Text: Luke 13 31-35 (Jesus sorrows over Jerusalem)
A few years ago, the church in which I grew up in Cornwall Ontario was torn down. The building of Knox United had been damaged in a 1940s earthquake. But other than a missing steeple pinnacle, the building seemed OK when I was growing up in Cornwall in the 60s and 70s.
Unfortunately, a recent inspection revealed that the structure was no longer safe, and so it was torn down. Knox United bought an unused church in the suburbs from the Roman Catholics, which is where Knox members now worship.
I was sad when I heard of the demolition of the church. I had loved its Gothic architecture, the weird layout of its halls, offices, corridors, and how the original building linked up with a newer Christian Education wing. When I was young, I remember discussing with my friends whether God lived in the sanctuary. At the very least, we considered the building sacred.
I thought of this old building as I prepared this sermon on Jerusalem. In a small way, the destruction of any sanctuary can resonate with the tragedies of wars and conquest that have seen countless holy cities and temples destroyed, including in that most Sacred of all cities, Jerusalem.
What is it about Jerusalem that makes it so special? Jerusalem is where King Solomon built the First Temple to the Hebrew God, Yahweh. 300 years later, the city and its Temple were destroyed by the Babylonians. When Jewish leaders rebuilt Jerusalem and its Temple 50 years later, worship started again, but this time without the lost Ark of the Covenant.
Christians revere Jerusalem as the place of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection. When early Christians imagined what a restored heaven or earth would look like, they used the metaphor of a New Jerusalem.
Muslims revere Jerusalem as the place where The Prophet Mohammad ascended into heaven with the Angel Gabriel.
Jerusalem is sacred to all three of the religions of Abraham -- Judaism, Christianity, and Islam -- even as it is also known as a place of betrayal, death, and desolation.
The most famous Christian hymn about the city is called just that, "Jerusalem," based upon an 1804 poem by William Blake. The poem uses the symbol of Jerusalem to refer to "heaven on earth" -- the new age that began with the coming of Jesus.
I first learned the hymn "Jerusalem" in school when I was growing up in Cornwall. Cornwall is small industrial city on the St Lawrence River about an hour's drive west of Montreal. To me, it seems like a microcosm of Canada. 70% of the population is English-speaking, 30% French and there is a First Nations Mohawk reserve south of the city on an island that is half in Ontario and half in New York.
Perhaps the presence of French and First Nations people and the closeness of Quebec and the U.S. made English people in Cornwall especially conscious of our English roots -- and there is no more English hymn than "Jerusalem."
In fact, "Jerusalem" is the unofficial English national anthem. When the grandfather of Queen Elizabeth, King George V, first heard "Jerusalem," he said that he preferred it even to "God Save the King."
Blake's poem was put to music by Sir Hubert Parry in 1916 as a way to bolster English spirits during the horrors of World War I. There is irony in this because Blake was a radical who supported the French Revolution and was once tried for treason. Also, the hymn "Jerusalem" is not only popular with staunch monarchists and conservatives but also with socialists and trade unionists.
"Jerusalem" is the final song performed at "Last Night at the Proms" concerts. It is a staple in English schools, just as it was at my elementary school in Cornwall. And a line from the hymn inspired the title of the 1981 Academy Award Winning movie "Chariots of Fire," which ends with the singing of the hymn at a funeral service.
Here are the words of Blake's poem: "And did those feet in ancient time walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God on England's pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here among those dark Satanic mills?
"Bring me my bow of burning gold: bring me my arrows of desire: bring me my spear: O clouds, unfold! Bring me my chariot of fire! I will not cease from mental fight, nor shall my sword sleep in my hand till we have built Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land." The poem is packed with symbols and metaphors.
The Holy Lamb of God is a metaphor for Christ. But what does Blake mean by bows of burning gold, arrows of desire, and chariots of fire? The "dark Satanic mills" probably refer to cotton and flour mills, which Blake hated when he wrote the poem in 1804. The goal of building Jerusalem in England's green and pleasant land symbolizes the fight to create heaven on earth.
Our Gospel passage today is also about Jerusalem; and like Blake's poem, it also contains many symbols and metaphors. Jesus calls King Herod a fox. He then makes an analogy between himself and a mothering hen that protects its chicks under her wings. He mentions "the third day," a symbol of his resurrection. He states that no prophet can die outside of Jerusalem. But since this is not literally the case, it must also be a metaphor for something or other. And when Jesus talks about the desolation of Jerusalem, this foreshadows the second destruction of Jerusalem in the year 70 by the Romans, 40 years after Jesus' death.
In the late 60s of the First Century, there was a Jewish revolt against Rome. After a three-year siege of Jerusalem, the Romans burned the city to the ground, killed 10s of thousands of Jews, and destroyed the Temple. Luke wrote his Gospel 15 to 20 years after this disaster.
Like us, the people who first heard Luke's Gospel would not have known Jesus and the disciples, so they might connect the story of the death of the Son of God to the destruction of God's Temple and his Holy City. The story of the resurrection would have assured them that God's Love lives on even though His Temple had been destroyed and Jerusalem was once again a ghost town.
It is a sad fact that the destruction of Jerusalem in the year 70 is not unusual. Jerusalem had been destroyed 600 years earlier by the Babylonians. After the Roman disaster in 70, Jews repopulated the city; but it was destroyed a third time by the Romans in 135. When the Roman emperors adopted Christianity as the state religion 200 years later, they rebuilt Jerusalem. Muslims then captured Jerusalem from the Greek survivors of Rome's fall in the 700s. The Muslims allowed the Christians to remain and also invited Jews to return. But 400 years later, European armies slaughtered all the Jews and Muslims in Jerusalem during the Crusades. Today, both the modern state of Israel and the hoped-for Palestinian state claim Jerusalem as their capital. Jerusalem is sacred but also continually troubled.
The sacred temples and cities of many other peoples have also been destroyed in conflict and war over the centuries.
Some sanctuaries are destroyed by invading armies. Some sanctuaries are weakened by earthquakes and later torn down. Some sanctuaries are abandoned because a community of faith has lost numbers, energy and money. What the Christ story reminds us is that the God who is Love, survives all these tragedies. Our temples and sacred cities, no matter how grand, are all subject to decay or attack. But God's Love is indestructible.
So this Lent, as we continue our walk with Jesus to Jerusalem and the cross, know that God grants us the strength to be present to both sides of Jerusalem: both its desolation and its new life. The path of Lent has two sides. It is a journey through death to new life with God in Christ.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Temptations in wilderness and in abundance
Text: Luke 4 1-13 (Jesus tempted in the wilderness)
On this first of the six Sundays in the Season of Lent, the theme of our Gospel reading is temptation in the desert.
Despite today's snow, we live in an dry region that sometimes seems like a desert to me. Last summer's drought was like nothing I have ever experienced. I was especially struck by how the relative humidity kept dropping day after day as the sloughs dried up and the harvest continued.
But conditions for many of us in a rich country like Canada are more like feast than famine. And so today, I look at temptation in conditions of material abundance in the hope that this will help us orient our hearts and minds to the journey to Jerusalem with Jesus that is the Season of Lent.
When I was on vacation last month in Toronto, I succumbed to a temptation that is common to many of us. I went on my first ever Caribbean vacation, and I quite enjoyed spending five days in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic.
The ocean was warm, the swimming pools were inviting, and the palm trees waved serenely in the sunshine. The food and drink was all-included, the pace was relaxed, and the cost seemed obscenely cheap. It felt like a little slice of paradise wedged between a few damp and cold weeks in and around Toronto.
Part of my enjoyment was getting an up-close-and-personal look at the winter-escape travel industry. Given how inexpensive Caribbean travel has become, I understand why so many of us now make the trip south each winter. Getting on the plane in Toronto seemed no more glamourous than getting on Bernie's bus for a trip to the Mud Bog at Rockin' Beach. I ran into a married couple from the Toronto church I used to attend as we waited for our plane. It was their third trip to Punta Cana, which seemed like a good endorsement.
I was impressed by the large number of people being efficiently processed through customs at the Punta Cana airport. Nor were we just North Americans, but also people from Eastern and Western Europe, Asia and other parts of Latin America. When I realized that Punta Cana is just one of scores -- or is it hundreds? -- of similar resort areas in the Caribbean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific, the scale began to stagger the imagination.
I read somewhere recently that on any given day, there are now approximately 100,000 passenger jet flights. This marks at least a hundred-fold increase in my lifetime. Will another 50 years see a similar increase, to the point where 10 million flights take off and land safely every day?!
Of course, not every vacation ends with no more serious incidents than a sunburn or a few hangovers. For instance, there is this week's story of the 4,000 people stranded for five miserable days on the disabled cruise liner Carnival Triumph in the Gulf of Mexico. And yet several hundred thousand people are still cruising in the Gulf, the Caribbean, and the Mediterranean.
Recreational travel seems to be both a blessing and a curse. I am sure that I will enjoy more winter escapes in the years to come, at least until the melting polar icecaps raise the ocean level and drown ocean-side resorts. But the amount of travel most middle class people now experience is also related to massive releases of carbon and other pollutants. This pollution is exacerbated by the fact that the world's middle class has expanded by hundreds of millions of people in poor parts of the world during the last few decades.
Unfortunately, I see no force that can stop the continued increase in human consumption of resources. I used to hope that the prophets of "Peak Oil" would be proven right and price of oil would soar in the 21st century and thus slow climate change. But technological developments like fracking mean that oil and gas production will likely continue to ramp up for at least as long as it takes our economy to completely dislocate the climate.
No one is in charge; not President Obama; not the United Nations; not the universal church. Competitive pressures between companies, economic sectors and nations will ensure that economic development -- including ever-more wondrous travel options -- will continue apace without any controls on the side effects.
So, does my participation in this seemining insanity-- including my trip to the Caribbean, or my use of a car, or my enjoyment of an energy-intensive TV cable-box and DVR combo, or my many junked computers -- mean that I have succumbed to the devil's temptations and given up my right to consider myself a disciple of Christ on his joyous, painful and always austere journey to Jerusalem this Lent?
