May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts, lead us to the joy of Christ’s birth today at this Christmas and every year. Amen
Welcome everyone on this joyous afternoon! This afternoon is especially joyous for us, as it is the time when we meet Jesus again for the first time, through the story of his birth in Luke’s Gospel.
Today everyone received a special angel, made by our Sunday School kids throughout the season of Advent. You see, we are all angels, especially our youngest members. You are good and perfect and although it may not seem like you it all the time – you are, because you are made in God’s image and today is the day to rejoice in it!
And who can tell me, of all of us made in God’s image, who were the first people to meet Baby Jesus? Was it the Wise men? No. Was it the Innkeeper? No, nor the people of the village. It was the shepherds, abiding in the fields. Who knows what abiding in the fields means? Yes, it means actually living in the fields outside of the village walls. People who didn’t live in shelters, in homes or even tents. They were the people who lived with the sheep and cared for them night and day moving from field to field out in the wilderness. They helped keep them fed and safe from attack. They were very dirty. They were like farmers.
You know, years ago, I was a donkey farmer and my neighbor a few fields away was a shepherd. She raised sheep on her farm and together we would go for coffee sometimes. People at the coffee shop would say they knew we were coming from the smell of us!!! You see, people who farm animals don’t dress pretty, they wear old clothes and boots with mud on them because they are more concerned with care and love than they are with fitting in to society and its conventions.
It took me years to figure out, that the first people that Jesus revealed himself to, were the people “outside” of society, the people who were literally and religiously/ritualistically unclean. Wow, what a foreshadowing of exactly who Jesus was to spend his time and ministry with! Jesus came to invite everyone into God’s kingdom and to help us to realize we are all created in God’s image and are children of God.
I’d like to tell you a story about a boy named Wally. Wally was 7 years old and rather big for his age, although he had some special needs. Wally, loved to go to Sunday School. One year, his teacher decided to have a Christmas pageant, just like we had last year. She asked Wally to be the Innkeeper and gave him the important line, “There is no room at the inn.” Wally was so worried he would forget his line that he practiced it and practiced it. Having special needs, Wally didn’t just practice it like other kids might, he practiced it 60 million zillion times and drove his mother crazy. When the time of the pageant came, everyone was worried for Wally. Would he remember his line?
It came time for Wally to speak and he said, “There is … “ and he paused. Everyone was afraid he had forgotten his line. Wally looked around and started again. “There is …” and he paused, he looked at this Sunday school teacher, she had taught him his line. Wally started again, “There is…” he paused and he looked at this mother who had taught him about God and God’s plan. “…no room in the inn” he continued “…but there is plenty of room at my house!”
Wally’s heart was open to Jesus. Is there room in your life for the Messiah? He comes knocking at the door of our hearts many times in our lives through various people and experiences – some like the angel choir, and some like the shepherds.
Being Jesus’ birthday, we have a birthday gift for him. Sue, could you please bring up that beautifully wrapped present? Thank you so much for your help today. Could you young people come and help unwrap it for us? And what do we find inside as a gift for Jesus today? Inside we find all our paper hearts, that we wrote our names on when we entered the church today!
Our gift today on Jesus’ birthday, is to give him our hearts and to promise him we will always try to find room for him in our lives.
Amen.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario, on Christmas Eve, 2016)
In the beauty of this night, our celebration of Christ’s birth, is there one simple declaration that we might draw out of this event, described in such detail in tonight’s Gospel? A child is born in a rough stable, probably a cave hewn out of rock, to a young woman; rough shepherds come to adore him and angels praise him in song; a strange star (or constellation of stars) hovers overhead and magi will come from the east to adore him. The birth emerges as the fulfilment of Messianic prophecy and the Child will change the course of human history, indeed, the Child will change humanity itself.
Perhaps that declaration might be this: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh, is God’s ultimate declaration of his absolute love for our humanity, God’s absolute CHERISHING of our humanity, both in its glory and in its brokenness. This declaration of divine love of our humanity is not through mere statement (as with the prophets) or ritual (as at the Temple) but accomplished through divine participation: “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us”; or (in the words of the early church) “God has become human, that we might become divine”.
Christ’s birth came at a time of violent empires in flux, of a Judaism sometimes corrupt and legalistic, of mystery religions and Gnosticism that despised the body or led to its moral degradation, of many different cultures vying for dominance and authority. In many ways, the world was a lot like our own today. The words of strong prophets like Isaiah and Jeremiah were not enough and they were confined only to the world of Judaism. Great powers were on the move and little people were being trampled.
Into that world God became a participant (“God pitched his tent among us”, to quote John’s Gospel literally), taking on our humanity in the small child Jesus, and in the process hallowing all that is human and good; and, indeed, beyond humanity, hallowing our created and material world, which received and sustained the human and divine Child.
And what of humanity is hallowed? Conception and childbirth; vulnerability and weakness; childhood, growing into adulthood; the work of human hands, in the case of Jesus, simple carpentry; learning and study (one of our stained-glass windows shows the child Jesus learning from the scribes and elders); prophetic leadership and teaching; self-discipline and self-sacrifice, reaching out and loving those on the margins of society; marriage, friendship and parenthood; prayer and worship; music and the arts; human creativity; travel and staying at home.
And even the more painful side of humanity is hallowed: dealing with sickness and death (both our own and others’), terrible suffering, even enduring torture; struggle for human liberation; loneliness, grief and loss. As the life of the Son of God and Son of Man moved, over years, from the manger to the cross, so our human lives, in all their complexity and detail, are hallowed (taken into God) as we move from our births to our deaths, and as our lives intersect with those of others, whose lives are also hallowed by this night.
God has not taken on our humanity, or lifted our humanity into the divine, out of some divine duty or simple divine power but because God loves and cherishes us; God cherishes our broken human bodies, our flawed human minds, our fractured human relationships; because God is Love, we are created in God’s image, and God wants us to be restored to that image.
The Advent themes of Hope, Peace, Joy and Love culminate in this night, in God becoming hope, joy, peace and love in our lives in Jesus Christ, the Word made flesh.
Sometimes this central message of Christmas is hidden in the busy-ness and commercialization of the season. Or we try to equate it to an emotion, trying to feel happy because it is Christmas. That may be quite difficult if we are dealing with personal suffering or grief in our families or among friends; or we may feel alone and think back to happier Christmases. Or we may think that we need snow.
The message of Christmas is deeper: God loves us, our very human selves, deeply; and, through God’s participation in humanity in Jesus, God knows our pain and offers us encouragement in it; indeed the pain is an opportunity to love and be loved, as Mary loved her Son on the cross. Glory and pain are mixed in Jesus’ life, as it is in ours. But in the end, this night returns us to peace, hope and joy, as we are taken into God’s love.
There is no need for a false joviality at Christmas, or great excesses in spending, or denial of the grief and pain we may feel. Rather we pray for a certain insight about Christmas: that God has been where we are, that God will not put a heavier burden on our shoulders than we can bear, that we have friends and family to help us (just as Jesus had friends and family), and that simple kindness, self-control, respect, empathy and encouragement are the best gifts we can offer: “gold of obedience and incense of lowliness”, in the words of the hymn. Christmas is about encouragement: encouragement of our humanity in all its goodness, mercy, brokenness, forgiveness, patience and self-sacrifice. And all that should result in a certain hope, peace, joy and love.
Another word for what we are talking about is Grace. Christmas is about Grace, given through God’s loving participation in our humanity.
As Christianity interacted with the various religions and cultures of the Mediterranean world of the time one that was especially appealing was Stoicism. Stoicism emphasized detachment from the passions, suffering quietly, patient self-discipline and self-effacement. We can see its attraction as Christians lived in fear of the chaos around them and retreated into quiet acceptance of their fate.
Yet this Christian stoicism blunted the message of Christmas: that God also entered into our passions, our desires, our despair, our deep loneliness, our sufferings – not to calm them but to transform them into the divine image: passion for love and justice, expressed in action; the transformation of our despair into active hope and joy; the provision of friends and family to heal our loneliness; the gift of being friends and family others; and healing and relief of suffering and grief, though there will also be tears and a real sense of loss.
