Tag Archives: anglican

One Year…

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One Year

I don’t post a lot of sermons here anymore. In fact, I haven’t posted any since we moved to Ontario and I began to work as a part of the team in the Parish of the Valley. All (many) of my sermons in the last are posted as audio recordings here on the Parish website. I’ve taken to not putting text online much anymore.

But this week seemed a good exception. It was the 1 year anniversary of the big Celebration of New Ministry that we held as a parish, the date that we all kind of look to as the big launch of this new endeavour we’re up to in the Ottawa Valley.

The feast day of our 1-year anniversary fell on the day of our midweek service at Holy Trinity, Pembroke, and so I offered some reflections on the day and the year that had been.

Our Celebration of New Ministry happened on the day of James of Jerusalem, and the readings for the day are Matthew 13:54-58 and Acts 15:12-22.

 

One year ago today, on October 23, 2018, there were about 225 people crammed into Holy Trinity at 7 o’clock in the evening. These pews up here in the choir were full of people wearing the choir robes of Holy Trinity, the choir robes of St Paul’s Cobden and Stafford, the choir robes of Ascension Killaloe and St John’s Eganville.

One year ago today we held the Celebration of New Ministry for the Parish of the Valley.

We chose this day, the day we remember James of Jerusalem, James the brother of Jesus, not because it was an auspicious day to hold the service, but because it was literally the only day that we could get Bishop John and Archbishop Fred in the room at the same time!

But… I think that the Lord was working it out for us, because, one year later and looking back, I think the memorial of James of Jerusalem was appropriate for us as a parish.

James was the brother of Jesus.

He isn’t mentioned very much in the gospels, other than readings like the one we just heard from the gospel of Matthew. His mentions are pretty much limited to naming him as Jesus’ brother.

It is in the book of Acts where we get a sense of who James was.

The early church, in those first couple of years and decades following the death and resurrection of Jesus, was a little bit fractured. Primarily, the conflict was between Judean followers of Jesus – those who kept all of the laws of the Torah and considered themselves devout Jews who followed Jesus, and Gentile followers of Jesus – those who were Greek or Roman or Syrian or some other nationality.

The conflict was over whether or not all of these Gentile believers first needed to convert to Judaism in order to properly follow Jesus. Namely – did they need to get circumcised in order to follow Jesus.

Some were adamantly for circumcision – James and many of Jesus’ disciples amongst them.

Others, namely the apostle Paul, were adamantly against making Gentiles adhere to this and other Judean laws in order to follow Jesus.

It all came to a head when Paul and his helpers came to Jerusalem to ask for help for their mission to the gentiles in Asia.

James was the leader of the church in Jerusalem and he held a meeting where all of the “sides” were able to put their case.

In the end, James accepted Paul’s argument, acknowledging that Paul’s mission to the Gentiles was God’s mission. Part of his speech, which we read from the book of Acts, acknowledges that God has been doing this work of bringing them together since before Paul even came on the scene. He references Peter’s vision and encounter with Gentiles who became strong followers of Jesus and says that he realizes that “God has been making these things known from long ago.”

Because of this, as is noted in “For All The Saints,” James is honoured for his “reconciling wisdom” as one who overcame his own prejudices – overcame those barriers that I talked about on Sunday, the ones that we put up in the way, not the ones that God puts in the way – overcame his own barriers that prevented unity in the church in order to create a united early Christian church that went on to spread and endure all the way up until today.

So why do I think that James of Jerusalem is a good saint for us to have here in the Parish of the Valley?

Simply for the way that he worked to keep God at the centre of things and sought to remain open to different people, different ways of doing things, different parts of the church coming together in a unified mission and purpose.

See where I’m going with this?

Eighteen months, one year ago, many of us were still sceptical that this thing called the Parish of the Valley would work. We weren’t sure what we were getting into. We didn’t know each other, we hadn’t done things with folks from other Anglican Churches in the Valley.

One year later, we still haven’t got it all figured out, but we’ve realized that we’re stronger together. That we like hanging out with each other in worship and in fellowship. That we can accomplish so much more for the kingdom of God if we stick together than if we get worked up over slight differences in how we worship (because each of our churches across the Parish does things slightly differently!) or slight differences in who makes up our congregations.

So as we remember James of Jerusalem today, I give thanks for the reconciling work done by James 2000 years ago, and the reconciling work that brings us all together across the Parish of the Valley each.

Thanks be to God for this community and this parish.

Amen.

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The Valley

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A lot has change for Matthew and I in the last month: We packed up everything and moved 4600km across the country to Petawawa, Ontario where we have begun ministry at a new area parish in the Ottawa Valley.

An “area parish” is something relatively new being employed in the Anglican Diocese of Ottawa where there are a handful of clergy working together with a collection of churches. The idea is to share strengths and build capacity by putting together churches and clergy who may not have been working closely together in the past but who are in a similar geographic area. We will share resources and people, we will work together on areas of shared ministry, and we will all have the opportunity to play to our strengths in order to benefit the whole.

