Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Linda Driedger, December 11, 2007

I preached this sermon at the funeral service for Linda Driedger, my aunt. Linda was a wonderful woman, full of smiles, who died from cancer at the age of 50. She taught anthropology, sang in many choirs, played the recorder, and was always ready to laugh at a joke. She taught me to drive stick shift and didn't complain when I drove in 4th all the way to Fernie. I will miss her very much.



Isaiah
Psalm 4
Romans
John 6:37-40

Linda Driedger – December 11, 2007 – Okotoks, Alberta

Peter, and Nick and Jesse, and Lana, and Jean and Cliff, how can we even begin to understand the pain your family has gone through in the past few weeks and months? This is not something a family should have to go through; it is not fair that Linda died. It is not fair that you have been separated from her so soon, at this time of year that is supposed to be all about family gathering together. It is not fair that Linda will not be here for those pivotal family moments – for family dinners, for walks together, for weddings, or grandchildren. She has been separated from you and from her communities – church, and school, and friends – in a way that leaves us with so many unresolved feelings. Pain; despair; anger – that’s a good one; relief – that’s there, too, that she won’t suffer anymore; doubt – that there is a God who could let this happen. We can even throw in those moments of denial and numbness, too, just to round things out, but overall, I’m guessing there’s the overwhelming feeling that things will never be the same. The world is emptier, her voice is silent, her presence is missing.

But this is not the end of things. If there is one word of comfort that I can offer, it is that this is not the end. You, and we, are not separated from Linda forever. God does not allow such things to happen. As we have seen in the death and resurrection of Christ, God does not allow even death to separate anyone forever. In fact, in the readings for today that were chosen by Linda and Peter, along with the hymns, we hear God’s promise that one day we will all be together again.

The promise starts with Isaiah, and Davis read to us those strong words that God will one day gather everyone together on the mountain. What a lovely, concrete image for us to old on to! This gathering isn’t going to be in heaven, far away in some unrecognizable unearthly kingdom. It’s going to be here, on this earth that we love, on the mountain. It’s fitting, actually, that this is where it’s going to happen. The mountains have meant so much to Peter and Linda in the past few weeks – in a way, it brings thing full circle that this great reunion will happen on a dazzling peak like the ones right near us. These mountains are concrete, enduring, we can see them lasting until God’s promised reunion comes to pass.
And, you know, what a reunion it’s going to be! The reading says that Lord will make “for all peoples a banquet of rich food, a banquet of fine wine, of food rich and juicy, of fine strained wines.” The next time you see Linda, there’s going to be food. Lots of good food, lots of really good wine, and since Linda will be there, lots of music and lots of laughter.

But more than that, when we are reunited on that last day, God promises that there will be no more tears – “God will wipe away the tears from every cheek.” There will be no more tears because there will be no more death. Isaiah tells us that God “will destroy death forever,” and we will never have to experience the pain or suffering or grief that comes with it anymore.

Instead, we will have healing and joy and celebration, as we are reunited with those we love. Linda will be there, with her uncle Lee. Every single person you love will be there; no one will be missing. We can trust in that because of what we heard in the gospel reading from John. There we heard Christ promise that he will lose nothing, and no one, of all whom God has entrusted to his care. He will not drive anyone away, but raise them up on the last day. No one will be left behind, no one will be separated from their loved ones or from God. Because as Paul reminds us in our second reading from Romans put it, “nothing can ever come between us and the love of god made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.” When that party on the mountain happens, there is nothing that’s going to get in the way of everyone being there. Not feelings of anger, not doubt, not grief. By the sheer love and grace of God through Christ, everyone will be there, and we will all be together.

But what do we do in the meantime? Because in the meantime, until that promised day comes, we have to get through this day. And the next day. And the day after that, and then there’s Christmas, and there are so many days between now and then. Are we left to just wait until that day happens?

No. For God, in the here and now, out of love and compassion for us, brings living and dead together in the gift of Holy Communion. You see, Communion doesn’t just bring together the people who are celebrating it at that particular moment. Communion, the gift of Jesus’ body and blood, brings together all people, who ever have or ever will share in this meal. At this table, as we each partake in the pieces of Christ’s body, we are all brought together in his one body, past, present, and future. Week after week, as often as you receive it, you are brought together in the shared bread and wine with Linda, and Lee, and all the living, and all the dead, as a prelude, a glimpse, a foretaste of that feast to come, that day when we will all be together on God’s mountain.

Everyone is welcome to this table, just as everyone will be welcome on that mountain on the day of the Lord. Christ turns no one away, and so everyone who takes part is drawn into God’s everlasting community, to be part of God’s love forever.
That is not to say that we no longer grieve for Linda or that you don’t feel the pain of being separated from her. But we can, simultaneously, cling to God’s promise of reunion in the future and the present. We can gaze at the mountains, and picture the great reunion feast to come, and we can come to Communion, where we are united in the love of God through Christ Jesus. Despite our pain, we can rest in God, who makes us to lie down in safety and in peace. And there we wait, clinging to the promise of God, for that great feast and reunion when we will be together with Linda and all those whom we love. And so we say, Come, Lord Jesus, Come. Amen.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

The Judge and the Widow

October 21, 2007 - University Lutheran Chapel, Berkeley, CA - Psalm 121; Luke 18:1-8

There’s an espisode from The Simpsons where Lisa and Bart, the two kids, are watching TV and an ad for the latest amusement park comes on. Thrilled by the pictures of the rollercoasters and screaming, laughing children, the kids immediately jump up and start asking their dad, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” And, of course, as you would expect, their dad says No. The next scene is the kids getting tucked into their beds, and again, you hear, “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” Again, No. Cut to the middle of the night, the house is dark, everything is silent, Homer is asleep in his bed, and all of a sudden - “Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad? Can we go, Dad?” There they are, those pestering kids, bothering their Dad when he’s trying to get some sleep. So he looks at them, and he asks them if they’re ever going to stop, and they reassure him that, No, they’re not going to stop until they get what they want. And so, the next morning, we see Lisa and Bart, smiling in the back seat of the car, with Homer at the wheel, driving them to the amusement park.

I was reminded of this scene after reading the Gospel lesson we heard today - the parable where Jesus speaks of the unjust judge and the persistent widow. Now, obviously, for the widow, things are more serious than just a trip to the amusement park. The widow has gone to the judge to demand justice against her opponent. And what makes this case especially serious is that it’s the widow herself who has gone. Women in Jesus’ time almost never spoke up in public. They were supposed to sit silently and let their husbands or fathers or brothers do all the talking. So for the widow to speak up must have meant that her situation was pretty dire. It meant that she had no husband, obviously, no father, no brothers, no sons, no male relatives who could resolve her case for her. And so her last resort is to go, by herself, to the town judge, whom everybody knows to be a terrible man, who even admits to himself that he is a terrible man, with “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” And this widow goes, not once, not twice, but again and again and again. The widow pursues the judge until he is just plain worn down by her petitions and her constant begging. Using the “Can we go, Dad?” method, the widow gets the judge to help her with what she needs.

Now, this parable has traditionally been interpreted in such a way that God is the judge and we are the widow. Even the writer of Luke, in his editorial remarks, says that Jesus told this parable so that listeners would know about “their need to pray always and not to lose heart.” And certainly, if we take the position of the widow in this story, we will see that when it comes to praying, persistence is valuable. The judge gives in to the widow because he is afraid that such constant public attention will not only wear him out, but will also draw the public’s attention to his total lack of respect for both God and the people - two things necessary for him to have in his job.
Likewise, if we are the widow, and God is the judge, then we see how, if the terrible judge of the story finally gives into the widow’s cries, how much more will God, who is infinitely better and more just and more caring of the people than the judge, respond to the cries of not only the widows, but all of God’s children. And so because of that, we are given hope. We are encouraged not to lose heart. If an unjust judge hears the cries of a widow after months of pestering, surely a loving, just, perfect God like ours will hear us the moment we open our mouths to pray.

Unfortunately, this particular way of interpreting the parable can leave us with more questions than it does answers. For one thing, is raises all sort of questions about prayer, and the nature of prayer, and how God responds to prayer. If this parable is telling us that all it takes is persistence, and very little at that, to get God to respond to our prayers, what happens when it seems that God isn’t? What does it mean, then, when we’ve been praying for something for weeks, or months, or even years, and nothing happens? Does that mean we haven’t been praying enough? That we haven’t been persistent enough? Does it mean that we’re not one of God’s “chosen ones” to whom God will grant justice? Or does it mean that God has retreated to the judge’s chambers and is done with listening to people for the time being?
And of course, there are the questions that are raised by God being portrayed as a judge in this parable. For one thing, if God is a judge, particularly a severe one, we’re hardly like to go to God with our problems, are we? The widow showed a lot of fortitude in going to see this judge who liked no one. And I wonder if we would have as much bravery in going to God with our problems if we pictured God as a judge who was liable to rain down threats and punishments on our heads for the smallest infractions. Besides, that picture of God as a judge, while it does appear more than once in our Bible, is not the predominant image we have of God. It’s not the image we see manifested in the person of Jesus Christ. And so we have a bit of an incongruency.

