'Go West young man'

Text: Matthew 2:13-33 (the flight to Egypt) -- the following is from a "Release from Covenant" service in Rockglen, SK, Dec 29, 2013. For 2014 onwards see http://mwucsermons.wordpress.com/

When I was 19 years old, I hitchhiked out West in search of adventure. I had just finished my first year of university at Queen's University in Kingston. I planned to take a break from school and seek my fortune in the Canadian West.

Unfortunately, I only made it as far as Winnipeg. After staying two nights in the YMCA, I let fear get in the way. I turned on my heels and hitch-hiked back to Ontario. Because of that fear, I view that trip as a failed journey of faith.

My childhood had been constrained by fears, whose origins, even to this day, remain obscure to me. My decision to take a year off school and travel West signaled that life at Queen's had increased my courage. The fact that I only stayed on the journey for a week showed that my fears were still getting the better of me. My ability to trust in myself, the world, and the Loving Source we call God was weaker than I had hoped.

I didn't come out West again until 2009 when I was sent to Didsbury Alberta as a student intern minister. That trip also scared me. In particular, I was afraid I would not be able to provide a pastoral presence for grieving families. But in the event, I loved the work of being the minister of Knox United in Didsbury, including walking with grieving families and presiding at funerals.

I imagined that those 10 months in Didsbury would be the end of my life in the West. In June 2010, I returned to Toronto for the last year of my Masters of Divinity degree. Then in 2011, I took another leap of faith and applied for settlement as an ordained United Church minister.

I had hoped to be settled in Ontario, but instead I was sent to Borderlands, which is by far the most rural and isolated place I have ever lived. Although Borderlands was not the settlement for which I was hoping, I have loved my work here as your minister. I have enjoyed our three churches, the people of our communities, and the beauty of this area. My fears of isolation were overblown.

In August, when I started to look for a call to another congregation, I expected that I would return to Toronto. But as you know, Mill Woods in Edmonton was looking for a minister and I liked their profile. When I met with the Mill Woods Search Committee in September, we felt a mutual call. So I will continue to live and work out West.

Today as we consider journeys of faith, we do so against the backdrop of a story of the Holy Family after the first Christmas. They flee west from Bethlehem to Egypt when Joseph has a dream in which an angel warns him that King Herod is  plotting to murder the baby Jesus.

The dangers facing Joseph are much bigger than mine. Nevertheless, I identify with him. Joseph is the patron saint of workers. But I believe he should also be the patron saint of step fathers. Joseph cares for Jesus without hesitation despite not being his biological father.

The role of paid, accountable minister strikes me as a cross between a step parent and a foster parent. A minister is called to an existing family of faith. The role of the minister is to love the members of this family and to allow himself to be loved by them in turn. When the call is over, the minister moves to another family.

As I leave Borderlands today, it is not clear what is next for this charge. Will you call another "foster parent?" Will you join with other faith families to the north? The congregations of Borderlands are no longer large or energetic enough to continue without change.

I appreciate all I have learned and experienced here. I also feel a call to engage with a different congregation as I continue to confront fear and journey with other pilgrims towards faith.

The idea of God's call continues to mystify me. In today's Scripture reading, Joseph responds to a call from God in a vision of an angel in a dream. My own experience has not been as clear cut.

I returned to church 12 years ago in the face of a disintegrating marriage. As I engaged with worship, I was surprised by the strength of the pull that God's Spirit exerted. When I was a child, I had missed the power of the story of Holy Week in which Jesus is arrested, tortured and executed by the same evil Empire that had tried to murder him as a child.

Coming to grips with the story of Holy Week changed my life. Finally, here was a story that captured the truth of my small life and of all our lives. It reminds us that the false gods we worship die in the painful vicissitudes of life, and that out of the ashes, the God who is Love rises to new life in our hearts.

The story of Jesus provides what I had lacked in many failed faith journeys. It helps move me from self-preoccupation to faith in a God as big as the universe and as powerful as Love. I am trying to follow the pull of this heartbreaking and hope-filled story wherever it leads.

On a Sunday in July 2007 in Toronto, I made the decision to pursue ordination as I walked home from church to my apartment southwest of the church near the shore of Lake Ontario. The "call " I experienced that day felt like the pull of gravity. It wasn't like Joseph's vision of an angel in a dream. It wasn't God speaking as to a prophet. It was the simple pull of gravity as I walked down a steep hill.

Sometime later, I read an interview with the atheist philosopher Daniel Dennett in which he was asked, "Surely, professor, you must believe in a higher power that orders and creates the universe?" To which Dennett replied, "Of course I believe in such a higher power. It is called gravity."

I don't know if that quote invalidates my call to ministry. Responding to God's call for me feels like surrender. It is not verbal, but is felt in the gut and heart. It acknowledges that my small self is utterly dependent on vast forces that are greater than us, forces which we know as God's Love.

When I decided to seek ordination, it was not clear to me that at the end of the process there would be congregations. But when congregations showed up -- first in Didsbury, and later in Borderlands -- I got it. Congregations are a crucible in which we can confront fear and to try to accept God's grace.

Any family would do for this purpose, I suppose. But since I don't have children of my own, I am grateful for the role of foster parent that is given to a minister. As a still inexperienced minister, I am aware of my sins of omission and commission during our time together. I am also grateful for all that I have learned by worshipping and working with you all.

Joseph responds to God's call amid the violence and evil of King Herod. He doesn't doubt or hesitate, but simply obeys. His faith does not mean that children are not murdered in Bethlehem. His success in keeping Jesus safe as a child doesn't save Jesus from arrest and execution as an adult.

Ministers sometimes dread preaching on dark biblical stories like the flight of the Holy Family to Egypt and the Killing of the Innocents in Bethlehem, and I can understand that attitude. On the other hand, the stark horror of today's story strikes me as realistic and therefore reassuring.

As with Joseph and Mary, our journey of faith is not one without warnings, danger, or pain. The journey is about accepting God's grace to confront and then shed our fears despite the difficulties and pain of life.

When we feel the pull of God's Spirit, we don't know where it will take us. Nor does our response mean an end to all heartbreak or to the evils of a violent society.

Responding to the call means awareness of God's support on the journey. It reveals the truth that no matter the outcome of our journey, we are assured of God's mercy. We will all return to the Love from which we have all come.

I don't know what life in Edmonton and Mill Woods will be like, but I am excited for 2014 and beyond. I don't know what is next for Borderlands charge or for you as individuals. But I am sure that it will be within God's love.

God seems to be calling me West again, as happened when I was 19, when I was sent to Didsbury, and when I was settled here in the beauty of Borderlands.

I leave Borderlands with gratitude for our experiences together and for all that I have learned from you. I offer you my wishes and prayers with the sure hope that God's blessings will continue to enrich you regardless of what happens with the church.

Sometimes God calls us to flee in the night. Sometimes God calls us to stay rooted in a land of courageous settlers, like this one.

Wherever our journeys take us, may they take us beyond the fears of our small selves and closer to a trusting faith in the Great Spirit, the God who is Love.

On all of these journeys, Jesus is our loving companion. To him be the glory and praise forever.

Amen.

Scrooge: a Christmas carol of ignorance and bliss

Text: Matthew 2:1-12 (the visit of the wise men)

I love the Christmas morning scene from the 1951 film version of  "A Christmas Carol," Charles' Dickens classic novel.

The lead character, Ebenezer Scrooge, is thrilled to be alive after spending the night with the ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. From their visions, Scrooge has gained painful insight into his past behaviour, which he now regrets.

Scrooge tells his housekeeper Mrs. Dilbur that he doesn't know how long he has been with the spirits. "In fact," he continues, "I don't know anything . . . I never did. But now I know that I don't know." Then he claps his hands together, slaps his thighs and prances about the room as he sings, "I don't know anything. But now I know that I don't know. I don't know anything, all on a Christmas morning," at which point, Mrs. Dilbur runs out of the room screaming.

This is one of my favourite movie scenes of all times, and, I think, a perfect depiction of a person having his life turned around.

Tonight, I hope that the spirit of Christmas will infect our hearts and minds as it did Scrooge and help us turn towards generosity, joy, and love.

This church service also has a shadow side. This will be the last time that I will preside at this pulpit as your settled minister. In fact, this may be the last worship service led by a minister settled in the Borderlands charge. In late January, the Central Board will make decisions that will help decide our future.

During two and half years here, I have failed to build up this congregation, which leaves me feeling exposed and ignorant. I can empathize with Scrooge on Christmas morning. As a Christian minister, I wonder what I really know. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps I never did know anything.

Waking up to the fact that he knows nothing comes at the cost of painful visions for Scrooge. But from this place of not-knowing, he changes his life completely.

Ignorance and powerlessness are not always seen as markers of healing and joy.  But when we look again at the Christmas story and the life of Jesus, we might agree that Dickens and Scrooge are on to something.

Like all newborns, Jesus on the first Christmas is full of promise. But like all newborns, he is also powerless, ignorant, and vulnerable. In the passage that follows the one we heard tonight, Matthew writes that King Herod searches for Jesus in an attempt to kill him. Joseph and Mary are forced to flee with Jesus to Egypt for the next few years.

Jesus begins his life as a humble baby, he ends his life in humiliation on a cross, and he calls those who follow him to take up our own cross. Just as with Scrooge's Christmas night with the Spirits, the cross carries the promise of new life. But this new life in Christ comes at the cost of pain, powerlessness, and ignorance.

