A Thought For The Week Of October 27

"If only you, God, would slay the wicked! Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!" (Psalm 139:19) Those words are jarring - and they should be. I can't read them without thinking of the recent events in Ottawa and Quebec when two Canadian soldiers were killed by individuals who seem to have been motivated by an extremist understanding of Islam. That isn't a slam at Islam. Most of Islam is not extremist. And extremism is found in all religions unfortunately. Religious extremism in my religion is rooted much more in ideology than in faith. But religion plays a part. As much as we Christians believe in a God of love, and as much as the Koran speaks of a God who is merciful and compassionate, it's still far too easy for followers of either faith to fall into hatred for those who oppose us or who have different ideas or customs. That's when there's a shift from faith to ideology. Faith seeks primarily an inner transformation that's lived outwardly but doesn't seek to impose itself on others. Ideology by its very nature seeks to impose its beliefs on others. When the two mix, you have a dangerous combination of people who try to impose their beliefs on others AND who believe they're doing it for God. Christian, Muslim, Jew, Hindu - whatever the faith is, it doesn't matter. It stops being faith and becomes ideology when it becomes something to impose on others rather than something to attract others. I see the danger of religion mixing with ideology in this Psalm. "If only you, God, would slay the wicked." It's too easy to take those words and turn them into God wanting to "slay the wicked" and then deciding that "I" will be the instrument of God to slay the wicked. But the psalm is expressing a human yearning. It's expressing the wish that God would slay the wicked - which shows that God doesn't. If I choose to slay those whom I consider wicked then what I get from this Psalm is that I'm NOT doing God's will - I'm choosing to do that which God will not do. Which makes me not God's instrument, but God's adversary. Living in hate for those we disagree with, or living in hate for those who hate us and choose to hurt us, and then trying to hurt them in return, won't accomplish anything. We need to learn to live in love, and to understand that a desire to hate or to do violence is not of God and does not honour God.

October 26 sermon: There's Something About The Gospel

You know, brothers and sisters, that our visit to you was not without results. We had previously suffered and been treated outrageously in Philippi, as you know, but with the help of our God we dared to tell you his gospel in the face of strong opposition. For the appeal we make does not spring from error or impure motives, nor are we trying to trick you. On the contrary, we speak as those approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel. We are not trying to please people but God, who tests our hearts. You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed—God is our witness. We were not looking for praise from people, not from you or anyone else, even though as apostles of Christ we could have asserted our authority. Instead, we were like young children among you. Just as a nursing mother cares for her children, so we cared for you. Because we loved you so much, we were delighted to share with you not only the gospel of God but our lives as well.

(1 Thessalonians 2:1-8)

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     So, what is it about the gospel? I began thinking about that when I read Paul's words about the opposition he had faced when he preached in Philippi. And I started to wonder: what is it about the gospel that stirs opposition? Some of it is passionate and violent opposition, some of it is contemptuous, some of it is sarcastic, some of it is just reflected in the gospel and its values being ignored. But what is it about the gospel that stirs any kind of opposition. Really. In some ways, it's kind of like opposing your mother. It really is. When I think of the gospel, I think of good news – which is what the word means; which is what Jesus came to offer. When I think of the gospel I think of words like love and hope and freedom from fear. What is there to oppose about any of that? And yet, from the very beginning, we've seen opposition to a message that at its most basic level should have people flocking to it – or at least so you'd think. Who would oppose the gospel? And yet, there's something about the gospel; something that stirs opposition, something that riles people up, something that sometimes gets them angry. From time to time I think about John Wesley's advice to the preachers he sent out to Methodist mission fields that I've probably mentioned before. He required that the preachers he sent out had to report back on a regular basis about the response they were getting to their message. His basic rule was that there had to be reports of either heartfelt conversions or angry opposition – because, Wesley believed, those were the only two sincere responses to the gospel that were possible. If the gospel was truly being preached, at least one of those two things had to be happening. Both would be best, but either was all right – because either reaction was the demonstration that the preaching of the gospel was having an effect. You see, it's not the preacher who has power – it's the word that the preacher preaches that has power.