Well, more than that, because in addition to God not really being like a judge, God isn’t at all like this particular unjust judge, who has “no fear of God and no respect for anyone.” If there’s anybody who tends not to fear God or have respect for people, it’s us. If there’s anybody who tends to refuse requests for aid for no other reason than that we don’t like the person asking, it’s not God, it’s us.

And so that leads me to wonder if maybe we, and even the writer of Luke, haven’t gotten the parable a little bit backwards. If maybe, instead of God being the judge and us being the widow, we’re actually the judge and God is the widow. I mean, we’re certainly a lot more like the judge than we are the widow. As I’ve said, we don’t, as a whole, have much fear of God or even have respect for other people. How many times have you had to stand in line, or been going down the street, and been impatient or muttered under your breath or even been downright rude to the person in front of you? We all do it. Or how many times has someone come to you in need, and you’ve turned away because you don’t like who they are or what they stand for? We’ve all done it. We don’t agree with people, we think they’re wrong, and so we don’t help them, worse, we stereotype them, insult them, discriminate against them. We stop respecting people, and we become unjust. We become the unjust judge.
Which means that God, then, becomes the widow. Which is a very interesting position for God to be in. God becomes the one constantly pursuing us, persistently coming to us, seeking our attention, begging to be noticed by us. And that makes this story very different, indeed. Because, you see, the widow pursues the judge, seeking attention from him, even though she knows how terrible he is. She does it because she believes that this terrible man can do good in the world if she just keeps after him. He can somehow make things right. And that’s how God treats us. Even knowing all the horrible things we do, God still believes we can do good in the world. God believes we can make some things right. And so God chases after us, coming to see us at every opportunity, bothering us, pestering us, begging us to hear what God has to say. And God doesn’t stop. Like Lisa and Bart Simpson, God keeps at it until we finally turn around and accept the inevitable. God does whatever it takes to get our attention - from being like a nagging widow, to being like whining children, to wrestling with Jacob at the river, to coming down and dying on the cross.

And what does God say once God has our attention? Is it, “Why haven’t you been paying attention to me?” Is it, “What took you so long,” Is it, “Boy, you’re going to get it now that I have your attention?” No. Instead, God says, “I love you.” “You’re forgiven.” “I missed you.” God’s words to you aren’t the words of an unjust judge, they’re the words of a widow who is longing for her husband, or her children. They’re the words of mercy, and of love, and of forgiveness. They’re the words of the psalmist today, if I might paraphrase them. God’s words to you, the words that God will speak to you over and over and over are: “I will not let your foot be moved and I who watch over you will not fall asleep. Behold, I keep watch over Israel and shall neither slumber nor sleep; I, the Lord, watch over you; I am your shade at your right hand, so that the sun shall not strike you by day, or the moon by night. I, the Lord, shall preserve you from all evil, I shall keep you safe. I shall watch over your going out and your coming in, from this time forth forevermore.” Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday, July 15, 2007

Last Sermon for a While

Below is my last sermon for some time, as I am leaving the parish to return to school. However, I will still be preaching on occasion, and when I do, I will post here. Otherwise, I will be posting more school related things - thoughts from class discussions, paper excerpts, etc. I'm glad that there have been people out in "internet-land" that my sermons have been of interest to, and I'm grateful to God that the Gospel to my particular congregation has found resonance with you.

Sunday, July 15, 2007 - Risky Behaviour


Col 1:1-14

Luke 10:25-37

I want to start by reading you something from Leviticus 21 and 22. "And the LORD said to Moses, "Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say to them that none of them shall defile himself for the dead among his people... If any one of all your descendants throughout your generations approaches the holy things, which the people of Israel dedicate to the LORD, while he has an uncleanness, that person shall be cut off from my presence."

We often get down on the priest and the Levite in Jesus' good Samaritan story for walking by the seemingly dead person on the road. But I think it's important to remember that the priest and the Levite had good reasons. They weren't just being mean or selfish when they walked by, they were actually following the Law of God. They were obeying God's commandment that told them that if they touched a dead body, they would be unclean, and if they went before God unclean, if they carried out their religious duties while they were impure, then they would be cut off from God's presence. That's pretty serious, when you think about it, especially for a priest. So it makes sense to me that the priest wasn't willing to risk banishment from God's presence for a man who was probably already dead; it makes sense that the priest would want to behave conservatively and with care. Why take that kind of risk?

Not that the Samaritan wasn't facing the same risks. It's unlikely that he was a priest, and he certainly wouldn't have been a Levite, but Samaritans followed the same Laws as the Jews, and touching a dead body would still have made him unclean. Plus, Samaritans and Jews were never the best neighbours - they were more like religious enemies - the Jews thought the Samaritans ought to worship God at the temple in Jerusalem, and the Samaritans thought the Jews ought to worship God at the temple in Gerizim. So in addition to having the same Law about not touching dead people, the Samaritan had the added risk that the person lying there on the road in front of him was also a religious enemy.

Now, that's just to start. Once the Samaritan did decide to help the seemingly dead Jewish traveller, there were other risks that he would have to contend with. The first is that the chance of the Samaritan being repaid or even thanked for his help were pretty slim. In fact, it was highly likely that he would be on the receiving end of some pretty nasty words from the man whose life he was saving. Jews didn't worship with Samaritans, didn't touch Samaritans, and really didn't even talk to Samaritans. Once this Jew realized that he had been touched by a Samaritan, he would probably have wished that he had been left to die by the side of the road. So thanks and repayment were pretty much out of the question.

And there was the risk of the Samaritan being rejected by his own people. Even though later on, Samaria came to be a very multicultural place, at this point in time, our good Samaritan's friends could very well decide that after touching a Jew, he was too unclean, too low-brow to spend time with. In helping the man on the side of the road, in helping his neighbour, the Samaritan would be - at the very least - breaking one of God's Laws, but also probably risking his money, which he would never get back, and his future in the Samaritan community.


You, as a congregation, are in the same position as the Samaritan. You are being called to risk what you have in order to help your neighbour. Now, you may not think you're in any position to risk anything or to help anybody. The church is running out of money, the savings are pretty much gone, you've cut everything from the budget that there is to cut, and then some. It's pretty difficult to help with anything, especially if it doesn't result in some kind of return. If there's no compensation, then there's pretty much nothing you can do. Not that you're all about money, but, as they say, it's one of those bottom line things. And it's not just money you need to be conservative about, it's people, too. The membership here is dwindling, and those who stay are naturally getting older, and less able to work on Council or committees, the things that keep the church going. There's no way that this congregation can afford to engage in any kind of risky, radical behaviour that might alienate existing members. There's no way you can help your neighbour if it's going to mean, at the very least, breaking any of God's Laws, but also if it's going to upset the already precarious status quo or jeopardize the community.

So with all the risks involved, with the Samaritan's future in the community, and with his relationship with God at stake, why did the Samaritan reach out to the man on the side of the road? Well, interestingly enough, although God does command the followers of Torah not to touch dead people, there is a Law in Leviticus that precedes and seems to override that. Leviticus Chapter 19, Verse 18 tells us, as the lawyer in our Gospel story reminded Jesus, that "you shall love your neighbour as yourself." The lawyer, actually, goes a step farther by connecting love of neighbour with love of God - "you shall love the Lord your God... and your neighbour as yourself." Not only is loving your neighbour actually a Law of God, it's directly connected to your love of God. And for Jesus, it's the trump Law - it's the Law that overrides every other Law.

The Samaritan, who was moved by compassion, as the text says, obviously saw it that way. It may be because in the past, Samaritans were quite gracious in helping Israelites. In 2 Chronicles, we hear about two hundred thousand people of the tribe of Judah who needed help after being taken hostage in a war, and it was the Samaritans who, in the name of the Lord, clothed and fed them, put oil on their wounds, and then put the weak on donkeys and brought them to Jericho where they could get proper help. So our good Samaritan may have known his history and wanted to carry on the tradition. We don't know. All the text tells us is that he was moved by compassion, by pity and mercy. He believed that the grace of God, that the love of God for the helpless, embodied in the commandment to love your neighbour as yourself, overcame any other Law that was set before him, and like his ancestors before him, he clothed the dying man, poured oil on his wounds, put him on his donkey and brought him to a place to be cared for and fed. He risked losing his finances and his community - everything, in fact - in order to help his neighbour

So what specific risky behaviour is this congregation being called to engage in? Well, I don't know who specifically will come to the door of this church needing help. But I do know that you have certain gifts that you can risk in order to help your neighbour. The first gift is a gift of physical shelter. One of the particular gifts this congregation has is the parsonage, and the time may come when you can help someone with this gift. You might risk the parsonage by offering it as low-rent housing to a family in need, or as temporary shelter to refugees, or abuse victims, or homeless teens. Yes, these people don't enjoy reputations as good tenants, and yes, there's the risk that they wouldn't treat the property very well, or give you a good return in rent, but helping our neighbour never comes with a guarantee of repayment.

As limited as the church resources are, you might consider risking the church finance and increasing your benevolence to Synod, or to Canadian Lutheran World Relief, or to Campus Ministry. Yes, it would probably break your budget, but again, we are called to help our neighbour, not protect our bottom line. If the Samaritan had been concerned about his money, he certainly wouldn't have paid for the almost dead man to spend two more days in the inn. "Love your neighbour as yourself," says the lawyer, not "love your money as yourself."