I don't think so. I disagree with environmentalists who argue that change in individual behaviour is the best way to effect social change. I have nothing against recycling, voluntary simplicity, trying to eat local, and so on. But not if this is the basis for self-righteousness, for hectoring friends and neighbours, or for illusions that such actions can make a dent in the destruction of the natural world caused by an ever-growing economy and population.
On the other hand, individual lifestyle choices can help orient our hearts and minds to what we most value: a trusting faith, hope in the midst of darkness, and above all, love. Lifestyle choices can sometimes help remind us of the living Christ burning brightly within each of our hearts.
When I was in the Caribbean resort, I easily could have succumbed to the lures of too much food, too much alcohol, too much sun, and too much mindless use of my time. Perhaps some of that happened for me, but by worshipping at the Catholic service that was offered the Sunday we were there; by becoming friends with a soon-to-be-retired couple from London Ontario that we met at worship; by reading one of the books I had brought with me; and by letting moderation be a guiding principle, I liked my time at the resort.
Still, the highlight of my four weeks off occurred not during my three weeks of vacation, but at a men's retreat I attended at the United Church's Five Oaks Centre west of Toronto on the final week. This was the seventh time I have attended this event over the last 11 years, and I appreciate it more each time.
The first times I attended, there was a theme to our discussions: fathers and sons; ageing; native spirituality; and so on. But in recent years, there is no longer a theme or leadership. Instead, men gather for three days and nights to spend time in a sharing circle in which we pass a talking stone between us and listen to what is on each others' hearts and minds.
This year, I was one of 13 men, 10 of whom were ordained ministers. I knew about half the participants, but all of us had participated in the event before, so we were able to get into the spirit of the event quickly.
Unlike the week in the Caribbean, this was a modest affair. We stayed in simple and austere rooms. We sat in a circle around a hearth with a roaring fire and looked out over the beauty of the grounds of Five Oaks that is situated on the banks of the Grand River near Brantford. We used drums or sang hymns to start most of our time in the circle.
The deep sharing and listening of our time together felt to me like love at its best. I learned more about ministry by listening to these men and by trying to articulate my own experiences than I did in any course I took at seminary. I felt enriched by the painful and joyous stories of the other men, even though we are all so different from each other. I wondered if such sharing circles are all that we need in worship? This is a theme to which I will return in the next year as we journey together as a church.
I don't begrudge the trip to the Caribbean, nor do I feel guilty for "wasting" oil and other resources in this lovely indulgence. But I know that what we most crave in the dark winters of our souls are not warm breezes or free drinks. What we most crave are things like acceptance, sharing of our individual experiences of life, and the ability to love and be loved.
Jesus, by resisting the devil's temptations in his forty days and nights in the wilderness models for us this deeper path, I think -- the path that looks to God and his ever-present Love more than it looks to material comfort or political power.
This Lent and in this community of faith, may we offer each other companionship on Jesus' path of deep sharing and love. It is a path that leads us to the darkness of Good Friday and on to the light of new life at Easter.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
On this first of the six Sundays in the Season of Lent, the theme of our Gospel reading is temptation in the desert.
Despite today's snow, we live in an dry region that sometimes seems like a desert to me. Last summer's drought was like nothing I have ever experienced. I was especially struck by how the relative humidity kept dropping day after day as the sloughs dried up and the harvest continued.
But conditions for many of us in a rich country like Canada are more like feast than famine. And so today, I look at temptation in conditions of material abundance in the hope that this will help us orient our hearts and minds to the journey to Jerusalem with Jesus that is the Season of Lent.
When I was on vacation last month in Toronto, I succumbed to a temptation that is common to many of us. I went on my first ever Caribbean vacation, and I quite enjoyed spending five days in Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic.
The ocean was warm, the swimming pools were inviting, and the palm trees waved serenely in the sunshine. The food and drink was all-included, the pace was relaxed, and the cost seemed obscenely cheap. It felt like a little slice of paradise wedged between a few damp and cold weeks in and around Toronto.
Part of my enjoyment was getting an up-close-and-personal look at the winter-escape travel industry. Given how inexpensive Caribbean travel has become, I understand why so many of us now make the trip south each winter. Getting on the plane in Toronto seemed no more glamourous than getting on Bernie's bus for a trip to the Mud Bog at Rockin' Beach. I ran into a married couple from the Toronto church I used to attend as we waited for our plane. It was their third trip to Punta Cana, which seemed like a good endorsement.
I was impressed by the large number of people being efficiently processed through customs at the Punta Cana airport. Nor were we just North Americans, but also people from Eastern and Western Europe, Asia and other parts of Latin America. When I realized that Punta Cana is just one of scores -- or is it hundreds? -- of similar resort areas in the Caribbean, the Gulf of Mexico, and the Pacific, the scale began to stagger the imagination.
I read somewhere recently that on any given day, there are now approximately 100,000 passenger jet flights. This marks at least a hundred-fold increase in my lifetime. Will another 50 years see a similar increase, to the point where 10 million flights take off and land safely every day?!
Of course, not every vacation ends with no more serious incidents than a sunburn or a few hangovers. For instance, there is this week's story of the 4,000 people stranded for five miserable days on the disabled cruise liner Carnival Triumph in the Gulf of Mexico. And yet several hundred thousand people are still cruising in the Gulf, the Caribbean, and the Mediterranean.
Recreational travel seems to be both a blessing and a curse. I am sure that I will enjoy more winter escapes in the years to come, at least until the melting polar icecaps raise the ocean level and drown ocean-side resorts. But the amount of travel most middle class people now experience is also related to massive releases of carbon and other pollutants. This pollution is exacerbated by the fact that the world's middle class has expanded by hundreds of millions of people in poor parts of the world during the last few decades.
Unfortunately, I see no force that can stop the continued increase in human consumption of resources. I used to hope that the prophets of "Peak Oil" would be proven right and price of oil would soar in the 21st century and thus slow climate change. But technological developments like fracking mean that oil and gas production will likely continue to ramp up for at least as long as it takes our economy to completely dislocate the climate.
No one is in charge; not President Obama; not the United Nations; not the universal church. Competitive pressures between companies, economic sectors and nations will ensure that economic development -- including ever-more wondrous travel options -- will continue apace without any controls on the side effects.
So, does my participation in this seemining insanity-- including my trip to the Caribbean, or my use of a car, or my enjoyment of an energy-intensive TV cable-box and DVR combo, or my many junked computers -- mean that I have succumbed to the devil's temptations and given up my right to consider myself a disciple of Christ on his joyous, painful and always austere journey to Jerusalem this Lent?
I don't think so. I disagree with environmentalists who argue that change in individual behaviour is the best way to effect social change. I have nothing against recycling, voluntary simplicity, trying to eat local, and so on. But not if this is the basis for self-righteousness, for hectoring friends and neighbours, or for illusions that such actions can make a dent in the destruction of the natural world caused by an ever-growing economy and population.
On the other hand, individual lifestyle choices can help orient our hearts and minds to what we most value: a trusting faith, hope in the midst of darkness, and above all, love. Lifestyle choices can sometimes help remind us of the living Christ burning brightly within each of our hearts.
When I was in the Caribbean resort, I easily could have succumbed to the lures of too much food, too much alcohol, too much sun, and too much mindless use of my time. Perhaps some of that happened for me, but by worshipping at the Catholic service that was offered the Sunday we were there; by becoming friends with a soon-to-be-retired couple from London Ontario that we met at worship; by reading one of the books I had brought with me; and by letting moderation be a guiding principle, I liked my time at the resort.
Still, the highlight of my four weeks off occurred not during my three weeks of vacation, but at a men's retreat I attended at the United Church's Five Oaks Centre west of Toronto on the final week. This was the seventh time I have attended this event over the last 11 years, and I appreciate it more each time.
The first times I attended, there was a theme to our discussions: fathers and sons; ageing; native spirituality; and so on. But in recent years, there is no longer a theme or leadership. Instead, men gather for three days and nights to spend time in a sharing circle in which we pass a talking stone between us and listen to what is on each others' hearts and minds.
This year, I was one of 13 men, 10 of whom were ordained ministers. I knew about half the participants, but all of us had participated in the event before, so we were able to get into the spirit of the event quickly.
Unlike the week in the Caribbean, this was a modest affair. We stayed in simple and austere rooms. We sat in a circle around a hearth with a roaring fire and looked out over the beauty of the grounds of Five Oaks that is situated on the banks of the Grand River near Brantford. We used drums or sang hymns to start most of our time in the circle.
The deep sharing and listening of our time together felt to me like love at its best. I learned more about ministry by listening to these men and by trying to articulate my own experiences than I did in any course I took at seminary. I felt enriched by the painful and joyous stories of the other men, even though we are all so different from each other. I wondered if such sharing circles are all that we need in worship? This is a theme to which I will return in the next year as we journey together as a church.
I don't begrudge the trip to the Caribbean, nor do I feel guilty for "wasting" oil and other resources in this lovely indulgence. But I know that what we most crave in the dark winters of our souls are not warm breezes or free drinks. What we most crave are things like acceptance, sharing of our individual experiences of life, and the ability to love and be loved.
Jesus, by resisting the devil's temptations in his forty days and nights in the wilderness models for us this deeper path, I think -- the path that looks to God and his ever-present Love more than it looks to material comfort or political power.
This Lent and in this community of faith, may we offer each other companionship on Jesus' path of deep sharing and love. It is a path that leads us to the darkness of Good Friday and on to the light of new life at Easter.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Waiting for the Spirit
Texts: Act 8 5-25 (receiving the Spirit); Luke 3 15-22 (Jesus is baptized)
How would you describe our spirits as a congregation this new year? Are they high or low? Healthy or ailing? In or out of line with God's Holy Spirit? These are some questions that come to my mind in relationship to our Scripture readings today.
In today's Gospel reading, Jesus is baptized in the Jordan River by his cousin John. But unlike the other Gospel accounts of his baptism, Luke's version does not show Jesus receiving the blessing of the Holy Spirit at the time of his baptism. That comes later, after all the people have been baptized and after John has been arrested by Herod. Luke says it is only then, at a moment when Jesus is praying, that "the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon [Jesus] in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.'"