     James Howell was the minister of Myers Park United Methodist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina. A few years ago he wrote of something that happened shortly after he moved to Charlotte. from one of the northern states. The South is known as the Bible belt in the United States of course. He wrote that he was watching the local news one night shortly after his arrival, and the station was asking its viewers to vote on the most powerful preacher in Charlotte. They were given four options of well known local preachers, and they had to choose who was the most powerful. Howell said that he just shook his head in bewilderment. His view – and mine – was that none of these preachers had any power that was their own. The only power they had was through the word that hopefully lay behind their preaching. The simple reality is that the best “preachers” will have no effect if they aren't passionately committed to the word, but even those who don't speak well can have an impact if they are. Paul said himself that he wasn't a great speaker, but he touched more hearts with the gospel than perhaps anyone else in history – because it wasn't his speaking that touched people; it was the word he shared. There's something about the gospel. It's a powerful word. And it stirs a lot of opposition. And, as I said, I do wonder why. And – let's be honest – the opposition to the Gospel doesn't just come from outside the Christian faith. Sometimes it comes from inside the Christian faith, as some Christian people simply choose to turn their backs on what it asks of us. Someone wrote recently in an article I read that they found it interesting that so many Christians insist that the Creation story of Genesis has to be taken literally, but then they do nothing that suggests that they take Jesus' teachings in the Sermon on the Mount literally. Or, as G.K. Chesterton wrote many decades ago, “Christianity has not been tried and found lacking. It has been found difficult and left untried.” So, what is it about the Gospel that stirs such opposition from outside and even inside the Christian faith?

     Perhaps it's because the gospel confronts us. Any time we engage the gospel we can't help but be reminded how far we are from what God, revealed in Jesus, wants us to be; how far removed we are from what humanity could be. I suspect that for the most part we like to look at ourselves and the world around us with rose coloured glasses. When we're confronted with reality the glasses come off. We saw an example of that after last week's attack in Ottawa. Those sorts of things happen elsewhere. We had convinced ourselves of that. Not here. Over there. To see something like that happen in our own midst, and in the midst of some of the most important symbols we have of our country and our values was uncomfortable, and even frightening. The gospel does that spiritually. It makes us see ourselves as we are – far removed from what God wants us to be. Not bad; not evil. Just not what God wants us to be. Not what we could be. People don't like being reminded of that. It makes us uncomfortable, and even perhaps frightened.

     Perhaps it's because the gospel challenges us. If we're forced to recognize that we're not what God wants us to be and that we're not what we could be then we're challenged to become something other than what we are. Personal transformation is difficult. We are who we are for a whole variety of deeply ingrained reasons, and to be challenged to be transformed is hard. Transformed into what? I might not be all that God wants me to be or all that I could be – but darn it, I'm pretty good. And life's OK. And I'm a nice guy. Why do I need the challenge to be transformed? I'd really rather not be. But that's what the gospel does. Even something as simple and heartwarming from the mouth of Jesus as “become like little children” is a challenge to be transformed; to adopt a whole new way of seeing and approaching and engaging life. Maybe I like life the way it is. Maybe it's comfortable. Maybe it's just plain easier.

     Perhaps it's because the gospel seeks to use us to change the world. That's threatening to Christians and non-Christians alike. To change the world I have to be pretty public about my faith and what I believe. I have to speak openly and from a Christian perspective about the various issues of the day. I have to be – gasp! - political at times and engage the institutions that control our society and the people who are engaged with them. If I try to change the system my fear is – I lose. And why would they want to change the world? gospel is pretty hard to sell to people who are comfortable and powerful because if the system is working for you, you generally have little interest in changing the system. If those who succeed under the system change the system, the fear is – they lose! Nobody wants to lose what they have. I remember the movie Rocky III, when Rocky Balboa was confronted by his wife about why he was giving up on the idea of a rematch with Clubber Lang who had just taken the title away from him. Why didn't he want to fight for it, Adrian wanted to know. “Because I don't wanna lose what I got!” he said to her. Changing the world by following the gospel means risking “what [we] got.”

     There is something about the gospel. There really is. And it makes it hard for Christians to live it, and easy for non-Christians to reject it and even oppose it. But we have to live it. If we want to make the claim that we're disciples of Jesus – we have to live it, and we have to be willing to take the risks associated with living it. That takes courage – a courage that's  related to confidence. But it's a confidence that's not so much about being right as it is with being comfortable in our own skin. It's a confidence that allows us to remain non-defensive when challenged, to listen respectfully to others recognizing that God may be speaking to us through them, a confidence that is not smug but generous, but also a confidence that's willing to speak its piece and stand up and be heard. As James Howell, whose experience in North Carolina I shared when I opened, wrote: “I think Peter and the Apostles would have been rather surprised at the concept that Christ had been scourged and beaten by soldiers, cursed and crowned with thorns and subjected to unutterable contempt and finally nailed to the cross and left to bleed to death in order that we might all become [blandly inoffensive.]”