Another radical risk that you could take could be with your gift of hospitality. You are an extremely loving and welcoming congregation. You are open to diversity and you embrace strangers who come in the door. Can you be risky enough with your gift of hospitality that you will welcome absolutely everybody? Not just the poor, not just the sick, not just people from different ethnic backgrounds, but also people who have previously been shut out of churches? Can you risk this congregation, and the disapproval of other Christian communities, by welcoming gays and lesbians into your midst? Can you be a Samaritan to the Jew in this respect?

Ultimately, whatever risks you choose to take for your neighbour, you will not be alone. Your greatest model, beyond even the good Samaritan, comes from God almighty. The simple act of God bestowing grace on us is the most risky behaviour ever. We know that God is bestowing grace and forgiveness of sins on a bunch of sinners who are completely unworthy of the gift. We know that in doing so, God is risking that we will abuse God's gift, or flat out ignore it, or waste it by sinning some more, counting on forgiveness to come. We know that despite the wonderful gift God has given us, we are going to make God look bad by not living up to that gift, we know that our irresponsibility as Christians and our flagrant abuse of God's grace makes Jesus' death meaningless. We know all this, and more importantly, God knows this. But God, risking everything, risking forgiveness, risking grace, risking unreturned love, and risking the only beloved Son in death on the cross, has sent Jesus anyway. The book of Romans lays it out crystal clear: "While we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly... God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us....[and] while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son." God risked God's son on the weak, on the ungodly, on the sinners, on God's enemies. God risked everything on you.

So it's only a small thing for this congregation to risk everything on those who are in need. It's only a small thing for this congregation to follow God's ultimate commandment to "love your neighbour as yourself." Not only because God commands it, but because, in Christ, with Christ we have seen God demonstrate it. We have seen God risk everything, and lose his Son, for us. And so we know that because of that, as the second reading says, your hope is in the Gospel, in the good news of grace and forgiveness risked on you through Christ.

So, as you go forward today as a congregation, as you seek the path that God has laid for you, as you take risks for the neighbours who need your help, as Paul says in his letters to the Colossians, I say to you, "May you be strengthened with all power, according to God's glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified [you] to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. God has delivered [you] from the dominion of darkness and transferred [you] to the kingdom of God's beloved Son, in whom [you] have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." You can risk everything, as God has risked it for you. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Risky Behaviour

Col 1:1-14
Luke 10:25-37


I want to start by reading you something from Leviticus 21 and 22. "And the LORD said to Moses, "Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say to them that none of them shall defile himself for the dead among his people... If any one of all your descendants throughout your generations approaches the holy things, which the people of Israel dedicate to the LORD, while he has an uncleanness, that person shall be cut off from my presence."

We often get down on the priest and the Levite in Jesus' good Samaritan story for walking by the seemingly dead person on the road. But I think it's important to remember that the priest and the Levite had good reasons. They weren't just being mean or selfish when they walked by, they were actually following the Law of God. They were obeying God's commandment that told them that if they touched a dead body, they would be unclean, and if they went before God unclean, if they carried out their religious duties while they were impure, then they would be cut off from God's presence. That's pretty serious, when you think about it, especially for a priest. So it makes sense to me that the priest wasn't willing to risk banishment from God's presence for a man who was probably already dead; it makes sense that the priest would want to behave conservatively and with care. Why take that kind of risk?

Not that the Samaritan wasn't facing the same risks. It's unlikely that he was a priest, and he certainly wouldn't have been a Levite, but Samaritans followed the same Laws as the Jews, and touching a dead body would still have made him unclean. Plus, Samaritans and Jews were never the best neighbours - they were more like religious enemies - the Jews thought the Samaritans ought to worship God at the temple in Jerusalem, and the Samaritans thought the Jews ought to worship God at the temple in Gerizim. So in addition to having the same Law about not touching dead people, the Samaritan had the added risk that the person lying there on the road in front of him was also a religious enemy.

Now, that's just to start. Once the Samaritan did decide to help the seemingly dead Jewish traveller, there were other risks that he would have to contend with. The first is that the chance of the Samaritan being repaid or even thanked for his help were pretty slim. In fact, it was highly likely that he would be on the receiving end of some pretty nasty words from the man whose life he was saving. Jews didn't worship with Samaritans, didn't touch Samaritans, and really didn't even talk to Samaritans. Once this Jew realized that he had been touched by a Samaritan, he would probably have wished that he had been left to die by the side of the road. So thanks and repayment were pretty much out of the question.

And there was the risk of the Samaritan being rejected by his own people. Even though later on, Samaria came to be a very multicultural place, at this point in time, our good Samaritan's friends could very well decide that after touching a Jew, he was too unclean, too low-brow to spend time with. In helping the man on the side of the road, in helping his neighbour, the Samaritan would be - at the very least - breaking one of God's Laws, but also probably risking his money, which he would never get back, and his future in the Samaritan community.


You, as a congregation, are in the same position as the Samaritan. You are being called to risk what you have in order to help your neighbour. Now, you may not think you're in any position to risk anything or to help anybody. The church is running out of money, the savings are pretty much gone, you've cut everything from the budget that there is to cut, and then some. It's pretty difficult to help with anything, especially if it doesn't result in some kind of return. If there's no compensation, then there's pretty much nothing you can do. Not that you're all about money, but, as they say, it's one of those bottom line things. And it's not just money you need to be conservative about, it's people, too. The membership here is dwindling, and those who stay are naturally getting older, and less able to work on Council or committees, the things that keep the church going. There's no way that this congregation can afford to engage in any kind of risky, radical behaviour that might alienate existing members. There's no way you can help your neighbour if it's going to mean, at the very least, breaking any of God's Laws, but also if it's going to upset the already precarious status quo or jeopardize the community.

So with all the risks involved, with the Samaritan's future in the community, and with his relationship with God at stake, why did the Samaritan reach out to the man on the side of the road? Well, interestingly enough, although God does command the followers of Torah not to touch dead people, there is a Law in Leviticus that precedes and seems to override that. Leviticus Chapter 19, Verse 18 tells us, as the lawyer in our Gospel story reminded Jesus, that "you shall love your neighbour as yourself." The lawyer, actually, goes a step farther by connecting love of neighbour with love of God - "you shall love the Lord your God... and your neighbour as yourself." Not only is loving your neighbour actually a Law of God, it's directly connected to your love of God. And for Jesus, it's the trump Law - it's the Law that overrides every other Law.

The Samaritan, who was moved by compassion, as the text says, obviously saw it that way. It may be because in the past, Samaritans were quite gracious in helping Israelites. In 2 Chronicles, we hear about two hundred thousand people of the tribe of Judah who needed help after being taken hostage in a war, and it was the Samaritans who, in the name of the Lord, clothed and fed them, put oil on their wounds, and then put the weak on donkeys and brought them to Jericho where they could get proper help. So our good Samaritan may have known his history and wanted to carry on the tradition. We don't know. All the text tells us is that he was moved by compassion, by pity and mercy. He believed that the grace of God, that the love of God for the helpless, embodied in the commandment to love your neighbour as yourself, overcame any other Law that was set before him, and like his ancestors before him, he clothed the dying man, poured oil on his wounds, put him on his donkey and brought him to a place to be cared for and fed. He risked losing his finances and his community - everything, in fact - in order to help his neighbour

So what specific risky behaviour is this congregation being called to engage in? Well, I don't know who specifically will come to the door of this church needing help. But I do know that you have certain gifts that you can risk in order to help your neighbour. The first gift is a gift of physical shelter. One of the particular gifts this congregation has is the parsonage, and the time may come when you can help someone with this gift. You might risk the parsonage by offering it as low-rent housing to a family in need, or as temporary shelter to refugees, or abuse victims, or homeless teens. Yes, these people don't enjoy reputations as good tenants, and yes, there's the risk that they wouldn't treat the property very well, or give you a good return in rent, but helping our neighbour never comes with a guarantee of repayment.

As limited as the church resources are, you might consider risking the church finance and increasing your benevolence to Synod, or to Canadian Lutheran World Relief, or to Campus Ministry. Yes, it would probably break your budget, but again, we are called to help our neighbour, not protect our bottom line. If the Samaritan had been concerned about his money, he certainly wouldn't have paid for the almost dead man to spend two more days in the inn. "Love your neighbour as yourself," says the lawyer, not "love your money as yourself."

Another radical risk that you could take could be with your gift of hospitality. You are an extremely loving and welcoming congregation. You are open to diversity and you embrace strangers who come in the door. Can you be risky enough with your gift of hospitality that you will welcome absolutely everybody? Not just the poor, not just the sick, not just people from different ethnic backgrounds, but also people who have previously been shut out of churches? Can you risk this congregation, and the disapproval of other Christian communities, by welcoming gays and lesbians into your midst? Can you be a Samaritan to the Jew in this respect?

