isn’t that what we and our world are really like – still like, even now in
the month of December as we start to plan for, and look forward to Christmas? Like the people of Israel back in their own
land, wanting to sing songs of rejoicing, but knowing that under the cover of a
happy time of rebuilding and forward-looking planning, a lot is still in
shambles and in ruins?
So
the psalmist cries out:
Lord, you were favorable to your
land;
you restored the
fortunes of Jacob.
You forgave the iniquity of
your people;
you pardoned all
their sin.
You withdrew all your wrath;
you turned from
your hot anger.
Restore us again, O God of our
salvation …
Will you not revive us again…
Show us your steadfast love, O
Lord,
and grant us your
salvation.
It’s
interesting that the psalmist here does not ask God to make everything better –
to fix what is still broken, to do the people’s work for them. He begins by recalling the beginnings. With
the reference to Jacob, the people’s ancient ancestor who because of the
foolishness and sinfulness of his sons ended up in slavery in Egypt, the
psalmist brings to mind the whole story of how God created the people of Israel
in the first place by leading them out of slavery in the exodus, leading them
to the Promised Land, and along the way – in the middle of the story, with the
Ten Commandments giving them instruction in how to live rightly with one
another and other people once they are in the Promised Land.
God
didn’t solve all their problems for them.
But God gave them what they needed to be able to live rightly, and gave
them freedom and a place where they could do that – where they could grow up
from being slaves and like children in the world, to live as real human beings,
mature in their wisdom and
in their relations with others.
And
that’s what the psalmist asks for in this time of distress as well. As you did for them, O God, may you do for
us. Restore us; revive us again. Free us from the foolishness and sin that still
bedevil us, speak to us again about right living, and give us time and space
and a chance to start again.
And
isn’t that what Christmas is? Isn’t it
an answer to that prayer, and an answer to the universal prayer of the human
heart for another chance to live rightly, another encouragement to learn to
grow into the maturity and wisdom God wants us to have as human beings?
We
sometimes wish, sometimes believe, and sometimes fear that the ultimate truth
about God is that in the end God will come down from heaven in irresistible
power, angry at sin and with belt in hand, to set things right and put an end
to what’s wrong. “Don’t make me come
down there!” is the cleverly worded threat we see sometimes on billboards and
church sign-boards, to encourage us to smarten up and play nice.
But,
the thing is, God has come down, and it hasn’t been in that way. In Christmas, in the coming of God in human
flesh, in the birth of Jesus God comes not with belt in hand and forceful voice
to whip us into shape but as a baby put into our hands to draw us out of
ourselves and whatever mess we have created, and into loving wonder. And from that baby and the kind of life he
grows into and lives out in the world, we receive as gift what we need to know about
right living and how the world is made good.
Restore
us, O God, and revive us again. Forgive
us our sin, free us from our waywardness and illnesses and addictions and
private and public foolishness. Speak to
us again of your way of right living.
And give us time and space to grow into it – one more step, one more
day, one more season, one more year.
As we
gather each year around the manger and take the Christ-child into our hands and
into our hearts, we are given again what we need to catch on to God’s way of
being, and to grow just a little bit more into living it out. Because Christmas is not just about the birth
of Jesus. It’s about our birth as a new
and renewed people. It’s about our
growing up just a little bit more as human beings.
And
that’s worth celebrating. That’s worth
decorating and lighting up a house for.
Wednesday, December 03, 2014
From Sunday, November 30, 2014
Scripture: Psalm 80
Sermon:
On the day of the killing in Ottawa, the RCMP quickly
described it as a terrorist attack, and thus quickly focused our sense of where
the threat to our well-being lies. The
government introduced legislation to give more power of surveillance and
detention to the police and the intelligence services. Security has been heightened in a variety of
places. We have begun air strikes with
other nations against ISIL targets in Iraq and Syria. Our official national strategy is to restore
our sense of security and well-being by protecting ourselves against radicalized
people – especially Muslims, and terrorists at home, and to destroy them
abroad. It’s a tried-and-true – or at
least, a tried-and-tried-again plan – something we’re used to, and familiar
with. It’s what we’ve placed our hope in
many times in the past.
Sermon:
Every
week the Revised Common Lectionary offers four readings for use in worship –
Old Testament, Psalm, Gospel and New Testament letter. The psalm this week is Psalm 80 – a lament, and
when I read it I was caught by two things in it.