Something similar happens in today's reading from Acts. We hear of a group of Samaritans who are converted and baptized by Philip in the months immediately after Jesus' death and resurrection. But they too do not receive the Holy Spirit at the moment of their baptism. This comes later when Peter and John visit the region, pray, and lay their hands on the new converts.
The text does not show us what receiving the Holy Spirit means for these new Christians. But it does say that the action of Peter and John so impress a local magician, Simon, that he offers them money to show him how to do this trick. Other parts of the book of Acts show us why Simon might be impressed by the ability to bestow the Spirit.
At the Festival of the Pentecost, 50 days after the first Easter, the Holy Spirit comes to Jesus' disciples in Jerusalem as wind and tongues of fire. It enables them to speak to all the Jews assembled in the city for the Festival in their own native languages and to convert them to faith in Jesus as the Christ.
The Spirit-filled disciples also heal sick people, cast out demons, and even raise a few dead people to renewed life. Clearly, the Holy Spirit has enormous power, even if we don't know exactly how and when it gets bestowed.
Christian denominations like the Pentecostals take the Holy Spirit more seriously than do most United Churches. Does this mean that we are a dispirited church? Should we perhaps try to follow the Pentecostals down the strange roads opened up by the Spirit as portrayed by Luke in the Book of Acts?
I was impressed by a Spirit-filled church three years ago in San Francisco. This was the year when I was a student supply minister in Didsbury Alberta. I took a week's vacation after Easter 2010, and since I had never been to California before, I used that opportunity to spend a week in San Francisco.
A tourist guide book spoke highly of a church near where I was staying in the downtown core -- Glide Memorial United Methodist Church. So on the Sunday of that week, I worshipped at that church, and I was amazed by what I experienced.
Despite pouring rain, despite the fact that it was the second of two morning services, despite the fact that it was the "low Sunday" after Easter, and despite the fact that the church's famous Black pastor was away and the preacher that day was a newly ordained White lesbian woman who had come from that church but who was now a minister in a rural part of Arizona, the sanctuary was packed. And the service felt as much like a rock concert to me as it did a worship service.
We were led by a 100-voice Gospel choir. Its members were equal parts men and women; people of European, African, Latin American and Asian descent; and queer and straight people. When they sang, we all got up and swayed and danced along.
The congregation seemed just as diverse as the choir. Two Black women, who seemed to be impoverished, sat on one side of me; on my other side was a prosperous White couple from the suburbs. All of us sang and danced as one.
Although the service included moments familiar to me -- times of confession and lament as well as of praise and joy -- it seemed mostly upbeat to me. I am not sure that I would like this style of worship each week. But one thing evident in the service was Spirit -- lots and lots of Spirit.
The Holy Spirit denotes some of the more mysterious and powerful aspects of God. God the Father is often seen as remote: the source of all life and judge of the universe. God the Son becomes dear to us in the stories of Jesus of Nazareth. At baptism, we receive Jesus as the Christ into our hearts.
The Holy Spirit was promised to us by Jesus. The book of Acts details the power of the Spirit. I believe that the miracles portrayed there don't need to be understood as literal facts. Instead, I see them as ways to describe the power and joy that can be part of a community that is filled with God's Spirit.
The tough news is that living a life in the Spirit can be difficult to sustain over time -- whether in our worship and mission work, in a marriage, in a job or career, or in the struggle for justice.
Our Scripture readings give us some clues as to what we can do when we suffer from the absence of God's Spirit. We can wait. We can pray. And we can trust. Then when God's Spirit does come again into our hearts or fills our worship or mission, we can give thanks and praise the Spirit's awesome power.
At Glide Memorial church in San Francisco, I got a sense of how the Holy Spirit informed their life. Their Spirit-filled worship fed into the huge amount of outreach they did to the homeless, addicted, and desperate people who live in the neighbourhood around the church. In turn, their outreach to the poor and their focus on justice fed into their worship life. It seemed to be a relationship that blessed both the poor people who came to their soup kitchens and health clinics and all the people -- rich and poor, gay and straight, white people and people of colour -- who came to their packed Sunday worship services.
I don't find it easy to create this kind of powerful relationship between outreach, justice and worship. I raise the example of Glide Memorial here today simply as a reminder to myself and a pointer to us all of how life in the Body of Christ can be a life filled to overflowing with the power of God's Spirit.
In today's Idle No More movement among First Nations youth across Canada, we see the Spirit lifting people out of despair towards hope and out of apathy towards activism. It is a movement that challenges the very basis of Canada as a state founded on war, conquest and colonialism. I am glad that this movement has developed and that it includes the wisdom of elders, the rhythm of ceremonial drums, and the joy of round dancing.
Who knows why such a movement suddenly erupts and catches fire? Four women in Saskatchewan were angry that an omnibus Budget Bill of the federal government had changed environmental protections guaranteed by treaties without any consultation with First Nations. They spread word about protest actions using a Twitter hashtag #idlenomore. Since then, innumerable young natives have put themselves under their banner. But no matter why this movement has taken off unlike others, I pray that it will maintain and develop its spirited momentum.
The Spirit is said to be like breath, wind and flame. Sometimes it can feel as powerful as a blizzard or grass fire that races across a vast prairie. At other times, it can feel like the small still whisper of God's voice on a spring morning or like a little candle burning at a Christmas Eve service.
In worship, I usually prefer the gentle promptings of the Spirit over its awesome and fiery manifestations, which is why I chose they hymn "Spirit of Life" as our hymn of response. But no matter what form it takes, today as we wait for God's Spirit, pray for it, and trust that it will burst into our lives and communities at unexpected moments, we can raise our eyes to God in heaven and to the Risen Christ within our beating hearts and say again . . .
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
How would you describe our spirits as a congregation this new year? Are they high or low? Healthy or ailing? In or out of line with God's Holy Spirit? These are some questions that come to my mind in relationship to our Scripture readings today.
In today's Gospel reading, Jesus is baptized in the Jordan River by his cousin John. But unlike the other Gospel accounts of his baptism, Luke's version does not show Jesus receiving the blessing of the Holy Spirit at the time of his baptism. That comes later, after all the people have been baptized and after John has been arrested by Herod. Luke says it is only then, at a moment when Jesus is praying, that "the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon [Jesus] in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, 'You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.'"
Something similar happens in today's reading from Acts. We hear of a group of Samaritans who are converted and baptized by Philip in the months immediately after Jesus' death and resurrection. But they too do not receive the Holy Spirit at the moment of their baptism. This comes later when Peter and John visit the region, pray, and lay their hands on the new converts.
The text does not show us what receiving the Holy Spirit means for these new Christians. But it does say that the action of Peter and John so impress a local magician, Simon, that he offers them money to show him how to do this trick. Other parts of the book of Acts show us why Simon might be impressed by the ability to bestow the Spirit.
At the Festival of the Pentecost, 50 days after the first Easter, the Holy Spirit comes to Jesus' disciples in Jerusalem as wind and tongues of fire. It enables them to speak to all the Jews assembled in the city for the Festival in their own native languages and to convert them to faith in Jesus as the Christ.
The Spirit-filled disciples also heal sick people, cast out demons, and even raise a few dead people to renewed life. Clearly, the Holy Spirit has enormous power, even if we don't know exactly how and when it gets bestowed.
Christian denominations like the Pentecostals take the Holy Spirit more seriously than do most United Churches. Does this mean that we are a dispirited church? Should we perhaps try to follow the Pentecostals down the strange roads opened up by the Spirit as portrayed by Luke in the Book of Acts?
I was impressed by a Spirit-filled church three years ago in San Francisco. This was the year when I was a student supply minister in Didsbury Alberta. I took a week's vacation after Easter 2010, and since I had never been to California before, I used that opportunity to spend a week in San Francisco.
A tourist guide book spoke highly of a church near where I was staying in the downtown core -- Glide Memorial United Methodist Church. So on the Sunday of that week, I worshipped at that church, and I was amazed by what I experienced.
Despite pouring rain, despite the fact that it was the second of two morning services, despite the fact that it was the "low Sunday" after Easter, and despite the fact that the church's famous Black pastor was away and the preacher that day was a newly ordained White lesbian woman who had come from that church but who was now a minister in a rural part of Arizona, the sanctuary was packed. And the service felt as much like a rock concert to me as it did a worship service.
We were led by a 100-voice Gospel choir. Its members were equal parts men and women; people of European, African, Latin American and Asian descent; and queer and straight people. When they sang, we all got up and swayed and danced along.
The congregation seemed just as diverse as the choir. Two Black women, who seemed to be impoverished, sat on one side of me; on my other side was a prosperous White couple from the suburbs. All of us sang and danced as one.
Although the service included moments familiar to me -- times of confession and lament as well as of praise and joy -- it seemed mostly upbeat to me. I am not sure that I would like this style of worship each week. But one thing evident in the service was Spirit -- lots and lots of Spirit.
The Holy Spirit denotes some of the more mysterious and powerful aspects of God. God the Father is often seen as remote: the source of all life and judge of the universe. God the Son becomes dear to us in the stories of Jesus of Nazareth. At baptism, we receive Jesus as the Christ into our hearts.
The Holy Spirit was promised to us by Jesus. The book of Acts details the power of the Spirit. I believe that the miracles portrayed there don't need to be understood as literal facts. Instead, I see them as ways to describe the power and joy that can be part of a community that is filled with God's Spirit.
The tough news is that living a life in the Spirit can be difficult to sustain over time -- whether in our worship and mission work, in a marriage, in a job or career, or in the struggle for justice.
Our Scripture readings give us some clues as to what we can do when we suffer from the absence of God's Spirit. We can wait. We can pray. And we can trust. Then when God's Spirit does come again into our hearts or fills our worship or mission, we can give thanks and praise the Spirit's awesome power.
At Glide Memorial church in San Francisco, I got a sense of how the Holy Spirit informed their life. Their Spirit-filled worship fed into the huge amount of outreach they did to the homeless, addicted, and desperate people who live in the neighbourhood around the church. In turn, their outreach to the poor and their focus on justice fed into their worship life. It seemed to be a relationship that blessed both the poor people who came to their soup kitchens and health clinics and all the people -- rich and poor, gay and straight, white people and people of colour -- who came to their packed Sunday worship services.