Ultimately, whatever risks you choose to take for your neighbour, you will not be alone. Your greatest model, beyond even the good Samaritan, comes from God almighty. The simple act of God bestowing grace on us is the most risky behaviour ever. We know that God is bestowing grace and forgiveness of sins on a bunch of sinners who are completely unworthy of the gift. We know that in doing so, God is risking that we will abuse God's gift, or flat out ignore it, or waste it by sinning some more, counting on forgiveness to come. We know that despite the wonderful gift God has given us, we are going to make God look bad by not living up to that gift, we know that our irresponsibility as Christians and our flagrant abuse of God's grace makes Jesus' death meaningless. We know all this, and more importantly, God knows this. But God, risking everything, risking forgiveness, risking grace, risking unreturned love, and risking the only beloved Son in death on the cross, has sent Jesus anyway. The book of Romans lays it out crystal clear: "While we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly... God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us....[and] while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son." God risked God's son on the weak, on the ungodly, on the sinners, on God's enemies. God risked everything on you.

So it's only a small thing for this congregation to risk everything on those who are in need. It's only a small thing for this congregation to follow God's ultimate commandment to "love your neighbour as yourself." Not only because God commands it, but because, in Christ, with Christ we have seen God demonstrate it. We have seen God risk everything, and lose his Son, for us. And so we know that because of that, as the second reading says, your hope is in the Gospel, in the good news of grace and forgiveness risked on you through Christ.

So, as you go forward today as a congregation, as you seek the path that God has laid for you, as you take risks for the neighbours who need your help, as Paul says in his letters to the Colossians, I say to you, "May you be strengthened with all power, according to God's glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified [you] to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. God has delivered [you] from the dominion of darkness and transferred [you] to the kingdom of God's beloved Son, in whom [you] have redemption, the forgiveness of sins." You can risk everything, as God has risked it for you. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Sunday, July 8, 2007 - Confirmation Sunday

Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Well, the three of you may be sitting there breathing a sigh of relief now. I bet you're thinking that when today's service is over, you won't ever have to come to church again. You can sleep in on Sunday mornings, make plans that start before noon, hit the internet for some Sunday-morning surfing, basically do anything BUT come sit in a pew for an hour at 10 in the morning.

And you know what, you're right. You don't have to come to church anymore. In fact, our Gospel lesson for today seems to be saying that you shouldn't. You should actually be going out, not staying in. Well, that's what Jesus told his followers to do. That is, when the time came, Jesus sent his followers to go out into the world, he didn't want them staying in.

That's the goal of baptism, and confirmation, too. In baptism, God wipes out all our past mistakes, promises to be with us forever, comes to live in our hearts so that the promise comes true, and then finishes the whole thing off by telling us to get off our butts and go out into the world. When Jesus was baptized, the first thing that happened was that he was sent out into the desert, and from there to go into the rest of Israel. When Jesus appointed seventy disciples in our Gospel reading this morning, he did so for the express purpose of sending them out. He didn't want them hanging around their hometowns, going to synagogue and just sitting there. He wanted them to get out there, to go where the action was, to bring Jesus' message to the happenin' places. Being a Christian doesn't mean we're supposed to sit at home in front of the TV or computer, or hide away in church on a Sunday morning thinking that's all we have to do. Being a Christian means going out and representing Christ in the world. And so we're sent out.

So what is it, exactly, we're supposed to do when we're out? Well, Jesus tells his followers some very specific things.

The first thing he tells them, which we should also take to apply to us, is to speak words of peace. "Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!'" Shalom is the word in Hebrew, salaam in Arabic. "Yo, peace!" you might say to your friends when you meet them in the halls. These are important words, because this world is sure in serious need of peace. You know better than I do the kind of violence that happens in school, and in people's homes, and on the streets, and Jesus is asking us to go out there and, if we can't stop the violence, at least not contribute to it. Bringing peace to the world means convincing our friends not to get into fights, it means walking away from arguments, it means letting other people have the last word, even if that means people don't respect us as much. And the really important thing, and probably the most difficult, is that when Jesus says we should speak words of peace, he especially means we should be speaking words of peace to the people we're feeling the least peaceful about. To our enemies. Jesus wants you to speak words of peace - to be a peaceful influence- in your home with your brothers or sisters who annoy you, with your parents who are always telling you what to do. Jesus wants you to go out into the world and bring peace to the kids at school who hate you, to bring peace to the teachers who are making your life impossible. Bring peace, speak peace, be peace.

The next thing Jesus tells his disciples to do when he sends them out is kind of strange. He says, "Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you." So, what, does that mean that you always have to eat brussels sprouts if they're served to you? Well, yes, actually. We live in a country and during a time when we can have just about anything we want, especially when it comes to food. I was at a buffet dinner last night, and for dessert, they had six different kinds of cakes! Six! The majority of people in this world don't even get three meals a day, let alone six different kinds of cake. So Jesus is telling us here to be happy with what we're given. Not to ask for more, or for something else that we like better, but to make do with what's put in front of us. It's called sustainable living, being good caretakers of God's earth.

"Cure the sick," is the next thing Jesus says. Get ready to go to medical school! No, I'm kidding. It would be great to have more doctors and nurses, but the sick need more than just physical healing. They need emotional and spiritual healing, too. And you can provide that by spending time with them, by listening to them, and by praying with and for them, by telling them that they are forgiven. No matter how old or young you are, that is a real, concrete, valuable way to bring Jesus' message to the world. Remember what you learned in confirmation class - God is on the side of the loser, the underdog, the weak, the sick, and Jesus is sending you out to tell that to people. And to show that you're on the same side.

So, that's three big things Jesus is sending us out to do. Bring peace. Be happy with what you have. Cure the sick. Sounds simple enough until you realize that Jesus is sending us out, as he describes it, "like lambs into the midst of wolves." Jesus is actually sending us out to bring peace to a world that lives off of violence. Jesus is sending us out to be happy with less in a world that respects you the more you have. Jesus is sending us out to cure the sick in a world that shuns people who are less than perfect, and in need of help.

On the other hand, the disciples were sent out into the same conditions. We live in a world where thug rappers praise the power of the gun; the disciples lived in a world where Roman soldiers put a spear through you if they didn't like the way you looked. In either case, speaking words of peace is dangerous. We live in a world where the more you have, the more respected you are; the disciples lived in a world where the rich had rights and privileges and the poor had nothing. Again, in both cases, being content with less when you could have more was a sign of foolishness and even stupidity. We live in a world where the sick are isolated and we're deathly afraid of contamination - remember SARS?; the disciples lived in a world where the sick could contaminate people not only with their disease, but with their sin as well. Being with the sick, in either case, means being shunned by everyone else. So, really, when you think about it, Jesus is sending us out into the same hostile, unwelcome conditions that he sent the disciples.

But as it turns out, the seventy disciples from our gospel story did pretty well. The writer of Luke tells us that when the disciples came back, they "returned with joy, saying, "Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!"." They must have done well - even though they were sent out without any bags, or extra shoes, no money, nothing - even though they had the absolute barest minimum for their journey, they must have done well because when they came back, they came back with joy. They didn't come back sore, or tired, or disillusioned. They didn't come back beaten up or defeated. They came back with joy, and told Jesus that they were so successful they had the demons on the run.

And they did it because of Jesus. The name of Jesus was what gave them the courage to speak peace, the ability to live on less, the power to heal the sick. Jesus said as much to them. "I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you." I have given you authority over all the power of the enemy and nothing will hurt you. That's a pretty bold promise. But there it is. That's all we need to go out and speak peace, live with less, and heal the sick. The authority of Jesus, that just so happened to have been given to you in your baptism.

So, Jesus is sending you out. From the day you were baptized, he had you pointed in the direction of the door, and now, with your confirmation, he's giving you a kick in the rear. He's sending you out to face the demons of violence, of greed, of sickness. But he's sending you out with his power and his protection. He's sending you out with his Spirit - with the Holy Spirit. This is the same Spirit that allowed Jesus to love Judas, even when he betrayed him with violence. This is the same Spirit that helped Jesus to live in the desert for forty days on only bread and water. This is the same Spirit that healed the sick and comforted the cast-out. This is the same Spirit that was given to you in baptism and will be renewed in you today. And so for that reason, even though it's safer to stay home, even though it's safer to just sit in Church on Sunday morning, Jesus is sending you as "lambs into the midst of wolves," out into the world, to do his work - to speak peace, to live with less, and to heal the sick. You have been blessed with God's Spirit, and you are more than capable of carrying out Christ's mission. The Lord be with you as you go out. Amen.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

Who's Your Boss? - July 1, 2007

1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21
Psalm 16
Gal 5:1, 13-25
Luke 9:51-62

Wouldn't it be great to have a boss who let you do whatever you wanted? A boss who promised you when you signed on that the work would be easy and fun? And wouldn't it be great to have a boss who would never fire you? You could sleep in, go to work as late as you wanted, slack off while you're there, take long lunch breaks, leave early to go home, and you know you'd always have the job. You could bring your friends to work if you wanted, yell at the co-workers or customers who annoy you, drink on the job, smoke on the job, sleep on the job. And the boss wouldn't blink an eye - in fact, the more you did, the more the boss liked you. Sounds like a great boss to have, eh?