Sometimes Christian life is a kind of moving between the poles of Christian stoicism (accepting what we have to accept for the sake of the Gospel) and Christian freedom (loving with the participatory passion of God). When I became a bishop in Solomon Islands, one of my first problems was Christmas services. I found that the tradition of families gathering together for Christmas celebrations (not one or two days but two or three weeks) was so strong that many of the parish priests and their families went home for Christmas and many parishes had no clergy for Christmas services and maybe a week or two on either side of Christmas. So, I sat the clergy down and explained that it was our responsibility to be present (dare I say, incarnational) in our parishes over Christmas (the very season of celebrating God’s presence among us) and most agreed. They began staying in their parishes for Christmas (though sometimes their families went anyway). Other desires, family desires, had to be put aside for the sake of ministry: the pole of Christian stoicism, but still for the sake of being a loving presence. And, as bishop, I made sure I visited parishes at Christmas to be present too, and not just relaxing at home.
However, about eight years into being bishop, I received a summons from home. My mother was not terribly well and she sensed the upcoming Christmas might be her last and she wanted a family Christmas with everyone present while she could still enjoy it. So, after decades of not attending family Christmases I decided I better go to this one and begged leave of my clergy, explaining the situation. They were gracious, I went, and we had a good family celebration. The pole of loving participation and leaving some work to others. After that, I was perhaps a bit more flexible with my clergy.
Because God has lovingly participated in our lives, we are called lovingly and sensitively to participate in the lives of others, especially their suffering, pain and grief. All of that is sanctified in the glory of this night, the birth of the Christ, the Messiah, Jesus, who brings us into his reign of love and justice. Christianity is about being PRESENT in love, not being absent, though the contexts may often be shifting. God absolutely and totally loves and cherishes our humanity and we are called to love it too.
And so, we join with the angels, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favours”. God has loved us and our broken humanity. We are called to love one another. Thanks be to God. Amen.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown on the Second Sunday of Advent, November 12, 2012, at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72: 1-7, 18-19; Romans 13: 11-14; and Matthew 3: 1-12.)
We now come to our second Advent theme, Peace. The expected Messiah is “prince of peace”.
Unfortunately, often when we think of peace, we think only of cessation or absence of conflict. We may think of the great public celebrations on the streets at the end of World War 2 or ceasefires or peace agreements worked out after much negotiation as happened in Ireland. The media may speak of a “peaceful night” after many nights of rioting. We may pray for peace in Aleppo or South Sudan or Afghanistan with only the minimal goal of cessation of conflict and relief of suffering.
Thus, we get strange expressions like “armed peace” or “nuclear peace” or “peace-keeping” or “trust-building”, practices that bring about or stabilize the cessation of conflict. Likewise, in interpersonal relationships of conflict we may come to a peace that is like a personal ceasefire, as after a divorce or separation or act of violence. In all these cases, we might call this understanding of peace “thin peace”. In such circumstances, often it does not take much for conflict and war to begin again.
The Biblical concept of peace is different. It is “thick peace”. Jesus declares, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you [peace] as the world gives” (John 14:27).
The depth, richness and thickness of divine peace, Shalom, is obvious in the passage that we read as our first lesson, the Messianic prophecy of the Peaceable Kingdom in Isaiah 11. In the Messianic reign, righteousness and peace shall be one, and every traditional hostility of creation (including human beings) is reconciled in mutual love and justice. In the words of Psalm 85, “Love and faithfulness meet together, righteousness and peace kiss each other”. Or in the words of today’s psalm, “In his time shall the righteous flourish, there shall be abundance of peace until the moon be no more.” Shalom, divine peace, is a deep, active and complex reality in which all the parties are deeply united in the Messianic rule or, we might say, the Reign of God.
In Advent, we are invited to reflect on the quality of our peace, whether as a nation or as communities or families or a parish or individuals. We are encouraged to move from a thin model of peace (conflict resolution, for example) to a thick model of peace in which we genuinely love and care for one another and the world, warts and all. I do believe we already have much of that “thick peace” in the parish and we thank God very much for it.
Today’s Gospel reading about John the Baptist and repentance makes it clear that thick peace is a divine command: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. . . “You brood of vipers. . . Bear fruit worthy of repentance . . . I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me. . . He will baptize you with Holy Spirit and fire.” It is that Holy Spirit that leads us into the deep Shalom, the deep Peace of Christ. “My peace I give you, not as the world gives . . .”
Like many of you, I enjoy cooking. Perhaps turning our thin peace into thick peace is like making a roux. (How many cooks here know what a roux is?) A roux is a way of thickening a sauce. One cooks fat (often butter) and flour together and slowly adds milk or stock, as in making a white sauce. At first the sauce is very thin but as it cooks it slowly thickens and is eventually suitable for a casserole or a thick stew. One needs a good pot and controllable heat or the roux will burn. One needs a whisk or it will be lumpy. Salt and pepper and spices may be added. In other words, there is intentionality and not just tossing the ingredients together, turning on the stove and hoping for the best. When we make a roux, we want it to turn out well so we work carefully with it.
A roux may be a good metaphor for church and even civic life – working at turning “thin” peace (or even no peace) into the divine Shalom of thick peace. It takes work.
But metaphors are always imperfect. In the church we all continue to have our own particular gifts, perspectives, strengths and interests. We are not melted into an anonymous mass. Yet our all our gifts are to be shared and appreciated in the context of a deep Shalom, a deep and thick peace, that enables us to work together in trust even where there is disagreement. We express that deep Shalom week by week when we exchange the Peace in the liturgy: the very words of the Resurrected Christ as he met his disciples in the upper room on the evening of Easter day: “Peace be with you”.
“Thick peace” is not mean to be suffocating; it gives space and freedom to the other. Sometimes silence and separation from others Is necessary to experience God and find one’s own peace. Sometimes the wilderness or aloneness calls. Yet in the end it too is for the building of God’s just and peaceful reign in ministry and service.
As we move beyond the parish to the world scene (or maybe even sometimes in the parish) we may despair whether thick peace is possible; indeed, even thin peace may seem far away. The epistle from Romans brings us back to last week’s theme of Hope. Indeed, the passage is a description of the deep divine peace that we have been reflecting about, buttressed by hope: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Hope brings us back from separation and division and thin peace to thick peace.
There is perhaps one other aspect of peace in the Christian life that needs to be addressed: making peace with the past. Modern psychology has shown us how damaged we may sometimes be because of events of the past, events often not our own fault. We may be victims of bad parenting, divorce, poverty, sickness and accidents, violence, abuse or bad decisions that we have made or others made for us. Parishes also have difficult pasts and we may be carrying some of the scars. We may feel that because trust has been broken in the past we cannot again enter into a trust leading to a deep peace in the present. We get stuck.
In the end, I believe we are called into a deep and thick peace with our pasts no matter what lack of peace we experienced. The Messianic Reign takes up all hurts and oppressions of the past and offers healing. The end of the Book of Revelation sums it up, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away”.
To arrive at such a point requires a real willingness to put away all hurts and disappointments of the past, and that usually requires forgiveness of real people, dead or alive; sometimes that can be quite difficult. But that is the direction the deep peace of the Reign of God is directing us. It is sometimes comforting to hold on to hurts and disasters of the past, they may give us value in our eyes and even push us forward to justice. But in the end we are also called to freedom from them as we are called to a greater ministry and service, to a greater Peace: from death to resurrection.
Hope and peace lead to joy and I hope your preacher next week, the Dean, will preach on Joy. Peace and joy do not totally obliterate the past. The joyfully resurrected Christ offering his peace still bears the marks of the crucifixion. But the movement is always forward towards the Messianic reign, confirmed by the Resurrection. As dear a late missionary friend from this diocese who worked in Africa, John Rye, always used to remind me, “turn your scars into stars”. The expression sounds trite but it is also profound.
“May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the peace of the Holy Spirit.” Amen.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown on Advent Sunday, November 27, 2016 at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Isaiah 2: 1-5; Romans 13: 11-14; Matthew 24: 36-44.)
St. Paul, at the end of 1 Corinthians 13, exclaims “Now abide these three: faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love.” Of these three marks of the Christian life, two get a lot of attention: faith and love. We may struggle with our faith in a time of doubt in a secular age, trying to reconcile faith with belief and the historical Christian creeds. Divine love, of course, holds everything together and we know that our whole lives are to be rooted and grounded in it. But often hope is not so much a focus of our Christian lives – until perhaps an emergency comes and we switch into “hope gear”, praying, perhaps for a miracle. There is nothing wrong with “hope gear” but it is one we should use a lot more often.