It might seem odd for a Christian minister to uphold ignorance as a virtue. Churches seem to be overflowing with knowledge. In church, we study the Bible, we study how to behave, and we study God as Source, Saviour and Spirit. Why, then, should I uphold ignorance, especially someone like me who seems to know so much? You know, it is not uncommon after worship for people to remark on how knowledgeable I am. Some have even suggested that I might make a better teacher than a preacher!

It is true that I love learning. But I also pray that, like Scrooge, I have endured enough dark nights of the soul to realize that knowledge is of little value in our individual and collective journeys towards God's love and God's salvation.

There is never an end to what we can learn. But no matter how much we learn, it will never be more than a tiny sliver of all that humans know. Nor will it ever help us get beyond our need to trust our bodies, our fellow human beings, and the world. It will never free us from the need to place our trust in God.

Before that painful Christmas night, Scrooge thought that he had life figured out. He had learned to harden his heart against the untimely deaths of his mother and sister and against his inability to find love. He had become successful in business. He assumed that others could achieve his worldly success through hard work and ruthlessness.

Scrooge worshipped self-reliance, money, and lack of empathy. This was what he knew, and it seemed sufficient to him.

But the beginning of wisdom is awareness of our utter dependence on God. From a position of ignorance and powerlessness, we are freed to accept our mortal reality and the difficulties of the family, community and world in which we live. With the grace of humility we are free to give and accept love without limit.

During the years when Scrooge had everything figured out, he was a miserable sinner. But when he realized that he knew nothing, he became a joyous and giving friend.

All of us are holy fools. Like Jesus, we come into the world without power and knowledge and we leave this world in the same way. Since we will never "get it right" and since we are headed to our own cross, we can, with grace, leave behind addictions and preoccupations. We are freed to live fearlessly into our sacred values.

You know, it is possible to become addicted to almost anything: alcohol and painkillers, of course, but also nationalism, sports, food, wealth, power, even church and its traditions.

In the face of his mortality and the tough realities of a crazy world, Scrooge learns that none of his preoccupations matter. He gives up old certainties. He admits his ignorance and his dependence on others and on God. He relaxes into a painful awareness that he had wasted much of his life. He also relaxes into an joyous awareness that, in his powerlessness, he is saved.

The church represents this paradox of ignorance that leads to joy and powerlessness that leads to salvation by a humble Saviour born into poverty at Christmas, one who grows to become the Christ who is arrested, tortured and crucified during Holy Week. God in Christ graciously calls us to walk with him on this path. With faith and hope, we walk towards God's love as ignorant sinners guided by the light of salvation. On this path, God removes all of our worries.

Take church -- when we realize our limitations, we can stop worrying about it, which frees us to be the best possible church members we could ever be. Same with our families -- when we admit our dependence on God, we don't have to worry about family, which allows us to be the best parents or children we could ever be. We don't have to worry about wealth or power, which allow us to be better citizens. We don't have to worry about preserving our small lives, which allows us to be raised into new life in Christ, the best and brightest life imaginable.

When I came here to Rockglen, Fife Lake, and Coronach two and half years ago, I came as a holy fool with empty hands. I pray that I am leaving in much the same way.

I wish all the best for this church, town, and for you. May your lives continue to be filled with God's blessings, whether or not that involves church.

And if a United Church presence does continue in Borderlands, I pray that it will be a church that knows it doesn't know anything.

St. Paul said that all he knew was Christ and him crucified. He also wrote that while this seems like "foolishness to those who are perishing, it is the power of God to those who are being saved." God's strength lies in weakness, and our healing is guaranteed by a Saviour who dies on a cross.

On a dark Christmas Night, Ebenezer Scrooge learned the painful truth that his life had been wasted on idols and bitterness. Because he accepted the Spirit's help to acknowledge this painful truth, he was raised to joyful new life on Christmas morning in full awareness of his ignorance and foolishness.

May the light, joy and love of this Christmas grant us the humility of the child of Bethlehem who leads us as holy fools to the cross and then beyond to the limitless new life found in an empty tomb at Easter.

And on this, as on any Merry Christmas, may God Bless us, Everyone!

Amen.

Dreaming of love

Texts: Isaiah 7: 10-16 (God's sign); Matthew 1 18-25 (Joseph's dream)

Love conquers all, we're told; and on this final Sunday in Advent, we hear a love story involving Jospeph and Mary, a dream, and the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem.

Joseph loves Mary, and he stays engaged to her even when she tells him that she is expecting a child. He trusts a dream in which an angel tells him that Mary's child is of the Holy Spirit. When Jesus is born, Joseph and Mary love and care for the baby in difficult circumstances.

Just as it was for Joseph and Mary long ago, love is the final ingredient of our Advent preparation for Christmas. But does love truly conquer all, even when it leads to the birth of a child called Emmanuel?

2700 years ago, the Prophet Isaiah tells the King of Judah that a son is about to born who will be called God With Us, or Emmanuel. His birth will be a sign that his people are saved. 700 years later, an angel tells Joseph in a dream that Mary's son will also be called Emmanuel, and his birth will also mean salvation.

And yet today, violence and pain still plague us. Joseph trusted his dream. But can we continue to trust in God's dream of salvation as shown by the birth of Jesus?

The birth of a child fills us with hope. Each one bears the image of God and so we could call any child Emmanuel. Each one is filled with the promise of an unknown future.

When we despair about social problems, sometimes we say, "today's young people are idealistic and filled with energy. They will fix things that we can't."

But young people are rarely found in church anymore (despite today's baptisms in Fife Lake). Last week, we had another "Children's Church" worship. I enjoyed the services and appreciated the sharing. But only five children attended.

This past Monday, Carla and I led a "pastoral oversight visit" to the United Church in Mossbank, and the story we heard there is familiar -- few children and youth, and no people below the age of 55 who are willing to take over from the elders who have been leading the church for years now.

Last Sunday night, some of us sang in the third and largest of the community Christmas concerts. Several hundred people filled the Roman Catholic Church in Willow Bunch, and I loved the experience. But few in attendance were under 55. The same thing is found in churches all across Canada.

Children and youth give us hope. But without young people, how do we maintain hope in church?

The decline and aging of our churches can make us feel sad or distressed. But church is just an earthly vessel in which we remember and try to live out our sacred values. It is those values of faith, hope, and love that are sacred and not the vessel itself.

Today is the final Sunday at which I will preside at worship in Coronach, Rockglen, and Fife Lake. We will celebrate Christmas Eve together on Tuesday, and I will preach at the Release from Covenant service next Saturday in Rockglen before I leave for Edmonton. But after that, the future of Borderlands is in play.

The Board has decided to suspend worship in January. Discussions continue with the United churches in Assiniboia, Mossbank, Limerick and Lafleche. Arrangements might be made that would help us have worship, mission, and pastoral care in Borderlands. The next Central Board meeting at the end of January will discuss these ideas further.

But this week marks a change into an uncertain future for us. We don't know if the United Church will survive in Borderlands. We don't know if the Christian church will continue to decline. We don't know if religion of any sort will survive into the 22nd century.

I hardly have all the answers, but I see many reasons for the decline of religion in our time. Since the beginning of civilization, religion has been abused by kings to prop up oppressive regimes. Although that role hardly describes the United Church of Canada in the 21st Century, it might be that we cannot survive the sorry legacy of hundreds of years of church-supported war, racism, and sexism.

In my not so humble opinion, a lot of nonsense still gets preached in churches. When a church turns its back on science,  when it preaches intolerance, or when it uses fear to motivate members, I think it deserves to disappear.

Once again, this is not our experience with the United Church of Canada. And I continue to be greatly encouraged by Pope Francis, who is a breath of fresh air for the largest church in the world. But when other religious leaders spread nonsense, intolerance and fear, it makes it difficult for all of us.

Religious-inspired violence continues to be prominent in news reports. The ancient Christian communities of Iraq, Syria, and Egypt are disappearing in the face of terrorist attacks. People who are lucky enough to flee from there to find refuge in a country like Canada will likely become more secular in succeeding generations

When religion breeds violence and hatred, people are wise to abandon it. Perhaps God's Holy Spirit is directing us to find new ways to reflect on our sacred values and to live into them that don't involve church, mosque, or temple.

Jesus was born into a religious context marked by violence, fear and disagreement. The Way of the Cross on which he led his friends to Jerusalem shattered the certainties of their religious past and exposed their old traditions. The Way of Jesus is one in which love is found in sacrifice and new life is found in death.

Our churches seem to be dying, which may mean that something new is afoot in the world. Like Mary and Joseph, our celebration of the birth of Jesus at Christmas signals the birth of love in our lives. But is also involves change and dislocation. As we will hear on Saturday, a post-Christmas dream of Joseph warns him that King Herod is searching for Jesus in order to kill him. So Joseph flees to Egypt with Mary and Jesus. Herod's murderous campaign casts a shadow across the first Christmas.

Love does conquer all.  Of that, I am sure. But it does not always give us what we want. Instead, it gives us what we need, which is the cross, our painful guarantee of God's love reborn again and again.

Regardless of the future of church, new babies will be born into the world reminding us of the presence of the God who is Love and giving us hope for the future. Young people will continue to fight for social change in a world of injustice and war. And families of all sorts will continue to struggle to live in peace and joy despite the difficulties of life together.

Love will continue be our most sacred value and the source of our deepest joy regardless of the success of our churches, or families, or our careers. While love does not solve all of life problems, it makes life worthwhile.

This Advent, we have reminded ourselves of hope in dark times, of peace in a world with too much violence, of joy in lives of pain, and of love which comes to us as a baby bearing the image of God.