The Geography of our Valley Parish. The blue markers are all churches in the parish – some have services every Sunday, some are seasonal, some have services once or twice a month, and some are chapels and have services once or twice a year.

Some of the churches in our parish. Missing are the two I will have primary responsibility for, along with one chapel.

Matthew and I have spent the last few days driving all over our new parish to get to know the places and see the towns and villages (and corners of farm roads) where the churches are located. While we are both from relatively nearby – Matthew is from three hours east of our new parish and I am from three hours south – all of the driving has helped us to get a better feel for the parish and the people we will be ministering with. It has also been a lot of fun!

All of the churches are beautiful buildings and in the most beautiful of countrysides. All of them are also incredibly different – stone, brick, wood, siding … and most have a cemetery right beside the church.

We have driven about 450km around the area finding all of the churches. It has taken us within minutes of Algonquin Park, along three different river valleys (Bonnechere, Madawaska, and Ottawa), and out to corners of farmer’s fields on secondary Ontario highways.

There will be lots of things for us to learn amongst these people, but we know that we’re in a good place and off to a great start!

(For more on each of the churches pictured in the montage above, see my Instagram account)

A Sermon for January 21, 2018

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Preached at the Church of St John the Divine, Jonah 3:1-5,10; Mark 1:14-20 – Epiphany 2.

 

These last few weeks, we have re-entered the ordinary.

I love this season – the season after Epiphany – not because it is a small season of Ordinary Time in our church’s calendar – but because it is an ordinary that isn’t ordinary.

It is the ordinal-ed time, the numbered season where we count the weeks from Epiphany – that wonderful feast where we see Jesus made manifest as the Saviour for all – to Lent – where we travel with Jesus towards his death and then his glorious resurrection at Easter.

We visibly show it through changing our church colours to a life-giving green … but that green might be best thought of as a translucent green mixed with white: ordinary time mixed with holy days.

I think that is a good summary of what this season is all about: watching for the holy, for Jesus made manifest in the midst of our daily life.

But what is ordinary?

Some of my psychologist friends would suggest that ordinary, like normal, is really only found as a cycle on the washing machine…

And that is very likely true. Ordinary is only ordinary in a context – my ordinary is certainly different from yours which is certainly different from that of the four men named in today’s gospel reading.

For Simon, Andrew, James, and John, an ordinary day seems to include fishing. For they are fishermen.

They live along the Sea of Galilee – a large freshwater lake about 7miles across and 13 miles long – large enough that it really can feel like the Sea…

The shoreline of the Sea of Galilee is dotted with villages that exist mainly because of the fishing industry. This fishing industry is one of the primary sources of income in the area and it is largely operated through family-run cooperatives that have somehow been able to obtain a fishing licence from the authorities.

From the overseeing Roman Empire that has decided that they can make more money if they take every last fish caught by these fisherfolk and salt and dry them or turn them into fish sauce and export it all for a huge profit to drive the wheel of the ever-expanding empire and provide immense wealth for those at the top.

For these poor, colonized fishing families, having a fish leftover to eat for dinner is a rarity and their once staple is now gone to feed the belly of an Empire.

It sounds a lot like their ordinary is a struggle.

Against institution. Against an oppressive system. A disheartening existence. One day at a time.

Struggling to make a go of it. And probably also afraid to dream that there might be something different, something better.

Which is both like and unlike our ordinary, I suspect.

It is like our ordinary because I am sure that every single one of us has felt disheartened or alone or like things are a constant struggle – at some point or another. Or have wondered where God is or why the things that are happening are happening.

And are some of us struggling against different institutions that seek to oppress us? Absolutely. Though at the same time, most of us have at least some degree of privilege that makes it hard for us to fully locate ourselves in the sandals of the colonized fishermen of the gospel reading.

And while we often find ourselves caught up in the story from their perspective, as those who are struggling or disheartened and longing for God to call us into something else – and rightly so, we also would do well to remind ourselves that those of us here who are white, educated, North Americans might more readily align with the Roman citizens than with the Jewish fishermen in this story.

But that is the neat thing about the gospels. Today we have the story of call of four Jewish fishermen.

Later on, we’ll read the call of a man who is known to us a tax collector, a man who is overtly complicit with the colonizers oppressing these fishermen, and yet he will coexist and be a valued part of Jesus’ followers in the same way Simon, Andrew, James, John are.

Because it doesn’t matter what your ordinary is… Jesus is there. Not only is Jesus there, but Jesus breaks into and transforms ordinary.