One
is its honesty about the mess God’s people and the kingdom of Israel are in;
the other is the openness and simplicity with which the psalmist and all who
pray this psalm ask for help from God and God alone. Three times – in verses 3, 7 and 19 this plea
of longing rises to heaven, “Restore
us, O God; / Let your face shine, that we may be saved.” It reminds us that from beginning to end and
right at the heart of all our life, including our biggest messes, our true and
best hope is in God and in how God looks at us.
My father-in-law at the end of his life seemed
to boil his faith down to a few essentials, and one of those was an old Hebrew
blessing from the Book of Numbers that Moses is said to have learned directly
from God, and passed on to Aaron and his sons:
The
Lord bless you and keep you;
the
Lord make his face to shine upon you,
and be gracious to you;
the
Lord lift up his countenance upon you,
and give you peace.
Everywhere he went – to Walmart, Tim Horton’s,
church, on the street, Bill Newell would stop people, put his hand on their
shoulder, look them in the face, and just offer them this blessing. I wonder what it felt like – to be offered
the hope of God looking upon you face to face with loving kindness.
Last week we celebrated the baptism of Ethan
Beattie. It was also Reign of Christ
Sunday, and we had a great time. The liturgy
was full and helpful in opening us to God.
Ethan charmed us all. Our spirits
were high. Karen was struck by the
amount of laughter in the service. The
music was robust and joyful, especially the final hymn – “Rejoice, the Lord is
King.” All went well, just as we had
planned and hoped for.
Then something happened and something was
done that no one, not even the people involved, had planned on. While we were standing and singing the final hymn,
Vera Bailey quietly stepped out from her pew near the back. Leonard had to step aside to let her move
into the aisle. In the aisle she made
her way up to the third row from the front where Stew Beattie was standing and
cradling Ethan – contentedly asleep, in his arms. As Vera stood in the aisle and looked at
Ethan, her face beamed. Stew looked at
her, at Ethan, and back at Vera. He and she
together became one in their adoration of the baby. I wished I had a camera at that moment, but
maybe I’m glad I didn’t. After maybe a
whole minute, Vera nodded to Stew and moved back to her place with Len in their
pew near the back.
We don’t do that kind of thing here normally,
do we? And I wonder.
Vera said later she just felt she had
to. There was no way not to go up and
just look at the baby.
And was that event – that unplanned obedience
to an inner urging of Spirit, the willingness to step outside the box of our liturgy
– was that an unveiling of God’s face shining upon us? I know what came to mind for me as I watched
this unfold was the Gospel story of Anna – an elderly female prophet in the
temple of Jerusalem, bursting into praise when she sees the baby Jesus brought
by Mary and Joseph for his dedication.
Somehow at that moment we as a congregation in Winona seemed to be caught
up in, and to become part of God’s unfolding story – the story we read in the
Bible.
And maybe that’s what it is – what we hope
for – that somehow and in some way we find ourselves living in the way of God, living
out God’s good will, spontaneously living out of the knowledge of God’s kindly
and loving gaze upon us all.
“Restore us, O God; / Let your face shine,
that we may be saved.”
This psalm comes from a time of national
crisis and distress. Generations of morally
bankrupt and politically misleading leadership have led to such a state of
collapse that no amount of political or economic tinkering, no amount of
military re-armament no amount of restructuring or rebranding, , amount of
political spin or even change of leadership will be able to undo the harm that
has been done to the kingdom, nor to stop its coming-to-an-end as a power for
good in the world.
In their distress and sense of loss the psalmist
and whatever part of the people may have joined in reciting this psalm remember
that their only real hope of being restored as a people of God for the good of
the world is God’s covenant with them – God’s promise to show them the way of
right relations in all things, and their willingness to listen and follow
regardless of where it may take them or what it might require of them.
“Restore us, O God; / Let your face shine,
that we may be saved.” They want to go
back to the way things used to be – even if they never really were that way in
reality, even then. They want to move
ahead into a new way of being, better than what they are now – even if they’re
not quite sure how to get there.
And isn’t that where we are now as well?
Just last month we were all at least a little
bit shaken as a nation when in the course of one week two members of the
Canadian Armed Forces were killed in attacks in Canada. I heard the news of Nathan Cirillo’s murder
at the National War Memorial and the killer’s subsequent invasion of the House
of Parliament on the radio in my car as I was leaving the church for a
meeting.