Death hovered over the first Christmas. But the way that Jesus confronts and overcomes death as an adult also reveals the sure promise of new life. The good news is that the God who is Love freely offers this new life to us all.

Advent is almost over. Christmas is almost here. And so, with a sure hope for new life in Christ, we say again . . .

Come, Lord Jesus, Come.

Amen.

Joy in lives of many colours

Text: Isaiah 35 (streams in the desert)

It was "Children's Church" again today, and so the following reflection solicited sharing from people, young and old, about times of joy and sorrow in the past year . . . Ian

And now a time for reflection. I will start with few words on today's Scripture reading and our theme of joy. After that, I want to open the conversation up so all of us who want can share memories about joys and sorrows. Finally, I will close with a few more thoughts.

I liked today's reading from Isaiah. Its happy vision fits with our theme of joy. It also reminds me a bit of our region.

Isaiah is trying to give hope to the people of Israel after their defeat by Babylon. Both Israel and Babylon are dry countries surrounded by desert and wilderness. So I can understand how the people of Israel would take images of water in the wilderness and streams in the desert as signs of joy.

Now, our region is hardly wilderness or desert. But it is one of the driest parts of Canada. And we have a wilderness park 100 km to our west. Grasslands National Park is returning former ranches to native grasses.

For these reasons, I think we also can relate to Isaiah's images of streams in the desert and blossoms in the wilderness as metaphors of joy.

During the four Sundays in Advent, we prepare for Christmas by focussing first on hope, then peace, joy today and finally love next week. We do so not because life is always peaceful, joyous, and loving, but because often it isn't. Just as farmers don't always get enough rain in the spring, we don't always avoid conflict in our families. Nor do we always feel joy or love, especially after loss or when we are hurt and angry.

At Christmas, we feel joy when we gather with family and friends and exchange gifts that show our love for each other. But our joy is sometimes accompanied by sadness or disappointment. Today, I want us to think about both sides of joy -- times when we experience it; and times when wish we had more of it.

So having said those few things, I am now going to turn things over to you. Think back, if you will, to this past year and remember moments when you felt happy or joyful. Does anyone want to share a happy memory from the past year? Who wants to start . . . Roughriders and the Grey Cup? birth of a baby? a wedding? great vacation? relief from pain or sickness? singing in the choir? . . .

Thank you for your sharing. And now, I want us to turn to the other side of life. Let us now think back through this year and remember moments when we didn't feel happy of joyful. Is anyone willing to share a moment like that? one when you felt pain or loss instead of joy? things that disappointed you or left you feeling discouraged? a death? hearing about tragic news, such as the shootings in Newtown Connecticut one year ago yesterday? my car crash . . .

Thank you again for that sharing. I am sure that we all really appreciate it. Both joy and sorrow are part of life for us all.

To finish, I will reflect on the two stories of Jesus' birth found in the Bible. Jesus' birth in Bethlehem is a moment of great happiness. In one story, angels sing "Peace on earth, good will to all" and direct shepherds to go to Bethlehem to see.

There they find Mary, Joseph and the baby in a stable. The Romans have forced Mary and Joseph to travel a long way for a census. When they arrive in Bethlehem, there is no room for them, so Mary is forced to give birth in a stable. This humble scene reminds us of how vulnerable Mary and Jesus were at his birth.

Mary is blessed with a child, but she and Joseph are poor and live under Roman rule. There is joy in the birth of Jesus, but there is also stress and a hint of the difficulties that Jesus would face later with the Romans in his ministry.

In the other story of Jesus' birth, a Star guides Wise Men with wonderful gifts to Bethlehem. But there is also danger. A dream warns Joseph to flee Bethlehem because King Herod wants to find the baby and kill him. Mary, Joseph and Jesus leave for Egypt where they spend the next few years as refugees.

Jesus survives this first scare. But he grows up as a poor refugee. Life must have been difficult for the Holy Family.

The stressful and scary parts of the Christmas stories remind us that our greatest joys also come with risk. At the birth of a child, we worry about the health of the baby and the mother. We worry that the family won't have enough money. We wonder if the troubles of the world will bring harm to our loved ones, as happens to Jesus 30 years later.

But even though life has risks, we still pursue the things that bring us joy. We fall in love. We marry and have children. We build struggle for what we believe is right in the world.

Often, the things we fear do come to pass.  A life of great love can also be a life of great loss and pain.

The good news is that even when we lose what is precious to us, God is still our Source and Support. On his journey to Jerusalem, Jesus tells us that we have to lose our life to find it. When we live into this Gospel truth, we can know the deepest joy of all.

This is the true joy of Christmas, that we belong to God. Christmas comes each year to remind us that God's Love comes to us in Christ, both as helpless baby and as our crucified saviour. Even when we don't look for it, God's love finds us.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Mandela and us

Text: Matthew 3 1-12 (John the Baptist)

Since Thursday, the media have been filled with reports about the death of Nelson Mandela. Like many people interviewed in these reports, I cherish a memory of a time when I saw Mandela in person. On June 18, 1990, I was one of 30,000 people who gathered on the lawn of the Ontario Legislature to hear him speak, just four months after his release from 27 years in prison.

I was working as a researcher at the Ontario Ministry of Education. After work, a few of us decided to make the short walk west to Queen's Park from our office on Bay Street to see this legendary opponent of apartheid in South Africa.

I had learned about Mandela at anti-apartheid rallies in the 1980s. Until February 1990, Mandela's face had not been seen and his voice not heard since 1962 when he was imprisoned for leading the armed struggle against the racist South African state.

The rally electrified us. So much was changing in the world at the time. The previous spring, young people in China had risen up in their millions against Communist dictatorship until their movement was drowned in blood in Tiananmen Square. Popular uprisings in Eastern Europe had led to the Fall of the Berlin Wall in November 1989. The civil wars in Central America were coming to an end.

And now it seemed that white supremacy in South Africa would finally crumble. How else to explain the miraculous appearance in Toronto of this 73-year-old lawyer, human rights campaigner, and guerrilla leader, Nelson Mandela? It felt like we were in the presence of both a prophet and saint . . .

Today is the second Sunday in Advent when our theme is Peace and we hear the angry words of John the Baptist calling for repentance. Against this backdrop, I examine connections between racism in South Africa and Canada, and what the legacy of Nelson Mandela might teach us about the struggle for peace in a world still scarred by colonialism.

There are many parallels between the history of Canada and South Africa. Both countries used to be British colonies. Both were created as white settler states on land conquered from indigenous people. Both long denied citizenship and basic human rights to native people. Both physically separated whites and natives in a system of reservations.

The main difference between South Africa and Canada is the makeup of our  populations. Soon after Europeans came to Canada, they began to outnumber native people. By 1867, only 150,000 of the three million people in Canada were First Nations. In contrast, whites in South Africa never made up more than 20% of the population.

But why did native people in Canada die off after European conquest while Black Africans survived? The answer might be found in a strange source -- cattle. Before European conquest, Africa had a long history of domesticated animals and so it also had a long history of animal-borne diseases like smallpox and tuberculosis.

In the Americas, none of the mammal species could be domesticated and so First Nations people did not have history of animal-borne diseases. When Europeans arrived, they brought infectious diseases with them that killed 90% or more of the native people of both North and South America within the first 200 years.

The die-off of native people in the Americas explains the difference between Canada and South Africa. Canada's laws and practices around race were similar to South Africa's until the 1960s, but in South Africa the labour force was always largely made up of blacks.

Since 1900, there has been a resurgence in the numbers of native people in Canada. Today almost 5% of Canadians are of First Nations descent. And like Black people in post-colonial Africa and the descendants of Black slaves in the United States, Canada's First Nations continue to struggle with the legacy of colonialism.

As Mandela is buried this week, the world celebrates his work to end South African apartheid after 1994. This was a milestone in overcoming 500 years of European colonialism.

Mandela is especially revered for his focus on forgiveness and reconciliation. The brutality of the centuries of white domination were not followed by brutality towards the white minority of South Africa nor the collapse of its economy or social order. And so we give thanks for Mandela's life and mourn his death.

Unfortunately, a lot of the damage caused by colonialism remains in Africa and around the world. Mandela's work is hardly complete.

Colonialism was also a central issue at the time of Jesus. When John the Baptist prepared the way for Jesus, Palestine had been under foreign occupation for 600 years. In today's reading, John calls religious leaders "a brood of vipers," probably because they collaborated with the Roman Empire. John wanted Israel to be an independent kingdom again instead of a colony of Rome.

Getting rid of foreign domination is never an easy task, though. John had good reasons to resent Rome. But given the power of Rome, religious leaders also had good reasons to collaborate with it. They maintained religious practices in the teeth of Roman oppression.

Even the coming of Jesus did not bring Jewish self-rule back to Israel. That had to wait until the 19th and 20th centuries.

In the 19th Century, some European Jewish leaders laid claim to Palestine despite the fact that the biblical texts they used as justification also could be used as justification for the presence of Arab Christians and Muslims who lived in Palestine. News of the horrors of the Holocaust in World War II increased support for the creation of a Jewish state, which happened in 1948.

In terms of its settlement, Israel falls somewhere between the Canadian and South African cases. Jewish settlers soon became the majority group in Israel after 1948, which is similar to settlement in Canada, but Christian and Muslim Arabs remained a substantial minority, which is closer to settlement in South Africa.

Immigration to Israel is based on ethnicity and religion. Arabs have been displaced or discriminated against. Israel's military has illegally occupied the West Bank of the Jordan for almost 50 years now. Over this time, Israel has received hundreds of billions of dollars in military aid from the U.S., far more than any other country.