     There's something about the gospel. There really is. Be prepared to live it – and be prepared for the consequences. But also know that as you live it, God is with you – always!

I've Been Thinking About Fear And Faith

My column for the InPort News, to be published October 30:

I had planned to take my newspaper space this week to write something fairly innocuous (and, in retrospect, quite unimportant) about Hallowe'en and how we as Christians should understand it. (For what it's worth, I'm on the side that thinks there are Christians who take Hallowe'en far too seriously, and that there's nothing wrong with kids dressing up in costumes and playing a bit of trick or treat.) But, sitting here and writing this, it didn't seem appropriate to write about that.

A little over 24 hours ago (at the time I'm writing this), we faced the scene of a shooting in Ottawa, a soldier being murdered and the Parliament Buildings – the symbol of our democracy – being locked down. Just days before that, another soldier was killed in another attack in Quebec. I spent a good deal of time yesterday watching news reports of what was happening, numbed a bit but in all honesty not really surprised that this sort of thing happened in Canada. Some are expressing shock, but I'm not shocked. The world has become a pretty small place. Problems happening in other parts of the world hit home here, and we choose (rightly or wrongly – and that's a whole other debate) to become involved in what's happening in other parts of the world. That some of the world's problems would be imported to Canada is hardly surprising.

Right now, there's a lot of speculation about the violence that's taken place. Is it part of a wider terrorist plot? Is there more to come? Or were these “lone wolf” incidents – with isolated and probably disturbed individuals throwing our country and its institutions into chaos? It will probably take a while to find that out for sure. But the reaction is disturbing to me. On a radio call-in show a little while ago, I heard someone say that “everything's changed – and it's changed forever.” I heard another caller say “nothing will ever be the same again.” That concerns me. It concerns me as a Christian. It concerns me as a pastor, because I'm concerned that what's going to change is not going to be for the better.

The word “terrorist” come from the root word “terror.” A “terrorist” is someone who uses terror as a weapon. For a terrorist, as I see it, the point is not to kill a soldier or anyone else. The point is to instill terror into all those who are left behind. It's to have us all looking over our shoulders, suspicious of everyone we see that we don't know; everyone we see who looks or acts a little different. As another caller to that talk show said, “we'll never be able to trust anyone ever again.” And there's the victory that “terrorism” wins. It reduces our society; it takes away some of the fundamental things that make us who we are. It makes us act in fear, and when we act out of fear we often do irrational things. When we decide that our safety (which can never be totally guaranteed) is all that matters, then we become prepared to surrender much of what we are for the illusion that such surrender is making us safer. I've always been taken with the words of the great American patriot Benjamin Franklin, who wrote that “he who gives up liberty to gain temporary security is deserving of neither liberty nor security.” No matter what, it's essential that we hold on to what and who we are as Canadians, and that we continue to uphold the ideals and values that we cherish. Otherwise we give a victory to those whose primary goal isn't simply to kill a few people, but is rather to terrify a lot of people.

From a Christian perspective, I think it's important for us to remember that we are called to act in faith, and not to act out of fear. Christian faith teaches us many things. Above all, it teaches us love. “God is love,” the Bible tells us. And we're also told that “perfect love casts out fear.” If Christians succumb to the wave of fear and anxiety that I heard on that radio call-in show, then I despair. “Love your neighbour” has to mean just that. But, if we act out of fear, then we'll succumb as easily as anyone to the desire to target certain people, to distrust others, to seek revenge, to sacrifice freedom (our own and the freedom of others) for the illusion of safety.

We need to continue to be who we are. A free and democratic society. A society that, while not perfect, has done in my opinion a pretty good job of loving our neighbours in so many different ways. Fear can cause us to let go of those things; to sacrifice all that we hold dear. But perfect love casts out fear. If you're a Christian, I want to invite you to commit yourself to truly living in love – for God, for one another, for your neighbours, and let's not forget that Jesus mentioned loving our enemies as well. That's how we bear witness to the change God makes in our life, and that what makes the difference to how we see the world – we see it through a lens of faith and not a lens of fear.