I was driving along Fifty Road and down the
ramp onto the QEW – something I do almost daily and sometimes several times a
day without even thinking. That day, though,
I felt a strange uneasiness and an odd disquiet. The road and its traffic seemed different,
looked different, felt different. For a
few minutes I found myself thinking that any one of these cars or trucks around
me could be driven by a terrorist determined to crash into me or even blow a
bunch of us up once we were together on the Skyway Bridge.
With the shock we have felt, and the tear we
have suffered in our sense of security in our own land many people, I think,
have been looking for ways to go back to the way we used to be – even if we
never really were as good or perfect as we think we were. Others are looking for ways to move ahead to
something better, even though we don’t really know – or cannot agree, what that
should – or will be.
And
who knows? Maybe this is the way God’s
face is set. Maybe this is the way God
will bless. The way that will bring us
peace.
Others,
though, are feeling led in a different direction. At the time of the killing some national news
outlets held back from labelling it a terrorist attack, and took the time to
find out what really could be known.
They chose not to fuel the hysteria that could have developed, so much
so that a visiting American diplomat interviewed a day or two later said he
wished the American media would react to things as rationally and helpfully.
After
Nathan Cirillo’s funeral a girlfriend went public in saying she wished the
government and media would stop debating whether he was a hero or not, and seeing
terrorism as the threat, and would start to talk instead about the state of our
criminal justice and mental health systems as the real threats that have been
exposed to our well-being as a people.
At Presbytery last
month, Diane Matheson, one of our Conference staff also told us to get better
at “connect[ing] with the youth –
they’re the key! [she said]. Radicalized religious youth are being
converted en- masse because they need to belong to something. Let’s bring them into our fold before they
have a chance to be hurt by organizations that would exploit them. We don’t need them to be the future of the
church; we want them because we can help them belong to something [constructive
rather than destructive of life and community.] Helping young people to build
future stories for themselves – which may or may not involve the church – is a
way to keep them focused on behaviours that will help them be successful.”
And a Muslim imam said much the same thing in a radio interview a few
days ago. Instead of demonizing
potentially radical groups and trying to return to what we imagine we used to
be as a Christian nation, we should do what we can to strengthen our many
religious communities, so that religious leaders of all kinds can better reach
their respective flocks with the message that when they resort to violence, God
– the true God of any name, is simply not with them.
And I wonder. Is that the way God’s face is set? Is that the way of being caught up today in
God’s unfolding story? And of living out
of God’s loving gaze upon us all?
We need practice, don’t we, in seeking God’s
face. In knowing the direction God is
looking and leading, and discerning together the kinds of actions and
strategies that reflect God’s way.
Is it safe to assume, though, that as it did
for Vera and even for Stew last week, more often than not it takes us outside the box of
what we have known so far, beyond the way we usually have acted, a step away
from the same-old same-old into something we have not yet seen or been, something
still in the making, still experimental, but something that will
be the future that God wants us to start living towards right now
because it is the best hope for the well-being of all that God loves.
In
this season we remember that the God above and beyond us all, who holds all
things and all people, comes to us as a little baby, a new kind of life still
needing to grow, that we and others are called to welcome, to cradle, and to
properly adore regardless of where it may lead us and what it might require of
us.
“Restore us, O God; / Let your face shine,
that we may be saved.”
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Towards Sunday, November 30 (Advent 1)
Scripture: Psalm 80
Sermon: Facing the World; Face-ing the Future
I haven't preached often from the Psalms, but when I do I am struck by their honesty about human experience.
This psalm is a national lament. Imagine all of us in Canada in our homes, and houses of worship, and provincial legislatures, and Houses of Parliament crying out together to God for help and for renewal from our sin and corruption as a people.
Sometimes our government offers official apologies for things like the treatment of Japanese Canadians during World War Two, or the tragedy of the residential schools. But these apologies do not hold a candle to the intent and depth of biblical lament, nor do they require the radical soul-searching and repentance of real lament.
Nor do we really gather up all our personal woes and bring them to God in worship. We share concerns with a friend or with the minister before worship starts, and we offer calm prayers of intercession in our worship for people in need and distress. But I don't recall ever hearing a prayer in worship beginning with words like those of v. 5: "You give us nothing but tears, O God; tears and more tears are our whole food and drink all day long" -- except maybe at a memorial service on the McMaster University campus a few days after the Montreal Massacre.
But outside of Blue Christmas services and the annual Service of Light and Hope organized by the local funeral home, does the sadness in our life find a way into our Advent and Christmas worship of God?