I don't find it easy to create this kind of powerful relationship between outreach, justice and worship. I raise the example of Glide Memorial here today simply as a reminder to myself and a pointer to us all of how life in the Body of Christ can be a life filled to overflowing with the power of God's Spirit.
In today's Idle No More movement among First Nations youth across Canada, we see the Spirit lifting people out of despair towards hope and out of apathy towards activism. It is a movement that challenges the very basis of Canada as a state founded on war, conquest and colonialism. I am glad that this movement has developed and that it includes the wisdom of elders, the rhythm of ceremonial drums, and the joy of round dancing.
Who knows why such a movement suddenly erupts and catches fire? Four women in Saskatchewan were angry that an omnibus Budget Bill of the federal government had changed environmental protections guaranteed by treaties without any consultation with First Nations. They spread word about protest actions using a Twitter hashtag #idlenomore. Since then, innumerable young natives have put themselves under their banner. But no matter why this movement has taken off unlike others, I pray that it will maintain and develop its spirited momentum.
The Spirit is said to be like breath, wind and flame. Sometimes it can feel as powerful as a blizzard or grass fire that races across a vast prairie. At other times, it can feel like the small still whisper of God's voice on a spring morning or like a little candle burning at a Christmas Eve service.
In worship, I usually prefer the gentle promptings of the Spirit over its awesome and fiery manifestations, which is why I chose they hymn "Spirit of Life" as our hymn of response. But no matter what form it takes, today as we wait for God's Spirit, pray for it, and trust that it will burst into our lives and communities at unexpected moments, we can raise our eyes to God in heaven and to the Risen Christ within our beating hearts and say again . . .
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord"
Text: Luke 2 21-40 (Jesus presented at the Temple) -- why not Matthew?
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."
This line, taken from the anti-slavery anthem "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," was the last sentence of the last speech given by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 45 years ago in 1968. As I thought about today's Gospel passage from Luke, I also thought of King's famous speech from April 1968.
Both Simeon in our reading and Martin Luther King Jr. had a vision of salvation; and this vision in and of itself seemed to heal them. Today, I put their visions side by side.
In our reading from Luke, an old man named Simeon is prompted by the Spirit to go to the Temple in Jerusalem right after the first Christmas. When he gets there, he meets the infant Jesus. Simeon picks Jesus up, cradles him in his arms, and claims that in this baby he has seen Israel's Messiah and the world's salvation. Having finally met the Messiah, Simeon says that he can now die in peace. This is a remarkable thing to say after seeing a baby, wouldn't you agree?
The Messiah (which is a Hebrew word), or Christ (which is its Greek translation), or Anointed One (which is its English translation) was to be the long-awaited King of Israel. The Messiah would bring Israel back to the glory of its days under God's Anointed, King David. And yet Simeon somehow is able to say that in the baby Jesus he has seen this Messiah. And further, this Messiah is not just to be the ruler of Israel, but will also be a light of revelation to the rest of the world.
While Simeon's vision is healing, it also contains the shadow of the cross. Simeon blesses Mary and Joseph and then says to Mary, "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed -- and a sword will pierce your own soul too." Simeon's blessing is one that comes with a cost!
In a nutshell, Simeon has laid out the entire Gospel. The good news says that all of us are blessed by the coming of the Christ, but that a sword will pierce our souls and that his coming will lead to the falling and rising of many. The falling is the cross and the rising is new life in Christ.
Somehow, in holding this newborn baby in his arms, Simeon experiences salvation in an instant. This salvation involves dying to an old way of life, which can feel like a piercing sword. The good news is that after dying to our old way of life, we are free to rise to a new one, which is a life in which we are healed.
Imagine cradling a newborn baby in your arms, looking down at it, and seeing the Christ there. In really looking at a newborn baby, we sometimes forget about our worries and cares. We stop centring our attention on our small selves, and instead see life as it should be: whole and divine. The baby lacks power, but it contains infinite potential. The baby bears the image of God and will grow within a family, neighbourhood, and global culture. In seeing the divine in a baby, we might also be reminded of our own fragile but divine status as well. When we receive the grace to see like this, we touch salvation.
There is a Celtic Blessing that captures the message. It goes like this: "May the Christ who walks on wounded feet, walk with you on the road, May the Christ who serves with wounded hands, stretch out your hands to serve. May the Christ who loves with a wounded heart open your hearts to love. And may you see the face of Christ in everyone you meet, and may everyone you meet see the face of Christ in you."
Simeon looks at the newborn Jesus and has the grace to see there the face of Christ. And I believe that when Simeon looks up at Mary and Joseph, they also see the face of Christ in Simeon. Because in this moment, Simeon's old life has fallen away. He is living in the new life of Christ, which is a life freed from fear. Feeling blessed in that moment, and no longer afraid, Simeon says that he can now die. It is not that he needs to die, even though he is an old man; just that he no longer fears death. He is "in the moment;" he is following the prompting of the Spirit; he is free.
Simeon does not need to live another 30 years to see what the adult Jesus will do, to puzzle at his parables, or to experience Jesus' death and resurrection. For Simeon, it has all happened in an instant when he sees salvation in the face of a baby.
Simeon's epiphany is also ours, that in the face of Jesus we see God and meet our own salvation. This is an epiphany that we can experience each time we look at one another with love.
But the salvation found in the face of Jesus might also disappoint. God has come in Jesus, but as a helpless baby. Even thirty years later, when Jesus has grown to be a charismatic teacher and healer with a large following, he is powerless in the face of the might of the Roman Empire. He is killed.
Nevertheless, the dream of a new king David refuses to die. Jesus promises to come a second time. The next time, he says he will come "in clouds and with great power and glory." This is also the vision captured in the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," which looks at the Civil War in the United States of 150 years ago through the lens of the Day of Judgement. At the Second Coming, Jesus will be carrying what the Hymn calls "a terrible swift sword." However, almost 2000 years after Jesus' death and resurrection, we are still waiting for this terrible and glorious event.
I prefer the epiphany of Simeon and Martin Luther King Jr., that salvation can happen long before Jesus' terrible swift sword brings justice to the earth. It is not that I am opposed to justice, especially if God magically makes it happen. Rather, the brief moments of healing we sometimes experience tell us that we do not have to wait for the final vindication of God's power. Healing is always here for us, graciously offered by God in everyone we meet and love.
It might be easiest to see divinity in a baby. But we also see the face of Christ in seniors, in mid-lifers, in youth, and in children. Simeon saw it, I see it, and you see it. At worship each week, we remind ourselves of this reality and we celebrate the divine Love that flames inside each and every one of us.
And so we read again the story of Simeon and Jesus in the Temple. It is about babies and salvation; piercing swords and crosses; a fearful old way of life and a trusting new way. All this might seem like a lot to find in a short Scripture reading. But I think that the truths packed into that story from Luke can also be seen in our modern-day Simeon -- the African-American civil rights activist, Baptist minister, and cultural hero, Martin Luther King Jr.
Closing with a story about King and his struggle for civil rights for black Americans might also make us mindful of some current struggles for justice: for the rights of girls in Pakistan to attend school, led by 15-year-old Malala Yousafzai, who continues to recover from an assassination attempt; for an end to violence against women in India; and the Idle No More movement among First Nations people here in Canada. May the participants in all these struggles feel the same inspiration that Dr. King felt 50 years ago and have his same insight that healing is found in the struggle as well as in any of the successes of the movement.
In the spring of 1968, King was in Memphis Tennessee supporting a group of public works employees who were on strike. On the day before his murder, King delivered what became his final speech in the Mason Temple of the Church of God in Christ.
It is called the "Mountaintop Speech" because King says that he has been the top of the mountain and has seen the Promised Land. His vision is of a world without racism and a world of peace and justice. King realizes that he may not get to the Promised Land. But just as it was with Simeon -- for whom it was sufficient to see the promise of the Messiah -- for Martin Luther King, the vision is enough. In fighting for this vision and believing in it, he has been healed and freed.
So I close this sermon with the end of King's speech from that night 45 years ago:
"I got to Memphis. And some talk about the threats that are out there. Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."
Amen.
Why not Matthew? For this Epiphany, I avoided the assigned reading from Matthew 2 (the Star, the Magi from the East, Jerusalem, and King Herod) because this is Year C in the Lectionary, the Year of Luke. Next year, when we are in Year A, the Year of Matthew, I will probably tackle the Magi and the Star.
"Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."
This line, taken from the anti-slavery anthem "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," was the last sentence of the last speech given by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. 45 years ago in 1968. As I thought about today's Gospel passage from Luke, I also thought of King's famous speech from April 1968.
Both Simeon in our reading and Martin Luther King Jr. had a vision of salvation; and this vision in and of itself seemed to heal them. Today, I put their visions side by side.
In our reading from Luke, an old man named Simeon is prompted by the Spirit to go to the Temple in Jerusalem right after the first Christmas. When he gets there, he meets the infant Jesus. Simeon picks Jesus up, cradles him in his arms, and claims that in this baby he has seen Israel's Messiah and the world's salvation. Having finally met the Messiah, Simeon says that he can now die in peace. This is a remarkable thing to say after seeing a baby, wouldn't you agree?
The Messiah (which is a Hebrew word), or Christ (which is its Greek translation), or Anointed One (which is its English translation) was to be the long-awaited King of Israel. The Messiah would bring Israel back to the glory of its days under God's Anointed, King David. And yet Simeon somehow is able to say that in the baby Jesus he has seen this Messiah. And further, this Messiah is not just to be the ruler of Israel, but will also be a light of revelation to the rest of the world.
While Simeon's vision is healing, it also contains the shadow of the cross. Simeon blesses Mary and Joseph and then says to Mary, "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed -- and a sword will pierce your own soul too." Simeon's blessing is one that comes with a cost!
In a nutshell, Simeon has laid out the entire Gospel. The good news says that all of us are blessed by the coming of the Christ, but that a sword will pierce our souls and that his coming will lead to the falling and rising of many. The falling is the cross and the rising is new life in Christ.