A Thought For The Week Of October 20

"How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” (Exodus 33:16) It's a great question! "What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?” Yeah. It's a great question! First of all, it suggests to us that we're not simply to be anonymous people of faith who blend into the culture around us. We're supposed to be noticed. Then, "what ELSE ..." implies that there's already something that distinguishes God's people that's already been made known. And, yes - there is. It's God's presence. God is with us. But that's for us to know. It's more an inner reality we're convinced of. But while we may be aware that it makes us different - how else are we distinguished? How else are we made known to others? How does the presence of God change us so that others notice? We can think of love. We're called to love with a radical love poured out for all without exception. But even that's a bit amorphous. Maybe the description in Acts of the early church and its early growth fits in with this question. They loved - radically. They took care of each other. They supported each other. They shared everything to the point at which there were no poor among them. And people noticed - and the growth multiplied. How did people notice? Because God's people didn't hide their faith and its impact.Perhaps we're too shy about our faith? Perhaps we have to be willing not just to believe it but to profess it, and not just to profess it but to live it, and not just to live it but to show it. And then do it all in the name of Jesus Christ and for the glory of God. That distinguishes us from all the other people on the face of the earth! Have a great week!

October 19 sermon - The Idols All Around Us

Paul, Silas and Timothy, To the church of the Thessalonians in God the Father and the Lord Jesus Christ: grace and peace to you. We always thank God for all of you and continually mention you in our prayers. We remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labour prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. For we know, brothers and sisters loved by God, that he has chosen you, because our gospel came to you not simply with words but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and deep conviction. You know how we lived among you for your sake. You became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit. And so you became a model to all the believers in Macedonia and Achaia. The Lord’s message rang out from you not only in Macedonia and Achaia - your faith in God has become known everywhere. Therefore we do not need to say anything about it, for they themselves report what kind of reception you gave us. They tell how you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead - Jesus, who rescues us from the coming wrath.

(1 Thessalonians 1:1-10)

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     I think it was on a Saturday afternoon maybe two or three weeks ago. It was a lazy day, and I was sitting on the couch surfing through various television channels just to see what was on – and, for reasons I still don't quite understand, I ended up watching “The Brady Bunch Movie.” Most of you probably know The Brady Bunch. Mike and Carol; Greg, Peter and Bobby; Marcia, Jan and Cindy. And Alice of course. You can't forget Alice. There were a couple of movie made a few years ago now that took the 70's Brady's and transplanted them (still stuck in the 70's) into today's world. They were fun movies. Not great movies, perhaps, but fun. The movie I watched (which was the first one) had an original storyline, but it took some of the storylines from the old TV series and used them to weave things together. One of the old storylines used was a trip the Brady's made to Hawaii – and one of the challenges this blended family faced as they made their way through Hawaii was that they came across an old Polynesian idol – an idol that wreaked havoc upon them and caused them all sorts of troubles.

     It was a very traditional view of idols. Some false god that's been created by people out of wood or metal, but that for some reason has real power over the lives of those who come into contact with it. Idols have always been around, but they don't have to be the kind of idols portrayed in The Brady Bunch or that we probably think of when we think of idols. The Bible has a different view of idols. In some ways it's a more comforting view; in some ways it's a more frightening view. I suppose it depends on how you approach it. Paul, I think, had an understanding of idols that was very spiritually mature. His basic message about idols was that idols are nothing. They're powerless – or maybe to the point, idols have only the power that we choose to give them. And there's the rub. If we choose to give our idols power then they have great power. Paul understood that. His consistent message to Christians was "give up on idols and turn to the God revealed by Jesus." But I wonder if he went far enough? Is it simply a matter of turning away from idols and turning to God, and - lo! - the battle's won? He seemed to imply that in 1 Thessalonians.

     "... you turned to God from idols to serve the living and true God ..." It sounds like a done deal. Take that step of faith, trust in God, and all those idols will disappear. Well, far be it for me to take issue with either Paul or the Bible, but I wonder if that doesn't leave the wrong impression? If that doesn't make things too simple? I don't want faith to be a complicated thing. At its heart, Christian faith, summed up in Jesus' message, was surprisingly simple: live in love for everyone, respect all and honour God. But I think idols are complicated things. I don't think it's just a matter of believing in God and setting aside idols once and for all. I think we're involved in a constant fight against idols, that requires not a one time decision to set our idols aside, but an ongoing willingness to discern what our idols are and then repeatedly setting them aside, because idols are all around us, and they are constantly pulling us away from God.

     What, after all, is an idol? An idol isn't evil or satanic or devilish. At least not overtly. It's not a statue like The Brady Bunch idol I talked about. Idols can be everyday things, which is why they're all around us. Idols are those things that claim our allegiance, over and above God. Idols are those things we place our trust in, over and above God. Idols are those things that hold us enthralled, when only God is worthy of our worship. Idols are those things we choose to serve, rather than being content with serving God. Idols are the things that replace God in our lives, or that, at the very least, render God a distant second in our list of priorities.