One thing I like about Psalm 80 is the thrice-repeated simple prayer: "Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved." (vv. 3, 7, 19) What a wonderful image, and what an honest and helpful prayer.
The people know they cannot conjure new life for themselves. No number of resolutions, no amount of restructuring, no choice of "new leadership", no degree of spin they might put on the situation will save them. Only the face of God -- be it judgemental or forgiving, challenging or encouraging, or all of the above, will give them the hope and assurance they need that they are once again on the right track and in real relationship again with God and real life, no matter where it might take them.
And isn't that what Christmas is about? About the face of God shining on us, bringing us hope and new direction once again, bringing us both judgement and forgiveness, in the person of Jesus bringing us both the challenge and the encouragement we need to live as God desires?
Sermon: Facing the World; Face-ing the Future
I haven't preached often from the Psalms, but when I do I am struck by their honesty about human experience.
This psalm is a national lament. Imagine all of us in Canada in our homes, and houses of worship, and provincial legislatures, and Houses of Parliament crying out together to God for help and for renewal from our sin and corruption as a people.
Sometimes our government offers official apologies for things like the treatment of Japanese Canadians during World War Two, or the tragedy of the residential schools. But these apologies do not hold a candle to the intent and depth of biblical lament, nor do they require the radical soul-searching and repentance of real lament.
Nor do we really gather up all our personal woes and bring them to God in worship. We share concerns with a friend or with the minister before worship starts, and we offer calm prayers of intercession in our worship for people in need and distress. But I don't recall ever hearing a prayer in worship beginning with words like those of v. 5: "You give us nothing but tears, O God; tears and more tears are our whole food and drink all day long" -- except maybe at a memorial service on the McMaster University campus a few days after the Montreal Massacre.
But outside of Blue Christmas services and the annual Service of Light and Hope organized by the local funeral home, does the sadness in our life find a way into our Advent and Christmas worship of God?
One thing I like about Psalm 80 is the thrice-repeated simple prayer: "Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved." (vv. 3, 7, 19) What a wonderful image, and what an honest and helpful prayer.
The people know they cannot conjure new life for themselves. No number of resolutions, no amount of restructuring, no choice of "new leadership", no degree of spin they might put on the situation will save them. Only the face of God -- be it judgemental or forgiving, challenging or encouraging, or all of the above, will give them the hope and assurance they need that they are once again on the right track and in real relationship again with God and real life, no matter where it might take them.
And isn't that what Christmas is about? About the face of God shining on us, bringing us hope and new direction once again, bringing us both judgement and forgiveness, in the person of Jesus bringing us both the challenge and the encouragement we need to live as God desires?
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Sermon from Sunday, Nov 23, 2014 (Reign of Christ Sunday)
Scripture: Ezekiel 34:11-24 and Matthew 25:31-46
(Note: In addition to Reign of Christ Sunday, the liturgy also included a baptism of a near-newborn named Ethan, son of Mark and Jenny, whose grandfather Stew read the Ezekiel lesson.)
When I talked with Stew this week about reading Scripture and I told him about the Ezekiel passage, and the judgement God promises to make between the greedy sheep and those who are deprived, between the pushy sheep and those who are pushed away and pushed out, his immediate reply was, “And you’re going to relate this to the baptism? Right?”
And I said just as quickly, “Of course.”
Of course. Because today really is all about Ethan, isn’t it? And about all the little ones that come into and under our care.
Mark and Jenny, no doubt you have already learned this hard truth, that now you are no longer just Jenny and Mark. Rather, you are now first and foremost, Ethan’s mommy and daddy. And that’s not gonna change. Your house, your routines, your sleep patterns, your lifestyle, your finances, your vacation choices, in time your choice of music and what concerts and parties and entertainments to go to will for a very large part all revolve around Ethan and what’s good for him – because you love him, and from your strength you want to care for him in his weakness, from your abundance you want to provide for him in his need.
And that – that understanding of life is where our readings this morning try to point us – to the understanding that God cares, and cares especially for the weak, the vulnerable, the needy, and the wounded ones of the world – God cares so much that God’s house, God’s routines, God’s sleep patterns, God’s lifestyle, God’s finances, God’s vacation choices, God’s choice of music, and God’s choice of where to travel and where to dwell all revolve around the poor and the weak of the world, around those who are wounded and in need.