Just imagine a boss who didn't have rules or regulations, didn't impose any code of behaviour or even have a code of ethics. Imagine a boss who let you sleep around with your co- workers, cheat on your spouse, start fights, lose your temper, get drunk, party all night, and it's all fine. In fact, imagine if all those things were part of the job - if they were on the "responsibilities" listing in your job description. Imagine if doing all these things is why the boss hired you in the first place.

Strange as it may sound, there actually is a boss like that. In fact, this particular boss took us on as workers right from the beginning, and has always had us working under these conditions. He's hired us to take it easy and have fun, and he won't ever fire us, no matter how badly we mess things up. So who is this boss? Who is this employer who sounds like such a fun, laid-back person to work for? Well, he's almost always been around. He hired Adam and Eve straight from the garden, he gave Cain employee-of-the-year award. He tried to get Jesus to come on board out in the desert once, and sometimes it seems like he's running the show here on earth. The devil, Satan, the Great Deceiver, whatever you want to call him, that's our boss, our slavemaster, the one who's hired us to do all this easy work.

Of course, since our boss is the devil, there must be some kind of catch, right? It can't possibly be as good as it sounds, can it? You betcha! Since this is the devil, it's as bad as it sounds. The first catch is that even though the work is easy, the pay isn't very good. In fact, rather than our boss paying us, we actually end up paying our boss for the "privilege" of doing our work. Now, to be fair, we don't have to pay until our last day, so we can live it up until then, but every day the charges rack up and you can bet that the interest rates are worse than a credit card company's. At the end of our career with the devil, what we owe is too much to be calculated. "The wages of sin is death," goes the quote from Romans. What we have to pay for the work we do ends up being our life.

And don't think you can get out of it by leaving. I said that we'll never get fired, but the truth is that we can't actually quit. That's the other catch - when this boss hires, it's for life - there's no getting out of this contract. Even if we don't want to do the job anymore, the devil won't let us go, and we'll still have to pay out when we leave, no matter what.

It's slavery, actually, more than employment. We're signed on the minute we're born, we work our entire life with no time off or any pay whatsoever, and we're in debt when we die. Yup, we're slaves.

Or we would be. You see, something happened one day. The devil attempted a hostile take-over. About two thousand years ago, another guy came on the scene, an up-and-comer who was trying to recruit new employees, promising cancellation of debt, telling people he could get them out of their contract. Well, the old boss decided to deal with it swiftly and decisively. If there was only one boss that would mean that everybody would have to work for him and so the boss had the new guy killed. Wiped out the competition.

Or, at least, that was the plan. Yeah, the new guy was killed, but when all the dust settled, three days later, everything was turned upside down. The new guy was back, and the old boss found himself bankrupt. Everything he had was gone, the debts that were owed to him had been cancelled, even the debts that had already been paid were written off, and all of a sudden, all of his employees, and I mean all - from Adam and Even on down - were on the new guy's payroll! It's enough to drive a business person crazy!

But it's good news for us, because since then we have a new boss. You see, when you were all baptized, your contract with the devil was made null and void and you were issued a new contract with God, with Jesus as your new manager. The pay-off that you were supposed to make when the contract ended, the wages of death, were taken care of by Jesus, and you were given a fresh start under God.

So what's our new boss like? What kind of work are we doing for him? Well, to start off, our new boss promises that our work is going to be hard and difficult. The most important thing he says is that our primary responsibility is to love our neighbours as ourselves. Now, this isn't as easy as it sounds. Loving your neighbour as yourself means taking it easy on them when they're having a bad day. It means letting them into the line in front of you. It means giving them the food you were dying all day to eat. It means letting them have the last word - every. single. time. It means letting them have the closer parking space. Loving your neighbour as yourself means being willing to pay their debts yourself.

Paul, the writer of our second reading, breaks down this responsibility into a list of things that Jesus' employees are meant to do. The fruits of the Spirit, he calls them. The list starts with love - that's the most important thing we're to do. And then there's peace. As Jesus' employees, we're to spread peace, to give peace, to be peace. That means no starting arguments, no causing divisions, no "divide and conquer." Instead, we're to seek the path of reconciliation, of healing, of unity. Which takes patience, another thing on Paul's employee list, that and faithfulness, which go together. Our work with Jesus is long-term, it's work that will take a life-time, so patience is a big one. We can't expect to see the results of our work right away - it could take years, and maybe we'll never see the results, but that shouldn't stop us.

The next thing that Paul talks about is kindness, and later on he adds gentleness, two things that are pretty self-explanatory. Generosity, too, is a hallmark of the Jesus company. I'm going to talk more about generosity in a couple of weeks, but I'll just say now that being generous as Jesus' employee means not only being generous with material things, like money and food and clothes, but also being generous with God's forgiveness and grace. Our new boss isn't looking for us to be frugal, or efficient, our new boss wants us to be wasteful with the company's resources, to throw forgiveness and grace on every person who walks in the door, to give it away as fast as we can.

Lastly, Paul lists self-control as one of the things Jesus' employees are supposed to do. Now, it may be the end of the list, but self-control is the most crucial part of working for Jesus, because without it we can't do the rest of our job. It takes self-control to love instead of hate, to speak kind words instead of getting into arguments, to be patient instead of rushing, to be generous in times of self-need. But that's the job we're hired to do.

So in case I haven't been clear enough, I'll say it straight: our boss didn't sign us up for an easy job. There's no time off, there's no thanks or overtime for the work. There's no getting out of this contract, either. This is slavery, too, although as Paul puts it, it's slavery through love. Our new boss has hired us on for life. But that's good news, actually. It means that even if you can't do the job, even if you make a mistake and slip into the work habits that you had under your old boss, your new boss forgives you, sets you on the right path again, and keeps you going. No matter how many times you do something wrong, no matter how bad you make the company look, Jesus wipes the slate clean and gives you a new start. And he doesn't let you go.

So it's still slavery, you're still life-time employees, but the big difference between your old boss and your new boss is that your new boss works for you. You new boss actually thinks os you as clients instead of employees, and shows his workers the same grace and forgiveness that he shows to everyone. Jesus doesn't just ask you to love your neighbour as yourself, but actually loves you that same way. When you are conflicted, Jesus offers you his peace. When you need some time to work things out and make a change, Jesus is patient with you, and faithful to you. When you've been treated harshly, or are just living in a harsh world, Jesus is kind and gentle to you. And generous? Jesus is so generous with God's grace and forgiveness, sharing it all with you, that it's a wonder there's any left.

This arrangement is better than a promotion, better than overtime, better than an employee rewards program. "The wages of sin is death," Paul says, "but the gift of God is eternal life." That's why we can be thankful that we've been freed from the slavery of the devil and that Jesus is our new boss. Amen.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

Sunday, June 24, 2007

There is no sermon today, as the National Bishop forwarded a sermon that he preached at the close of National Convention in Winnipeg today.

To read the sermon, go to: http://elcic.ca/In-Convention/2007-Winnipeg/documents/SermonForClosingWorship.pdf

Sunday, June 17, 2007

June 17, 2007 - God Abolishes Death

2 Samuel 11:26-12:10. 13-15

Psalm 32

Well, as interesting as today's Gospel story is, today I'm going to be focusing on the Old Testament, and the story of David, Bathsheba, and their son. So let's review what's been going on with King David here before our reading for today.

So David is this great king, appointed by God to lead the people, anointed by Nathan, all- round respectable guy. He defeats all of Israel's enemies, and he brings the Ark of the Covenant, the dwelling place of God, to Jerusalem so everyone can worship God there.

But then things start to go wrong. Aside from staying home in Jerusalem and napping while his army is out fighting the enemy - something no king in that day did, David commits his first major sin. He abuses his power as king by taking a woman he knows to be married and having a one night stand with her. Now, David can't plead ignorance here. The text clearly tells us that David saw Bathsheba, inquired about her, was told that she was the wife of Uriah the Hittite, but that he went ahead and sent messengers to get her. "He lay with her," the text says, and "then she returned to her house." He didn't ask her if she wanted to come over, he didn't make small talk and find out if the feeling was mutual, he sent messengers to get her and he lay with her. David not only slept with a married woman, but since he was the all-powerful king, one could surmise that it wasn't what we would call consensual.

But let's not stop there! Of course, Bathsheba gets pregnant, and so David, in his righteousness, decides that the best thing to do would be to call home her husband from the front and trick him into sleeping with his wife. Now, this might not seem so bad, but it was customary that when officers were out fighting, they abstained from sex so as to be God's holy vessels while they fought. David himself followed this practice, and yet here he is, encouraging his officer to make himself unholy - to profane himself - so that David could get himself out of his pickle.

Of course, Uriah, Bathsheba's husband, being an honourable soldier, declines to carry out such a deed, despite David getting him drunk, and what choice does David have? Well, it's clear that he has to arrange for Uriah to be killed on the front - David's second major sin in this story. The pregnant Bathsheba's husband is killed on the front, she is taken into David's house after her period of mourning is over, and that's where our reading from today begins.

And through it all, David remains unrepentant. The spiritual leader of the nation, the king appointed by God, doesn't repent when he stays home from the fighting, doesn't repent when he sleeps with a married woman, doesn't repent when he tries to get her husband to dishonour himself, doesn't even repent when he has the man killed.