     It's easy to think of examples. A few weeks ago I mentioned that one of our major banks had conducted a survey that suggested that a disturbing number of Canadians thought that winning a lottery was their best chance to finance their retirement. The lottery becomes the idol. Money in general becomes our master. Celebrities become objects of adoration to the point of worship. We trust the police to protect us, or the government to take care of us. There's nothing inherently wrong with any of those things - except that they can easily push God out of our lives. And they're all around us, always beckoning us, always calling us. Which is why we need to stay centred on God.

     Paul commended the Thessalonians for setting aside idols and choosing to serve the true God. They had their priorities straight, Paul was saying to them. Would he say the same to us, I wonder. In our world full of idols, do we have our priorities straight? Do we serve God above all else? I wonder about that. Actually, I wonder if the greatest and most dangerous idol we don’t create is sometimes ourselves. When we choose to trust in ourselves and our own abilities instead of in God; when we choose to believe that we’re self-sufficient and can take care of our own challenges without any help - even from God; when we choose to think we can become our own god, and forget the God who’s really there. This has always been a problem. It’s one of the foundational stories in the Bible. Remember? In Genesis 11, humanity built a tower that reached into the heavens, to prove that they could do anything; to prove that they were like God. That didn’t work out so well. Creating idols, and putting our faith in them instead of God never does. And, given human history, I wonder if we don’t do that all too often.

     I may wonder about that, but what I don't wonder about is this: whatever our priorities may be, whatever temptations we may fall before, whatever idols we may choose, God's priority is clear. "... God so loved the world that he gave his only son ..." Idols are nothing. They have only the power we give them. God's love is everything. And it's poured out for us - and it's more powerful than any idol.

A Thought For The Week Of October 13

"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:7) Just before this verse, Paul writes that we are to "rejoice in the Lord always." Then, in v.7, he tells us that we should have "the peace of God, which transcends all understanding." That helps me to understand what it means to actually "rejoice in the Lord." It's not a raucous, shout out loud, party kind of atmosphere. It's quiet, reverent and peaceful. That teaches us a little bit about worship too. Is worship in the church intended to be mere entertainment, getting people to stomp their feet and clap their hands and shout out loud? Or, is worship to be an invitation to a joy actually characterized by peace? Is our life of faith to be lived as an in your face celebration, or is it to be a peaceful contemplation? Interesting thoughts. Of course, more and more people seem to want something loud and in your face, but when you think about it isn't the opportunity to experience "joy" in that sense ever present in the secular world? I wonder if the best and most helpful and most faithful thing that the church might be able to offer isn't actually an escape from noise and raucousness, and an invitation to quiet and peaceful contemplation. There are, after all, few opportunities for that when we're surrounded by the noise of the world. That won't likely be a popular perspective, but I do wonder if it isn't true. It's at least something to think about. And I've been doing some personal reflecting recently on happiness and its connection to biblical things like peace and contentment and joy and thankfulness. It was, after all, Thanksgiving here in Canada just yesterday. Real happiness isn't summed up by the worldly or secular understanding of the word. Real happiness is expressed in peacefully rejoicing in the presence of God. Real happiness is being at peace; knowing that God is with me. I hope that all of us can experience that kind of happiness and joy in the days to come, as we quietly contemplate God's presence in our lives. Have a great week.

October 12 sermon: Don't Forget To Be Thankful

 Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!” When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed. One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him - and he was a Samaritan. Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.”

(Luke 17:11-19)

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     As I was reflecting on what I might say about this passage in the light of Thanksgiving weekend, I found myself thinking back to Heather's time with the children last weekend. If you were here you might remember that she used a doughnut, and comparing the actual doughnut with the hole in the middle, she reminded the children that it's important to be thankful for what we do have rather than to focus on what we don't have. That seemed to me to be very good advice for adults as well, because for whatever reason I do think we have a tendency to focus more on what we want than on what we have; to lament what we don't have than to celebrate what we do have, and that mindset has a tendency to affect how we react to what we have. Basically, if we spend too much of our time in lament, we're failing to be thankful. You might say that the prerequisite for being thankful is to have hope. You don't need hope if you know that you're going to get yourself out of a tough situation. You just push the pedal to the metal so to speak and get yourself out of the tough situation. But if you're facing a desperate situation and you have absolutely no possibility of finding a way out of it by yourself, then you have to live in hope that something can happen to set things right. That seems to have been the situation that Jesus encountered as he came to this village.