One side of our baptism of Ethan is our desire and shared commitment as family and church to provide a safe, supportive place for him in the world. Jenny, even before you and Mark were able to cradle him for the first time in your arms, you bore him for nine months and you and Mark together did all you could to ensure he was safe and had all he need to grow and mature well. And now that he is born you will not stop doing that; the commitment to his safety and to what will help him grow well only increases, and your family and friends around you are now able to share more directly in this great work.
And we have committed ourselves as a church to do what we can as well. That’s why I cleansed my hands before taking him in my arms to baptize him. That’s why we provide nursery care for when he is older – not to keep him out of worship, but to offer him a place that we hope he can call his own. That’s the reason for Sunday school and Vacation Bible school and anything else we might be able to offer – not primarily to grow the church, but to offer Ethan and others a good place to learn about God, about love, and about what makes life good and meaningful. That’s the reason we adopt and place on our bulletin board downstairs the provincial guidelines and church protocols around abusive behaviour, bullying and any kind of assault in this place – not because we have to follow the law, but because we want this space to be as safe, welcoming and comfortable as possible for all.
And in the midst of all this, we also hope – as you do, as parents, grandparents, god-parents, uncles and aunts and cousins – we all hope that Ethan will be able to grow up to a life that is also caring and nurturing of others around him who are weak, or hurt, or in need.
That too is an understanding of life to which our readings want to point us. In Ezekiel’s time it was a matter of relieving people of the notion that they simply have to put up with greedy or oppressive or blind leaders – with the equivalent of what we would describe today, as leaders who are servants and protectors of the 1%. That’s the only kind of leaders the people of Israel had known, and they suffered because of it. In time they lost all they had when their leaders’ misguided policies led to total collapse.
Against this tragic experience, Ezekiel says God will come and will “him-self” be their shepherd. God will let the self-serving bullies fall away into history’s dust-bin, will not call on their service anymore, and God will gather those who have been scattered and forgotten, those who have suffered and are in need.
And who knows how? Maybe by populist movement, maybe by insurrection or revolution, maybe by groundswell, maybe by an Idle-No-More or Occupy movement, maybe by little pockets of new community. However it happens, God will do this gathering and nurturing work out of love for the little ones, and then God will raise up a new prince for them – not a king – God has had enough of kings – but a prince who will act compassionately under God’s direction, and with only the authority that comes from love.
And who is that prince? Well, we believe it’s Jesus – the one whose birth in a stable, for the sake of life and love and death and new life among and with the poor, we celebrate just a month and two days from now.
And it’s also many others. It’s all who live in the spirit and the way of Jesus – all who accept the invitation to be the body of Christ in the world. It’s all who truly live in the spirit and the way of God – all who live in the world as people of faith, hope and love.
And that too is part of our baptismal prayer and desire for Ethan – that he be able to grow up to become part of that body, and part of that great community of people who live out God’s love in the world.
I saw something recently about parents’ wishes for their children. In a recent study in North America, when asked what they most wanted for their children, a majority of parents said they wanted their children to be happy. Those same parents, though, when asked what they most wanted for themselves, replied that they wanted a meaningful life – a life that they could look back on as having been lived to good purpose. Happiness – as we are taught to understand it, and meaningfulness are not always the same. Why would we not want for our children the same thing that in our growing maturity we want for ourselves?
I saw a story in The Spectator this summer titled “Teach Them to be Kind” which makes the startling claim that 80 % of young people in a recent Harvard study indicated that their parents “were more concerned with their achievement or happiness than whether they cared for others.”
On one hand, that shocked me, because here for instance that’s not what I see. I see families and households that do teach their children to be kind and caring for others beyond themselves, and who care that their children grow up this way.
On the other hand, though, I think of my own parenting, and I wonder what my primary concern was when my son was young. Would I not have said, “that he be happy”?
The article mentions five things that can be done to “teach them to be kind” – make caring for others a priority that you talk about; provide opportunities for children to practice caring and gratitude; expand your child’s circle of concern; be a strong role model and mentor; and guide children in managing destructive feelings so that the desire for caring for others is not undone by anger, shame, envy or feelings of powerlessness.
That’s what we’re about at our best, as parents and family and friends and church around Ethan, and around other children in our care and in our circle. It’s what we are at our best even just for ourselves, in our own life.