The punishment for his sins ought to be death. Leviticus chapter 20 says that any man who lives with the wife of another man should be put to death. And of course, any man who is responsible for the death of another man should be put to death. In the culture of ancient Israel, the only way they knew how to deal with wrong-doing, the only way they knew of to prevent adultery and murder from taking over a community was to get rid of the person who was doing it. It was to make the punishment so severe that no one would dare try such a thing. There are no exceptions, and David admits as much when he says that the rich man in Nathan's story ought to die for stealing the poor man's lamb. So when Nathan says, "You are the man," David knows what's coming next. David knows that he is facing death for his sins, doubly so because not only has he sinned, but as God's anointed king, his behaviour dishonours the God who made him king in the first place.

But there's a problem. David can't die. David doesn't know it, but he has to live so that he can father Solomon, who will become David's heir, and more importantly, build the Temple in Jerusalem for God. So David can't die for his sins. But somebody has to. What about Bathsheba? Well, she should die as well, but she can't either because she's the one who has to give birth to Solomon. So who does that leave? God's rule states that somebody must die for the sins that have been committed. And all that's left is the baby. For David's sin of adultery and murder, the firstborn son of Bathsheba will die.

And this is where I get stuck. This story is horrifying. That the punishment for sin is death, and that the death in this case is of an innocent baby is absolutely appalling. Yes, it's true that the baby was probably better off not having to grow up in David's dysfunctional family, where his son Amnon rapes his sister Tamar, and is then killed by his brother Absalom, who stages a revolt against his father David, and is then killed by David's army. And it's true that babies weren't really seen as people, they were only extensions of the father, basically the equivalent of property, but that doesn't make thinking about this firstborn son's death any easier. I have a firstborn son. I know people who have lost their firstborn son. The story is almost too awful to think about, and I have to wonder what God was about here. And I really have to wonder: does this story mean that God punishes our sin with death, or worse, does this story mean that God punishes our sin with the death of someone we love?

Well, by the time of the writing of the book of Deuteronomy and the writing of the book of Ezekiel, God no longer permits what I call proxy deaths. Deuteronomy 24:16 says, "Parents shall not be put to death for their children, nor children be put to death for their parents; only for their own crimes may persons be put to death." And Ezekiel 18:20 say, "A child shall not suffer for the iniquity of a parent, nor a parent suffer for the iniquity of a child; the righteousness of the righteous shall be his own, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be his own. The culture of Israel had changed, and God was able to be more merciful in punishing sin, forbidding the death of innocents. But death at this point is still a reality - people still die for their sins.

Until Jesus Christ. With the death of Jesus, as we all know, God's practice of requiring death to atone for sin comes to an end. I guess at this point, God decided not to wait for the culture anymore. Instead, God moved forward with radical grace, and Jesus' death, the death of the Son of Man, became the very last death to result from sin. From this point on, people no longer need to fear that their sins would result in death, or think that someone else's death is punishment for their sin, because in Christ that death has died.

Which, believe me, I'm very grateful for. But I can't help questioning how effective this is at stopping people from sinning - abolishing the death penalty, as it were. I mean, the threat of death is a pretty good way to stop people from doing what you don't want them to do. At least, that's the theory. But it doesn't seem to work so well in practice, and I think that's because while the threat of death may be able to stop a person from actually carrying out the sin, it doesn't stop them from thinking about it. And if they're already thinking about it, it's only a short step to actually doing it - threat of death or not. That certainly seems to be what happened to David. So what's to stop us from sinning or even just thinking about sinning?

There's only one thing. Only one thing can stop us from thinking sinful things, and that's gratitude at God's gift of forgiveness to us. You see, only thoughts of gratitude can take the place of thoughts of sin in our mind. Try it - if you ever find yourself thinking something that you know to be sinful - coveting something, coveting someone, thinking of ways to get rid of someone - think of God's proclamation of forgiveness to you, think of how Jesus Christ died for you when you don't deserve it, think of the Holy Spirit putting aside all your wrongdoings and taking up residence in your heart, and see where those sinful thoughts go. They disappear - something else has taken their place, and that something else is God's grace.

God's grace, not God's punishment, is what changes lives and prevents sin. David, who didn't know what God would do through Jesus Christ, nevertheless received God's gracious forgiveness, and was so thankful that he never went on to repeat these particular sins. He never again slept with married woman, or arranged for one of his soldiers to be killed to cover up his mistakes. Instead, he wrote the psalm that we sang this morning, Psalm 32, and proclaimed God's forgiveness, mercy, and steadfast love.

I'm still troubled that it was an innocent baby who paid the price for David's sin. There are so many questions I have surrounding that story that I know I'll probably never get answers to. But the Good News, the grace that we know to be God's defining characteristic, comes in the proclamation that whatever your sin, whatever terrible thing you have done, whatever evil you have done that dishonours your Creator, God will not take any more lives because of it. Death is no longer the punishment for sin. Instead, as Jesus said to the woman in our Gospel reading today, knowing that his death would be for her, "Your sins are forgiven." That is God's response to sin now, not death. "Your sins are forgiven." So thanks be to God who brings us sinners life. Amen.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

June 10, 2007 - God's New Math

Time after Pentecost - Lectionary 10
1 Kings 17:17-24

Psalm 30
Galatians 1:11-24
Luke 7:11-17

I distinctly remember the day in Grade Eight when my class's math teacher, Mr. Mason, taught us how to multiply integers, and how to remember what combination of positives and negatives ended in what. He started with two plus signs on the board ( + x + = ?) and said, "When something good happens to a good person, we're happy." ( + x + = + ) Then he wrote two minus signs on the board ( - x - = ? ) and said, "When something bad happens to a bad person, we're happy." ( - x - = + ) Then he wrote a plus and a minus ( + x - = ?) and said, "When something good happens to a bad person, we're sad." ( + x - = - ) And lastly he wrote a minus sign and then a plus sign ( - x + = ?) and said, "When something bad happens to a good person, we're sad." ( - x + = -) Although to be honest, I've never found multiplying integers to be particularly helpful in my line of work, I've certainly never forgotten his lesson.

I think the reason his lesson was so memorable is because of the way it echoes how we think the world operates. When something good happens to someone who's generally known to be a good person, the usual response is, "Oh, how nice, I'm sure they deserved it." And when something bad happens to someone who's kind of a jerk to everyone, we tend to gleefully think, "I guess they had it coming." That is to say, we tend to think that good things rightfully happen to people who are good, and bad things rightfully happen to people who are bad.

Well, today in our readings we hear about two widows, and the first widow, from the Old Testament, who was from Zarephath, certainly seemed to think that's the way the world operated. When her son became deathly ill, she thought that God was punishing her for something, for some sin or another that she had committed. "You have come to bring my sin to remembrance," she cried to Elijah, "and to cause the death of my son" It's pretty certain that she already felt as if she had done something wrong since she was a widow, and people tended to believe that widowhood was the result of some sin or another, so it's no surprise that she thought her son's illness was God's crowning punishment for whatever it was she had done - in her case, she probably thought it was due to her not worshipping God. She wasn't an Israelite, after all, so of course God wouldn't hesitate to afflict her son with illness and take him away from her. She was a bad person, she thought, and thus deserving of bad things.

We all tend to believe this - that something good happens because of something good we've done, and that something bad happens because of something bad we've done. Karma, we call it, in the pop cultural sense. But why? Why do we believe that this is the way things work?

Well, part of the reason is because there are so many stories in our Bible where that seems to be the case. Just before our reading today, Elijah meets the widow of Zarephath for the first time. Because he asks, she gives him the what was to be her and her son's last meal, and is rewarded with a neverending supply of flour and oil that she and her son live on for the next few years. So clearly, the widow has experienced, and we have seen, that in this case God does reward good deeds with more good fortune. There are other Bible stories of God rewarding good and punishing bad. The Bible tells us that God saved Noah because he was righteous, and wiped out everyone else because they were wicked. The Bible tells us that God saved the Israelites from foreign invasions while they remained faithful worshippers, but allowed them to be invaded when the Israelites turned away from their faith. With stories like these, it's no wonder that what we think God makes the same connections between good things and good people, and bad things and bad people that we do.

And then, of course, there's our experience in the real world. Maybe it's because we get it from others, but even we tend to conform to the good deserves good, bad deserves bad model. It's well-known that people tend to help out individuals that already seem to have everything together and that we treat poorly people whom we think deserve it. I know that, for instance, when I'm driving on the road, and I see someone speed up the right-hand lane on the 401 and bully their way past other cars, I don't let them into the space in front of me or give them room to pass me. And, if I'm being a good driver, and obeying the speed limit, and allowing people in front of me, and showing my signal to change lanes, then I expect that people will let me into their lane if I need it, and I get mad when they don't. I act and expect others to act under the same mathematical principles that good goes with good and bad goes with bad. And I don't think I'm alone in my expectations - we all tend to work that way.

So it's no surprise that when it comes to how God acts in the world, we tend to think God works by the same principle: that God will cause good things to happen to good people, and bad things to happen to bad people. "Good people go to heaven, bad people go to hell," sums up what we generally believe about how God works. And so we work as hard as we can at being good, with the hope that that good will be returned to us. We do our best to ensure that when God checks our balance sheets, we will be solidly in the positive column, with positive things waiting to happen to us in order to complete the equation.