That the Christian year, Advent Sunday, today, begins with the theme of hope reminds us how important it is as a part of our Christian lives. Israel waits expectantly in hope for a Messiah who will bring in the reign of God, gathering all nations onto a “peaceable mountain of the Lord” as we hear in our first lesson from Isaiah today. And so, in Advent season, we join in that expectant waiting and hopefulness, as we prepare for the celebration of the Messiah’s birth at Christmas.
But hope is not something that belongs just in Advent. The hopefulness of Advent pervades the whole Christian year. Lent and Good Friday are full of the hope of Resurrection. Resurrection and Ascension lift us to hopeful lives. And even in ordinary time, we read of Jesus’ offering hope to prisoners, the poor, the politically oppressed, the sick, the demented and the outcasts, including those outside the religious respectability and acceptance of his day – the Samaritans and the Gentiles. While the disciples were a bit slow to understand, Jesus was building a community of hope.
But what do we do when a situation feels hopeless? Perhaps a personal situation has soured and it feels like there is no satisfactory resolution. Or finances are so bad it feels like there is no hope anymore. Or there is less and less hope in our health or that of a loved one. Or we are in a work situation in which we feel trapped without hope. Or we survey the global political and economic situation where there is so much injustice, violence, corruption and lack of respect for fellow human beings and we feel hopeless.
We may feel anger, despair, cynicism, depression, hopelessness – often with very good reason. And to make things worse, the values of what constitutes something to hope for are often in conflict -- one person or group hopes for peace and reconciliation, another hopes for conflict and victory. This conflict in what to hope for can be seen in the political debate about the environment, resource extraction and pipelines (or in the US debate about guns). Hopes can conflict with one another and do.
So perhaps, as Christians, a question is “What do we hope for?” “What is the end of our hope?” Again, we come back to the passages in Isaiah and the minor prophets: the image of the Messianic commonwealth in which all peoples and nations are gathered together peacefully, where all are satisfied, especially those who have suffered and been oppressed. The image is of a God who cares for ALL creation, whatever their race, creed, history, gender or other characteristics. And insofar as we as a church are called by Jesus to try to model that reign, we hope and work for peace, justice, truth and love; not for war, oppression, untruth and hatred.
Therefore, we are called not to give up hope, no matter how bad the situation, whether personal or community or political. We saw the anchor in our children’s talk today. The early Christian symbol of an anchor for hope suggests that no matter how bad the storm, we are still anchored in the love and hope of God in Jesus Christ.
But that personal anchoring or commitment is not the end of it. Rooted and grounded in the divine hope, we are called to offer hope to others, whether in the commonest and most simple ways – a few friendly words of encouragement – or in public work and witness in support of the values of the reign of God. Our epistle today urges us to “put on the armour of light . . . the Lord Jesus” (that is, the values of the reign of God) and not to make provision for sin and selfishness. While we did not read it, the passage begins, “Owe no one anything but to love one another”. When we love another, we offer each other hope; and when we offer each other hope, we love one another. And so, love and hope are in our relationships with all people, whatever their creed, dress, ethnic identify or other identity. All whom we meet are God’s children and share in the divine hope.
But what about the apocalyptic, the subtheme of Advent as a time of preparation for the Last Day, the world-shattering coming of Christ? Of course, we all face a Last Day, the day of our deaths, and if we live with faith, hope and love, we should be prepared for it and not be anxious.
Just as there is much in the world that might make us feel hopeless, there are also teachings floating around about the Last Day that only bring fear, despair and hopelessness. Some groups claim that that Last Day is near and quite wrongly believe that Christians have a role in bringing it on, for example, by encouraging war in the Middle East or between Christianity and Islam. Some groups continue to predict down to the exact day and hour the date of the coming of Christ on the Last Day. And as world events become more and more tempestuous, this apocalyptic talk will be more and more common.
Today’s Gospel is unequivocal in condemning such an approach. Jesus declares, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.” For anyone to think that he or she knows that day or believe that we can and should bring on that day through promotion of war in the Middle East is self-idolatry of the first order. Of course, we are to be prepared because we do not know the hour. But if we live with hopefulness, living the values of the reign of God, we can face that Last Day, the hour of our deaths, with confidence.
Finally, back to our small community: we are called to be a community of hope, offering as much hope as we can to one another, especially in situations of difficulty and despair. We are called to be aware of the different kinds of hopelessness people feel in the community and offer what support we can. And, of course, we are to offer whatever hope we can to ALL who come through our doors and in whatever situation we find ourselves in our world.
We come back to the image of the anchor as a sign of hope. Perhaps we are called to be anchors of hope in world in which many are at loose ends, floating different directions, perhaps in danger of drowning. Our ancestors built this church building to last because they believed it would be an anchor for the future. Let us take on that vocation of being anchors of hope in a difficult and troubled world.
But even that is not the end of it all. There is also the time to shout “Anchors aweigh!” and move forward to new ministries and ways of showing love and justice to the world. Hope goes with us in that enterprise, as the anchor goes with the ship. We do not throw the anchor into the sea; we hoist it up and travel with it. Thus, we travel with confidence, knowing we have the anchor of Christ.
Let us pray. “Almighty God, grant us grace to cast away the works of darkness and put on the armour of light” – indeed, to become anchors of hope in our troubled and broken world. Amen.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown for the Feast of Christ the King, November 20, 2016, at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Colossians 1: 11-20 and Luke 23: 33-43.)
Looking at today’s two lessons, St. Paul’s hymn to the cosmic Christ, “the image of the invisible God”, in whom all creation is rooted and sanctified, and St. Luke’s account of the Christ (the Messiah) the “King of the Jews” shamefully crucified by the religious and political leaders of his day, I was reminded of the common expression “from the sublime to the ridiculous”.
Chasing down that expression, I find the earliest references were in 18th century French political thought where the full saying was “it is but a step between the sublime and the ridiculous”. English and American writers soon picked up the expression and Thomas Paine in The Age of Reason made it famous. By sublime we mean something wonderful beyond telling (like the description of Christ in the first lesson) – but it seems that the human sublime often cannot be sustained and the ridiculous can take over very quickly. But the expression can go both ways and critics have suggested, for example, Shakespeare had the creativity to make the ridiculous situations of life sublime in his plays.
But mostly we use the expression when something that is wonderful and exciting suddenly turns to dust, to being utterly ridiculous. We might use the expression to describe the recent US presidential election with its less than sublime results. Sometimes we use the expression about friendships or relationships or organizations or programs or even persons that go from good sense, beauty, deep meaning (that is, the sublime) to sheer ridiculousness very quickly. The expression is a kind of warning not to put too much trust in the human sublime. It can unravel very quickly because of sin.
When we apply the expression to today’s two lessons and try to reflect deeply about their contrast, perhaps we might say that Christian Revelation is the Messiah’s journey to the ridiculousness (or foolishness, to use Paul’s term) of the Cross, but which quickly, through the Resurrection, Ascension and Glorification moves to the sublime, with the crucified and ascended Messiah as divine and eternal Ruler of all creation.
We sometimes seek a Christianity (or even a church) that is 100 percent sublime, lifted by a rich sacramental life, or beautiful or lively music, or deep reflection or flawless and deep human relationships: in short, a Christianity without the Cross and isolated from the world. But the Gospel story of Jesus (the Christ, which means Messiah, the Anointed One) is that of a prophet (God’s Incarnate Son) surrounded by cruelty, hypocrisy, corrupt politics, unjust religion, political oppression – in short, human sin. The same mess we are surrounded by today! Yet Jesus persevered and taught and lived the incoming reign of love and justice. He was the Suffering Servant, not the militant Zealot. When unjustly sentenced to death, he did not flee but embraced the shame of the Cross.
In that undignified embrace of the Cross, our humanity, with all its brokenness and sin, is transformed and conveyed into the realm of light, into the realm, indeed, of the sublime. In the words of our first lesson, “[The Father] has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins”.
So, the Messiah’s journey may be described as that from the Holy Ridiculousness of the Cross (including all that led up to it) to reigning over creation with complete and total Sublime Love.
Might that description guide our journey as followers of the Way of Jesus the Messiah? Surrounded by sin (including by people who call themselves Christians), challenging unjust social and political structures and oppressive relationships, living Christ-like lives of kindness, patience and understanding, supporting one another with concern and compassion, not discouraged by sin – living in such a way even to the point of sacrifice and death – such that God brings about the sublime in our lives, both in this life and the next.