I think that is one of the reasons we have this season of Epiphany – yes, I know we need to somehow fill the space between Christmas and Lent —

But we go from that magnificent celebration of Christmas where we rejoice at God entering into Creation, becoming incarnate and dwelling amongst us …

and then we get this season of Epiphany where we can be reminded that God also comes to us in little ways. In more subtle ways. In ways that don’t always get heralded by angels or celebrated by distant kings bearing gifts.

This season of ordinary time where God breaks in and makes the ordinary holy

For Simon, Andrew, James, and John, Jesus breaks into their ordinary day fishing and offers a different way: A way that subverts the political structures and offers them a new way of being

A way that creates instability in the empire by declaring that the oppressive status quo is not okay while simultaneously creating some stability in their lives – someone, something to hold onto

No, it is not without risk. But they go with Jesus anyway

We heard the same thing in our reading from the Hebrew Scriptures this morning in the story of Jonah. In the brief section of the story we read today, Jonah finally answers God’s call to go to Nineveh and bring God’s message. I love that this passage opens with us hearing that Jonah hears from God a couple of times before he responds because I believe that it is important to hear that it is okay to struggle with following God.

Both Jonah and the four fisherfolk have something in common: They all have to give something up to answer the call and they have to get prepared to experience the unexpected – the small epiphanies, or in-breakings of the power of God into their lives

Jonah has to leave behind his prejudice – as Alastair talked about last week when talking about an “us and them” mentality of the calling of Nathaniel – Jonah is also being called to understand that all are God’s children and none is left out because of where they are from or because we think we might be better than they are.

Jonah has to leave behind that prejudice and in doing so, is surprised to find that God is actually there, at work in Nineveh.

Simon, Andrew, James, and John are called to leave behind the secure insecurity of their livelihoods to follow Jesus. Ultimately, they are leaving the things they are doing that prop up empire to follow Jesus into unknown territory…

Holding these two stories together, I think that we can safely say that there are times where we will see it immediately like, Simon, Andrew, James, and John – even if we don’t understand it immediately – and there are times where we’ll need to see it a few times to get it, like Jonah.

And that both are okay.

Both will involve these moments of God breaking into our lives in unexpected ways and bringing holy moments into the ordinary.

But all the time, seen or unseen, God is here. God is at work. And God is proclaiming that the Kingdom of God is among us.

My prayer for each of us this week is that we may catch glimpses of that kingdom of God – catch sight of God breaking into our lives in unexpected ways. Showing holiness in the ordinary. Amen.

A Sermon for Advent 4: Mary

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The author sporting her Magnificat t-shirt

It was one of those years where the Sunday of Advent also happened to be Christmas Eve and so we had a mere 5 services at St John’s. Fortunately, I was only required to be at three of them: preaching in the morning at 10am and presiding in the evening at 7 and 11pm. I had the great idea of re-using a sermon I preached on these same readings on this same Sunday three years ago, thus giving me a little bit more brain space for all of the other things that needed to happen before Christmas Eve and Christmas Day services. It was a really good sermon too, one that I was really proud of and quite happy with and was actually excited about using again. However, the Spirit had other ideas, as I alluded in my previous post. I began to feel really strongly that I needed to preach something different, something that addressed #metoo and the stories in the news of strong men being brought down by the world finally listening to the voices of vulnerable women and something that acknowledged that St John’s has had a complicated relationship with some of these issues as well. So, in a matter of hours, I sat down and this is the sermon that the Spirit gave.

Preached December 24, 2017 at St John the Divine, Victoria

Find the audio recording here:

“Yes”

The gospel of Luke tells the story of the Annunciation – the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary to ask her to bear God’s son into the world. Mary knows that this is a dangerous and subversive call, yet still says yes, giving her consent to bear God. In doing so, she is proclaiming the greatness of the Mighty One who turns the world upside down and reminding us that listening to and believing women has always been a foundational part of our our faith.

Meeting Jesus

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I had an interesting encounter after church on Sunday.

We were in the middle of a visioning session with the congregation following the service when a church member came into the meeting to speak to me. There is a man, she said, ringing the office doorbell non-stop and demanding to speak to the priest. I told him that there was a meeting going on and no one was available. He said he was going to sit and wait and wanted to come inside.

This church member, understandably, felt uncomfortable having an unknown man sit outside the offices to wait while she was alone down the hall in the kitchen. So I and another member of our staff went to speak with him.

He seemed to recognize my collar right away and was happy to speak with me.

The second coming of Jesus has happened! he said without any hesitation after I said hello.
Oh? That’s exciting! I replied.
He looked me straight in the eye and said, I am he.
Oh! I said again. I wasn’t expecting the conversation to go there…
Very seriously he told me, I was told to deliver this special message to all of the churches.
Good for you! That is a lot of work.
He looked at me kind of accusatorily: I received this message in September. But you have very good bouncers and I have not been able to tell you until now. All of the true churches need to believe in Jesus and be saved.
Thank you for making sure that we heard.
Now, I have told you. And with that he turned around got his bicycle and cycled away.