Given its nature, I am not surprised that Israel was South Africa's most loyal supporter during apartheid. Here is a how a 1976 report by the South African government explained the close diplomatic and military relationship between the two: "Israel and South Africa have one thing above all else in common: they are both situated in a predominantly hostile world inhabited by dark peoples." (Guardian, Feb 2006)

This phrase reminds me of a comment made by Prime Minister Stephen Harper this week as he announced plans to visit Israel in 2014. He called Israel a "light of freedom and democracy in what is otherwise a region of darkness."

In contrast, this week a network of United Church of Canada activists launched a campaign against illegal Israeli settlements in the West Bank of the Jordan with a boycott of goods produced in those settlements. The boycott campaign flows from a decision reached at the 2012 General Council meeting of our church. These protests did not get much media attention, but then neither did the first boycotts against South African products in the 1970s.

In terms of human rights abuses or violence, Israel is hardly the worst state in the world. However, I consider Israel's colonialism to be a serious danger to world peace. By turning Palestine into an Jewish state instead of a country in which Jews, Christians, and Muslims would live in equality, Israel has exacerbated the ethnic cleansing in North Africa and the Middle East. Israeli violence towards Palestinian Arabs and its illegal settlements are an ongoing provocation to further violence.

Many would disagree, and many others might wish we didn't pay attention to issues like colonialism in church. I do so because I believe that there is healing to be found in  speaking out against colonialism even when it doesn't have an immediate impact on the ground.

In a world dominated by empire, none of us remain unscathed. The obvious victims are people like Mandela who are imprisoned or killed for fighting for equality and those who live in poverty as second-class citizens. But imperialism also scars the elites who run the system, the police and soldiers who enforce its policies with violence, and those among the oppressed who find ways to survive by collaborating with empire.

There are no easy answers in how we can overcome the misery of First Nations in Canada, the continuing poverty and inequality in South Africa, violence among Jews, Muslims, and Christians in Israel and Palestine and other consequences of colonialism. But Mandela's work provides a model and a beacon of hope.

Mandela worked to make South Africa a Rainbow Nation in which people of different races, languages, and religions live together with democratic and human rights. The exact details can be devilishly difficult, of course, but I pray that South Africa's model will be followed in other post-colonial countries like Canada and in Israel and Palestine.

We who are the descendants of European settlers are not responsible for the colonial policies of the past. But just like Blacks in Africa and natives in Canada, we too bear the scars of that history. Simply by being born, we receive the gifts of all past and present human culture and achievement. But we also bear the burdens of the violence and pain in the past and which still mar life in the present.

When we stand against colonialism and work for racial equality, we lift some of those burdens from our hearts. With God's help, we can turn away from our violent past and towards the Prince of Peace and his reign of justice.

And so we say again, Come Lord Jesus, Come.

Amen.

What time is it?

Texts: Isaiah 2 1-5 (swords into plowshares), Romans 13 11-14 (time to wake up), Matthew 24 36-44 (the day of his coming)

"Christmas is coming, how joyful it will be. The family will gather round the Christmas tree." The words of this old song capture our hopes for Christmas -- a time for family gatherings and gift-giving.  But the season of Advent, which we begin today, is less about the coming of Christmas than it is about the coming of Christ. The two sound similar, but they can be quite distinct.

Waiting for Christmas is a time for fond memories and happy celebrations. Waiting for Christ is a time for both fear and hope.

On this first Sunday of Advent, we hear Isaiah say that God's kingdom will be established "in the days to come." Swords will be beaten into ploughshares and humanity will study war no more.

In our Gospel reading, Jesus tells us to stay awake for the coming of the Son of Man. He says "about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father." He implies that this Day of Judgement, whenever it comes, will be as destructive as the flood of Noah's time.

In our third reading, St. Paul says that we know what time it is -- the time of salvation. Paul's vision includes both the awesome power described by Jesus and the joy described by Isaiah. Paul urges us to stay awake because any moment can be one of God's searing judgement and gracious salvation. The Day of Judgement we fear is also the Day of Salvation for which we hope.

So, what time is it? This is a time when we prepare for Christmas and its traditions. It is also Advent, a time in which we wait in fear for a day of judgement and watch in hope for the coming of God's kingdom of love.

Today, as we start a new church year with readings about the end of the world, I am aware of other endings. It is now December, the last month of my time here in Borderlands before I leave for Edmonton.

We celebrate communion today, which is our usual practice at the start of the month. Today will be the last time I preside at communion here during Sunday worship, although the Release from Covenant service, which will be in Rockglen on Saturday Dec 28th, will include communion.

I have felt privileged to gather around the communion table with you these past 30 months. Like many people, I struggle to fulfill my spiritual needs. Writing sermons is my main spiritual discipline, but words are not enough. I also love the ritual of communion, which reminds us of our fears and hopes in a simple meal with friends.

Communion begins with thanksgiving for our blessings. Then we remember the ministry of Jesus, his journey to Jerusalem, and the last meal he ate with his friends on the night before his execution. Finally, we eat and drink together. The meal helps us to experience the grace of God in our bodies. Communion reminds us that new life comes from pain and death.

In a similar way, Advent urges us to look for the coming of Christ and God's salvation through the lens of God's judgement.

Many fantasies have been created about the Day of the Lord, some as terrible as the story of Noah and the flood. But we don't need to fantasize. Life provides us with plenty of moments in which we are aware that God's healing comes at the cost of great pain.

A loved one dies, a family is torn apart by quarrels and disappointments, the country suffers from economic or political crisis. These are not the usual  notes we strike when we prepare for Christmas. But they are often our reality whether it is Christmas time or not.

By placing the virtue of hope in the context of life's pain and loss, Advent both prepares us for the coming of winter and for the rebirth of spring.

But do we have to stare at the things we fear in order to find hope? I think that the process of recovery from addiction might help us see the connection. Many people say that the first step in recovery is realizing that one is helpless in the face of a problem.

This fall, Toronto Mayor Rob Ford has given us a perfect model of denial. No matter how big his humiliations, Ford refuses to realize that he cannot deal with his problems. Despite telling one journalist that he has had a "Jesus moment," I believe that until he resigns in disgrace, nothing will change for him.

I can understand why Ford has not been able to take this first step. To admit the extent of his problems would be painful. He has decided it is better to continue as though everything were OK rather than feel the pain of his powerlessness.

Ford, I am sure, comes by his problems honestly. He didn't ask to be born into a broken world or a violent family. He is hardly the only one who wants to avoid the full implications of who he is in the light of the coming of God in Christ, whether during Advent or at a communion table.

To admit one's powerlessness is to arrive at the fearsome Day of Judgement. But it is also one's Day of Salvation. Giving up the struggle to deny reality opens us up to God's healing and new life.

And so, on the first Sunday in Advent, we focus on hope, and hear about the Coming of the Son of Man. We find hope not in the belief that we will never feel pain or loss. We find hope because we know that out of pain and death arises new life in Christ. We won't always get what we want, but beyond our small broken selves, we will surely get what we need.

This is the message I hear in today's Advent readings. It is also the message I get from the sacrament of communion in which we share Jesus' body broken for us and his blood shed for us.

When I was a child, I loved the mystery and wonder of Christmas. I looked forward to seeing cousins and grandparents, to big meals, and to the gifts under the tree. But the older I get, the more I also appreciate the dark notes of Advent. Advent is not just getting ready for Christmas Eve. It is about getting ready for the worst crises in life -- sickness, loss, and the coming of The Day of the Lord.

Advent reminds us that Jesus is coming, not just as a helpless infant born in Bethlehem, but also as the Risen Christ. As the United Church Creed puts it, Jesus comes as both our Judge and our Hope.

What time is it? It is time for us to prepare for the greatest moment of pain and joy we will ever experience, the Day of the Lord.

This is Advent. And so as we prepare for Christmas, we also say with fear, trembling, and unshakeable hope . . . Come Lord Jesus, Come.

Amen.

When Jesus comes into his kingdom

Text: Luke 23:33-43 (the crucifixion)

Today is "Reign of Christ" or "Christ the King" Sunday, and the Gospel reading is about Jesus' crucifixion. In this sermon, I reflect on how Jesus as our crucified King exposes human kingdoms.

Monarchy and religion have always been closely linked. In Jesus' time, most people were ruled by a king or emperor, and monarchs were worshipped as gods.

Today, however, most people no longer have a monarch. Since the United States broke free of Britain and its kings in 1776, many other countries have become republics, including the most populous ones.

Japan is the only country of more than 100 million people that is still a monarchy. It is also the last country -- as late as 1946 -- that considered its emperor to be divine. Canada, of course, is also a constitutional monarchy.

Kingdoms may be disappearing, but monarchs still get a lot of attention. Americans in particular seem to be fascinated with the British Royal Family. And despite the fact that the U.S. is a republic, Americans treat their powerful political families -- such as the Kennedys, Bushes and Clintons -- like royalty.

This past Friday, as the world marked the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, we were reminded that JFK's administration was called "Camelot" after the mythical realm of King Arthur. Following JFK's death, both of his brothers ran for President.

The impulse towards creating a family dynasty is strong. In North Korea, dictatorship has been handed from father to son for three generations. In Cuba, when President Fidel Castro became incapacitated in 2008, power passed to his younger brother, Raul. In Canada, Justin Trudeau's main claim to legitimacy as a potential Prime Minister is his status as the son of Pierre Trudeau. Then there is Rob and Doug Ford and their wealthy father, who was also a politician. But enough has probably been said about the Fords lately . . .