That sublime life of the ever-reigning Christ is present in all parts of our lives: for example, in the loving quality of relationships, in hard work accomplishing results (or even not accomplishing results), in art and music, in a life of generosity and faithfulness, in a marriage or friendship, in parenthood, in supporting and bringing into being political structures and realities that reflect divine love and justice, and many more ways. God’s grace lifts us up and offers us the sublime, even in the worst situations. That is, I believe, what Christ the King, whom we celebrate today, is really about.
But even then, our God is a God of surprises. Sometimes the ridiculous, when gentle and well meaning, can also be sublime. Humour can be sublime. We heard some Lewis Carrol at our pub night. “Jabberwocky” is a good attempt of lifting the ridiculous to the sublime. Good jokes are usually premised on ridiculous stories having a sublimely funny quality. That is where Shakespeare and other great authors come in, making sublime stories from ridiculous situations. I am sure John can tell us stories of where the ridiculous is taken into the sublime in music. And I think of a place like Niagara Falls, where the sublime and the ridiculous exist side by side but their combination can have a certain charm, even a bit of the sublime.
Yet other ridiculous situations are horribly disturbing – racism, ignorance, hatred, violence, lying. Sadly, apparently this week’s Oxford Dictionary’s newest word is “post-truth”. Truly ridiculous and deeply disturbing. What is happening politically around the world, with movement from open borders to high walls, from common humanity to privileged identities, from love to hatred, is ultimately a kind of very dangerous ridiculousness, in which, for example, the country of one’s birth condemns or privileges a person, with no possibility of change. So far from the Kingdom of God!
Even in a world of war, violence, ignorance, racism, sexism, homophobia and high walls, Christ continues to reign. Human beings are created with free will and many times we have made a big mess of it. But we are called by God to walk the road of the Cross, working for love, peace and justice in all settings, turning over the tables of the money changers occasionally if necessary, speaking strongly if necessary, working for change; and allowing the sublime, through the grace of God, not to be suppressed but to continue to grow and flourish.
In the opening words of today’s first lesson: “May you be made strong with all the strength that comes from his glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.”
It is a big challenge but it is worth it. We take on the holy ridiculousness of the Cross that we might share in Christ’s sublime glory, in this both life and the next. Thanks be to God!
(A Homily preached by Bishop Terry Brown on Remembrance Day Sunday, November 13, 2016, Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario. Texts: Isaiah 65: 17-25; Isaiah 12: 2-6; 1 Thessalonians 3: 6-13; Luke 21: 5-19.)
This morning we began our service with a solemn commemoration of those of this parish (and beyond) who lost their lives in wars in defence of this country. While “just” wars may be heroic and result in the victory of right over wrong, they are also at their core tragic, with countless lives lost, with futures marked by loss or brokenness, hardly something to be encouraged or celebrated. Wars are a sign of human failure in which innocent human beings get caught up and either rise to heroism or are marked by death or, often, both. The Christian ideal is peace and harmony among all God’s creatures, including all races and nations. Thus, early Christians refused to participate in the Roman army. As Christians, we cannot celebrate war but only regret that sometimes it seems a necessity and behave as Christians in that context.
I find it hard to preach about war and peace without reflecting on my own experience of it. I was born when my father was overseas in North Africa and Europe in World War 2 and did not see him until I was 18 months old, though I grew up looking at his photo albums of his wartime years, which ended in the liberation of the Dachau concentration camp which, as I ask him to remember, clearly marked him.
Much later, having left graduate school, I was conscripted (“drafted”) into the US Army in 1968 during the Vietnam War. I considered other options (including running away to Canada as some of my friends did) but decided the best I could do was to train as a medic, not wishing to kill anyone. So, after eight weeks of basic training (in which, by the way, I failed the grenade throw and had to be sent to remedial basic training) and ten weeks’ medical training, I spent 18 months working in a septic wounds ward in a US Army hospital outside Tokyo. (Luckily I was not posted to Vietnam or you would not see me here this morning.) Day after day, night after night, I dressed the wounds of those severely injured in Vietnam before they flew back to the mainland. Quite a few of my patients died and at least one fellow medic died from an infection contracted from a patient. It was a very difficult time in my life – I would rather have been elsewhere – but in the long run it gave me relationships and experiences that I would not have had otherwise.
I came home rather numb and dazed, joined in anti-Vietnam War protests down Woodward Avenue in Detroit and tried to put my life back together, still feeling a call to ministry and theology. It was not until I came to Canada a couple years later that I began to feel safe and human again, that I was in a less warlike environment. Even though I did not participate in combat, I was marked by its results and when, many years later, I visited the Vietnam War memorial in Washington, I was overcome with emotion, and tears rolled down my face.
Now, almost 50 years later, I realize I still am marked and Friday when I came into the church to do some work and saw the small floral bouquet with the helmet I had a mild flashback and some emotions I had not had in awhile. (Yesterday, when I came in, I suppressed an urge to kick it.) If I, who did not directly experience combat, still have such emotions, I can relate with those who have experienced combat and the ways it has impacted their lives, from loss of communication skills to post-trauma stress, to long-term disability, to the greatest sacrifice, death; and how all that has affected their loved ones. Such sacrifice is heroic and those who have died are remembered on memorials in churches and in town and city centres across the country. I only hope we provide the human and material support and care for veterans that they often so badly need, rather than putting them on a pedestal once a year and forgetting them the rest of the time. So, if I am not very good at remembering to wear a poppy it is only because sometimes I feel a bit like that poppy, attempting to bring some beauty out of death and destruction.
In and out of all those experiences, from graduate school when I was confirmed, indeed until today, I have participated in a weekly Eucharist; indeed, I was sustained and kept in one piece through even the worst experiences by inclusion in the re-presentation of Christ’s death and resurrection in this sacrament and the grace given through it. And it is very appropriate, given the history of this parish as the regimental church of the Royal Hamilton Light Infantry, that our altar is framed by two battlefield Holy Communion sets, that of Canon Wallace in World War 1 and that of Lt. Col. Foote in World War 2 (one an Anglican, one a Presbyterian). It is moving to reflect on how many hands and lips of soldiers have touched those communion sets and been helped and sustained by the Sacrament in difficult and deadly situations. Again, there is the theme: rich life amidst and emerging from death.
Most of us have some experience of the military or war in our lives, whether through our own participation in it or that of family members and ancestors or perhaps even as victims of militarization. And it is not bad to reflect on how we have been shaped by it, for good or ill. But whatever the case, as Christians, we all called to try to bring forth love and peace out of the contradictions of war and conflict: resurrection out of death.
My apologies for that long personal digression but it gives us some context. Now to today’s lessons. How might they speak to these issues of war and peace, of heroism and tragedy, of death and resurrection?
The Gospel today makes it very clear that Jesus too lived in a time of war in which the very centre of Jewish worship, the Second Temple, was brought to the ground in ethnic and religious conflict with the Roman Empire. In times of war and conflict, indeed, in times of social unrest and rapid change, many voices are heard. In our North American context, some claim to be Christian but are voices of hatred and destruction. Jesus declares, “beware that you are not led astray” by false prophets, those claiming to proclaim God’s word but are inwardly ravenous wolves and purveyors of hatred.
These false prophets fill the social media and the cable news networks and we have seen the result of them in a deeply flawed United States presidential election. And those voices will continue, louder and louder. Jesus’ advice is not to be overwhelmed with fear but continue to testify to what is true and good, despite persecution, betrayal and even the breakdown of relationships. We pride ourselves that those we remember today fought for a Canada that is humane and tolerant. If we are not careful, ours too could be a society of hatred.
Today’s epistle, from 1 Thessalonians, commends hard work over idleness and urges its readers, “do not be weary in doing what is right”. We do not know the exact context of these words but the complaint that some have become “mere busybodies” suggests that some have both money and time on their hands and are using that power to harass others. Again, addiction to the social media and the television come to mind today in which we are stimulated by every piece of false news and every troll and tempted to become trolls and purveyors of false news ourselves. In difficult times like ours, it is wise to listen to the right voices and even turn off the wrong voices (“keep away from believers who are living in idleness”), and to reflect deeply and act with love and integrity. And that action should be towards justice, peace and reconciliation, not towards hatred, war and conflict.
Why? Today’s prophesies from Isaiah, in both the first reading and the psalm, speak of the Messianic community of love and justice that is God’s desire for us, where war has ceased and all God’s creatures live in peace and harmony. That goal is not reached through war or conflict or harsh words but through God’s initiative of the promise of a Messiah who will usher in that rule through the transformation of humanity from fighters into lovers. As Christians, we believe Christ is that Messiah and we are called to live the love and justice that he lived and proclaimed. Part of that commitment is moving away from war to peace.