It was an interesting interaction. My first response was that I wanted to share about it in one of my Facebook clergy groups, but then I stopped to think about that.

Why did I feel the need to share something seemingly so personal to this man? Was it because I wanted to mock him? Or because I wanted to demonstrate how good I am at interacting with people with mental illness? Or should I even be assuming it was a mental illness that was compelling him to share this message with us?

I am preparing to preach on Matthew 25:31-46 this coming weekend and in this passage the question is repeatedly asked, Lord when did we see you? A man walked up to me and told me he is Jesus. Why couldn’t he be?

So I haven’t posted anything other than this. And posting it here allows me to ponder different contexts for what might be going on. It means that I have to place it in the wider story rather than just sharing the dialogue for a laugh. Because even if it was mental illness that compelled his message, he is a beautiful human being made in God’s image who should not be mocked but should be loved and cared for.

Maybe I did meet Jesus after all.

PWRDF November 2017

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I spent the first twelve days of November in Ontario/Quebec this year. The Board of the Primate’s World Relief and Development Fund had our annual Fall meeting followed by, a few days later, the Anglican Church of Canada’s Council of General Synod meeting. With them only being a few days apart this year, I decided to stay in the East rather than fly back and forth across the country twice in twelve days, confusing my biorhythms and exposing myself to double the germs.

Each time the Board meets, we conclude our time together around the Table with a short Eucharist service. Usually, the Primate presides at the service and offers a few short reflections. This meeting, I was honoured to be asked to preside in the Primate’s absence. It is, however, a little intimidating to offer a few reflections in the presence of so many amazing colleagues and friends, including a retired archbishop, a bishop, an archdeacon, a canon, and a few folks who have been ordained much longer than I, not to mention the lay people who have had long careers in the Anglican Church.

I had the interesting challenge of reflecting on the readings for the commemoration of Richard Hooker, whose day in the church calendar it was, while also reflecting on the work of a relief and development agency. It felt like an odd juxtaposition.

The gospel for the day was a selection from John 17 – 17:18-23 – so I focused on that as I reflected on the work of the previous days of meeting and the work ahead of us as we left our meeting…

+++

Some reflections offered on November 3, 2017 offered in a Toronto Airport Hotel conference room with the gathered Board of Directors and management staff of PWRDF:

One of the things that I have come to appreciate in my travels is prayer. That sounds a little cliché … but what I mean is, that I have come to appreciate our shared global language of prayer: It is this thing that has so many layers of meaning and importance even above the actual words that are said or unsaid. 

I remember being in Ephesus. It was the day after Matthew and I had gotten engaged and we were standing in the middle of the ruins of the church dedicated to Mary the Theotokos. Another group of pilgrims were gathered in a circle around where the altar would have been, praying together in unison. I didn’t understand the words, but I understood what they were saying and the power of the moment gave me goosebumps. 

Or there was worship in the Cathedral in Grahamstown, South Africa where, for the first time, I worshipped with the people who wrote the mass setting that I’d heard bits and pieces of here in Canada, but there we sung the prayers as they were written – in Xhosa accompanied by marimbas, swaying back and forth to the music. 

And just the other night, as Bishop David led us in Compline, we came to the Lord’s Prayer and I looked up across the table and saw [our partner visiting from Guatemala] Gregoria praying along with us in her own language. 

Prayer transcends time. It transcends language. It unites us across time and space. 

 Think of Jesus. We have this huge chunk in the gospel of John where Jesus is praying and we get to learn a whole lot about the things that were and are important by what Jesus prays. 

On the night before he died, after sharing a meal with friends, we find Jesus, praying in the garden: 

I pray that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me… 

I love to think about non-linear time and how those things that Jesus was praying, he was praying about us here today gathered in a hotel conference room after a few solid days of meeting and deliberating and holding up the mission of God through work in policy, and volunteer management, and institutional evaluations.  

That Jesus was praying back and forward across time, across national and continental lines, and encompassing all of the saints from all times and places. And as we have gathered this week in prayer and to share in God’s mission, so we are preparing to go out in prayer and live into God’s mission around us. 

Jesus prayed, As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world…  

We will soon be sent out to go and return to our daily lives. But we do that surrounded by prayer. Jesus was praying for us then, to accomplish that for which we have been sent. And is praying for us now, alongside that whole communion of saints that the church also celebrated this week. 

That prayer carries us forward in our work as we strive to participate in God’s mission on earth by working to create a truly just, healthy, and peaceful world. And considering that participation in the mission of God is, in itself, an act of prayer – an act of “Your kingdom come God, as it is in heaven.” 

And so as we prayerfully gather together around this table, may we be aware of those who have gone before us and those who will come after us in this mission. Of those who have been praying for us since the beginning of time, and those who continue to hold us in prayer day in and day out … so that, as Jesus prayed, the world may believe that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me… 

Sermon for October 15, 2017

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Preached at the Church of St John the Divine, Victoria
Text: Matthew 22:1–14
Audio available here.