Now, I'm going to explain why this way of thinking is incorrect in a moment, but first I have to say that this way of thinking is a sin. There's one simple reason for this. If we think that our good behaviour causes God to reward us with good things, or that our bad behaviour causes God to punish us with bad things, who are we making the subject of our thought? That is, whose behaviour is controlling whose? In this scenario, our behaviour ends up controlling God. If we think that doing good causes God to reward us with good things, then that means that we think that our good behaviour is the centre, is the focus of everything, is the deciding factor for God's actions. Likewise, if we think that doing bad causes God to punish us with bad things, then we're still thinking that our behaviour, bad in this case, influences God's behaviour towards us. And this is a sin. To think that our behaviour governs God's actions, to put our activities and intentions at the centre of God's world is a sin. "You shall have no other gods before me," says the First Commandment. "You are to fear, love, and trust only God," is how Luther explains it in the Small Catechism. Meaning we are not to make our own actions God - we are not to trust in or fear that our good or bad actions will change the way God relates to us. Only God can change the way God relates to us, only God can decide whether or not our actions are deserving of reward or punishment, only God can decide whether or not to bestow good or bad on us.

Fortunately for us, God bestows good. Which brings me to why our previous way of thinking about good and bad is not only a sin, but it's just incorrect. "Give us this day our daily bread," we pray in the Lord's Prayer. "God does this without our prayer to good and evil alike," is how Luther explains it in the Small Catechism. God gives good things, bestows good gifts, on people who are good, on people who are bad, on people who are indifferent. God does this because of the steadfast, neverending love that God has for God's people. For us. For you. God healed the widow of Zarephath's son, despite the fact that she was not one of God's followers. Jesus resurrected the widow of Nain's son, without knowing whether or not she believed in him. God gives you sunshine and rain, gave life to your bodies, forgives your sins, even when you commit the sin of thinking that your actions determine God's, all regardless of whether you are good or bad,.

That's not to say that we should stop doing good things for people. Even though God might not operate under the same math as us, other people do, and doing good makes the world a better place. It does nothing for how God sees us, but we interact with hundreds of people in our lifetime, in addition to God, so good behaviour naturally goes a long way here on earth. It's just that we shouldn't fool ourselves into believing that our behaviour, good or bad, affects how God treats us, that it affects God's orientation of steadfast, neverending love towards us.

In the end, despite how memorable my math teacher's lesson was, God's math is different from ours. In God's math, when good things happen, to good or bad people, God is happy. And when bad things happen, to good or bad people, God is sad. Karma isn't a Christian concept. Jesus Christ died for us "while we were yet sinners," is what we confess. This wonderful good thing happened to us while we were bad, and it made God happy. So, this coming week, and through the summer, may God continue to bless you with all good things, whether you have been good or bad. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

June 2, 2007 - Trinity Sunday

Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm 8

Romans 5:1-5

John 16:12-15

"God has a plan." That's a phrase we hear a lot among religious people, isn't it? "God has a plan." This phrase is most often uttered during high stress situations, when someone (not always the speaker), when someone's world is falling apart and everything is upside down. We hear that God has a plan when someone's grandparent dies, when a baby is born too early and doesn't make it, when an unexpected diagnosis of cancer is made. When our life is not going the way we thought it would, when in fact it's going the way we prayed it wouldn't, there is always someone who will tell us that God is out there, working behind the scenes, and that everything is meant to happen for a reason.

Sometimes this is reassuring. Sometimes it helps to hear that the One who created this world, the One who, as our first reading from Proverbs tells us, established the heavens, drew a circle on the face of the deep, made firm the skies above, established the fountains of the deep, assigned to the sea its limits, marked out the foundations of the earth, it helps to hear that this One is still there, still active. It can be a comfort to be told that the One who established the moon and the stars isn't finished with the universe yet, that God is working all things towards a greater good, and that every single thing that happens was meant to be.

This way of looking at the world sees God outside of time, as it were, unrestrained by the relentless plod towards death that we experience. God, the One who created time, isn't bound by things like the past, or the future. When God is outside of time, God sees not just the whole of the universe, from before it was created until after it disappears, but also every single moment within it. God, the great Creator, can bring someone into being, watch them die, and see them receive new life all in the same instant. This eternal, omniscient, unfathomable God looks at our yesterdays, todays, and tomorrows, although not necessarily in that order, and arranges things to achieve perfection.

As I said, sometimes during times of despair and crisis, knowing that God is outside of time, pulling the strings and putting the master plan into place can be comforting. When things are overwhelming, this God-outside-time can be turned to, with the faith that everything is under control and everything will be okay. It can be good to hear that God has a plan.

But not always.

Sometimes, for some people, hearing, "God has a plan," can be a knife-twist in their heart. Sometimes, to hear that God is out there, directing things the way God wants, pulling strings and arranging plans, is too impersonal. Well, more than that. A God who is unaffected by the flow of time, to whom yesterday, today, and tomorrow make no difference, to some people this God is harsh and cold. A God who hasn't come into the world the way we have, or feared leaving it the way we do, is inaccessible. This One who creates the world but isn't a part of it is foreign to us, and in times of deep pain and confusion, is completely beyond our reach.

For these people, for me at times, God Incarnate is who we need to hear about. We need to hear, "God has been through it." It can be a comfort to hear about the One who was born, lived, and died as a human. To know that God peed on his mom and dad, threw up his food all over the floor, to know that God felt left out by his friends as a teenager, to know that God lost his temper, ached to kiss a girl, got headaches, to know that God got hungry, needed to sleep, got sore feet, to know that God's heart broke when his friend Lazarus died, that it warmed when he held a little child, to know these things about God can make a difference when things are tough. To know that God cared for his mother, to know that God wept and pleaded not to die, to know that there were times when God felt that things were beyond his control, to know these things can make hardships easier to bear. When it's a struggle to see the big picture, when it's hard to believe that things are going to be okay, then it can help to know that God has also gone through anguish and uncertainty and doubt.

Seeing God as incarnate, as a human, means seeing God inside time, as opposed to outside of it. God inside time experienced things the way we do, with yesterday, today, and tomorrow flowing from one to the next. The One who was inside time knew only what had happened, and what was happening, but not what was about to happen. (Just to be clear, he had faith about what was going to happen, but he didn't know, not the way God outside time does.) In any case, he went through life just as we do, contained in a one-way timeline.

So hearing about God-inside-time, that God the human has been through it, can also be a great comfort when times are difficult, when we're confronted by human mortality, when we're face-to-face with death.

But not always.

Sometimes neither God-outside-time nor God-inside-time is enough. God-outside-time isn't touched by the human experience, and God-inside-time, well, being restricted by his human limitations, God-inside-time wasn't able to experience everything a human can experience. For one thing, God-inside-time was male. He didn't have the experience that women have. For me, personally, I struggled a great deal to relate to the idea of both God-outside-time and God-inside- time when I was pregnant and after our baby was just born. Neither of these ways of looking at God helped me to feel that God was present during pregnancy, or labour, or nursing. In fact, the entire parenthood experience is beyond what God-inside-time personally lived through, as is marriage, or the difficulties of getting old, or the challenges of dealing with addictions. For some people, it does not help to hear that God-outside-time has a plan, or that God-inside-time has been through it.

What is needed at these times, at specific, personal, in-this-moment times, is to hear about God-throughout-time. God-throughout-time was there at the moment of creation, God- throughout-time lived and died in Israel two thousand years ago, God-throughout-time was with King David when he danced in front of the Ark, God-throughout-time was with the first disciples gathered on Pentecost. God-throughout-time was with Martin Luther when he struggled against his own church, God-throughout-time was with Mother Teresa when she wept for the dying in Calcutta. God-throughout-time is here, now, with the teen parent struggling to care for a baby alone, with the homeless person despairing in the streets, with the child fighting leukemia, with the senior who can no longer walk. God-throughout-time is not only with these people, but inside them, experiencing all of the things they experience, all of the things we experience; hurting when we hurt, rejoicing when we rejoice, hoping when we hope.

This One was with every believer from the beginning of time, is with every believer alive right now on earth, and will be with every believer until the dominion of God comes down to us. This One can help us when our lives seem too complicated to bear. This One can be with us when we are alone. When our pain seems unique to us, hearing that God-throughout-time is experiencing our pain, and living through our particular situation can bring comfort.

But not always.

Sometimes it can be too much to handle to think of God going through what we're going through, to think that God is trapped in us, trapped by the same circumstances that have bound us. Sometimes it doesn't help to think that God is as out of control as we are. Sometimes we need to know that God is outside of our situation and has a plan. Which brings us back to the beginning. Which brings me to today.

God-outside-time, God-inside-time, and God-throughout-time - none of these ways of looking at God are enough, on their own, to comfort us in every time and at every place. Sometimes we need to know that God has a plan. Sometimes that's the last thing we want to hear. Sometimes we need to know that God has been through it. Sometimes that's not enough. Sometimes we need to know that God is with us right now. Sometimes that doesn't do us any good at all.