Somehow, in holding this newborn baby in his arms, Simeon experiences salvation in an instant. This salvation involves dying to an old way of life, which can feel like a piercing sword. The good news is that after dying to our old way of life, we are free to rise to a new one, which is a life in which we are healed.
Imagine cradling a newborn baby in your arms, looking down at it, and seeing the Christ there. In really looking at a newborn baby, we sometimes forget about our worries and cares. We stop centring our attention on our small selves, and instead see life as it should be: whole and divine. The baby lacks power, but it contains infinite potential. The baby bears the image of God and will grow within a family, neighbourhood, and global culture. In seeing the divine in a baby, we might also be reminded of our own fragile but divine status as well. When we receive the grace to see like this, we touch salvation.
There is a Celtic Blessing that captures the message. It goes like this: "May the Christ who walks on wounded feet, walk with you on the road, May the Christ who serves with wounded hands, stretch out your hands to serve. May the Christ who loves with a wounded heart open your hearts to love. And may you see the face of Christ in everyone you meet, and may everyone you meet see the face of Christ in you."
Simeon looks at the newborn Jesus and has the grace to see there the face of Christ. And I believe that when Simeon looks up at Mary and Joseph, they also see the face of Christ in Simeon. Because in this moment, Simeon's old life has fallen away. He is living in the new life of Christ, which is a life freed from fear. Feeling blessed in that moment, and no longer afraid, Simeon says that he can now die. It is not that he needs to die, even though he is an old man; just that he no longer fears death. He is "in the moment;" he is following the prompting of the Spirit; he is free.
Simeon does not need to live another 30 years to see what the adult Jesus will do, to puzzle at his parables, or to experience Jesus' death and resurrection. For Simeon, it has all happened in an instant when he sees salvation in the face of a baby.
Simeon's epiphany is also ours, that in the face of Jesus we see God and meet our own salvation. This is an epiphany that we can experience each time we look at one another with love.
But the salvation found in the face of Jesus might also disappoint. God has come in Jesus, but as a helpless baby. Even thirty years later, when Jesus has grown to be a charismatic teacher and healer with a large following, he is powerless in the face of the might of the Roman Empire. He is killed.
Nevertheless, the dream of a new king David refuses to die. Jesus promises to come a second time. The next time, he says he will come "in clouds and with great power and glory." This is also the vision captured in the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," which looks at the Civil War in the United States of 150 years ago through the lens of the Day of Judgement. At the Second Coming, Jesus will be carrying what the Hymn calls "a terrible swift sword." However, almost 2000 years after Jesus' death and resurrection, we are still waiting for this terrible and glorious event.
I prefer the epiphany of Simeon and Martin Luther King Jr., that salvation can happen long before Jesus' terrible swift sword brings justice to the earth. It is not that I am opposed to justice, especially if God magically makes it happen. Rather, the brief moments of healing we sometimes experience tell us that we do not have to wait for the final vindication of God's power. Healing is always here for us, graciously offered by God in everyone we meet and love.
It might be easiest to see divinity in a baby. But we also see the face of Christ in seniors, in mid-lifers, in youth, and in children. Simeon saw it, I see it, and you see it. At worship each week, we remind ourselves of this reality and we celebrate the divine Love that flames inside each and every one of us.
And so we read again the story of Simeon and Jesus in the Temple. It is about babies and salvation; piercing swords and crosses; a fearful old way of life and a trusting new way. All this might seem like a lot to find in a short Scripture reading. But I think that the truths packed into that story from Luke can also be seen in our modern-day Simeon -- the African-American civil rights activist, Baptist minister, and cultural hero, Martin Luther King Jr.
Closing with a story about King and his struggle for civil rights for black Americans might also make us mindful of some current struggles for justice: for the rights of girls in Pakistan to attend school, led by 15-year-old Malala Yousafzai, who continues to recover from an assassination attempt; for an end to violence against women in India; and the Idle No More movement among First Nations people here in Canada. May the participants in all these struggles feel the same inspiration that Dr. King felt 50 years ago and have his same insight that healing is found in the struggle as well as in any of the successes of the movement.
In the spring of 1968, King was in Memphis Tennessee supporting a group of public works employees who were on strike. On the day before his murder, King delivered what became his final speech in the Mason Temple of the Church of God in Christ.
It is called the "Mountaintop Speech" because King says that he has been the top of the mountain and has seen the Promised Land. His vision is of a world without racism and a world of peace and justice. King realizes that he may not get to the Promised Land. But just as it was with Simeon -- for whom it was sufficient to see the promise of the Messiah -- for Martin Luther King, the vision is enough. In fighting for this vision and believing in it, he has been healed and freed.
So I close this sermon with the end of King's speech from that night 45 years ago:
"I got to Memphis. And some talk about the threats that are out there. Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land. So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord."
Amen.
Why not Matthew? For this Epiphany, I avoided the assigned reading from Matthew 2 (the Star, the Magi from the East, Jerusalem, and King Herod) because this is Year C in the Lectionary, the Year of Luke. Next year, when we are in Year A, the Year of Matthew, I will probably tackle the Magi and the Star.
Monday, December 24, 2012
"Love came down at Christmas"
Text: Luke 2 1-20 (the birth of Jesus)
When I was a child, I was a member of a junior choir that sang a musical setting of "Love Came Down at Christmas," an 1885 poem by Christina Rossetti. It has always stuck with me. And here is how it goes . . .
Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
It is a poignant and moving image, love in the form of a newborn. Tonight, we may have come to church to experience the mystery, beauty and wonder of it all again.
Love is our most sacred value and lies at the heart of the work and worship of church. The Christmas story reminds us of how beautiful love can be, but also how fragile and weak it can seem.
As followers of Christ, we try to live our lives in the light of God's Love. But our faith in love is not an unreasonable one. Even when fear disappears and we are grasped by God's Amazing Grace, we do not forget that our lives are broken.
Children sometimes suffer neglect from their parents. Parents are sometimes disappointed in their children. All of us are forced to live in a world with too much destruction, violence, and irrationality. These are the harsh conditions in which we pursue love and to try to live by its light.
Even Mary, the mother of Jesus, does not escape the pain of life. In the verses from Luke that immediately follow our Christmas readings tonight, the holy man Simeon says to Mary: "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
And of course, a sword does pierce Mary's soul when, 30 years later, she is one of the witnesses to Jesus' arrest and execution by the Romans. I am sure that many of us here can relate to her heartbreak at the loss of a loved one, even the loss of a child, which must be the deepest cut of all.
The stories of Jesus help orient our lives towards love and to live with faith. But today our faith does not come only from the church or the Bible. Today much of our faith is also humanist, secular, and scientific.
This past Friday, I watched a "special Holiday" show on ABC called "Back to the Beginning." In it, correspondent Christiane Amanpour looked at evidence for the historical reality behind various stories in the Jewish, Christian and Muslim Scriptures. You can watch the second half of her report this Friday night. But although it was the #1 show on TV on Friday, I thought much of it was ridiculous.
One of the theologians interviewed by Amanpour quoted the famous line from the book Hebrews: "faith is belief in things unseen." Fair enough, except that he was speaking about Noah and the flood. He believed the flood had really happened, and personally, I don't see that as an example of reasonable faith.
Almost all of our beliefs are in things unseen. I have never seen Austria, but I have complete faith it exists. I also have faith that our final carol "Silent Night" was written by Franz Gruber in Austria on Christmas Eve 1818. This is a reasonable faith. Why would people lie about their experiences in Austria?
Today, it would take a lot of anxiety to fight belief in Austria or Franz Gruber. But Noah's Ark? In the 21st Century, belief in its historical reality takes a great deal of anxiety, which is the opposite of faith. While we can gain a lot by reading and discussing the story of Noah's Ark, searching for the Ark on a mountainside in Turkey is a big waste of time, in my opinion.
Our faith in Love does not have to be unreasonable. Faith does not mean that all sickness or heartbreak disappear from our lives. Instead, I think that faith involves accepting God's help to move through and beyond our fears about such things. It means trusting that Love is our source; that Love is born again in our hearts tonight; that Love calls to us; and that when we respond to Love's call, we may find death, just as Jesus did. We also trust that beyond the many painful deaths of our lives arises new life in Christ, a life within God's eternity.
Tonight, whether we are children or have now lived long and sometimes painful lives, God still calls to us as a baby. It is a call both to love God and neighbour and to be loved by God. And so we hear the story and sing the carols again. They remind us that God is with us. Emmanuel has come again. Love has come down again. Its light continues to lead us home to God.
Tonight as Christmas 2012 arrives, let us sense again how silently a wondrous gift is given. It is the gift of salvation, and it is born in us today. The gift is the birth of the Christ child in hearts turned towards love on this night as on any night. It is the mystery, beauty and power of the Christmas story. And it is available to each and every one of us tonight in this little town.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
When I was a child, I was a member of a junior choir that sang a musical setting of "Love Came Down at Christmas," an 1885 poem by Christina Rossetti. It has always stuck with me. And here is how it goes . . .
Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.
Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?
Love shall be our token,
Love be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.
It is a poignant and moving image, love in the form of a newborn. Tonight, we may have come to church to experience the mystery, beauty and wonder of it all again.
Love is our most sacred value and lies at the heart of the work and worship of church. The Christmas story reminds us of how beautiful love can be, but also how fragile and weak it can seem.
As followers of Christ, we try to live our lives in the light of God's Love. But our faith in love is not an unreasonable one. Even when fear disappears and we are grasped by God's Amazing Grace, we do not forget that our lives are broken.
Children sometimes suffer neglect from their parents. Parents are sometimes disappointed in their children. All of us are forced to live in a world with too much destruction, violence, and irrationality. These are the harsh conditions in which we pursue love and to try to live by its light.
Even Mary, the mother of Jesus, does not escape the pain of life. In the verses from Luke that immediately follow our Christmas readings tonight, the holy man Simeon says to Mary: "This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be spoken against, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be revealed. And a sword will pierce your own soul too.”
And of course, a sword does pierce Mary's soul when, 30 years later, she is one of the witnesses to Jesus' arrest and execution by the Romans. I am sure that many of us here can relate to her heartbreak at the loss of a loved one, even the loss of a child, which must be the deepest cut of all.