So, through God’s grace, we try to build Christian communities, churches, including our parish, that are forerunners of that Messianic reign, reflecting its values and relationships. We welcome and love all (or, at least, I think we try to). We share in ministry. We challenge and question one another. We bear one another’s pains, burdens and vulnerabilities. We listen to each other’s stories, even if they sometimes become boring. We work hard. We laugh and cry together. We plan and implement. And we remember with love all who have gone before us, including those we commemorate today. But we move forward to the Messianic reign, not backwards.
Beyond all that, we too need to be prepared to prophesy, particularly when the values of the Messianic reign are challenged, whether by the state or by groups (even religious groups calling themselves Christians) who put hatred before love. We shall see much good Christian challenging in our neighbour to the south in the next four years; and others will loudly proclaim hatred, even in the name of Christianity as has been the case over the past few months. But we are in Canada and our task is to make sure Canada grows more and more into a place of genuine justice and love where all nations, races, creeds and personalities can live together in peace, especially in a good and just relationship with the aboriginal communities whose land this was first. We have work to do; let us not be idle.
“Sing the praises of the Lord, for he has done great things, and this is known to all the world. Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy. For the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel.” Thanks be to God!
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown, Church of Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario, on the 24th Sunday after Pentecost, October 30th, 2016. Text: Luke 19:1-10.)
Zacchaeus, come down from that tree!
I an attempt to see the marvellous teacher and healer, maybe even the Messiah, Zacchaeus has got himself in a difficult place. A short man, he could not see above the crowds, so he has climbed into the upper branches of a tree. For the most part, tree climbing is something children do. I certainly climbed trees as a child. But Zacchaeus was an adult with short legs; it cannot have been easy for him to be up in that tree. (Who here would be still willing to climb a tree?) But Jesus recognizes Zacchaeus’s awkward situation, indeed, he recognizes Zacchaeus’ face and knows his story and calls him by name; he calls him down to a familiar and more comfortable situation: a request to dine at his house. There the hospitable Zacchaeus proves to be less an ogre than the crowds think; he repents of his sins and promises honesty and generosity in the future; and Jesus welcomes him into salvation. Even outcasts despised by the crowds are called to repentance and accepted into God’s Reign in Jesus Christ.
Let us look at this story in three parts.
First, Zacchaeus stuck up in the tree. Partly because of his disadvantage (being short) he has tried so hard and got himself in an awkward situation. In the short term, it is a good place to be; he can see Jesus. But he cannot spend his life in the tree; it is an awkward and vulnerable position. He needs the stability of the ground, even if many around him do not like him. Perhaps some of those he has collected taxes from hope he will fall out of the tree. One can imagine people shouting, “Climb higher, Zacchaeus!” not with a good intention.
Perhaps all of us have sometime got ourselves into an awkward and vulnerable situation, for the sake of love, but a situation that is not very tenable in the long run. We sometimes use the expression. “I’m up a tree”. Perhaps we have befriended someone and it is proving to be impossible. Or we have made a commitment that cannot be sustained. Or perhaps we have simply made too many commitments. Perhaps a relationship has simply failed. Perhaps we have gone out on a limb (another tree reference) and the limb is weak. In these situations, we hope to see Christ, directing us which way to go.
Secondly, Jesus recognizes and calls Zacchaeus. Always, Jesus recognizes and calls each one of us, particularly when we are in awkward, sinful or vulnerable situations, especially trying to see him. When we are in ill health or under great family pressures, when finances are not good, when our spiritual life seems especially dry, when we find ourselves in trouble one way or another, God knows and calls us through Christ.
How do we hear? Through prayer, through the counsel and friendship of others, through reading the Bible, through the example of the saints, through the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the Counsellor, mediated through the church and, indeed, through good people whatever their faith. The call is often away from extreme situations in which we might hurt ourselves to (at least for the moment) a more domestic and secure situation; in the case of Zacchaeus and Jesus, coming down from the tree, eating together, and talking.
Thirdly, there is that encounter with Jesus, the meeting and the sharing. Zacchaeus offers the hospitality of his home to Jesus; probably he has had his servants make them a meal, and they talk and share. Zacchaeus offers his repentance and promises to be just and honest, giving half his income to the poor and offering to make amends to anyone he has cheated four times over, well beyond the demands of the law. Repentance, honesty and generosity is all Jesus asks, and Jesus proclaims that Zacchaeus has already come into God’s salvation.
We too are invited into a daily encounter with Christ and the questions are the same. Are we honest? Do we seek justice? How well do we share, especially with the poor and others having special needs? Our encounter is through prayer, reflection and self-examination. Zacchaeus has already done some of this reflection before he hosted Jesus at his house and offered his repentance. And Jesus praises him for it, as he praises us for our honesty and generosity. With busy-ness and other commitments, sometimes it is difficult to come into that daily encounter with Christ. But day-by-day we are called to it.
Part of that encounter must also have been reconciliation and restitution. Probably even some of Jesus’ closest followers, disciples like James and John, were not so keen about Jesus’ going into the house of one hated as much as Zacchaeus. They had to accept him and realize that Jesus was calling even the socially despised to his salvation.
Some years back in the Solomons, I came across an ecumenical church organization named Sycamore Tree Ministry. Of course, its name was based on this story. The group was engaging in a process of reconciling violent ex-militants (beginning from when they were still in prison) with their victims in the villages. After the prisoners were released, they would return to the place of their crimes, offer restitution, and be reconciled with those they had harmed. They are a programme of Prison Fellowship International that encourages this reconciliation and restitution between ex-criminals and their victims. Zacchaeus’ promise of reparations must also be ours. And a willingness to be reconciled to those who have harmed us.
In our story of Jesus and Zacchaeus, what happens next? Like so many of the Gospel stories, we are left a bit up in the air. Zacchaeus’ promise of honesty and generosity has been recognized by Christ and Zacchaeus incorporated into divine salvation. Zacchaeus has had tremendous encouragement and I think it is likely he became one of the band of Jesus’ followers. Many of his old clients must have come forward and accused him of fraud; true to his word, he would have provided restitution, for times over. Perhaps, like Matthew, he gave up tax collecting and became a disciple. (The story of Matthew is the prototype of the story of Zacchaeus.) Or perhaps he simply continued about his business, now aware of Jesus’ demands for honesty, justice and generosity. But surely he was among those who stood nearby as Jesus was crucified, weeping with sorrow. Perhaps he experienced the resurrected Christ also.
But we may complain, it was easy for Zacchaeus, he was a rich man. However, we are all called by Jesus into conversation and the resolution of our messy lives, whether we are rich or poor. Jesus calls us all into his all-embracing love, not through miracles coming out of the sky but through conversation, acceptance of the help and support of others, and the resolution and actions to change our ways. We are called from the ad hoc of “being up a tree” to the stability of life in Christ, from which we can then take the risks of ministry.
Whatever happened to Zacchaeus, his story stands to remind us that Christ knows us and is ever calling us, all of us, no matter our circumstances, to a better and happier life, to a life that is rooted and grounded in Christ, one that has as its fruits generosity, honesty, love and justice. Thanks be to God.
Red hair flying, taking the corners so quickly she had to grab the handrails –she was a monumental woman, and once called a “striding colossus” going down the hospital hallways. Of course, it was me as a nurse, in Winnipeg…but here I was. Starting over again,day One as a Student Chaplain and armed with only a pen, knitting needles and wool. I was unsure of where to begin, how to start this new phase of my life. You see, after many years as a critical care nurse where you would just hang a stethoscope around my neck and I’d know exactly how to spring into action…today was different. I was now charged to “Go forth and loiter with intent”.
How do I approach people? What do I say to people who are in pain and hurting? Scared and in need? What can I offer without my usual bag of tricks, when suddenly it came to me! Why is it my symptoms always seemed to lessen whenever I got to the hospital. I used to laugh and say, “make a liar out of me doc, but 2 hours ago, I was screaming in pain…”
So I went up the first person and asked “How are you feeling?” and the answer was “fine” and we both laughed. “Well, not really fine then, she said” and I asked what brought her in, and then I asked, how did she feel symptom-wise now that she was at the hospital? And my lady answered, that her symptoms seemed to lessen. After a brief chat and the offer of prayer and glass of water, I moved on, and I discovered that most people had similar experiences. Why did people feel better, even when waiting for 4 hours in the ER….and it came to me. HOPE. Hope that someone there could help them.