Because we really do believe in what this Sunday is about – the celebration of a new life among us, created and nurtured into being by God; placed in our care to be kept safe and encouraged to grow in good ways; all under what we celebrate as the reign of Christ, the lordship over all the world of the God who cares most especially for all those who are weak and vulnerable, who are poor and in need, who are hurt and deprived – all the little ones of the world.
(Note: In addition to Reign of Christ Sunday, the liturgy also included a baptism of a near-newborn named Ethan, son of Mark and Jenny, whose grandfather Stew read the Ezekiel lesson.)
When I talked with Stew this week about reading Scripture and I told him about the Ezekiel passage, and the judgement God promises to make between the greedy sheep and those who are deprived, between the pushy sheep and those who are pushed away and pushed out, his immediate reply was, “And you’re going to relate this to the baptism? Right?”
And I said just as quickly, “Of course.”
Of course. Because today really is all about Ethan, isn’t it? And about all the little ones that come into and under our care.
Mark and Jenny, no doubt you have already learned this hard truth, that now you are no longer just Jenny and Mark. Rather, you are now first and foremost, Ethan’s mommy and daddy. And that’s not gonna change. Your house, your routines, your sleep patterns, your lifestyle, your finances, your vacation choices, in time your choice of music and what concerts and parties and entertainments to go to will for a very large part all revolve around Ethan and what’s good for him – because you love him, and from your strength you want to care for him in his weakness, from your abundance you want to provide for him in his need.
And that – that understanding of life is where our readings this morning try to point us – to the understanding that God cares, and cares especially for the weak, the vulnerable, the needy, and the wounded ones of the world – God cares so much that God’s house, God’s routines, God’s sleep patterns, God’s lifestyle, God’s finances, God’s vacation choices, God’s choice of music, and God’s choice of where to travel and where to dwell all revolve around the poor and the weak of the world, around those who are wounded and in need.
One side of our baptism of Ethan is our desire and shared commitment as family and church to provide a safe, supportive place for him in the world. Jenny, even before you and Mark were able to cradle him for the first time in your arms, you bore him for nine months and you and Mark together did all you could to ensure he was safe and had all he need to grow and mature well. And now that he is born you will not stop doing that; the commitment to his safety and to what will help him grow well only increases, and your family and friends around you are now able to share more directly in this great work.
And we have committed ourselves as a church to do what we can as well. That’s why I cleansed my hands before taking him in my arms to baptize him. That’s why we provide nursery care for when he is older – not to keep him out of worship, but to offer him a place that we hope he can call his own. That’s the reason for Sunday school and Vacation Bible school and anything else we might be able to offer – not primarily to grow the church, but to offer Ethan and others a good place to learn about God, about love, and about what makes life good and meaningful. That’s the reason we adopt and place on our bulletin board downstairs the provincial guidelines and church protocols around abusive behaviour, bullying and any kind of assault in this place – not because we have to follow the law, but because we want this space to be as safe, welcoming and comfortable as possible for all.
And in the midst of all this, we also hope – as you do, as parents, grandparents, god-parents, uncles and aunts and cousins – we all hope that Ethan will be able to grow up to a life that is also caring and nurturing of others around him who are weak, or hurt, or in need.
That too is an understanding of life to which our readings want to point us. In Ezekiel’s time it was a matter of relieving people of the notion that they simply have to put up with greedy or oppressive or blind leaders – with the equivalent of what we would describe today, as leaders who are servants and protectors of the 1%. That’s the only kind of leaders the people of Israel had known, and they suffered because of it. In time they lost all they had when their leaders’ misguided policies led to total collapse.
Against this tragic experience, Ezekiel says God will come and will “him-self” be their shepherd. God will let the self-serving bullies fall away into history’s dust-bin, will not call on their service anymore, and God will gather those who have been scattered and forgotten, those who have suffered and are in need.
And who knows how? Maybe by populist movement, maybe by insurrection or revolution, maybe by groundswell, maybe by an Idle-No-More or Occupy movement, maybe by little pockets of new community. However it happens, God will do this gathering and nurturing work out of love for the little ones, and then God will raise up a new prince for them – not a king – God has had enough of kings – but a prince who will act compassionately under God’s direction, and with only the authority that comes from love.
And who is that prince? Well, we believe it’s Jesus – the one whose birth in a stable, for the sake of life and love and death and new life among and with the poor, we celebrate just a month and two days from now.
And it’s also many others. It’s all who live in the spirit and the way of Jesus – all who accept the invitation to be the body of Christ in the world. It’s all who truly live in the spirit and the way of God – all who live in the world as people of faith, hope and love.