So is anyone else feeling a little uncomfortable after hearing that reading from the gospel this morning?? That stuff about burning cities and kicking people out into darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth…  

Yeah…. That doesn’t sit very well does it? 

 I don’t know what you do, but one of the first things I do when I come across an uncomfortable reading like this one – a reading that I can’t avoid because I’m assigned to preach – one of the first things I do is step back and read what comes before and what comes after the selection assigned for the day, because sometimes putting it in context can help. 

And because it is worth reminding ourselves that the small selections we hear read aloud each week are a part of a bigger story – not only within the narrative of each book within the Bible, but within the entire Biblical narrative as well.  

 So where are we here, this morning? 

This is the part of the gospel of Matthew that happens after Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. It is a part of the series of events that the writer of Matthew places between the Triumphal Entry, what we call Palm Sunday, and Good Friday and Easter morning. 

When we get to this parable, Jesus has entered Jerusalem and gone straight to the temple, overturned some tables, and cleared it of people taking financial advantage of worshippers at the temple. Jesus then does a few things that embarrass the authorities and tells some stories that make them out to be the bad guys. So at this point, his level of endearment of himself to the authorities in Jerusalem is pretty low. 

We know he hasn’t endeared himself to the authorities because pretty much the next thing that happens is opposing factions within the religious authorities come together to plot together to entrap Jesus.  

 So what happened in this parable that upset the authorities so much that the next thing we see is these opposing factions working together to bring Jesus down? I think that it has to do with entitlement and God’s grace. 

 Lets unpack what I mean with that by going through the parable again… 

 Jesus is standing in the temple with the chief priests, the Pharisees, the elders of the people, and a huge crowd of random temple-goers. Presumably the disciples are there too, since they seem to be around all of the time. 

The chief priests and elders ask Jesus a question and, as he usually does in the gospels, Jesus responds with a question of his own before launching into a series of parables that basically accuse the religious leaders and authorities of getting their priorities wrong. This is the third in that series and it expands on the previous two. 

The kingdom of heaven is like a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. 

A wedding banquet – this is like Christmas, Easter, and an invitation to the swankiest party you’ve ever imagined all rolled into one. It is a big deal. 

He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited… 

Everyone who got the “Save the Date” and the “Invitation” is now being summoned: the party is ready! 

But they would not come… 

So the king tries again. He sends another round of people to everyone who has already been invited. Look! The feast is ready! The decorations are up! The fairy lights are on! Come to the wedding banquet! 

But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized the king’s slaves, maltreated them, and killed them. 

So the king responds to this violence with violence and burns the city of the folks who killed his slaves. 

This is where, if you are trying to identify God with the king, things get tough. Is the God we worship a God of retribution and violence? No. Is there judgement? Yes… but maybe not in the way you are thinking. 

So far this parable is following the narrative and worldview of the Hebrew people to whom Matthew was writing. Throughout the Hebrew Scriptures we read story after story of God sending prophets to call the people back to God and story after story of those prophets being mistreated or killed. The result of this, according to the Hebrew Scriptures, is that the people of Israel are conquered by foreigners, scattered, exiled, and in some cases killed. So in one sense, Jesus is playing into that narrative and worldview: the first round of invitations has gone out, and people refused. 

So what does the king do? He sends his people out into the main streets, saying invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet … both good and bad … so that the wedding hall will be filled with guests. Invite EVERYONE. The bad and the good.  

This is such a hallmark of Jesus’ parables of the kingdom. The bad stuff isn’t a problem for the kingdom of heaven – everyone is invited. Judgement isn’t about keeping people out. 

Invite everyone to the wedding banquet because we are going to have a PARTY and it isn’t a party without everyone there, is what the king is saying. So that is what happens. The hall is filled. Everyone is invited and this time everyone shows up. 

And because it is such a mix of people and the king wants things to be festive and for no one to feel left out, everyone who comes in is given a wedding robe. A special outfit to wear so that everyone knows they belong at the party.  

And then the king comes in to survey his party… 

But when he came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, “Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?” And he was speechless.
Then the king said to the attendants, “Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” For many are called, but few are chosen… 

Hang on there… doesn’t this fly in the face of “everyone being invited” and bringing in the good and the bad?? Why, then, is Jesus making such a big deal about this guy’s clothes?? 

Remember what I said at the beginning about how I thought this parable was all about entitlement versus God’s grace? I think that is what this is saying. 

God’s throwing a party, the best party and the biggest party – and every single person is invited. In fact, every single person is already there, in the door, at the party. It is a gift – the free gift of God’s grace to every single person. 

But this one guy decides to come in his own clothes, to cast off the gift of grace. Because what he already has is good enough for the party.  