One of the first republics -- the Commonwealth of Oliver Cromwell in Britain in the 1650s -- failed in part because Cromwell passed political power to his son. Cromwell led England's Puritan Parliament against King Charles I in the 1640s, which ended with Charles' execution in 1649. Then in 1652, Cromwell disbanded parliament and named himself dictator; and when Cromwell died in 1658, his son took over. This imitation of royalty probably helped persuade the British to reinstate the old royal family. King Charles' son replaced the younger Cromwell in 1660.

The republican government of the Puritans and Presbyterians in England and Scotland from 1649 to 1660 was unprecedented. Before that time, religion and royalty had always been each other's biggest supporters.

When Jesus began his ministry, he was hailed as a new King David -- the Messiah or Christ -- who would defeat the Romans and re-establish a monarchy in Jerusalem. But as our Gospel reading reminds us, the Romans executed Jesus while mocking him as the King of the Jews.

God raised Jesus to new life on Easter, and St. Paul preached that Christ now lived within us. He denied that sovereignty lay with a king in Jerusalem or an emperor in Rome. Instead, sovereignty lay with ordinary people. Each person was part of the Body of Christ, and so was also part of the throne of both God and King.

The church abandoned this democratic vision in the Fourth Century when the Roman empire made Christianity its state religion. For the next 1500 years, the bond between monarchy and church was central again. The church preached that kings ruled by divine right. Archbishops crowned European monarchs in ceremonies that mimicked those of ancient Israel. Loyalty to Christ was identified with loyalty to one's monarch no matter how terrible that monarch might be.

The Puritans and Presbyterians of the 1600s had tried to break the link between church and king. But though they held power for less than 20 years, their republican experiment was a sign of what was to follow.

In many countries, monarchy was destroyed in World War One. In Russia, after several million Russians had been killed in the first two and half years of war with Germany, workers and soldiers rose up to overthrew the Czar in March 1917. The Russian Orthodox church survived, but its centuries of support for brutal and incompetent Czars left it weakened.

The Germans followed in October 1918. With defeat looming, German sailors rebelled against their superiors and overthrew the Kaiser. The churches that had supported the Kaiser survived, but they became a shadow of their former selves.

The crisis affecting church in Canada today is also an echo of World War One. The British monarchy survived the disaster of the Great War, but it became ever-more distant from real power.

Governments no longer rely on monarchy. Instead, they look to nationalism, consumerism, and the mass media for support.

Today's Grey Cup gives us an example. Saskatchewan is much more focused on the Roughriders than it is on the monarchy or on church. We are a football province more than a royal province, even if our capital is named after Queen Victoria. And the spirit in Mosaic Stadium this afternoon will be stronger than anything ever seen in our churches.

I don't say this to belittle support for the Roughriders, but to underline how things have changed since Saskatchewan was founded in 1905. As monarchy has withered away and been replaced by other cultural forces, the church that supported the monarchy has withered away along with it.

For 1500 years, the church told us that Europe's monarchs ruled by divine right. But given that Jesus was a humble peasant who was crucified by empire, this support for oppressive kingdoms betrayed the church's ideals.

In our Gospel reading today, the thief who is dying beside Jesus sees his royal power even on the cross. He knows that Jesus will come into his kingdom, and he wants to be part of it.

Jesus says that the kingdom of God is within us (Luke 17:21). When we commit to the Way of Jesus, we are already living in God's kingdom. No matter how poor we may be, sovereignty lies within us.

Jesus' vision of divine democracy is the church's oldest tradition. And now that governments have abandoned monarchy, we can better reclaim our democratic and popular heritage. Doing so is hardly easy, though.

Here in Borderlands, several meetings last week discussed our future. On Tuesday, the Central Board decided to suspend Sunday worship in January and February following my departure for Edmonton.

Then on Wednesday, six of us went to a meeting in Assiniboia to discuss how United churches in eight towns across our region might collaborate. The 40 people there made no decisions. But retired and active ministers in the region said they are willing to provide pulpit coverage here. Perhaps by next summer after more discussion, a new "normal" for our churches will emerge. I felt hopeful after the meeting.

While the "glory days" for both kings and their churches are gone, the spirit of Christ continues to burn in our hearts. It guides us deeper into God's kingdom both in our living and in our dying.

Governments today try to capture hearts and minds through nationalism and consumerism. Jesus shows us another way. No matter which republic or monarch claims sovereignty over us, the only true sovereign we need recognize is the crucified and Risen Christ who lives within us, now and forever.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

As seasons come and go

Texts: Isaiah 65 17-25 (new heaven and earth); Luke 21 5-19 (signs of the end)

The baptism of a child is always a time for joy, thanksgiving and hope. As we celebrate Jason's baptism today and look forward to his life, we might also think back to the baptisms of others and confront the wonder of all the changes we have experienced so far in life. Today, I use our two Bible readings to help us in this work of looking forward and back.

Today feels special for me. This will be the last baptism I will be part of here in Borderlands before I leave for Mill Woods United Church in Edmonton. It also has echoes of my first summer here 2.5 years ago when, in August 2011, I presided at my first ever wedding, which was that of Jason's aunt and uncle, Amanda and Jerrod, and who are here this morning.

In between the joys of weddings and baptism, I have been changed and deepened by weekly worship, by walking with grieving families, and by becoming involved in the life of our communities. I will leave at the end of December with both sadness and gratitude. Ministry here has changed me.

But viewed in conventional terms, my ministry might not be considered a success. The same small numbers come to Sunday worship today as in 2011. There have been more funerals than baptisms. No new group of lay leaders has appeared to take over from the few who have been the sparkplugs of the life and work of the churches for the last 30 years. The future of our congregations is in question, as we will discuss at three meetings this week.

Today's Gospel reading points to massive changes in religious life during the time of Jesus. Jesus is confronted with the beauty and majesty of the Temple in Jerusalem, which had been the focus of Jewish worship and community life since it was rebuilt 600 years earlier. But Jesus says that it will be thrown down.

His prediction is confirmed 40 years later when a three-year long rebellion of the people of Jerusalem against the Roman occupiers is defeated. The Romans enter Jerusalem, slaughter thousands of people, burn the Holy City to the ground, and utterly destroy its beautiful Temple.

Out of this trauma, Jewish leaders find new ways to worship God in synagogues all around the Mediterranean. Others who follow Christ write the gospel narratives of the life of Jesus of Nazareth and use their new Scriptures to found what becomes the Christian Church.

Jesus' brief remarks point to a terrible trauma, but they also contain a seed of hope that will lead to new ways of revealing the God who is Love and new ways of worshipping and serving our most sacred values.

The decline of our churches may seem mild compared to the bloody tragedy of the destruction of Jerusalem more than 1900 years ago. However, I see some parallels. What we face here and in churches all across the former European empires is a faint echo of the disaster of World War One, I believe. I will speak more on this next week when we celebrate the end of the Church Year on Reign of Christ Sunday.

Today, suffice it to say that changed social conditions have left our churches searching for a new thing, which might be as different as the worship of the early church was from Temple Sacrifice in Jerusalem before the year 70.

After the destruction of Jerusalem, the followers of the resurrected Christ must have been disoriented and scared. So many people had been killed. So many hopes of the years of the rebellion had been crushed. So much tradition lay in ruins amid the rubble of the formerly great City.

And yet, it was in these dire circumstances that new life in Christ was discovered by more people. Because of this new life of Love, they must have been grateful for sacraments such as baptism that formed their worship life.

I don't imagine that their gratitude meant that they looked down upon the previous generations who had sustained Temple worship in Jerusalem or who had rebelled against the hated Romans.

In retrospect, we can see that the Temple priests who collaborated with Rome during more than 200 years of occupation comprised their religious ideals. At the same time, I can sympathize with their choices -- they tried to maintain ancient rituals and learnings amid harsh conditions.

In retrospect, we can see that the young zealots in Jerusalem who broke off from their elders to rise in armed rebellion against the Romans compromised their ethics. Still, I can sympathize with those who chose a path of armed resistance. Like Jesus, they were trying to build a society freed from foreign military domination. They failed, but don't most such noble efforts fail?

When we look back, we can usually find something to criticize in previous generations. As Jason grows up, he will break free of his parents by finding things he doesn't like about their traditions and rituals. Our prayer is that he will do so for the same shared sacred values that guide his parents: faith, hope and love.

Each generation tries to find a trusting faith, tries to experience hope amid all of life's ups and downs, and tries to give and receive love. They do so in conditions that are different that those of their parents. As newer generations look back in the future, I expect that they will realize that we tried to keep the faith, live out of a sense of hope, and express love as best we could in difficult conditions.

We also confident that all are travelling to the same destination. Amid Jesus' dire warnings today, he also assures us that "not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls."

In the reading from Isaiah, the Prophet paints an idyllic picture of a new heaven and earth where "they shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain." It was to this vision that the Christian prophet John of Patmos turned as he wrote the last chapter of his apocalyptic book Revelation.

Each generation builds upon the efforts of its predecessors, and also criticizes and changes some of what it receives. Each generation is fated to search again for a trusting faith amid all that we fear; to live with hope despite not knowing what lies just around the corner for our communities or families; and to give and receive love despite the violence that sometimes clouds our minds and disturbs our world.

Today, by being baptized into the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, Jason has joined the Body of Christ. The form and function of that Body is changing as is the society in which it exists. But we are certain that the promise of his baptism will be fulfilled in Jason's life again and again. It will find him dwelling in a new heaven and earth in which his faith is secure, his hope is realized, and love is his watchword, both now and always.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Remembrance and resurrection

Text: Luke 20 27-38 (a question about resurrection)

In early November, we often spend time thinking of our ancestors. The calendar directs us to confront mortality and to remember the hope that sustains us in the face of the death of loved ones.