And that too is part of our baptismal prayer and desire for Ethan – that he be able to grow up to become part of that body, and part of that great community of people who live out God’s love in the world.
I saw something recently about parents’ wishes for their children. In a recent study in North America, when asked what they most wanted for their children, a majority of parents said they wanted their children to be happy. Those same parents, though, when asked what they most wanted for themselves, replied that they wanted a meaningful life – a life that they could look back on as having been lived to good purpose. Happiness – as we are taught to understand it, and meaningfulness are not always the same. Why would we not want for our children the same thing that in our growing maturity we want for ourselves?
I saw a story in The Spectator this summer titled “Teach Them to be Kind” which makes the startling claim that 80 % of young people in a recent Harvard study indicated that their parents “were more concerned with their achievement or happiness than whether they cared for others.”
On one hand, that shocked me, because here for instance that’s not what I see. I see families and households that do teach their children to be kind and caring for others beyond themselves, and who care that their children grow up this way.
On the other hand, though, I think of my own parenting, and I wonder what my primary concern was when my son was young. Would I not have said, “that he be happy”?
The article mentions five things that can be done to “teach them to be kind” – make caring for others a priority that you talk about; provide opportunities for children to practice caring and gratitude; expand your child’s circle of concern; be a strong role model and mentor; and guide children in managing destructive feelings so that the desire for caring for others is not undone by anger, shame, envy or feelings of powerlessness.
That’s what we’re about at our best, as parents and family and friends and church around Ethan, and around other children in our care and in our circle. It’s what we are at our best even just for ourselves, in our own life.
Because we really do believe in what this Sunday is about – the celebration of a new life among us, created and nurtured into being by God; placed in our care to be kept safe and encouraged to grow in good ways; all under what we celebrate as the reign of Christ, the lordship over all the world of the God who cares most especially for all those who are weak and vulnerable, who are poor and in need, who are hurt and deprived – all the little ones of the world.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Towards Sunday, Nov 23, 2014 (Reign of Christ Sunday)
Scripture: Ezekiel 34:11-24 and Matthew 25:31-46
Christ the King Sunday (the official name of the day) is a recent addition to the liturgical year. It was established by decree of Pope Pius XI in 1925 as a day for the faithful to celebrate the lordship of Christ over all creation, and to commit themselves anew to the coming of God's kingdom of God on Earth, rather than to the rising tide of secularism and consumerism.
Makes one think we still need this day today! (Maybe the day can give us a kind of vaccination against the commercial and consumer excesses of the season ahead.)
But calling Christ the king is not an easy matter. The difficulty is evident for me in two images or icons of Christ I came across this week.
This is the traditional image of Christus Pantocrator -- or Christ, Ruler of All. It is majestic, awe-inspiring and expresses well the faith that Christ is above and before all, holds all things together in heaven and on earth, and ultimately is the One by whom all things are both judged and redeemed.
The problem we have today though, is that it's a very hierarchical image in a world that knows the danger and poison of hierarchy, a monarchical image in a world that values egalitarian and democratic authority, and an image of Christendom in a world that is consciously post-Christian. If this is the leading image of the Christ we want to affirm as lord of all the world, are we really going to reach many people? Are we really offering a constructive witness? Are we really making a convincing case for committing anew to the way of Christ as the answer for the world's waywardness?
And then there is this -- Christ of the Margins, an icon by Brother Robert Lenz, OFM. It's arresting in what it says -- like the place of Christ in the world, the reality of suffering, and even the ordinariness and weakness of Christ in the midst of it. It's also thought-provoking in what it doesn't say -- like which side of the fence Christ is on, is he a victim or a rescuer, is it he or we who are imprisoned (or even both), and what is the hope?
I have a feeling that if we celebrate this One as lord whose way holds all things together, and by whose way the world is redeemed, we have something worth saying and celebrating that the world around us might just resonate with, and want to know more of.
Christ the King Sunday (the official name of the day) is a recent addition to the liturgical year. It was established by decree of Pope Pius XI in 1925 as a day for the faithful to celebrate the lordship of Christ over all creation, and to commit themselves anew to the coming of God's kingdom of God on Earth, rather than to the rising tide of secularism and consumerism.
Makes one think we still need this day today! (Maybe the day can give us a kind of vaccination against the commercial and consumer excesses of the season ahead.)