The power of HOPE is the key to healing. Today’s readings on St. Luke the Physician’s feast day are all about hope and healing. Our first reading from Sirach 38: 1-4 and 6-10. is written like one of today titles, “Healing for Dummies”. It tells us to honour physicians for the Lord created them and their gift of healing comes from the Most High. When we are ill, we are directed to not delay, but to pray to the Lord and he will heal us. It goes on to say, that there may come a time when recovery lies in the hands of physicians for they too pray to the Lord to grant them success in healing and preserving life. James 5:13-16, our second reading says, “Are any of you suffering? They should pray. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective.
What do both of these readings have in common – making a CONNECTION! The point of contact - bringing people and God together, when we ask for someone to be healed. you don’t have to be an elder to be a healer. You can simply offer prayers on anyone’s behalf. You don’t have to make a fancy prayer or know the proper thing to say. Say what is in your heart and ask Jesus for what you need. As simple an idea as Psalm 30 says,” LORD my God, I called to you for help, and you healed me.”
Which bring me to a big thank you moment. As most of you probably know by now, our son has spent the last month in hospital gravely ill. My family and I have been surrounded by love and support by this parish community and I’d like to take a brief moment to say thank you. It has meant the world to me, each time someone has asked how he is, said they were praying for Andy and us, each time someone dropped off food or simply gave me a big hug. Knowing you aren’t alone makes a world of difference.
Sue Hawthorn-Bate told me a story this week, about another child in hospital. This one was in the NICU at the same time when Liam was born. She was awfully tiny and precious, but she must have seemed overwhelming to someone because she was abandoned at the hospital. This poor baby seemed to suffer with a diagnosis we call Failure to Thrive. No matter how much they tried to feed her or coo to her, the size of only a couple of pounds of butter, she lost weight and never engaged with the world around her. Don’t think for a moment that it only happens to preemie babies left alone in this world. I’ve seen people in every age group, every socio-economic level, rich poor, young, middle aged and elderly – failure to thrive can affect anyone. In those without hope, life seems to wither away. They stop interacting with others, they often stop feeding properly and shrink away from human contact. This is truly a dis-ease caused from lack of hope. Without hope then, how can we heal?
Where can we find hope? Jesus is our hope; he is our access to healing. All we have to do is ask. Jesus was filled with the Holy Spirit when he returned to Galilee today’s Gospel tells us. He went home to Nazareth where he had been brought up. He went to the synagogue to pray and to preach and this is what he said, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind.” This was Jesus’ Inauguration Day and his public manifesto. He tells us exactly where to turn for healing. We turn to him.
People in pain want help, whether that pain is from physical or emotional scars. Not all who suffer carry their dis-ease on the outside. Look past job titles, bank accounts, cars and big houses and see loneliness, need and hurt. When you go home today, take a moment outside beside the rose garden. Instead of looking down at Murray’s beautiful roses, look up at all the apartments around us. Can you imagine how many people just in our neighborhood alone are in need of healing of body, mind or spirit? How many people in those apartments never see a soul, never feel a hug or even a friendly handshake? never feel a human touch.
There is healing work to be done, and God has asked us to help. We have a powerful tool; one so powerful it can overcome some of the mightiest dis-eases.
Let’s go back to the tiny little baby in the NICU. Something wonderful happened. She was adopted by a couple who knew her challenges but believed that love would heal her. So they began Kangaroo kare. Simply explained, it is skin-to-skin contact. They tucked this tiny tiny baby inside their clothing, close to their hearts and they talked to her and they sang to her and she stirred. “She knew someone loved her”, Sue said. She first stabilized and then began to grow and eventually she left the hospital to start her new life with her family. No more failure to thrive – skin-to-skin contact. She was healed by God, through the hands of people.
Let us remember too, Luke 8:40-49 and the Hemorrhaging woman who touched the hem of Jesus’ garment. To reach Jesus she must push and shove and elbow her way between people when tiny openings occur. She is weak; her strength is drained, and yet she will not give up. She must reach Jesus, and so she continues to wedge her body through the crowd until she comes up behind him.
She has decided in her heart, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed"
She believed so deeply that she would be healed, that all she needed was the briefest of connections with Jesus. The power of hope and prayer brought her forward when all the odds were against her reaching him. But Jesus felt her weak tug on the hem of his tunic or perhaps the fringe of his tallit prayer shawl. We too sometimes need a physical "point of contact" that helps us exercise our faith in God. That is what the hem of Jesus' cloak was to the hemorrhaging woman. This is what a handclasp, or a hug can be. This is the power of hope, the power of healing, the power of grace in our lives too.
In just a few minutes here, we will have a healing service and all who are in need of healing in body, mind or spirit are asked to come forward and like our Epistle says today, “ be prayed over and anointed with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick.”
I’m going to ask those of you, who do not feel a call for anointing at this time, be an active part of this healing service by praying for our brothers and sisters today as they are anointed and when the time in right, perhaps at the passing of the peace, or at coffee time, try a little skin-to-skin therapy…shake their hand, or give them a hug and let them know they are not alone. If you are not sure how to approach them, just say, "I’m praying for you” or maybe just “Loiter with intent”.
(A sermon by Bishop Terry Brown at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario, on Harvest Thanksgiving, October 9, 2016. Texts: Joel 2:21-27, 1 Timothy 2” 1-7 and Matthew 6:25-33.)
“But strive first for the Kingdom of God and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”
Of all the “worship choruses” I have heard over the years, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God” has always been my favourite. Like today’s Gospel, from which it comes, it puts the matter very clearly: always we are to try to keep our faith in God central in our lives – God’s Rule of love, justice and peace in the world and our participation in it – and regard all other matters, including our own physical and material needs, secondary.
First a comment about the Greek word here, basilea, often translated as “kingdom”, “reign” or “rule”. I think most commentators would say that the correct meaning of basilea is the power or authority exercised by a ruler, such as a king or queen, over his or her subjects. That may have been the original meaning of king-dom but today “kingdom” often implies a geographical state or area that is governed by a king. That definition can wrongly imply a male or patriarchal quality to God’s rule and even suggest that there is a parallel earthly institution equivalent to the divine Kingdom of God, namely a particular church or denomination. When a Church claims to be the Kingdom of God, we need to step back and question.
Rather, “rule” or “reign” is a much better translation of basilea. We are called to seek, support, fulfill and implement God’s Rule in the world in Jesus Christ. For many years I have used an English translation of the Lord’s Prayer that reads, “Your RULE come, your will be done”. This translation suggests dynamism and growth. God’s Rule of love, peace and justice in Jesus Christ has already come; yet it also continues to grow, develop and spread, both through the church and all women and men of good will. We are invited into that process. Christ’s love is God’s Rule.
Here there is a link with mission – God’s mission in Jesus Christ. In seeking God’s Rule, we are invited into God’s sending of Jesus Christ into the world for the sake of love, justice and peace (which we might broadly call salvation), and we are sent out, a part of God’s Mission, at the same time, seeking the Rule of God. Participation in God’s mission requires a certain simplicity: putting God first, sometimes leaving family and friends, giving up what we do not need, what have become idols in our lives. “Seek ye first the Rule of God”.
All of that sounds very theoretical. But to be more practical, today we are marking Harvest Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving, of course, is rooted in God’s grace and our thanksgiving for that grace and all its bounty: it is that thanksgiving and faith that causes us to want to seek God’s Rule. Part of God’s rule is a seeking for justice. Justice demands that all have enough to eat, that no one starves or is malnourished. Our collection of food and funds for St. Matthew’s House today is a manifestation of our seeking God’s Rule.
Sharing with others is a basic manifestation of God’s Rule. That can sometimes be difficult if we do not have very much or we have other important concerns – for a church, such concerns might be repairing a roof or paying the utility bills – but we are reminded that if we put God’s Rule first – and share with those in need beyond ourselves – “all these [other] things will be added” unto us. Indeed, Sue’s small financial update show that much has been added unto us.
Our first reading, from the prophet Joel, reminds us of God’s bounty in creation, even though there will be times of drought, famine, pestilence and storm. Our response should not be a desire to accumulate but joy that there is much to share. It is good to know that one of our local Corktown community gardens supplies St. Matthew’s House with fresh vegetables when the harvest comes.