It starts on Halloween when we playfully confront our fears of death by dressing up as ghosts or zombies. All Hallows Eve is followed by All Hallows Day on November 1 when we remember the saints among our ancestors. The next day, November 2, is All Souls Day when we give thanks for everyone else who has come before us.

This time of reflection reaches its climax on November 11, Remembrance Day. King George V set aside November 11 in the British Empire in 1919. It marks the signing of the Armistice on November 11, 1918, which ended the horrors of World War I. Remembrance Day is a time to honour the sacrifice of the victims of the wars.

On this, the day before Remembrance Day, Jesus' remarks about resurrection in today's Gospel reading might help us as we mourn loved ones and ancestors, express thanks for their sacrifices, and look forward in hope.

Jesus is asked a question about a childless woman who had married seven brothers one after the other. The Sadducees ask which of the seven brothers will be her husband in resurrection. They do so to ridicule the idea of resurrection.

Jesus replies that there is no marriage in resurrection. Instead, he says we will be like angels, who presumably do not engage in carnal love, marriage, or family life.

His answer runs counter to some common hopes for resurrection. When a loved one dies, we yearn to share time with them again. If resurrection does not reunite us with our loved ones, then what is meant by resurrection?

I remember the reaction of my seven-year old nephew to my father's death six years ago. He drew a picture of my Dad in heaven gardening and painting -- two of my father's favourite activities. My nephew seemed to imagine that what follows death is pretty much the same as this life, except with fewer difficulties.

I quite understand this idea, although I no longer hold it. For instance, it is one thing to enjoy seeding, weeding, and harvesting for decades. It is another to contemplate thousands, or millions, or trillions of seasons of this. Even if there were no insects, endless seasons of gardening do not seem like a vision of paradise to me. So as with marriage, I don't imagine that there is gardening in heaven.

Of course, no one can say with certainty what happens after death. In our tradition, I see two different approaches. One argues that resurrection preserves one's sense of self forever. The other sees resurrection both as brief moments of relief from egotism in this life and selfless and eternal reunion with God's Love after death.

Today's remarks by Jesus fit with the latter understanding, I believe. Death is not a door through which life continues relatively unchanged. Death completes our liberation from the anxieties and attachments of our egos, which, with grace, we sometimes experience this side of the grave.

This approach lines up with my favourite quote from St. Paul. When describing his conversion to the Way of Jesus, Paul writes, "I have been crucified with Christ and it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2). I also think it lines up with the Parable of the Prodigal Son in which the father twice says that his son was dead but now is now alive.

There are other passages in Scripture that suggest other ideas for what might happen to our sense of self at death. But today I leave those aside, and talk about some of the implications of Jesus' statement on marriage and resurrection.

The joys, pains, and entanglements of our egos are for this life. The ego is the site of our thoughts, memories, and willpower. Sometimes, with grace, our ego dissolves -- perhaps when reconciling with a friend; in the joy of the birth of a child; or when letting go of an addiction. In moments of grace, we sometimes rise above our ego and feel connected to all of life.

In my experience, such moments of healing are fleeting. But they give me a taste of what might happen at death. In this vision, death is a permanent liberation from the small self. It extends those moments of salvation experienced in this life into an eternal return to the Love that is God.

This is not to say that I don't cherish life. I adore the struggle to fulfill our desires and learn about this crazy world. Our instincts and emotions move us to care for our families and fight for justice. At the end, we are confident that we all return to Love.

When a young person dies -- as is so often the case in war -- the pain felt by survivors can be unbearable. However, none of this pain need be felt on behalf of the dead. They have entered into an eternal now in God's complete reality. For them, separation and pain are over and healing is complete.

The grief and pain is felt by those of us who survive. And some of the deepest pain must be felt by those who have had to kill in war.

My mother's father was a veteran of the First World War. After growing up on a farm near the shores of Lake Ontario, he moved to Vancouver to work for the YMCA. When Britain declared war on the German, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman empires in 1914, he signed up immediately and was wounded in France in 1915. He spent a year recovering in a hospital in England and did clerical work for the British Army during the last years of the War.

Like so many people, my grandfather had been filled with optimism in the years leading up to 1914. This summer, my mother showed me a photocopy of an essay he had written in Vancouver in 1911. In it, he looked back 50 years to before Confederation and forward 50 years to his hopes for the growth of Western Canada. The essay betrayed none of the darkness that would soon overwhelm the world in the trenches of Europe.

In the 1920s, my grandfather returned to Ontario, bought a farm, married and raised four children. But my mother said he never spoke of his time in France. Like so many others, he had seen the worst that life had to offer in the War and struggled to recover both physically and spiritually.

My grandfather, Mackenzie Rutherford, is one of those whom I remember each November 11th. I am sad that he had to suffer pain and disillusionment in the Great War. If he killed any enemy soldiers, I hope he was not wracked with guilt. I am happy that he found love and created a family. I am sure that he experienced many moments of healing in his life -- maybe even on the battlefield as he lay wounded. I am confident that, like his comrades and foes who died far too young in France, he found salvation when he died as an old man. Like all of our ancestors, I believe that he was relieved of the burdens of his ego when he returned to God.

Jesus says that in resurrection, there is no marriage. My interpretation of this saying is only one of many. But regardless of our notions, we have all experienced moments in which we rise above our small selves and are reminded of our connection to the Great Self of God.

Having faith that we are released from our attachments at death liberates me to try to live life to the fullest. In this life we won't avoid pain or disappointment. But many times we encounter the grace of God in Christ, which helps us see above our limited horizon to the cosmic whole. For me, it is these moments that point to the eternal life that is selfless Love.

Tomorrow as we remember the horror of war and the sacrifices of millions in Canada and around the world, may we be assured that the honoured dead are safe in the arms of God. With faith that all of us headed to that same salvation, let us fight fearlessly for a world of justice in which political differences will  no longer settled by war.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

1913: on the edge of the abyss

Remarks I made at Rockglen School on November 6, 2013 at a community Remembrance Service

Thank you very much for asking me to speak today on this important occasion.

Today, I look both backward and forward -- backward to what Saskatchewan was like 100 years ago in 1913, and forward to the next six years.

The next six Remembrance Days will be special ones, I believe. In 2014, the world will mark a sad centennial, the 100th anniversary of the beginning of World War I in August 1914. Two years from now in 2015, Canada will mark the centennial of that powerful poem, "In Flanders Fields." In 2016, we will remember the horror of the Battle of the Somme.

In 2017, Canada will not only celebrate 150 years since Confederation, but also the centennial of the Battle of Vimy Ridge, which many consider to be as important as Confederation in marking Canada's independence from Britain. In 2018, we will celebrate the centennial of the Armistice of November 11, 1918, which brought the horrors of the First World War to an end.

And finally, six years from now, we will celebrate the centennial of the First Remembrance Day on November 11, 1919. Since King George V called that first one, it has been one of the most solemn and sacred days on the Canadian calendar.

In remembering the sacrifices of our ancestors, and in our work to create a future without war, the next six years of remembrance could be important.

More than 15 million people died in Europe in the First World War of 1914 to 1918. If we cast our minds back 100 years to what Canada and the world were like just before war began, we might get a sense of why that terrible War is considered to the beginning of the modern era.

100 years ago, in 1913, this part of Saskatchewan along the border with Montana was just being settled. Rockglen didn't even exist in 1913. That didn't happen until 1927 when a spur line of the Canadian Pacific Railway was built.

When I moved here two and half years ago, I was surprised at how young this border area is. I wonder if this might be the last agricultural region of Canada to be settled by non-native people.

Saskatchewan was an exciting place 100 years ago. While we have boomed over the last decade, today is nothing compared to the years before World War I. The population of Saskatchewan went from under 100,000 people in 1900 to more than 600,000 in 1914. How did the province ever handle this massive influx of people?

The settlers of this area came from many different countries -- Norway, Germany, Sweden, Romania, the Ukraine. People of Scottish, English and French origin came from Eastern Canada. It was sort of a mini-European Union.

For centuries, Europe had been divided into small kingdoms, and it had endured many wars. Here in Borderlands, people from all over Europe settled and built the first schools, post offices, and churches. Everyone learned English, and lived in peace. Despite the hardships of settlement, it must have seemed like a dream as well.

1913 was an optimistic time. Trade, technology, and knowledge were all exploding. There hadn't been a war in Europe since 1871. Britain, France, Holland, Germany and Russia had colonized most of the world. There was a sense that life would continue to get better and better.

But then one year later in August 1914, the European powers divided into two sides and began the bloodiest war ever. On one side were Germany, Austria, Hungary, and Turkey and their colonies. The other side included Britain, France, Holland, and Russia and their colonies.

The key leaders on our side were King George V of Britain, the great-great-great grandfather of Prince George who was born to William and Kate this summer, and Czar Nicholas II of Russia. The key leader on the other side was the Kaiser of  Germany, Wilhelm II. Strangely, these three leaders -- the Kaiser, the Czar and the King -- were all first cousins! Each empire had a state church that supported the war effort despite the fact that the soldiers on all sides were mostly Christians.

The war was a bloody stalemate until the United States entered the war on the side of the Allies in 1917. At the war's start, the U.S. was reluctant to get involved because Russia, which was perhaps the most brutal and oppressive of all of the European empires, was one of the Allies. Only when the war-weary people of Russia overthrew the Czar in March 1917 did the United States feel it could enter the war on our side. The arrival of the Americans, allowed the Allies to finally defeat the Germans, Austrians, and Hungarians the next year.