The stories of Jesus help orient our lives towards love and to live with faith. But today our faith does not come only from the church or the Bible. Today much of our faith is also humanist, secular, and scientific.
This past Friday, I watched a "special Holiday" show on ABC called "Back to the Beginning." In it, correspondent Christiane Amanpour looked at evidence for the historical reality behind various stories in the Jewish, Christian and Muslim Scriptures. You can watch the second half of her report this Friday night. But although it was the #1 show on TV on Friday, I thought much of it was ridiculous.
One of the theologians interviewed by Amanpour quoted the famous line from the book Hebrews: "faith is belief in things unseen." Fair enough, except that he was speaking about Noah and the flood. He believed the flood had really happened, and personally, I don't see that as an example of reasonable faith.
Almost all of our beliefs are in things unseen. I have never seen Austria, but I have complete faith it exists. I also have faith that our final carol "Silent Night" was written by Franz Gruber in Austria on Christmas Eve 1818. This is a reasonable faith. Why would people lie about their experiences in Austria?
Today, it would take a lot of anxiety to fight belief in Austria or Franz Gruber. But Noah's Ark? In the 21st Century, belief in its historical reality takes a great deal of anxiety, which is the opposite of faith. While we can gain a lot by reading and discussing the story of Noah's Ark, searching for the Ark on a mountainside in Turkey is a big waste of time, in my opinion.
Our faith in Love does not have to be unreasonable. Faith does not mean that all sickness or heartbreak disappear from our lives. Instead, I think that faith involves accepting God's help to move through and beyond our fears about such things. It means trusting that Love is our source; that Love is born again in our hearts tonight; that Love calls to us; and that when we respond to Love's call, we may find death, just as Jesus did. We also trust that beyond the many painful deaths of our lives arises new life in Christ, a life within God's eternity.
Tonight, whether we are children or have now lived long and sometimes painful lives, God still calls to us as a baby. It is a call both to love God and neighbour and to be loved by God. And so we hear the story and sing the carols again. They remind us that God is with us. Emmanuel has come again. Love has come down again. Its light continues to lead us home to God.
Tonight as Christmas 2012 arrives, let us sense again how silently a wondrous gift is given. It is the gift of salvation, and it is born in us today. The gift is the birth of the Christ child in hearts turned towards love on this night as on any night. It is the mystery, beauty and power of the Christmas story. And it is available to each and every one of us tonight in this little town.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Fools for love
Text: Luke 1 39-55 (Mary's song)
Christmas is a like a diamond with many facets: a celebration of the return of the sun's light at the solstice; childhood dreams of Santa and gifts; sentimental movies that celebrate family and romantic love; meals and parties galore.
However, the connection between Christmas and Christ continues to fray. A few years ago, United Church elder Ralph Milton recounted the following anecdote on his blog. Two friends noticed a manger scene in front of a church. "Look at that," said one to the other. "Now even the churches are trying to horn-in on Christmas!"
There are still moments, though, amid the mistletoe and merriment when society's attention turns to the church. On Christmas Eve, most activity stops. Stores and theatres close. Everyone returns to hearth and home. And after dark, many people still crunch through the snow to sing "Silent Night" and to hear a message of peace and love from a pulpit they may otherwise ignore the rest of the year.
Outside of weddings and funerals, the largest gatherings during my time here so far were on Christmas Eve last year. I suspect the same thing will happen tomorrow. But the fact that the Christmas Eve services were not packed to the rafters as was once the case may also reflect continuing changes in our culture.
Last Christmas, one of my nephews made me aware of a new cultural phenomenon -- online Boxing Day sales that begin at 8 pm on Christmas Eve. Even though brick and mortar stores may be closed, one can now choose to shop for bargains from the comfort of home on Christmas Eve rather than head out in the cold to attend what might have been one's only church worship service of the year.
Today, I am also aware of the calendar. Today is the fourth and final Sunday of Advent. Christmas arrives on Tuesday. Fall 2012 has now passed. The calendar of the ancient Mayans has begun a new 5,000 year cycle. And, despite predictions, the world did not end at the winter solstice on Friday when this changeover happened.
This week also marks the halfway point of my Settlement period as a new minister here in Borderlands. Settlement is expected to last at least three years, and this month is the 18th in which I have been here as the minister of Borderlands charge.
I can stay longer than three years, of course -- assuming our finances hold -- but this halfway mark seems important to me.
I've always been aware of dates and the passage of time. Sometimes this trait makes me wonder if I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. Name an event from the life of my family or from history, and I can usually put a year to it.
One of the things that I enjoy about church life is the yearly cycle of seasons: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent and so on. I appreciate aligning our spiritual life with the ancient calendar of the church and how it helps keep us in synch with the different seasons of our lives.
But as I mentioned above, church is not what it used to be. I wish the government would drop December 25 and Good Friday as statutory holidays. If this were to happen, Christmas and Easter might then take a place in our culture similar to that of Hindu, Jewish or Islamic holy days. Santa Claus and the Easter bunny would not go away, but they might become even more disconnected from church. In turn, this might make worship services more meaningful for the shrinking numbers of us who still care about the religious aspect of Christmas or Easter.
And so here we are today, a faithful remnant. It is the fourth Sunday of Advent 2012. And we hear again Mary's song of love and justice, which she sings in joy as the expectant mother of Jesus.
One of the commentaries I read this week about this Gospel reading gave me the inspiration for the rest of the sermon. It noted that a popular Medieval festival called the Feast of Fools placed Mary's song at its centre. In this Feast, young people took on roles as mock Pope and archbishops. When Mary's words "[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones" were read, the crowd threw these mock church leaders off their thrones.
This staged rebellion illustrates two things -- the desire of common people to see Mary's prediction of the humiliation of the rich and powerful become a reality; and the fact that Mary's hoped-for social revolution has not yet occurred. The poor remain the poor and the rich remain the rich.
Today the church has moved from the centre of political power to the margins of society, and yet some of us still foolishly listen to Mary's words and seek love and justice on the path of the Christ.
I am OK to be one of those fools who comes to church not only at Christmas and Easter but every Sunday. In a multicultural world, we know that the Way of Christ is not the only one on which to pursue a life of love. But it remains our Way.
Christ's path has always been a foolish one, I believe. Christ is a God who comes to us first as a helpless baby and who is killed by the Roman Empire after a brief ministry of healing and teaching. What could be more foolish than that?
But, do not all gods die? When personal gods such as addiction or ambition die, we are freed to rise to new life in Christ in which we know that God is Love and nothing but Love. God's Love calls to us from the manger at Christmas and from the cross at Easter. It calls us to seek justice in a world of misleaders.
The topics of misleaders and the slender threads that still connect Christmas with Christ make me think of our current Pope. It is a safe bet that tomorrow every mainstream news broadcast will include a perfunctory clip of Pope Benedict's Christmas greetings to St. Peter's Square in the Vatican. So I was sorry to learn that the Pope in his annual Christmas speech to the Vatican on Friday made his sharpest attack yet on gay rights. He talked about the supposed evils and destructive potential of gay marriage.
I disagree with the Pope's theology on this question. I fear that his attacks make the life of a vulnerable community more dangerous. And I am sure that his effort to stop gay marriage is doomed. 11 countries now allow same sex marriages, including Canada and Catholic Spain, Portugal, and Argentina. Great Britain and France are introducing laws to legalize gay marriage. More and more states in the US now allow gay marriage. Young people overwhelmingly support gay rights.
It is with some reticence that I criticize the Pope today because ties between Borderlands Charge and our local Roman Catholic parish continue to grow. I was pleased and honoured that Father Andrew and some of his parishioners came to the Blue Christmas service in Rockglen on Thursday. I also enjoyed working with Father Andrew in the Rockglen community choir again this Fall.
But the continued role of the Pope as the chief spokesperson of Christianity makes his attacks on the rights of gays and lesbians both notable and regrettable. If our society ever became so secular that the media no longer reported what he said, the Pope's views would not be an issue. But when the Pope uses his remaining influence to fight a losing battle against gay rights, he causes harm and accelerates the decline of the church, I believe.
I am not suggesting that we revive the tradition of the Feast of Fools in which a mock Pope is publicly humiliated. But I do pray that church leaders like the Pope who are foolhardy enough to still sit on a throne will hear Mary's message and adopt a more humble path in the future.
And what of our future here in Borderlands? I have spent a lot of energy in the past 18 months not just doing the usual work of education, administration, visits to seniors, and so on, but also in trying to articulate our faith in a secular context. I have struggled to find my voice as a new preacher and pastor in sermons, prayers, and private conversations.
I don't find this work easy. But I cherish it, and I am grateful for the chance to work in ministry with you despite our diminished numbers and influence.
I am pleased that the United Church of Canada has instituted a church-wide process for the next three years in which "everything is on the table." Beginning in the spring, all pastoral charges are invited to participate in this Comprehensive Review. My hope is that involving ourselves in this process will allow us to contribute to the church-wide discussion and also discern what we might do next as congregations.
Whatever we do in the years to come, I know that it will be as joyful fools who heed Mary's call for justice; who do our best to follow her son as the Prince of Peace; and who carry out our ministry under the banner of the God who is Love.
God comes to us in Christ as a Holy Fool. We will celebrate his birth tomorrow evening with great joy in a kind of Feast of Fools. And we will do it all for Love.
Advent is almost over. Christmas is almost here. And so we say again . . .
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
Amen.
Christmas is a like a diamond with many facets: a celebration of the return of the sun's light at the solstice; childhood dreams of Santa and gifts; sentimental movies that celebrate family and romantic love; meals and parties galore.
However, the connection between Christmas and Christ continues to fray. A few years ago, United Church elder Ralph Milton recounted the following anecdote on his blog. Two friends noticed a manger scene in front of a church. "Look at that," said one to the other. "Now even the churches are trying to horn-in on Christmas!"