My clothes, that I bought and paid for and put on all by myself, are special and I deserve to be recognized for that.  I don’t need the wedding clothes because I am already good enough AND there is no way I want to be associated with the riff raff who NEED the special wedding clothes.  

“Nope” says Jesus. 

Go into the main streets and invite EVERYONE to the wedding banquet, both good and bad. 

God’s grace is that everyone is called to the wedding banquet. Everyone is invited, and everyone is given the “right clothes” to wear.  

There is none of that “my clothes are nicer than your clothes” or “my behaviour is better than your behaviour” or “I lived a holier life” stuff. 

We don’t like the idea of judgement. But Jesus isn’t telling a parable where judgement is “who is out versus who is in” – Jesus is telling an expansive story of everyone being in… and the only ones who end up out are the ones who think they’re good enough refuse to put on the clothes that God has gifted them. 

Even that last line, For many are called, but few are chosen is infused with God’s grace. Don’t think of “chosen” as the means by which we are invited in to the wedding banquet. Think of “chosen” as referring to the end result, a state of being – the simple fact of being present at the wedding banquet. 

One scholar translates the last line of the parable God calls all peoples, but the weakest God loves above all. (Schotroff)  

If we remove the value judgement often associated with the word “weak,” I wonder if we can instead read that sentence as God calls all peoples, but the weakest, who understand that they have to take on God’s grace rather than their own “good works,” are the ones who can actually experience God’s love. 

Our state of being is at the wedding feast, dwelling in God’s grace and and God’s love. Thanks be to God for the gift of grace and may we have the courage to put on that garment every day. 

Amen. 

Sermon for October 1, 2017

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Preached at the Church of St John the Divine, Victoria
Text: Exodus 17:1-7
Audio available here.

Is the Lord among us or not?

These words ended our reading from the book of Exodus in the Hebrew Scriptures this morning.

Is the Lord among us or not?

It is pretty hard to see the presence of God when you are literally dying of thirst on a long march through the desert at temperatures upwards of 30 degrees Celsius. Did I mention doing this while carrying tents? Other belongings? Small children and livestock?

No water. Again.  Last week it was no food. Before that it was no water. When will it end?

Is the Lord among us or not?

I mean, at least we had water in Egypt! Water is a basic human need and now we don’t have it.

Is the Lord among us or not?

The people of Israel were pretty right to complain to, contend with, and test their God. We would be doing it too.

Is the Lord among us or not?

If God was with me, why did I get sick? If God was with us, why did our friend die? If God were with us, why is work so hard right now? Why can’t I be happy with my courses at school? Is God with us or not?

How do we cope when God is absent, or at least seems to be absent? And how do we sit with others when they are – or when a community is – going through that pain?

Is the Lord among us or not?

Sometimes it is really hard to tell, and there is no easy answer.

I don’t have the answers, either, to that question of why it sometimes seems like God is absent. I’ve felt it too. What I can do is look at what Moses did in our reading today.

Moses cried out to the Lord, “What shall I do with these people?” … The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb.”

Take some people with you, Moses. Take the elders because of the stories and wisdom they carry … and take a group because you can’t do it alone.

We aren’t meant to walk this journey alone – whether it be through the wilderness without water when we wonder if God is among us or not – or whether it be in the Promised Land when things are going well. We are meant to journey with others.

Look around you –  There are some here who carry stories and wisdom of times when God has been abundantly present and stories and wisdom from times when they have been able to carry on even when God seemed absent. And there are some who have energy to carry those who cannot walk on their own. And there are some who can sit beside us and just be present when sitting is all we can do. Any journey is never about the actions of one single person. It is about God working in and through us as we hold and carry the hope of us all… We journey with others.

The Lord said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb.”

Moses, see that staff in your hand? Yes, the same staff that you use to keep your footing as you trek through the desert, that same, ordinary staff that you used so many times when you were working as a shepherd. Yes, that same staff that you had in your hand the last time you were at Horeb, when you saw a burning bush and knew you were in the presence of God. That same staff you had in your hand when I used you to work wonders in Egypt… That same staff that you had in your hand when the seas were parted…

Take THAT staff and go to Horeb. I am there. Return to that place where you found me before. Use that ordinary staff that you have in your hand. Strike the rock, and there will be water. There will be life.

Look at your hands …. Feel your feet on the ground … If we are the hands and feet of God, what is in our hands and where can our feet take us that seems ordinary but is so much more? That pen that we pick up in our hands to use to write notes of encouragement to people on a weekly basis. The dough that our hands lovingly knead into loaves to bake for nourishment for this community as we gather around the table here on a Sunday morning. The keys to our car in our hand as we visit a friend across town or take someone in for a doctor’s appointment. Our hands, folded on our lap or holding the hand of another person as God uses our very selves as we are present with someone in silence, in laughter, to play games, to read books, to pray

Is the Lord among us or not? 