     Jesus found ten men, all with a horrible disease. Ebola has been much in the news lately. There are fears being raised by some people of a mass pandemic that could sweep the world . There are apocalyptic visions I'm sure in some minds of what this horrible disease might do to society. Or remember SARS a few years ago. Or AIDS a few years before that. Or fears about various strains of flu. There's always something it seems that causes some people at least to panic. Right now, it's ebola. And what's our usual solution to these problems? We isolate the victims. We blame them. We cast them aside. We live in fear of them. Two thousand years ago it was this dreaded skin disease the Bible calls leprosy. We don't really know what it was. We don't know if it was what we think of today as leprosy. The word really just means a skin disease, but apparently it was an infectious skin disease and the Old Testament had very clear rules that had to be followed when such an infection broke out. In an era when sanitation was non-existent, when there were no public health services and there were no vaccinations to protect people – you cast out those who were afflicted. You literally threw them out of the villages and left them in the wilderness on their own to make do as best as they could. It was harsh, but it was perhaps understandable. But even if you can understand why it was done, you can still imagine how those who were afflicted felt. Alone, outcast, they didn't have the protection of the walls that surrounded most villages so they were at the mercy of wild animals. And they were sick. It was a miserable, pitiful existence. And Jesus walked right into the middle of it as he came to this village. Ten men, horribly afflicted, outcast and isolated. Ten men who suddenly discovered hope and looked to Jesus for relief from their suffering: “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!” they cried out.

     Jesus had pity. Jesus showed mercy. The men were healed, which must have been a joyous thing for them. And then what happens is jarring; even perhaps a bit shocking. I'm not talking about the lack of gratitude from nine of the men. I'm talking about how Jesus responds to the lack of gratitude that the nine men showed.

     One man returned to Jesus. One man said “thank you.” One out of ten. That's a pretty poor percentage! But one man did come back and give thanks. But Jesus' response was one of irritation perhaps. He seemed almost rude in his response. In fact, at first at least he seemed to ignore the grateful man who was in front of him and he spoke past him, presumably addressing his words to the crowds of people who were likely at the gates of the village and within earshot and who had seen what happened. And his words were words of rebuke. “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine?” It's as if Jesus couldn't grasp this lack of gratitude that was being shown. It's a strange image of Jesus. I never think of Jesus wanting thanks for the things that he does for people. But as I think about it I'm not really sure that Jesus wanted thanks. I think what Jesus wanted from these men was an attitude of thankfulness – and not just for this particular incident. I think Jesus wanted them to have a spirit of  thankfulness – to God – and to express that thankfulness to God.

     The great irony of the passage is that Jesus found this attitude of thankfulness that he was looking for only in one of the men: “Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” he said with what seems to have been a bit of incredulity. This man was a foreigner. He was a Samaritan and not a Jew. Jesus saw a problem when he realized that the people who hadn't returned to give thanks were among the people of God. They had been restored to their community. They were back among their people. They rejoiced; they celebrated; they were happy. But they didn't say “thank you.” Only a foreigner – who would still be rejected by the people of the village because he wasn't considered one of them – bothered to really live out any sense of gratitude. It wasn't so much about giving thanks to Jesus. It was simply about being thankful. I wonder what Jesus would think about society in 2014?

     I don't know about the rest of you but I see a society that's becoming far less polite and far less courteous. I'll freely confess that when I was a kid, I didn't grow up in the most functional of households, but at the same time I was at least taught that I should say “please” and “thank you.” Lynn and I have raised Hannah to do that, and I suspect that most of you have raised your kids the same way. But it still seems that we live in a society today in which many people feel “entitled” to things, and when we feel entitled, we're not as inclined to be thankful for them when we receive them. We take a lot of things for granted and sometimes we don't show much gratitude. In Luke's story, I wonder if the nine men who neglected to give thanks did so because they felt entitled to divine healing because they were a part of the community of God's people. God was their God; healing them was something their God should do for them. It was just something their faith should result in, while the one man who wasn't part of the community of God's people couldn't take divine healing for granted, was surprised to experience it, and was so overwhelmed that he could do nothing except throw himself at Jesus' feet and say “thank you!” There's a lesson there.