There are still moments, though, amid the mistletoe and merriment when society's attention turns to the church. On Christmas Eve, most activity stops. Stores and theatres close. Everyone returns to hearth and home. And after dark, many people still crunch through the snow to sing "Silent Night" and to hear a message of peace and love from a pulpit they may otherwise ignore the rest of the year.
Outside of weddings and funerals, the largest gatherings during my time here so far were on Christmas Eve last year. I suspect the same thing will happen tomorrow. But the fact that the Christmas Eve services were not packed to the rafters as was once the case may also reflect continuing changes in our culture.
Last Christmas, one of my nephews made me aware of a new cultural phenomenon -- online Boxing Day sales that begin at 8 pm on Christmas Eve. Even though brick and mortar stores may be closed, one can now choose to shop for bargains from the comfort of home on Christmas Eve rather than head out in the cold to attend what might have been one's only church worship service of the year.
Today, I am also aware of the calendar. Today is the fourth and final Sunday of Advent. Christmas arrives on Tuesday. Fall 2012 has now passed. The calendar of the ancient Mayans has begun a new 5,000 year cycle. And, despite predictions, the world did not end at the winter solstice on Friday when this changeover happened.
This week also marks the halfway point of my Settlement period as a new minister here in Borderlands. Settlement is expected to last at least three years, and this month is the 18th in which I have been here as the minister of Borderlands charge.
I can stay longer than three years, of course -- assuming our finances hold -- but this halfway mark seems important to me.
I've always been aware of dates and the passage of time. Sometimes this trait makes me wonder if I fall somewhere on the autism spectrum. Name an event from the life of my family or from history, and I can usually put a year to it.
One of the things that I enjoy about church life is the yearly cycle of seasons: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent and so on. I appreciate aligning our spiritual life with the ancient calendar of the church and how it helps keep us in synch with the different seasons of our lives.
But as I mentioned above, church is not what it used to be. I wish the government would drop December 25 and Good Friday as statutory holidays. If this were to happen, Christmas and Easter might then take a place in our culture similar to that of Hindu, Jewish or Islamic holy days. Santa Claus and the Easter bunny would not go away, but they might become even more disconnected from church. In turn, this might make worship services more meaningful for the shrinking numbers of us who still care about the religious aspect of Christmas or Easter.
And so here we are today, a faithful remnant. It is the fourth Sunday of Advent 2012. And we hear again Mary's song of love and justice, which she sings in joy as the expectant mother of Jesus.
One of the commentaries I read this week about this Gospel reading gave me the inspiration for the rest of the sermon. It noted that a popular Medieval festival called the Feast of Fools placed Mary's song at its centre. In this Feast, young people took on roles as mock Pope and archbishops. When Mary's words "[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones" were read, the crowd threw these mock church leaders off their thrones.
This staged rebellion illustrates two things -- the desire of common people to see Mary's prediction of the humiliation of the rich and powerful become a reality; and the fact that Mary's hoped-for social revolution has not yet occurred. The poor remain the poor and the rich remain the rich.
Today the church has moved from the centre of political power to the margins of society, and yet some of us still foolishly listen to Mary's words and seek love and justice on the path of the Christ.
I am OK to be one of those fools who comes to church not only at Christmas and Easter but every Sunday. In a multicultural world, we know that the Way of Christ is not the only one on which to pursue a life of love. But it remains our Way.
Christ's path has always been a foolish one, I believe. Christ is a God who comes to us first as a helpless baby and who is killed by the Roman Empire after a brief ministry of healing and teaching. What could be more foolish than that?
But, do not all gods die? When personal gods such as addiction or ambition die, we are freed to rise to new life in Christ in which we know that God is Love and nothing but Love. God's Love calls to us from the manger at Christmas and from the cross at Easter. It calls us to seek justice in a world of misleaders.
The topics of misleaders and the slender threads that still connect Christmas with Christ make me think of our current Pope. It is a safe bet that tomorrow every mainstream news broadcast will include a perfunctory clip of Pope Benedict's Christmas greetings to St. Peter's Square in the Vatican. So I was sorry to learn that the Pope in his annual Christmas speech to the Vatican on Friday made his sharpest attack yet on gay rights. He talked about the supposed evils and destructive potential of gay marriage.
I disagree with the Pope's theology on this question. I fear that his attacks make the life of a vulnerable community more dangerous. And I am sure that his effort to stop gay marriage is doomed. 11 countries now allow same sex marriages, including Canada and Catholic Spain, Portugal, and Argentina. Great Britain and France are introducing laws to legalize gay marriage. More and more states in the US now allow gay marriage. Young people overwhelmingly support gay rights.
It is with some reticence that I criticize the Pope today because ties between Borderlands Charge and our local Roman Catholic parish continue to grow. I was pleased and honoured that Father Andrew and some of his parishioners came to the Blue Christmas service in Rockglen on Thursday. I also enjoyed working with Father Andrew in the Rockglen community choir again this Fall.
But the continued role of the Pope as the chief spokesperson of Christianity makes his attacks on the rights of gays and lesbians both notable and regrettable. If our society ever became so secular that the media no longer reported what he said, the Pope's views would not be an issue. But when the Pope uses his remaining influence to fight a losing battle against gay rights, he causes harm and accelerates the decline of the church, I believe.
I am not suggesting that we revive the tradition of the Feast of Fools in which a mock Pope is publicly humiliated. But I do pray that church leaders like the Pope who are foolhardy enough to still sit on a throne will hear Mary's message and adopt a more humble path in the future.
And what of our future here in Borderlands? I have spent a lot of energy in the past 18 months not just doing the usual work of education, administration, visits to seniors, and so on, but also in trying to articulate our faith in a secular context. I have struggled to find my voice as a new preacher and pastor in sermons, prayers, and private conversations.
I don't find this work easy. But I cherish it, and I am grateful for the chance to work in ministry with you despite our diminished numbers and influence.
I am pleased that the United Church of Canada has instituted a church-wide process for the next three years in which "everything is on the table." Beginning in the spring, all pastoral charges are invited to participate in this Comprehensive Review. My hope is that involving ourselves in this process will allow us to contribute to the church-wide discussion and also discern what we might do next as congregations.
Whatever we do in the years to come, I know that it will be as joyful fools who heed Mary's call for justice; who do our best to follow her son as the Prince of Peace; and who carry out our ministry under the banner of the God who is Love.
God comes to us in Christ as a Holy Fool. We will celebrate his birth tomorrow evening with great joy in a kind of Feast of Fools. And we will do it all for Love.
Advent is almost over. Christmas is almost here. And so we say again . . .
Come, Lord Jesus, Come.
Amen.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Repentance and joy
Texts: Malachi 3 1-4 (the refiner's fire); Luke 3 1-18 (John the Baptist)
Today's Scripture readings present us with two Jewish prophets: Malachi, who predicted the coming of a new Elijah to prepare the way of the Lord; and John the Baptist, whom Christians believe was this new Elijah.
Last week, we heard about the miraculous conceptions of both John and his cousin Jesus. In this week's reading, John is now grown. He is preaching in the wilderness, baptizing sinners in the Jordan River, and preparing his followers for both doom and salvation with the imminent arrival of Jesus.
In this sermon, I add another more contemporary Jewish prophet of doom and salvation to the mix, Canada's own Leonard Cohen.
Leonard Cohen, the poet and singer-songwriter from Montreal, is still going strong at 77 years of age. His 2012 album "Old Ideas" is one of the best-reviewed and best-selling music albums of the year. And as is often the case with Cohen, the songs on the album are filled with religious themes.
20 years ago, Cohen released another important album, "The Future," that was also filled with references to the Bible and prophecy. The title track of that 1992 effort reminds me of today's Gospel reading. Like Luke's account of John the Baptist, "The Future" includes violent and disturbing images and a repeated refrain: "When they said repent, repent, I wonder what they meant."
About 10 years ago, when I was still trying to figure out why I had returned to the church, I joined a discussion group at Bellefair United, a church near where I lived in Toronto. Bellefair, which was once home to former Moderator Bruce McLeod, Russell Mitchell-Walker of Eastside United in Regina and Annette Taylor of Calling Lakes Centre, no longer exists. A few years ago, it amalgamated with another nearby church to become Beach United. The former Bellefair building is now a luxury condo, which is a common fate of many city churches these days.
One night, the leader of our discussion group played us a recording of Cohen's "The Future." He said that someday he would love to find a church that would play this song -- with its jarring images of violence, prophecy and repentance -- at a Sunday worship service. I can understand, though, why this is unlikely event. Despite its biblical and prophetic themes, many of us would consider much of the song inappropriate.
On the other hand, today's Gospel reading might also be considered inappropriate by some of us. Like Cohen's "The Future", it is filled with violent and frightening images: "brood of vipers . . . the coming wrath . . the axe at the root of the tree; trees that do not produce good fruit will be thrown into the fire . . . [Jesus] will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn. He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire."
These apocalyptic images are part of what John calls the Good News. Cohen's song puts it this way: "I've seen the future, baby. It's murder."
Is this what Jesus' Advent means for us? Is this why we are called to repent -- to avoid the axe and the unquenchable fire? As Malachi wrote in our first reading today: "Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire."
Enough of Advent, you might want to say. Let's get to Christmas already!
Like Cohen's song, I often wonder about the meaning of the call to repent. Repentance involves feeling regret or pain for what one has done. It means turning away from sin. But if one turns away from sin, what does one turn toward?
When repentance is seen less as a turning away from something and more as a turning towards God's light and love, then a connection between repentance and Advent joy leaps out for me.
Repentance might involve turning away from alcohol or other addictions; or away from a neglect of one's duty as a parent or spouse; or away from neglect of one's own health; and so on. All these turnings are a move away from the small self of egotism and towards the Big Self, which acknowledges our dependence upon family, the wider community, and God's Spirit.
The recognition that our ego, with its fears, desires, and preoccupations, is an illusion is at the heart of repentance, I think. And in that recognition lies the deepest joy one can ever find. Whether or not our fears come to pass -- and often they will; whether or not our selfish desires ever get fulfilled -- and often they won't; and whether or not our distractions and preoccupations ever bear fruit -- and usually they won't; there is something larger than us. This is the God who is Love. It is the inner Christ, the Holy Spirit, and God the Father.