Sometimes God is abundantly visible, like in a burning bush. Sometimes God is hidden, like standing on a rock that has not yet brought forth living water. Sometimes, I cannot see God but you can, and you can make God known to me. Sometimes you cannot see God, but the person beside you can, and they can make God known to you.

That is why we are here. A community of people. Ordinary people who gather together each week to say together, on behalf of those amongst us right now who cannot: We believe in God. And we believe that God is among us now.

Amen.

Sermon for September 10, 2017

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Preached at the Church of St John the Divine, Victoria
Readings: Romans 13:8-14 & Matthew 18:15-20

The year is around 55 or 56 CE. A man named Paul, who is currently staying in Greece, is preparing to write a letter. He is writing to a group of people he has never met but who he hopes to visit. That group of people are in Rome, a bit of a ways from Greece, but not as far as they are from Jerusalem. And it is Jerusalem that Paul says he must visit first before travelling on to Rome to meet that growing community of Christians there, and then, he hopes to continue on to Spain to start Christian churches there.

As he prepares to write, Paul reflects on what he knows about the group of Christians in Rome:

The tensions between the Jewish Christians and the Gentile Christians are growing.

The Jewish Christians in Rome have only just been allowed to return home after having been kicked out of Rome by the last emperor, and they are feeling unsettled.

On top of that, Paul has heard grumbles from Jewish Christians – criticism that in preaching to Gentiles that he is turning his back on his own people – that he is rejecting the Jews and even preaching that God has also rejected them. And while this couldn’t be further from Paul’s motivation, it is amazing how people will talk…

Paul needs support for his mission to Spain and is counting on the Roman Christians to help… but he is concerned that the fractures in their community and the Jewish Christian’s general mistrust of Paul, will impede the reception of the gospel of Jesus Christ and will prevent it being spread further abroad.

And so he dictates this letter that we read a portion of this morning – possibly his last letter as he ends up being imprisoned in Jerusalem and only able to meet this letter’s recipients when he is brought to Rome as a prisoner.

 

Lets move forward about 30 years to roughly 80 or 85 CE.

A man probably living in Antioch in Syria, the third largest city in the Roman Empire yet located far from the centre of power in Rome, sits down to write an account of the life of Jesus of Nazareth to share with his community of believers. The community is made up of primarily Jewish Christians and they’re struggling with conflicts between the religion they were taught and grew up with and the teachings of Jesus.

They’re struggling in part because the Temple, the centre of Jewish worship of God and the visible manifestation of God’s presence with them and God’s favour of them, has been destroyed within the last decade or so. Not only that, but they kind of expected that Jesus would have returned by now. But he hasn’t and that is causing some problems for some people. So there is a lot of uncertainty and a lot of questions: Does God still like us? Who is this Jesus of Nazareth and how does that fit into things? What on earth are we supposed to do now??

So this man we know as Matthew sets out to write an account of the life of Jesus that extends back into the lives and proclamations of the prophets and looks forward to the expansion of a new reality that is bigger than any one people group.

 

There are so many things going on here:

A community at odds with each other because of not insignificant differences in heritage, or religion…

A community struggling to know how to live in the aftermath of their entire way of life being destroyed or the things they have always known and found comforting being turned upside down.

 

It isn’t only something that happens in the communities of the first century. It isn’t only something that happens in the past.

It has happened throughout history and it is happening now in big ways and in small ways. In newsworthy ways and in ways that sometimes go unnoticed:

 

Communities being torn apart by racial violence and hate.

Communities dealing with every building on their Island being destroyed by 300km/hr winds.

A church struggling to come to grips with how it responds to and repents from atrocities like sexual abuse or cultural genocide.

A church mourning the “church that was” when they were younger and there were dozens of children running around and every pew was full every day.

Christians grappling with how to respond to an opioid crisis that has spilled out onto every street and into our garden.

Christians continually relearning how to live with each other with all of our humanity – our individual quirks and mannerisms that both delight and annoy.

It is so difficult!

And into those situations speak words written by two different men, to two different communities, two millennia ago.

Not that we can take each and every word as the definitive roadmap for how things must be right now: Matthew was speaking into a very specific situation where the rhetoric against Judaism made sense in the context of the tensions that existed in his day but have since been used as justification for attempted genocide.

And the letter to the Romans as a whole is not meant as a systematic presentation of the theology of the gospel, but a selective and contextual argument rooted in the good news for the purpose of encouragement to live a life that reflects the reconciliation effected by the incarnate God in Christ.

 

This is important. The scriptures were contextual 2000 years ago, and are still contextual now.

The proclamation of the good news of Jesus Christ has to land in real space and time.[1]

 

Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another, says Paul.

Owe nothing to anyone, except love.