The War must have discouraged people here in southern Saskatchewan. The settlers had left Europe and its conflicts behind. Here people of many backgrounds and languages were building a province of peace and friendship.

There was overwhelming pressure on young Canadian young men to return to Europe to fight. The same was true in all countries. Each King, Czar, or Kaiser along with church and political leaders said it was the patriotic and Christian thing to go to the trenches to kill and be killed.

When I was a student, we were told that the question "What caused World War I" had no good answer. It was an insane horror that seemed to happen by accident and which no one could stop.

World War II is different. The racism and aggression of Nazi Germany from 1933 to 1945 are so outrageous that it is easy to understand why we had to go to war. But World War I seems different to me.

I hope that you who are still in school today will learn a lot about World War I during the centennials that will be marked in the next six years.

65,000 Canadian soldiers were killed in the Great War at a time when Canada had only 8 million people. The impact of 65,000 young men killed in such a small population is truly hard for me to imagine.

Despite war in their former home countries, the settlers here in Borderlands continued to build our communities. No matter where we were from, we all became Canadians. Together we have enjoyed the peace and prosperity that followed the end of the two world wars.

Today, as I think back to 1913, and forward into the future, I pray that we will learn the lessons of Europe's bloody past. May the peace that has largely reigned there since 1945 spread to the whole world.

May all countries learn to settle disputes without war. May we focus instead on mending the wounds of our world in a spirit of peace and harmony.

99 years ago European leaders showed us how not to settle disputes, and many of our young men paid a terrible price. At the same time, the settlers here from Europe were learning to live together.

The first generations of Saskatchewan people have now thrown us the torch of peace. May we hold it high to light our way into a future of peace and freedom for everyone.

Thank you

From acceptance to repentance

Text: Luke 19:1-10 (Jesus dines with Zacchaeus)

How does God's love for us change how we behave? I raise this question in response to today's Gospel reading about Zacchaeus.

Like the sinner who prayed for mercy in last week's Gospel reading, Zacchaeus is a rich tax collector. He is hated by his neighbours because he collaborates with Rome and defrauds them.

Jesus reaches out to Zacchaeus without asking him to change. Nevertheless, Zacchaeus does change his ways after receiving Jesus into his house. He says that he will sell half of his possessions and repay anyone he has cheated.

The crowd grumbles when Jesus reaches out to Zacchaeus. But other than that, the story is sunny and upbeat. A hated sinner searches for Jesus. Jesus accepts him. The sinner changes. And Jesus declares the episode to be an example of salvation.

The story of Zacchaeus reminds me of the Parable of the Prodigal Son. Like Zacchaeus, the prodigal was lost and then found. However, the parable is much darker than today's story. The Prodigal Son wastes his inheritance in a faraway country, he repents, and he returns to the gracious love of his father. But before he repents, he hits bottom as a penniless and hungry labourer who works with pigs, which are taboo to Jews. The prodigal returns home in shame.

Such pain is absent in Zacchaeus' story. While I like the sunny nature of the story, I would find it more realistic if it also portrayed pain such as that shown by the tax collector praying for mercy in last week's reading or the shame of the Prodigal Son.

Accepting the love of God often involves pain. In many cases, individuals or communities have to hit rock bottom before we can acknowledge our helplessness in the face of our problems and call upon God's love to help us find the hard road to repentance and changed behaviour.

On Wednesday evening and Thursday morning, our Bible Study groups had trouble coming up with a figure in Saskatchewan who might provide a good analogy to Zacchaeus -- a rich and powerful person who was also despised.

But then came news reports on Thursday of the latest scandal involving Toronto's Mayor Rob Ford, who seems to provide us with a contemporary analogy. If Jesus came to Toronto this week and invited himself to Ford's house for supper, I imagine that some might grumble as the crowds do in today's reading.

Unfortunately, unlike Zacchaeus, Rob Ford does not seem to be looking for help. He refuses to resign even though a video is now in the hands of the police that shows him in front of a crack house with a gang of criminals where he makes racist and anti-gay remarks and smokes from a crack pipe.

Ford is addicted to alcohol, food, and illegal drugs. He lashes out at critics with verbal and physical abuse. He is closely involved with a friend who is now charged with trying to violently extort the crack video on Ford's behalf. And yet he refuses to resign. If Ford hasn't hit rock bottom yet, I have trouble imagining how things could get worse.

The good news is that God accepts us just as we are, and God's acceptance opens us to self-acceptance. Unfortunately, the latter involves accepting both the things we like AND dislike about ourselves. For any of us, this might mean acknowledging that we are mortal, that there are things we have done we now regret, and things we wished that we had done but did not do.

I empathize with Ford's reluctance to face up to reality given how painful it would be for him. So despite virtually everyone demanding that he resign, Ford continues on and says he has done nothing wrong.

For Rob Ford's sake and for the sake of the city he governs, we can only pray that he does repent despite the pain of the shame he would then feel.

There is more good news. The grief and pain that come from self-acceptance are also accompanied by joy. There is joy in knowing that God loves us just as we are, warts and all. There is joy in being freed from the energy we waste in denial. There is joy in being in touch with reality, even if we don't like all aspects of it. God's grace seems to be found in the very nature of reality, which is the best news one could ever hear.

Accepting God's love for us and the resulting acceptance of self is liberation. I can understand our reluctance to feel the pain involved. But the new life that follows is more than worth it.

Another step often follows repentance. Following the grief and joy of being accepted by God, we are freed to act in ways that better fit with our values of faith, hope and love. Zacchaeus provides an example when he pledges to give away half of his belonging and to make amends to the people he has cheated.

For any of us, new life might involve having more hope and peace in the face of illness or loss, giving up addictions, or showing greater empathy and respect for the people in our lives.

At Bible study last week, we read a sermon on Zacchaeus that included the following saying on the power of acceptance: "Jesus loves you just the way you are -- but way too much to leave you that way!"

I like the saying. It captures the paradox of accepting things just as they are, and also being freed by God's grace to become the person we were meant to be.

In a moment, we will celebrate the sacrament of communion. Usually we begin by saying that Jesus invites us to his table. To fit better with the Zacchaeus story, perhaps today we could imagine that Jesus invites himself to our table.

At the communion table, we are confident that Jesus will accept us just as we are, warts and all. In the pain of the story retold at communion, we might experience the joy and pain we feel when we accept ourselves in all our difficult reality. And as we leave the table, we might feel changed, if only a little.

Jesus welcomes everyone to the table just as we are. But he loves us too much to leave us this way.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

"Thank God for self-righteousness!"

Text: Luke 18 9-14 (two men pray)

Who here today would you say is the best Christian? Is it me because I'm the minister who takes up most of the air time? Is it the person who gives the most money to the church? The one who spends the most time visiting the lonely and the sick? The one who works the hardest at organizing pie socials?

Making judgements like these seems like an inevitable part of life. When we look at others in family, church, or neighbourhood we are tempted to compare. Who is taller, smarter, more attractive, and so on?

We build up our sense of self partly through such judgements. They help us figure out who we are and what is possible in our time and place. But although judging seems inevitable, it gets us into no end of trouble.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus tells a joke about judging others. Two Jews walk into a temple to pray. One is a Pharisee who is pious and obedient. The other is a tax collector who collaborates with the Roman oppressors.

The Pharisee begins his prayer by offering thanks to God. But he gives thanks not for his blessings, but for being better than people like the tax collector. He implies that he has earned his superior status by fasting and tithing. As the text says, he trusts in himself to be made right with God and regards others with contempt.

In contrast, Jesus upholds the prayer of the tax collector who simply says "God, be merciful to me, a sinner!" Whether we know it or not, we are all humble sinners, and only God can make us right with God.

Jesus' joke about two men praying points to a central paradox of our faith. We don't have to do anything to be saved. At the same time, family and church urge us to obey God's laws and follow in God's way of peace and love.

After years of trying to walk in the way of Jesus and to study the teachings of our faith, I don't feel confident that I have wrapped my head around this paradox. But I continue to try since it strikes me as so important.

Our egos are mostly an illusion. Our individual selves, with all the qualities we assign to them, depend on forces beyond ourselves.

The atoms that make up our bodies were forged in stars that exploded before our sun was born. Our lives are connected to the entire web of life and to its three billion year long history. Our minds are composed of concepts that flow from thousands of years of human history. Our personal circumstances are dependent upon the family and communities into which we were born and the clash of economic forces.

Each of us, though unique, is dependent upon cosmic, biological and cultural evolution. We give thanks for the blessings that create us. But to think that we create these blessings is a mistake, Jesus reminds us.

As Christians, the name we give for our dependence upon the forces of the cosmos is God. This might imply that we are puppets. However, I don't imagine God as a puppeteer. The God revealed to me in Christ is a God who sustains us in ways too numerable to fully know or name, but one who does not ordain our actions.

And yet we cannot earn our salvation by good works or religious obedience. Does this imply that we can do whatever we want? Is it OK for the tax collector to continue to help the Romans? Is it OK if the Pharisee were to stop giving one tenth of his income to the Temple?

To me, the parable suggests that the Pharisee should feel empathy for the tax collector instead of contempt. Both of these men are caught in the grip of the Roman empire. Both cope with the empire in their own ways but without being able to overthrow its violence and inequality.

The main difference between the two is that the tax collector knows that he is a sinner. The Pharisee, on the other hand, thinks he has raised himself above sin through his own efforts. He is blind to the ties that bind him both to the tax collector and to Rome.