     It's wonderful to celebrate Thanksgiving. It's wonderful to share time with family and good friends, to eat big meals and to give thanks for what we have. That is wonderful. But as the people of God it seems to me that we need to have more than just a day of thanksgiving. We need to live with a spirit of thanksgiving – a spirit of thanksgiving that fills our hearts and pours forth from our lips and touches the world around us. When Paul wrote that we should “... give thanks in all circumstances ...” I don't think he was simply mouthing an empty religious platitude. I think he was speaking of a profound spiritual truth. The only possible way to approach God (and for that matter to approach life, which comes from God) is with a spirit of thanksgiving every day, all year round, whatever the circumstances we're facing might be. This never-ending attitude of thanksgiving might be the best witness to Jesus and to our faith that we could possibly offer because I think it would stand out in a world in which giving thanks for what we have isn't the default position!

A Daytime Moon - A Poem

A clear, cool, bright, sunshine-y morning.
It was unexpected; it wasn't supposed to be there,
But there it was.
The moon.
The light that governs the night.
But this was day.
It wasn't bright and white.
It was dull and grey,
Barely shining, not even shining. Just there.
But it was there. In the western sky.
It didn't shock me.
I know why it's there.
It doesn't frighten me.
Nothing bad will come from it.
It's not a sign.
Not really. Except ...
For me, this morning, it was a sign.
It reminded me of God.
Often seeming hidden, but always there.
How often do I fail to see God? To know God's presence?
In the dark times, God often shines bright,
When things are all light, it's so easy to ignore God,
To forget God is there.
But God is there.
Always.
A glimpse of the moon on a cool, clear, bright, sunshine-y morning
Reminds me of that.
God is here.
Always.

A Thought For The Week Of October 6

"For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." (Hebrews 4:12) This is a powerful verse that  some will undoubtedly recoil from because it uses weaponry as an image - God's Word being sharper than a double edged sword. I can understand the angst that might cause to some. But I also think it's important - whatever the imagery - to pay a lot more attention to the message than to the image. First, this is an image that speaks of the power of God's Word. Swords were among the most dangerous weapons an individual could possess in those days; double edged swords especially so. So, no matter what worldly opposition we face we have the Word of God, which is more powerful. But of course the real focus of the verse is the inner effect of God's Word on the believer. Like a sword, it cuts into us. It's what separates the spirit from the flesh. I don't want to fall into dualism, but God's Word is what helps us realize that spirit and flesh want different things: spirit to please God and flesh self-gratification. God's Word divides the two so that we're aware of the conflict, even if we don't always allow the spirit to be in control. God's Word gets to "the thoughts and attitudes of the heart." It "cuts to the heart of the matter," you might say. It touches us inside. God's Word allows us to understands God's ways, which basically gives us a conscience. God's Word cuts into us and reveals to us what's really going on inside - where we fail, where we sin, where we need to be transformed, how we need to live. Ultimately, as violent as the sword imagery might be, it's that very image that jars us. And - although jarring, and perhaps because it's jarring - this powerful image should lead us not to hatred and killing, but to love and life - if we allow the spirit to take priority over the flesh. Have a great week!

October 5 sermon: The Grounds For Eviction

“Listen to another parable: There was a landowner who planted a vineyard. He put a wall around it, dug a winepress in it and built a watchtower. Then he rented the vineyard to some farmers and moved to another place. When the harvest time approached, he sent his servants to the tenants to collect his fruit. The tenants seized his servants; they beat one, killed another, and stoned a third. Then he sent other servants to them, more than the first time, and the tenants treated them the same way. Last of all, he sent his son to them. ‘They will respect my son,’ he said. But when the tenants saw the son, they said to each other, ‘This is the heir. Come, let’s kill him and take his inheritance.’ So they took him and threw him out of the vineyard and killed him. Therefore, when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?” “He will bring those wretches to a wretched end,” they replied, “and he will rent the vineyard to other tenants, who will give him his share of the crop at harvest time.” Jesus said to them, “Have you never read in the Scriptures: ‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; the Lord has done this, and it is marvellous in our eyes’? Therefore I tell you that the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit. Anyone who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces; anyone on whom it falls will be crushed.” When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard Jesus’ parables, they knew he was talking about them. They looked for a way to arrest him, but they were afraid of the crowd because the people held that he was a prophet.