But here's the thing: God-outside-time, God-inside-time, and God-throughout-time are one and the same God. We are not talking about three different gods, we are talking about the Three-in-One, the One-in-Three, the God we know most fully as the Holy Trinity. Yes, it's all a great mystery as to how the Trinity can be, how God can be outside time, inside time, and moving through time all at the same time, and yes, it's annoying for those of us who like neat and tidy explanations for everything to just leave it at that, but that's another sermon for another day. God is what God is, and what God is is the Trinity. When you need to hear that there is larger meaning to your life, I tell you, God, who is called the Father, has a plan. When you who need to hear that someone has been through what you're going through, I tell you, God, who is called the Son, has been through it. When you who need to hear that you are not alone in your particular situation, I tell you, God, who is called the Holy Spirit, is with you.

So, as we celebrate and proclaim this good news, may the Triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, comfort you now and always. Amen.

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Pentecost, May 27, 2007

It is the current trend that pastors write new sermons every time they preach. In fact, it's somewhat frowned upon when pastors preach something that has been preached before, either by them or by someone else. However, this hasn't always been the case. Even into the twentieth century, preachers (and some famous ones at that) would use the same sermon over and over again, and sometimes even read the sermons of other famous preachers. (With due credit given, of course.) Luther himself encouraged pastors to reuse their own sermons or borrow someone else's if they didn't have a good one handy. (Meaning, of course, one that preached first the Law and then the Gospel.)

All of this is to say that my sermon today is not new, but is a sermon from Pentecost 2005. You can read it at http://kayko.blogspot.com/2005_05_01_archive.html and scroll down to May 15th. I believe that it is still timely and an appropriate message for today.

Sunday, May 20, 2007

May 20, 2007 - Prison

Acts 16:16-34
Psalm 97
Rev 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21
John 17:20-26

A little while ago, I got the chance to visit the famous prison of Alcatraz. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, Alcatraz used to be a maximum security military prison in the Bay of San Francisco that held a few of the most hardened criminals in the United States. The prison was literally a fortress, built on an island, which was surrounded by currents so strong and so cold that escape was impossible. The prison of Alcatraz was the home to criminals like the infamous Al Capone, "Whitey" Bulger - one of the FBI's Ten Most Wanted, and Alvin Karpis, an official "Public Enemy." Alcatraz is where the government sent prisoners who deserved the hardest and most isolating punishment.
It was an awful place for a prisoner to be. The Island itself was made of rock, with hardly any plants or greenery growing on it, and the prison, of course, was a prison. Each cell, of course, was a cell - tiny and cramped and facing more cells, while the ones that faced towards the outside of the building faced only exterior wall. There were tiny windows up near the top that let through fresh air and some light, but you couldn't see out of them. There was an outdoor courtyard where prisoners could walk about, but there was only one tiny square window, about one square foot, that you could look out of. Prisoners used to say that the worst part about the whole prison experience there was being able to hear the noise and bustle and liveliness of San Francisco across the Bay but not being able to see it, and worse, knowing how cut off from it they were.
And then, of course, there was solitary confinement. This was a cell about 5 feet x 7 feet,, and when the door was closed, it was absolutely pitch black inside. One of the prisoners told of how when he was restricted to solitary, he would go inside, and the door would close behind him, and in complete darkness, he would pull off a button, throw it up in the air, listen for where it had fallen on the ground, scrabble around until he had found it with his hands, and then repeat the process all over again just to pass the time. Another prisoner described how the intense blackness caused him to start hallucinating, seeing flashing lights where there were none. I got a chance to go in one of these cells, and even with the door open, it was claustrophobic. I can only imagine what it would have been like with the door closed - terrifying, is my guess. Alcatraz was designed to punish criminals by cutting them off entirely from the rest of the world, while simultaneously making them aware of the freedom that was experienced by everyone but denied to them. Like all prisons, it was a terrible place to be.

Most people have experienced imprisonment, and the terrifying loss of freedom that comes with it. Sometimes it comes from a literal prison, but more often, it's figurative. Illness, for instance, can become a prison. People who have become severely ill and restricted to their beds can feel like they are in a jail cell, cut off from everything and unable to go out. Friends, and even family, stop visiting. The outside world still exists, but it is completely out of reach. Like the prisoners of Alcatraz, those who are sick are usually alone, and since it is not by choice, it also means being terribly lonely.
Depression, too, without or without sickness, is also imprisoning. If you've ever been depressed, you know how confining and isolating it is. You feel as if you are trapped in your mind, you can hear the world's happiness, you can even maybe see it, but it's as if there are walls between you and it that can't be breached. And, again, you are alone - people may come to see you, but they can't share in your depression, or enter your mind, so, once again, there is intense loneliness. Martin Luther experienced depression, and described it as being curved in on one's self. He saw it as a prison, constructed by the devil, and he knew that it was awfully difficult to break out of.

But not impossible. Well, literally breaking out of prison is, of course, but it is possible to gain freedom from the emotional and mental prisons that hold us. The first step comes from realizing that these kinds of prison come from the devil. Sickness and depression aren't things that we bring on ourselves. They don't come from something we've done or not done, they come from outside of us, through the natural frailties of our bodies. And the mental anguish and loneliness that accompany them most often come from the devil, who takes advantage of our weakened state to try and separate us from God. It's my belief that when we are on the right path, doing something that will bring God's love to the world, it's then that the devil likes to step in and imprison us in loneliness and self-doubt and despair. It's when we are being Christ for others that the devil likes to lock us up in Alcatraz and throw away the keys.
So how can we be freed from the devil's isolating prison? Well, Paul and Silas, when they were thrown in jail for freeing the slave girl from her demon, prayed and sang hymns to God. Prayer and song are powerful gifts from God, given to us so that we can feel God's holy presence, and those first disciples used them to free their minds from the fear and loneliness that must have come from their imprisonment. Just as young David in the Old Testament used songs to calm King Saul when he was tormented, we, too, are encouraged to use music to escape our loneliness. Luther said that when we feel sadness and the devil about to overwhelm us, we should sing to the Lord and the devil will flee. "When we sing," he proclaimed, "we pray twice."

So what do we sing? Anything, really. Sing along to whatever's on the radio. Think of your favourite song as a teenager and sing it as loudly as you can. Hymns, especially, are a good choice for singing, because they speak of Christ and remind us of God's love. Paul and Silas, when they were in jail, might have sung some psalms. Or they might have sung a hymn from the early church like this one, called the Litany of the Deacon:
Litany of the Deacon - http://www.ccel.org/ccel/brownlie/earlyhymns.pdf - Early Church Hymns translated by John Brownlie
God of all grace, Thy mercy send;
Let Thy protecting arm defend;
Save us, and keep us to the end:
Have mercy, Lord.
And through the coming hours of night,
Fill us, we pray, with holy light;
Keep us all sinless in Thy sight:
Grant this, O Lord.
May some bright messenger abide
For ever by Thy servants' side,
A faithful guardian and our guide:
Grant this, O Lord.
From every sin in mercy free,
Let heart and conscience stainless be,
That we may live henceforth for Thee:
Grant this, O Lord.
We would not be by care opprest,
But in Thy love and wisdom rest--
Give what Thou seest to be best:
Grant this, O Lord.
While we of every sin repent,
Let our remaining years be spent
In holiness and sweet content:
Grant this, O Lord.
And when the end of life is near,
May we, unshamed and void of fear,
Wait for the Judgment to appear:
Grant this, O Lord.

This hymn, sung by the early church, reminds us of God's faithful presence, guarding us from the dark and guiding us to the light. Now, obviously, we don't know the tune for it, which makes it kind of hard to sing when we're depressed, but there are other hymns. Luther wrote several, A Mighty Fortress is Our God, is the most famous, but another excellent one is Out of the Depths, I Cry to You. It's LBW 295, if you would please turn to it. I want us to sing it together, and as you do, see if you can sense God easing the bonds of whatever might be imprisoning you.
Out of the depths I cry to you; O Father, hear me calling.
Incline your ear to my distress In spite of my rebelling.
Do not regard my sinful deeds. Send me the grace my spirit needs;
Without it I am nothing.
All things you send are full of grace; You crown our lives with favour.
All our good works are done in vain Without our Lord and Saviour.
We praise the God who gives us faith And saves us from the grip of death;
Our lives are in his keeping.
It is in God that we shall hope, And not in our own merit.
We rest our fears in God's good Word And trust God's Holy Spirit.
God's promise keeps us strong and sure; We trust the holy signature
Inscribed upon our forehead.
My soul is waiting for the Lord As one who longs for morning;
No watcher waits with greater hope Than I for his returning.
I hope as Israel in the Lord; God sends redemption through the Word.
We praise God for God's mercy.


Alcatraz prison was shut down in 1963, and in 1972 became a US National Park. The doors to the prison have been flung open, and no one is kept in isolation there anymore. But prisons still exist around the world, especially those caused by sickness and depression. Happily, God has given the gift of hymns and singing to us, as keys that we can use to open whatever prisons we might be in. While these gifts might not change the actual situation that you are in, they can help you to feel the grace of God with you, breaking down the walls around you, and helping you to feel that you are not alone. So the next time you feel as if the walls are closing in on you, may you feel the presence of the Lord and the freedom God brings to you, in prayer and singing. Thanks be to God. Amen.