Today we are caught in similar circumstances, both those of us who are regarded as righteous and those who are regarded as sinful.

Jesus calls us to reject such labels. We are all sinners, less for what we do than for the chains that imprison us. The good news is that we are also all saved. The God who sustains us also promises to release us from our bondage and oppression. This does not always happen during our lifetimes, but it surely occurs at the end of life.

In Jesus' time, a central source of sin was the power of Rome. Today a central source of sin is the power of industry and the pollution that it causes. As with Rome, resisting industrial pollution can sometimes seem impossible. In many instances, we are forced to cope with the problems caused by industry and get on with our lives despite our wishes that the world was different.

Take the energy industry as an example. The burning of coal, oil and gas pollutes the atmosphere. In Borderlands, as in so many other areas, we are dependent upon this industry with a coal mine and power plant in Coronach.

Should we, like the tax collector, ask God for mercy because one of our region's main industry pollutes? Should people like me who live in a coal region but don't work in the industry feel smug like the Pharisee and thank God that I am not one of those so-called rogues who work in the mine or power plant?

Well, none of us decided to be born into a world filled with internal combustion engines and coal-fired generating plants. None of us decided that there should be seven billion people on earth instead of the 200 million who lived at the time of Jesus. None of us decided that rail traffic should largely be replaced by trucks and cars. All of these are simply the given facts of our time.

I see no contradiction between being a driver of an automobile, a coal miner, or a person who heats his home with natural gas, and also as someone who advocates for a world without fossil fuels. The sad truth is there is often not much we can do to bring about such a huge change. In this crazy world, someone is going to mine coal, gas and oil. Someone is going to burn fossil fuel for electricity. Someone is going to drive cars and trucks to get from point A to B even if we don't.

I try to remain aware of the dangers of burning fossil fuels. I regard our society's energy industry as irrational and sinful. But just as the tax collector and the Pharisee couldn't overthrow the Roman Empire, neither can we do much to change the energy industry. I don't want to be judged because I adapt to this industry instead of always resisting it. I want to be understood and embraced by fellow sinners who, like me, are trying to humbly cope with the world as we find it.

Sin abounds, and carbon pollution is just one aspect of it. But grace abounds even more. And so with the tax collector, we pray, "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"

We were all born into a crazy and broken world, even as we are blessed by the mysteries and wonders of that same world. All of us are sinners, broken on the stones of family and community life, even as we are blessed by those same families and communities.

Sometimes, we may react like the Pharisee and feel superior to social pariahs like tax collectors.

My prayer is that instead we will become more like the tax collector and realize that we are caught in forces stronger than we can withstand. May we also realize that God's mercy is here to bring us back to his Love, which is beyond sin.

In the freedom of this realization, we can act in small or large ways to confront the sins of our times. May we also accept God's grace to change things we don't like about ourselves and grow more fully into our status as children of God who bear the face of Christ.

"God be merciful to us, sinners all!"

Amen.

The mystery of giving thanks

Text: Luke 17 11-19 (the healing of 10 lepers)

This week, a minister in a Facebook group asked why churches make such a big fuss about Thanksgiving. His point was that all worship involves thanksgiving. Despite this, I am glad that Canada has borrowed the tradition of Thanksgiving from American Pilgrims and that we celebrate it in church.

This is the last of three Thanksgivings that I will spend here in Borderlands, and today I begin with some of the things for which I am grateful.

I am grateful that I was placed here following ordination. On my own, I would not have chosen to come to such a remote and sparsely populated place. But in that case, I would have never encountered the rolling hills of this area and the near-constant sunshine. I would never have witnessed the fierce productivity of this land and how it responds, often magnificently, to sharp turns in the weather.

Most importantly, I would not have met and known all of you. I understand that city people sometimes stereotype country people, and vice versa. But this obscures how unique everyone is.

Each of us bring a unique perspective, personal story, and mix of feelings to any moment. After 2.5 years here, I know a little about life in small-town Saskatchewan. But mostly, I know some of the colours of the bright flame of each of you just as I hope that you know some about the flame that flickers inside me.

Ministry, when practiced at the depths we yearn for, opens us up to each other's stories. A city is filled with a million unique characters while a small town is filled with scores or hundreds of unique characters. But no matter how big or small a congregation, there is never enough time to share all of our stories.

I am thankful that 20 of us came to a meeting on Wednesday night to discuss what is next for our churches. People shared fears, hopes and dreams. Despite not knowing how to proceed yet, the meeting itself showed us again why we gather for prayer, food, or fellowship.

With more prayer and conversation, I am confident that the love that has sustained our churches for four generations will continue to be expressed here. Ministry might not look the same in 2014 or 15. But people will continue to praise God and give thanks, to support each other in our vulnerability, and to reflect on our shared values of faith, hope and love.

On this Thanksgiving, I am also grateful that the congregation of Mill Woods United Church in southeast Edmonton has called me to be their minister. This is the first time that I have accepted a call. Previously, I had been placed in pastoral charges --  first in Didsbury Alberta in 2009 by an education and students committee and then in 2011 to Borderlands by a settlement committee.

I have loved my time here in Borderlands just as I loved the 10 months that I spent as a student minister in Didsbury. But going to Edmonton in response to a call feels different. It is a mutual response to God's Spirit by a congregation and a minister.

In my work here, I have felt sometimes like I was just keeping my head above the water. Partly this was being new in ministry. Partly it was adjusting to life in a remote area. Partly it was my own immaturity, despite my age.

The older I get, the more I sense the challenges involved in being  a parent. But my ex-wife and I did not have children. Without the highs and lows of that challenge, I have not always felt confident that I could rise to the challenge of ministry. And yet, by walking with people in sickness, and by presiding at funerals, baptisms, weddings, and at worship each week, I have learned a lot here.

I feel guilty about leaving Borderlands because only now do I feel ready for ministry. A process that started when I returned to church at Kingston Road United in east Toronto in 2001 and which accelerated when I decide to pursue ordination one Sunday in 2007 as I walked down the hill from that church to my apartment near Lake Ontario now feels complete to me.

Of course, I do not know what 2014 and beyond will be like for me or for Mill Woods United. But I go there filled with gratitude for God's Love, for the United Church of Canada, and for the three churches of Borderlands.

When I got a phone call from Mill Woods last Sunday afternoon to let me know that the congregation had voted to accept the search committee's recommendation to call me, I felt both glad and burdened.

I talked with family members and friends. I went for a walk, watched some TV, and tried to put the call out of my mind. When I went to sleep that night, I was exhausted and felt as though a veil was obscuring my sight.

When I woke up on Monday, the veil lifted. A big part of it was reading more about Pope Francis. In my sermon about the new Pope last week, I incorporated some excerpts from an interview he had given to the atheist editor of a major Italian newspaper on October 1st.

On Monday, a Twitter post finally led me to the full interview, which I have now read; and it astonishes me. I fear that if Francis keeps this up, I might have to become a Catholic priest! I pray that Francis lives a long and healthy life. There is no telling the impact that he might make given more time.

One of the things he talked about was mysticism. He said. "I love the mystics; [Saint] Francis [of Assisi] was a mystic in many ways . . . The mystic manages to strip himself of action, facts, objectives and even the pastoral mission and rises until he reaches communion with the Beatitudes . . . these are brief moments, but ones that can fill an entire life."

The interviewer asked the Pope if he ever had such moments. Francis said they were rare, but he mentioned one from the night when he was elected Pope:

"Before I accepted, I asked the other cardinals if I could spend a few minutes alone in the next room. . . I was seized by a great anxiety. To make the anxiety go way, I closed my eyes and made every thought disappear, even the thought of refusing to accept the position. After a while, my anxiety disappeared. Then at a certain point I was filled with a great light. It lasted a moment, but to me it seemed very long. When the light faded, I got up, walked into the room where the cardinals were waiting, and signed the act of acceptance. Then we went to the balcony for the proclamation, 'Habemus Papam' [We have a Pope]"

This summer, a cardinal said to Francis, "you’re not the same guy I knew in Argentina" Francis replied: "When I was elected Pope, an inner peace and freedom came over me, and it’s never left."

The Pope's mystical experience has given him courage make radical statements such as the following from that interview: "[Trying to convert people to Catholicism] is solemn nonsense," he said. "We need to get to know each other, listen to each other and improve our knowledge of the world around us."

He praised the Second Vatican Council of 1962-1965. He talked about a friend from university who was a Communist and who was later tortured and killed by the Argentine military. He spoke about leading the church away from glory and toward a mission for the poor that transcends doctrine and religion.

I mention this interview again this week because it fills me with hope.

Mystical experiences like that described by the Pope are ones in which we wake up to Grace. Attachments drop away. We enter a space beyond fear that is filled with light. We may only rarely experience such moments. But I believe that all of us enter into such a state at the end of life.

God's Grace does not depend on our actions. Still, when we wake up to grace, we are freed to act boldly. To put this in a local context, I don't see any requirement that there be a United Church in Borderlands. But God's grace give us the freedom to try to continue, perhaps in new ways.

Mystical moments allow God's light to enter our hearts and minds. In such moments, we might behave like the healed leper in today's Gospel reading who runs back to Jesus, get downs on his knees, and gives thanks.

Habemus Papam. We have a new Pope. While I will never become a priest, I intend to listen to Francis' words of mercy and try to follow his deeds of compassion.

In the years ahead as our churches continue to shrink, I expect that followers of Christ from different backgrounds will unite in ways we could only have dreamed of a few years ago. Together, we will run back to God, fall on our knees, and give thanks.

Amen.