Here Paul isn’t talking about some sort of divine balance sheet of “love in / love out” where we can account for the love given and received.

In the Roman cultural narrative, “owing” or obligation was the system by which all interpersonal interactions were conducted. Obligation was related to position, status, authority and so on. It defined the livelihood of life and citizenship in first century Rome:

  • One “owed” honour and allegiance to the Emperor
  • Money, possessions, and honour were owed to benefactors and patrons – a common relationship in this context
  • Slaves owed service and their lives to their owners
  • And wives owed submission to their husbands.

The language of “owing” or obligation was incredibly common and the way every interaction was conducted in the first century.

Hear then the utterly counter cultural and revolutionary words of Paul: Owe no one anything, except to love one another. Owe NOTHING except love. Those culturally derived conceptions of obligation are being dismissed in light of the obligation to love one another.[2]

Paul is busting up all of those oppressive or divisive relationships and re-centering everything on one thing and one thing only: the action of love.

The one who loves another has fulfilled the law, says Paul. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbour as yourself.”

 

Isn’t that also what we are seeing in our gospel reading this morning? The community of Christians for whom Matthew was writing his gospel account were coming to grips with a new reality. Not only was there the lingering shock of the destruction of the temple and a way of life they’d known their whole lives, but they were slowly realizing that Jesus might not return before they died and they might need to set up a community for the long haul.

We often read Matthew 18 as an instruction in church discipline: how do we resolve conflicts and figure out who is in and who is out of our community. But if we think about the underlying context of what was going on when this was written, it becomes so much more.

It is about building the kind of relationships that make community possible.[3] It is about how we relate to each other and to God. Not building barriers to being in or out of relationship, but understanding that our actions on earth have broader consequences and how we treat each other matters.

And if we look deeper than the steps laid out, doesn’t it come down to the same thing as Romans? That we love and care for each other?

Last week, in his sermon, Bill landed on love. He talked about Jesus’ words in the gospel, challenging us to daily take up our cross and follow him. Bill suggested to us that daily taking up our cross is not a call to self-flagellation, but a call for us to daily take up the work of love.

Daily take up the work of love.

Not to make another entry on the balance sheet, but that love is our ultimate reaction to the gospel.

To owe nothing to one another except love forces us to own the reality that we are entirely dependant on God’s grace – on Jesus’ love for us – for our very existence, and that this love completely reframes how we relate to each other and makes us able to continue to relate to each other for the long haul.

Love as understood through the lens of the cross means giving up our claim to ourselves and each other, especially the claims that are based on our own cultural narratives of “right” and “just”

It forces us to consider how we daily take up the work of love when we experience communities being torn apart by racial violence and hate.

How we daily take up the work of love when we see communities dealing with every building on their Island being destroyed by 300km/hr winds.

How we daily take up the work of love when we are part of a church that is struggling to come to grips with how it responds to and repents following Residential Schools.

How we daily take up the work of love when we are mourning the “church that was” when we were younger.

How we daily take up the work of love when we are grappling with how to respond to the opioid crisis that has spilled even into our gardens.

How we daily take up the work of love when we are continually having to relearn how to live with each other with all of our humanity – our individual quirks and mannerisms that both delight and annoy.

Because in doing this, we have, in the words of Paul, “put on Christ”, living in the light, and living with genuine love.

Amen.

 

[1] This is quoted and paraphrased from Kyle Fever, “Commentary on Romans 13:8-14” from Working Preacher – Preaching this Week (RCL).

[2] Drawn from the same as #1.

[3] Herb O’Driscoll’s Year A Commentary

 

Old Made New

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A couple of weeks ago, I presided at my first Book of Common Prayer Eucharist. Its a lovely service and, like many across the Anglican Church of Canada, our is attended by a small but faithful group of people at 8 o’clock in the morning.

In preparing for this service, there were a few “extra” details that were really important for me to have alongside that morning. The red prayer book I used belonged to my mother. In it are small handwritten notes, instructions she had no doubt penciled in to assist her in serving at the table in the parish where I grew up. I continue to use this BCP for myself, though it is a little small to consistently use for presiding at services!

The green stole I wore for the service was an ordination gift last year. It was given to me by the wife of a retired, and now sadly deceased, priest; a couple I got to know when attending the Cathedral in Victoria. The stole is a stunning piece of embroidery, but its meaning goes deeper than its beauty. The stole belonged to Archdeacon Bob MacRae, former rector of the parish I now serve and the first secretary of the Primate’s World Relief and Development Fund, where I currently volunteer as a board member. Bob, and his wife Sue, have both been supporters of me pursuing ordained ministry and it is an honour to wear his stole.

These two items used are a reminder of two faithful people, now passed, as well as reminder of the long tradition I have been called to participate in. For me they are symbols of the timelessness of faith alongside the call to make old things new as we seek to serve God in a generation. They ground me in my past and propel me towards the future.