(Matthew 21:33-46)

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     One of the things that I admire a lot about the United Church is that on a day like today – everyone is welcome at the table of the Lord. We don't ask for your denominational credentials or your membership certificate. We don't have a litmus test. We ask that you have faith in Jesus, and we leave it up to you to decide, on that basis, if you want to come forward. Which means, basically, that all are welcome at the table. Jesus, after all, told us that we shouldn't judge – and what would be more judgemental than to decide that we have the right to restrict access to the table that belongs not to us but to God? That we have the right to bar access to this sacrament of grace in which we're going to share in a few minutes? Everyone is welcome. But for all its openness, and for our great desire to be “inclusive” and to exclude no one, I wonder if, in some ways, the table isn't also supposed to be a place of challenge? The Gospel passage for today represents a challenge – a big one, it seems to me. Tying it into Holy Communion, this passage is perhaps challenging us to live in such a way that the table isn't only a place we feel welcome at, but is actually the natural place for us to be. The table at a Communion service represents many things. It's a place of gathering; it's the centre of the community; it's a place of sharing; it's a reminder of sacrifice and responsibility – things that are absolutely essential if a community is to have any real significance. Symbolically, the table points us to Christ crucified; it represents for us the presence of God from whose love we can never be separated, we're told by Paul in Romans 8. But then we read today's Gospel passage, and we wonder: How do you possibly get kicked out of the kingdom of heaven? Or, maybe more to the point, why would you get kicked out of the kingdom of heaven? That's the most problematic aspect of this passage.

“the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.”

     This is not an unfamiliar passage to me, but whenever I read even the most familiar passage of Scripture, I try to approach it with new eyes and I try to see something that jars me – no matter how familiar I am with the passage. Those words I found jarring. “... the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.” They raised a lot of questions in my mind.

     “... the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.” 

What is “the Kingdom of God”? It's a phrase we use regularly. It's found regularly in the Bible. But what is it? Is it a place? What is it? It's not a piece of geography. I can't give you the co-ordinates to find it. You can't program it into your GPS. In an eternal sense, it's the state in which God dwells; it's what both God and we exist in when God's will is being perfectly done. For now, I think it's almost more a state of mind that God's people should possess. It's the state of mind that desires to see God's will perfectly done and that seeks to create a glimpse of it in the here and now. It's the place where God's people have their true citizenship. It sounds like a wonderful place. The problem is that Jesus said “... the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.” So my next question is, who are “you” and why was the “Kingdom of God” taken away from them? Maybe we wonder - who gets the Kingdom of heaven taken away from them today? In the passage, it's clear. It's the “chief priests and the Pharisees ...” But what about today? This is surely about more than just the chief priests and Pharisees of Jesus' day. What was it about the chief priests and Pharisees that resulted in them having the Kingdom of God taken away from them? I think that's rather simple actually. It was because they made faith difficult for people. It was because they made it hard for people to believe that God loved them and cared about them. They were judgemental; they pointed out every little flaw they saw in those around them; they were self-righteous, believing that they themselves had no flaws, and that if others didn't live up to the standards they set then the doors to the Kingdom of God would be closed to them. There are such people today. Perhaps that's why the symbolism of an open table is important to us. We don't want to exclude anyone from the table, because we ourselves don't want to be excluded. We remember the words of Jesus: “Do not judge and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. ... For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.” (Lk 6:37,38b) The chief priests and Pharisees were convinced that their judgemental and self-righteous attitudes were of God. Jesus said they weren't. Jesus said that because of them the Kingdom of God was taken away from them – not because God loved them any less, but because they failed to love others as they should. And so, a bewildering role reversal (bewildering to the chief priests and Pharisees, and to the self-righteous and legalistic today) was proclaimed by Jesus: “the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit.”

     This is pretty easy to understand. Jesus is talking about those who understand the values of the Kingdom of God. Jesus is speaking of those who welcome others and share with others and help others and support others. Jesus is speaking to those who live by the law of love which he expresses so eloquently and so often: “love God, love one another, love your neighbour and love your enemies.” Unconditional love given freely, without hesitation, without reservation. This is the standard of the Kingdom of God; this is the fruit of the Kingdom of God. Do we love? This is what tells us that we belong. The Kingdom of God is an alien place for those who can't live in love. Of course, we don't do it perfectly. Maybe there are those in the world who, in spite of our best efforts, we find ourselves unable to love. But the key words are “in spite of our best efforts.” The chief priests and Pharisees (and the self-righteous today) make no effort to love as Jesus asked. We're called at least to put our best effort into living in love. And God's grace is there for us when we fail.

     The table is a wonderful symbol of what Jesus is talking about in the parable. In 1 John we're told that “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers [and sisters].” For the moment, this table is the symbol of the Kingdom of God. This table reminds us of what divine love truly is, and what human love would ideally be. As we approach the table this morning, may we do so as those who live by the values of the Kingdom that Jesus himself lived among us, and as those who accept the grace that God wants to shower upon us.