Of course there are other implications here: the importance of looking after the earth well, that is, the stewardship of creation, and being mindful of the ways in which we have made land infertile and commodified the food chain for the sake of profit. (Next week I’ll be away visiting my uncle in my birthplace, Iowa, for his 100th birthday. On one visit he told me that Iowa once had the richest soil in the world but now it is sustained only by massive doses of fertilizer.) Challenges to Ontario’s Greenbelt designations by developers show that that process is still going on. With all of the political decisions being made about the environment, always as Christians, we come back to the question, is this action, this decision, a genuine seeking of God’s rule: will it produce and facilitate Christ’s love, justice shared with all, and genuine peace and reconciliation.
And in North America and other settler nations such as New Zealand and Australia, there is also the history of wealth and bounty built upon unjust theft or cheap acquisition of indigenous land, at the expense of indigenous cultures, languages and, indeed, indigenous lives themselves. There is also the legacy of slavery of Africans that has benefited North America, including Canada. Seeking God’s Rule, demands that we ask: What can return? How can we express our penitence? How can we restore justice? How can we help to restore friendship that is just and mutual, not coercive or colonial or enslaving?
The Rule of God is also about peace. Today’s epistle to Timothy speaks of living “a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity”. The author was writing at a time of strife, both in the Roman Empire and in the church. Through genuine faith in and reconciliation with Christ, a genuine peace, rooted and grounded in Christ comes about. It is both personal and political. It is a peace we need if we are to be participating in God’s rule and mission in the world. It relates also with Matthew’s plea in the Gospel today not to be anxious – to be more like the flowers of the field and simply bloom and not be anxious about it. Or, to be more colloquial, not to get our knickers in a knot all the time. For knitters among you, an earlier, less racy version of that expression, was “don’t get your knitting in a twist”.
Today we thanked members of the parish who have done special work in expressing our hospitality to others. Of course, that is a task for all of us. But hospitality is also about peacefulness. We want to invite new friends into a peaceful and non-contentious community. Perhaps the best recipe for peace is not looking inward all the time but, again, putting the Rule of God and our participation in it first – looking and doing outwardly; then we have something to work together on in mission, in sharing, in joining with others seeking love, justice and peace in the world.
So on this joyful Harvest Thanksgiving morning, surrounded by this beauty lovingly created, we come with thanks to God in the Eucharist (remembering that that word means “thanking well”), offering all our lives to God, and sent out as more committed and faithful seekers of God’s Rule, and doing so without anxiety, both in the church and in the world. Amen.
May my words bring you peace and all good, through Christ our Lord. Amen.
Good morning everyone!
I’m glad to be here with you this morning, to share a bit of the Franciscan tradition and my thoughts on today’s readings as a Third Order Franciscan Novice as we celebrate St Francis of Assisi.
But first, I’d like to start with a little confession:
I can be a real JERK some times.
I’m glad I’m not seeing everyone nodding their heads in agreement. But it’s true. I can be a jerk some times. And that is both ‘okay’ and ‘not okay’ at the same time.
We all know someone in our lives, whether it’s at work or in church or wherever, that is a jerk sometimes. Or a little passive aggressive. Territorial. Unreliable or untrustworthy. Maybe outright belligerent or hostile. But if we’re honest with ourselves, there’s a good chance each of us is one of those things to someone, too.
Fortunately, God loves us all. Even the ones with a bad temper.
No one is called to be perfect because no one can be. We should love ourselves and each other despite our flaws. But at the same time, recognizing human faults should not be met with apathy or accommodation of negative behaviour. That is not necessarily the loving thing to do. To use a human example, I think of my children. I would never want to tie my love for them to success in school. I love them regardless of their grades. But at the same time, I don’t want less for them than they are capable of. If I really believe they are capable of better, then the loving thing to do is to encourage and push them to do so. In much the same way, it may not be any more the loving thing to do in a community to simply accept poor behaviour, than it would be to expel someone. Suggesting they simply can’t do better is denying their potential. So, we love the person, but should not accommodate or enable a pattern of negative behaviour.
It’s also been said that life is a journey, and on that journey we will all fall down sometimes. But falling into a mud puddle is no excuse to stay in it, either. You get up and get going again. The good news is that many of the saints have experienced the mud puddles of life and gone on to do the work that God set before them. St Peter denied Christ and still became a pillar of the new church. St Paul persecuted the church horribly, but was called to turn and work for Christ as the Apostle to gentiles.
St Francis himself lived a life of excess, a brash and flamboyant playboy son of a wealthy cloth merchant. His position in society led him to war, seeking to become a knight, a title that would bring special prestige to his family. But over time, God called him from one extreme to the other. Francis would repent of his former way of life and commit himself to living a life so literally close to the Gospel that he renounced his family fortune and lived a life of voluntary poverty. His place in life was to be little, poor and vulnerable. And in this radical change of life, he would unintentionally become a force for renewal and change within the church.
Over time, others saw the change in Francis and joined him on his journey in radical love for God. What started as a handful of companions, quickly became a large religious order. And so, the man who sought to be the little one, without power or control, made a lasting impact on the church even to today.
His love for creation and animals, calling all things brother and sister, is reflected in our traditional blessing of animals as we did this morning.
In observance of another specifically Franciscan tradition, you may have noticed I have taken up the habit of wearing a rosary on my belt. In Francis’ time, there was a great deal of political unrest, and it was common practice for men to wear swords on their travels to defend themselves. The Franciscans, in their radical Gospel life, so fully embraced the non-violence taught by Jesus that they put a rosary on their belt where others wore a sword, as a statement of faith and principle.
One final church tradition that you may not realize has its origin with St Francis is our beloved annual Christmas Creche or Nativity Scene. St Bonaventure in his Life of St. Francis of Assisi tells the story of Francis arranging a manger scene. I’ll read you a portion of that story:
It happened in the third year before his death, that in order to excite the inhabitants of Grecio to commemorate the nativity of the Infant Jesus with great devotion, [St. Francis] determined to keep it with all possible solemnity; and lest he should be accused of lightness or novelty, he asked and obtained the permission of the [Pope]. Then he prepared a manger, and brought hay, and an ox and an ass to the place appointed. The brethren were summoned, the people ran together, the forest resounded with their voices, and that venerable night was made glorious by many and brilliant lights and sonorous psalms of praise.
St Bonaventure goes on in the narrative to tell of a miraculous appearance of a baby in the manger, witnessed by others present. It was from this story that the tradition of arranging a Nativity scene is said to have come.
Francis had a tremendous impact on the church of his day, and the Franciscan tradition remains to this day. And as I read today’s readings in the light of the Franciscan world view of littleness, four Rs come to mind: Repentance, Redemption, Relationship, Rest.
Much of Scripture has to do with failure, all the way from Genesis to Revelation. But it never seems to just dwell on our failure – there is always a call back, a call to repentance and renewal of faith and relationship with God. In today’s reading from Isaiah, the prophet calls: “let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts; let them return to the LORD, that he may have mercy on them, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.”
One of the challenges we face is that this call can lead to legalistic responses, such as with the Pharisees who tried to be perfect enough for God’s love and blessing, in a sort of transactional if-we’re-good-enough-then-God-will-bless-us religion. This is the worldly response to sin and failure: be better than others, do better at following the rules, and get rid of those who can’t. This perspective too easily leads to a self-righteous sense of perfection that kills relationship rather than fostering it.
I think a big part of Jesus’ message was to show just how far off the mark this was. No, on the contrary, he provided a new way of seeing religion, indeed so opposite to the world’s understanding that he declares that God has ‘hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to infants’. The good and righteous religious folk of his day couldn’t comprehend why he would eat with ‘sinners and tax collectors’, because they refused to see their own weakness and acknowledge they too had failings. It was unpalatable to their sense of religious purpose and accomplishment. And so his ministry to the bottom of society seemed a waste of time to them.
As for redemption, the world wants very much to succeed on its own, even at this. Because we want to win, not to be redeemed. We do it ourselves without relying on anyone else. And when it comes to electing our government, no one wants a weak and vulnerable person to lead them, they want a strong person. A person of power. But the Cross turns everything on its head. Our salvation is not in a king leading an army to victory, but in one little man from Nazareth. The one rejected as powerless and crucified, the one in whom no one in their right mind would boast.
But as Paul puts it in his letter to the Galatians, the new creation is everything, and we can ultimately boast in nothing but the Cross of Jesus, being crucified to the ways of the world and the world crucified to us.
Good Friday saw the disciples frightened and feeling lost, but Easter Sunday would tell the truth. Victory and redemption are not ours to take by strength.
They belong to God.
In that sacrifice of the cross, we are exposed to the truth of God’s love that so wants to redeem us that He would suffer for us, asking nothing of us but our return to relationship with him.