But calling Christ the king is not an easy matter. The difficulty is evident for me in two images or icons of Christ I came across this week.
This is the traditional image of Christus Pantocrator -- or Christ, Ruler of All. It is majestic, awe-inspiring and expresses well the faith that Christ is above and before all, holds all things together in heaven and on earth, and ultimately is the One by whom all things are both judged and redeemed.
The problem we have today though, is that it's a very hierarchical image in a world that knows the danger and poison of hierarchy, a monarchical image in a world that values egalitarian and democratic authority, and an image of Christendom in a world that is consciously post-Christian. If this is the leading image of the Christ we want to affirm as lord of all the world, are we really going to reach many people? Are we really offering a constructive witness? Are we really making a convincing case for committing anew to the way of Christ as the answer for the world's waywardness?
And then there is this -- Christ of the Margins, an icon by Brother Robert Lenz, OFM. It's arresting in what it says -- like the place of Christ in the world, the reality of suffering, and even the ordinariness and weakness of Christ in the midst of it. It's also thought-provoking in what it doesn't say -- like which side of the fence Christ is on, is he a victim or a rescuer, is it he or we who are imprisoned (or even both), and what is the hope?
I have a feeling that if we celebrate this One as lord whose way holds all things together, and by whose way the world is redeemed, we have something worth saying and celebrating that the world around us might just resonate with, and want to know more of.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Toward Sunday, November 16, 2014
Scripture: Matthew 25:14-30
Sermon theme: While the master's away ...
I got bogged down this week trying to figure out what the "talents" are that the master entrusts to the servants in this parable.
Are they skills and abilities that God wants us not to hide, but use to good purpose? Is it time we are given, to make the world a better place? Is it literally treasure -- the money, property and assets we are blessed with, that we are to use faith-fully? Or is it other stuff yet -- relationships in which we are to grow the kingdom, Earth that we are to serve and nurture as God's garden, life that we are to make possible for others?
The answer, of course, is the famous "all of the above."
So then I begin to see a few other things in the parable.
One is the risk the master takes in entrusting the current assets and the future health of the estate to the servants. Will they take good care of it? Do they know what they are doing? What will be left of the estate when the master returns?
Another is that the master expects things to happen while he is gone. As far as the master is concerned, the worst thing is that the servants play it safe and focus just on survival.
Which leads to a third thought. Jesus identifies two servants whose ventures are wildly successful and are rewarded for it, and a third whose timidity leads to total inaction and who is excluded because of it. But what would the master's response be to someone -- maybe a fourth servant, who like the first two tries to do something with what he was given, but whose venture fails or loses money?
What do you think the master's response would be?
Afterthought: This week I happened to come across this thought from William James:
Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work, genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?
Sermon theme: While the master's away ...
I got bogged down this week trying to figure out what the "talents" are that the master entrusts to the servants in this parable.
Are they skills and abilities that God wants us not to hide, but use to good purpose? Is it time we are given, to make the world a better place? Is it literally treasure -- the money, property and assets we are blessed with, that we are to use faith-fully? Or is it other stuff yet -- relationships in which we are to grow the kingdom, Earth that we are to serve and nurture as God's garden, life that we are to make possible for others?
The answer, of course, is the famous "all of the above."
So then I begin to see a few other things in the parable.
One is the risk the master takes in entrusting the current assets and the future health of the estate to the servants. Will they take good care of it? Do they know what they are doing? What will be left of the estate when the master returns?
Another is that the master expects things to happen while he is gone. As far as the master is concerned, the worst thing is that the servants play it safe and focus just on survival.
Which leads to a third thought. Jesus identifies two servants whose ventures are wildly successful and are rewarded for it, and a third whose timidity leads to total inaction and who is excluded because of it. But what would the master's response be to someone -- maybe a fourth servant, who like the first two tries to do something with what he was given, but whose venture fails or loses money?
What do you think the master's response would be?
Afterthought: This week I happened to come across this thought from William James:
Suppose that the world's author put the case to you before creation, saying: "I am going to make a world not certain to be saved, a world the perfection of which shall be conditional merely, the condition being that each several agent does its own 'level best.' I offer you the chance of taking part in such a world. Its safety, you see, is unwarranted. It is a real adventure, with real danger, yet it may win through. It is a social scheme of co-operative work, genuinely to be done. Will you join the procession? Will you trust yourself and trust the other agents enough to face the risk?
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