Advent joy is not about getting the Christmas presents we most want. It is not about a picture-perfect family moment around the dinner table. It is not the joy of pleasure. Advent joy is one that shines through and leads us beyond the pain of individual and communal existence.
The dire images from the Bible that accompany the call to repent -- wheat and chaff, sheep and goats, pure metal and unrefined ore -- might suggest that only the few who can manage to repent will be saved. However, I think these metaphors apply to everyone. All of us are mixtures of wheat and chaff, metal and raw ore, and so on. Repentance is a process that prepares our hearts for the coming of Christ by burning away some of our selfishness and immaturity.
Repentance does not rely upon our own efforts. Instead, difficult events in our lives turn us towards the light regardless of our intentions. Our defeats as parents, as children, as spouses, as church members, as citizens or as a nation often wrench us away from immature fears or preoccupations and toward the light that shines even in the darkest night -- toward the Love that beats at the heart of all of life.
Repentance is Grace, not work. Repentance might hurt. It might involve axes, wrath, and refining fire. It might burn. But it leaves us freed from our old selves. It leaves us living in the light of the Big Self of God.
The fruit of repentance does sometimes involve work. John the Baptist gives us some examples in our reading from Luke today: sharing our material goods, being honest in our dealings, not bullying innocent people. Once life's many baptisms have turned us around, such ethical behaviour flows freely. Good works are not an attempt to avoid God's punishment; they are a response to the gratitude and joy we feel in being freed by God's judgement and God's love, I believe.
During Advent, we wait and prepare for the coming of Christ, both at Christmas and at the Day of Judgement. For me, the Day of Judgement is not a singular event. It happens over and over again in all of life's baptisms by fire. These are moments of painful judgement in which God's gracious Love shines through and which turn us toward the light of Christ within and beyond us.
Advent is a time to remember this sober but joyous news. Out of the pain of life flows the deepest joy we can ever know -- our union with God. It involves preparing our hearts for Christ by burning away selfish illusions.
To close this sermon, I end with the lyrics of one of the songs from Cohen's 2012 album "Old Ideas." In a prayerful fashion, it echoes the Passion of Jesus the Christ.
Cohen, of course, is Jewish. He has also practiced Buddhism for years. As such, we might be surprised to hear Christian references in his work. But then Malachi, John the Baptist, and Jesus were all Jewish too. Cohen cheekily refers to these facts in his song "The Future" when he sings 'I'm the little Jew who wrote the Bible.'
Well, hardly. But all of the 100 or so mostly anonymous writers who did write the various books of the Old and New Testament over the course of about 1,000 years, were Jewish.
Cohen is a Canadian Jewish poet steeped in the religious culture of his youth and of our times, and one who often incorporates themes from both the Hebrew Scriptures and the Greek New Testament into his work. Here, then, are two stanzas from his 2012 song "Show Me the Place."
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, I’ve forgotten I don’t know
Show me the place where my head is bending low
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, help me roll away the stone
Show me the place, I can’t move this thing alone
Show me the place where the Word became a man
Show me the place where the suffering began.
John the Baptist shows us that place. It is Jesus, God's Word become a man. Despite the fact that the path to Jesus involves repentance and hence suffering, it is also the place where we find life's deepest joy.
And so this Advent, we say again . . .
Come, Lord Jesus Come.
Amen.
Today's Scripture readings present us with two Jewish prophets: Malachi, who predicted the coming of a new Elijah to prepare the way of the Lord; and John the Baptist, whom Christians believe was this new Elijah.
Last week, we heard about the miraculous conceptions of both John and his cousin Jesus. In this week's reading, John is now grown. He is preaching in the wilderness, baptizing sinners in the Jordan River, and preparing his followers for both doom and salvation with the imminent arrival of Jesus.
In this sermon, I add another more contemporary Jewish prophet of doom and salvation to the mix, Canada's own Leonard Cohen.
Leonard Cohen, the poet and singer-songwriter from Montreal, is still going strong at 77 years of age. His 2012 album "Old Ideas" is one of the best-reviewed and best-selling music albums of the year. And as is often the case with Cohen, the songs on the album are filled with religious themes.
20 years ago, Cohen released another important album, "The Future," that was also filled with references to the Bible and prophecy. The title track of that 1992 effort reminds me of today's Gospel reading. Like Luke's account of John the Baptist, "The Future" includes violent and disturbing images and a repeated refrain: "When they said repent, repent, I wonder what they meant."
About 10 years ago, when I was still trying to figure out why I had returned to the church, I joined a discussion group at Bellefair United, a church near where I lived in Toronto. Bellefair, which was once home to former Moderator Bruce McLeod, Russell Mitchell-Walker of Eastside United in Regina and Annette Taylor of Calling Lakes Centre, no longer exists. A few years ago, it amalgamated with another nearby church to become Beach United. The former Bellefair building is now a luxury condo, which is a common fate of many city churches these days.
One night, the leader of our discussion group played us a recording of Cohen's "The Future." He said that someday he would love to find a church that would play this song -- with its jarring images of violence, prophecy and repentance -- at a Sunday worship service. I can understand, though, why this is unlikely event. Despite its biblical and prophetic themes, many of us would consider much of the song inappropriate.
On the other hand, today's Gospel reading might also be considered inappropriate by some of us. Like Cohen's "The Future", it is filled with violent and frightening images: "brood of vipers . . . the coming wrath . . the axe at the root of the tree; trees that do not produce good fruit will be thrown into the fire . . . [Jesus] will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn. He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire."
These apocalyptic images are part of what John calls the Good News. Cohen's song puts it this way: "I've seen the future, baby. It's murder."
Is this what Jesus' Advent means for us? Is this why we are called to repent -- to avoid the axe and the unquenchable fire? As Malachi wrote in our first reading today: "Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire."
Enough of Advent, you might want to say. Let's get to Christmas already!
Like Cohen's song, I often wonder about the meaning of the call to repent. Repentance involves feeling regret or pain for what one has done. It means turning away from sin. But if one turns away from sin, what does one turn toward?
When repentance is seen less as a turning away from something and more as a turning towards God's light and love, then a connection between repentance and Advent joy leaps out for me.
Repentance might involve turning away from alcohol or other addictions; or away from a neglect of one's duty as a parent or spouse; or away from neglect of one's own health; and so on. All these turnings are a move away from the small self of egotism and towards the Big Self, which acknowledges our dependence upon family, the wider community, and God's Spirit.
The recognition that our ego, with its fears, desires, and preoccupations, is an illusion is at the heart of repentance, I think. And in that recognition lies the deepest joy one can ever find. Whether or not our fears come to pass -- and often they will; whether or not our selfish desires ever get fulfilled -- and often they won't; and whether or not our distractions and preoccupations ever bear fruit -- and usually they won't; there is something larger than us. This is the God who is Love. It is the inner Christ, the Holy Spirit, and God the Father.
Advent joy is not about getting the Christmas presents we most want. It is not about a picture-perfect family moment around the dinner table. It is not the joy of pleasure. Advent joy is one that shines through and leads us beyond the pain of individual and communal existence.
The dire images from the Bible that accompany the call to repent -- wheat and chaff, sheep and goats, pure metal and unrefined ore -- might suggest that only the few who can manage to repent will be saved. However, I think these metaphors apply to everyone. All of us are mixtures of wheat and chaff, metal and raw ore, and so on. Repentance is a process that prepares our hearts for the coming of Christ by burning away some of our selfishness and immaturity.
Repentance does not rely upon our own efforts. Instead, difficult events in our lives turn us towards the light regardless of our intentions. Our defeats as parents, as children, as spouses, as church members, as citizens or as a nation often wrench us away from immature fears or preoccupations and toward the light that shines even in the darkest night -- toward the Love that beats at the heart of all of life.
Repentance is Grace, not work. Repentance might hurt. It might involve axes, wrath, and refining fire. It might burn. But it leaves us freed from our old selves. It leaves us living in the light of the Big Self of God.
The fruit of repentance does sometimes involve work. John the Baptist gives us some examples in our reading from Luke today: sharing our material goods, being honest in our dealings, not bullying innocent people. Once life's many baptisms have turned us around, such ethical behaviour flows freely. Good works are not an attempt to avoid God's punishment; they are a response to the gratitude and joy we feel in being freed by God's judgement and God's love, I believe.
During Advent, we wait and prepare for the coming of Christ, both at Christmas and at the Day of Judgement. For me, the Day of Judgement is not a singular event. It happens over and over again in all of life's baptisms by fire. These are moments of painful judgement in which God's gracious Love shines through and which turn us toward the light of Christ within and beyond us.
Advent is a time to remember this sober but joyous news. Out of the pain of life flows the deepest joy we can ever know -- our union with God. It involves preparing our hearts for Christ by burning away selfish illusions.
To close this sermon, I end with the lyrics of one of the songs from Cohen's 2012 album "Old Ideas." In a prayerful fashion, it echoes the Passion of Jesus the Christ.
Cohen, of course, is Jewish. He has also practiced Buddhism for years. As such, we might be surprised to hear Christian references in his work. But then Malachi, John the Baptist, and Jesus were all Jewish too. Cohen cheekily refers to these facts in his song "The Future" when he sings 'I'm the little Jew who wrote the Bible.'
Well, hardly. But all of the 100 or so mostly anonymous writers who did write the various books of the Old and New Testament over the course of about 1,000 years, were Jewish.
Cohen is a Canadian Jewish poet steeped in the religious culture of his youth and of our times, and one who often incorporates themes from both the Hebrew Scriptures and the Greek New Testament into his work. Here, then, are two stanzas from his 2012 song "Show Me the Place."
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, I’ve forgotten I don’t know
Show me the place where my head is bending low
Show me the place, where you want your slave to go
Show me the place, help me roll away the stone
Show me the place, I can’t move this thing alone
Show me the place where the Word became a man
Show me the place where the suffering began.
John the Baptist shows us that place. It is Jesus, God's Word become a man. Despite the fact that the path to Jesus involves repentance and hence suffering, it is also the place where we find life's deepest joy.
And so this Advent, we say again . . .
Come, Lord Jesus Come.
Amen.
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