And of course, as much as Scripture deals with the regular failure of humanity, another underlying theme is relationship. God relates to us as both individuals and as community. I find it interesting that in today’s passage from Isaiah, the everlasting covenant to be made with the people is immediately tied to God’s love for David.
God’s redemption is ultimately about relationship.
I’ve always said ‘right religion is right relationship’, and this is perhaps best reflected in two Great Commandments – love God, love your neighbour. According to Jesus, those two commandments summarize the entire Law and message from all the prophets. It’s not about being perfect. It’s about good relationship.
The word religion itself may find its origin in the Latin religare. To re-bind, or essentially to put back together. Thus “religion is restoration” is a truth reflected in the word itself. With that meaning in mind, one might boldly suggest that religion that does not focus on bringing together may be batting into foul territory, to use a baseball analogy. And if that is so, then religion that creates separation and hate would be in the wrong ball park altogether.
No, in contrast to the world view that likes to separate, label and distinguish, St Paul declares that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, neither slave nor free, no male or female. Two thousand years later, we still struggle with this radical non-dualistic form of relationship.
And finally, we are called to rest. In our Gospel reading, we finish with Jesus calling us to take on his yoke, for his yoke is easy and his burden light. We are called to take off the burden of guilt and religion that judges and condemns us for failure. To cease the struggle to be perfect and take on the lighter burden of relationship and love. To seek God and his purpose stated in Isaiah: to go out in joy and be led back in peace; with the mountains and hills before us bursting into song, and all the trees of the field clapping their hands.
The “burden” of Christ is only to be who we are called to be: imperfect people doing our best to live together in unity, but relying always on His Grace and Mercy, never a misguided sense of perfection.
Brothers and sisters, let us always repent humbly of our mistakes, accepting redemption in the Cross, building good relationship within our community, and resting secure in the knowledge of God’s love for us.
Even if we are jerks now and then.
Let us pray.
Heavenly God, you are always pleased to show yourself to those who are childlike and humble in spirit: help us to follow the example of your blessed servant Francis, to look upon the wisdom of this world as foolishness, and set our minds only on Christ and him crucified; to whom with you and the Holy Spirit be all glory for ever. Amen.
No sermon text available.
(Sermon preached by Bishop Terry Brown at Church of the Ascension, Hamilton, Ontario, on the 18th Sunday after Pentecost, September 18, 2016. Text: Luke 16: 1-13.)
Sometimes it is best to regard Jesus’ parables in the Gospels rather like beads on a necklace. What at first appears to be a single bead is really a string of beads, connected by similarity of themes or other resemblances. And it may even be the case that some of the beads are older, some newer, as the early church put together in the Bible Jesus’ words and its interpretation of them.
Surely that is the case with today’s Gospel parable, sometimes called the parable of the dishonest manager. One generally reliable Catholic commentary [Jerome] suggests the passage we heard read consists of a parable and three moralizations of it, all tied together by the themes of money and faithfulness: one big bead, followed by three small ones. I have a slightly different interpretation, which I shall come to. No wonder this is one of the most confusing parables in the Bible. I am sure when Mary Goldsberry does her study on parables in the Tuesday morning Bible study, she’ll have some words to say about this parable.
So to start with the parable: Jesus is telling a story about a rich landowner, who himself may not be very honest. He wants big returns and has perhaps has trampled on many, including many of Jesus’ hearers, to get where he is. He is not someone Jesus’ hearers would be very enamoured of. He has entrusted at least a portion of his wealth to a manager, who is possibly a slave, under pressure to produce more wealth. But he is not very honest himself; he may well be overcharging his master’s business customers, charging a very high rate of interest, indebting them, and pocketing the difference. He is perhaps a “con man”, cheating both his master and his customers. But maybe the master deserves to be cheated. Finally, the manager gets caught; perhaps one of the unhappy customers has complained to the master about the high prices and the master asks to see the accounts and discovers they have been “cooked”. But the manager, very clever, has prepared for this eventuality. He quickly starts reducing his prices, perhaps down to their correct level, or even to a discount level. He knows he is going to be sacked by his master so he has nothing to lose. Indeed, perhaps he has now been forced into honesty, actually charging fair prices, though still not for very good motives. The master sees what has happened and, rather than being angry, is amazed at his manager’s cleverness and good sense. He too has been brought up short and his dishonesty challenged.
So if we stop the parable here, perhaps the message is “repent, be clever and honest, get back on the right track”. It turns out that the bargain-basement prices were a return to justice and a critique of both the master’s and the manager’s formerly selfish and greedy ways. But one needs a lot of context to come to that conclusion and by the time the parable was written up, that context may not have been so clear.
So we have three more beads, three moral explanations of the parable or moralizations.
The first: “the children of this age are shrewder in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light”. This explanation seems rather to come out of right field. Indeed, some have suggested that, because of the “children of light” reference, the origins of this saying are with the Qumran community with its very dualistic view of good and bad and its pessimism about the current age and the need to withdraw. But still there is the theme of cleverness and being clever for the sake of the Rule of God.
But then comes an even more difficult moralization: “make friends for yourself by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.”
Does this passage mean to go out and make friends with casino owners, pay-day loan operators, embezzlers and billionaire arms merchants? And why would they be the ones to “welcome [us] into the eternal homes”?
There are a couple of possibilities. One is that, along the lines of the parable, through our friendship with them, repentance takes place, and everyone’s wealth vanishes because it is now shared. Another more general possible explanation is simply to be wise with our money and share it in ways (perhaps even to the point that it runs out) that ensure an entrance “into the heavenly homes”. We do not know the end of the story of the parable. Did the manager find a new job where he as now honest? Or did he get rehired for his cleverness? Did the master and manager repent of their money-centred ways? We do not know. Perhaps not. But the parable is to be completed in our lives.
Then comes a third moralization: “Whoever is faithful in very little is faithful in much, and whoever is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much.” The theme shifts to faithfulness in matters both big and small. If we lie in small things, we are apt to lie in big things. And if we tell the truth in small matters, we are apt to tell the truth in big matters. Be consistent: even cheating in the smallest way is a problem and may signal a much bigger problem. The parable is invoked again, with the manager chastised for not properly looking after dishonest wealth. This interpretation risks undercutting the parable; but an invocation of preparing for “true riches” (like preparing for “eternal homes” in the second moralization) brings the theme back to “use your wealth honestly and justly” for the sake of the Rule of God.
Then we come to what I would see as a fourth bead. The neckless, so far, looks rather like one big bead (the parable), three small beads (the moralizations) – but now comes another big bead, rather a different colour: “No slave can serve two masters, for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”
The connection with the parable is thematic (both have to do with the use of money) but they are not really so connected. In the parable both the master and the slave-manager are devoted only to wealth. They have no other master. It is only when disaster comes upon them that they are forced to do justice – rather like the dishonest judge in another parable who is finally forced to exact justice only after the long and annoying pleading of the woman seeking justice.
Indeed, this fourth bead almost scuttles the parable: it seems to say, don’t be like either the master and manager. Choose God rather than selfish wealth.
Can one somehow see this necklace with two large beads at either end and three smaller beads in the middle as an integrated whole, as a single teaching about wealth and the Rule of God?
If we work from the end bead, “you cannot serve God and wealth”, backwards to the earlier beads, one comes up with a teaching that reads like this: always put God first; if there is wealth, do not let it take over; use it for God’s glory; wealth is given by God to share, that we might be welcomed with “true riches”, into “eternal homes”. As Pope Francis has said many times, “the shroud has no pockets”. Yes, be friendly with all, both rich and poor, but do not let wealth be the centre of friendship. Yet do not exclude wealth and sharing from friendship. The early Church shared wealth. Yet St. Paul gives us a model of one who did not want to burden the church with the expenses of his ministry; he worked to support himself in what we would call a non-stipendiary ministry.
These are only four beads of a much larger necklace that are the parables of Jesus and their interpretations, so perhaps we best stop here. We shall reflect more upon many other beads in the week ahead, and hear more teaching on this subject.
Let us pray:
God of love and justice, give us a right mind towards the material wealth that we possess or, indeed, do not possess. Help us to share wisely. Help us to put you at the centre of our possessions and wealth. We pray for those without material wealth and thank you for the many gifts they have to offer. And open our hands, blessed by you, to share with the heart of Christ: these things we pray through your Son Jesus Christ, our true riches, in the power of the Holy Spirit. AMEN.
