Funerals - And Why I Actually Like Them

It's the last day of May, and as I look back at the month I realize that I've conducted six funerals. I realize that for some pastors in very large churches that might not be much - but to me, that's a lot. It's only the second time I've had six funerals in a month (the other was July of 2009). And yet, it doesn't feel as though it's been burdensome. I'm a bit tired, and four of them came on what was supposed to be my "day off" - but still - it hasn't been a burden. Actually, in a way it's energizing. I have colleagues who find funerals a burden, but they've never been to me. Truth be told, although many lay people don't understand this, I actually enjoy conducting funerals - much more than, say, conducting a wedding. I've talked to many colleagues who feel the same way, but lay people find it surprising. Weddings, after all, are joyful events, and funerals are sombre events - weddings should be enjoyed, funerals shouldn't. I suppose that's true if you're attending them, but as the person presiding, I find a funeral much more satisfying than a wedding. Enough people have been surprised to hear me say that that I thought maybe it would answer a few questions if I shared why I like doing funerals.

I've had many memorable funerals over the years. My very first after being ordained was for a 28 year old woman who took her own life. It happened three days after I arrived on my first charge, it was a significant family in the church, I knew virtually no one, and it was a challenge that theological college had definitely not prepared me for. But I pulled it off, with God's help and guidance. And I'll never forget it. I've conducted a service for a stillborn baby who never had the chance to live, and I've conducted a service for a 104 year old woman whose life had been full and rich. I've led funerals that were full of laughter, and I've led funerals where people literally almost fell down sobbing. I've led funerals for faithful church members and saints about whose faith there was no question, and I've led funerals for those who had never professed any faith but were still loved by God - as we all are. I've led simple graveside funerals and elaborate church funerals. There have been sudden deaths and there have been deaths that have come after extended sickness and suffering. I recently conducted a secular funeral for a child. I had always said I could never do that, but when I was asked, I thought about Jesus and realized that his concern would be about giving help and comfort - so I did it, hoping that my presence as a Christian minister was a sufficient witness to Jesus and the gospel. I had one funeral at which the deceased's daughter in law came up to me five minutes before the service and said that since no one else in the family wanted to share, she would like to share some thoughts. A wonderful gesture I thought - until she opened her "eulogy" with the words "It's been 15 years since I married into this family, and in all that time I've never even met [the deceased.]" She used her "eulogy" as an extended opportunity to tell the assembled mourners that unless they believed in the Bible they were going to hell - and she said it over and over again! The response seemed to be "it's just her," and at the end of the service a group hug broke out. I've conducted a lot of memorable funeral services. But here are some specific reasons I actually enjoy conducting funerals.

(1) Funerals are a challenge. At a funeral, you find yourself dealing with people at their most vulnerable and at a time in their lives when they're most in need of comfort. Finding the words that need to be spoken at such a time is, to me, the ultimate challenge of ministry. It's what this calling is about. At a funeral there's real and obvious need and grief and sometimes even trauma, and here's an opportunity for me to prove what I truly believe - that faith can provide the ultimate comfort, and that a sermon, well crafted, can offer hope even in a seemingly hopeless situation. I know clergy who have two or three funerals sermons and just rotate through them. But I try to do more than that. Especially for active church members, my funeral sermons are often original. Yes, I have themes I work with, and sometimes if it's not a church member I'll take a previous funeral message and rewrite it, but rewriting it is always for the purpose of contextualizing it to the particular circumstance. That takes time. It's challenging. It's what this is about.

(2) Funerals are about sharing. I've had so many wonderful times of sharing with families who've just lost a loved one - and it always astounds me that at this moment, there's rarely even a hint of doubt that the minister belongs here with us, even when it's not a church member. Funerals are an invitation for me to become almost a part of a family: to hear the memories, to hear the stories, to feel the love. For one of these six funerals this month, I spent almost two hours sitting at a kitchen table with someone I had never met before, for the most part just listening. There were tears and there was laughter. And I was looked on as worthy to be a part of that. It's an awesome experience.

(3) Funerals give me an opportunity to actually proclaim something meaningful to people who want to hear it. If you want to know what frustrates me about weddings - it's basically that I often feel as though people see the minister as a bit of a burden. The minister brings "the religious stuff" that we have to go through before we can go off to the party! Unlike my funeral messages, my wedding messages are ones that I largely rotate through. I have four or five of them. But I generally don't spend a lot of time contextualizing them much. And one can preach Sunday after Sunday to a congregation and you often wonder if anyone really listens, but at funerals, for the most part at least, I don't feel as though I'm looked on as a burden to be endured and I believe people are listening for at least a hint of hope. In that situation, people look to me to have something meaningful to share; as someone who should be able to bring some sense of comfort and peace to an often unbearable situation. Here's the chance to proclaim the gospel at its best. It's not to get people into church (although that happens sometimes.) It's to, in effect, be Jesus to them. To offer compassion and assurance at a time when people need to feel compassion and assurance. When I preach a funeral message and it goes well, I know I've done that.

(4) Funerals let me see people rise to the occasion. In so many ways people rise to the occasion. Sometimes it's in the way people surround a family, but I'm thinking more of the funeral service itself. At church on a Sunday, I see lay people read Scripture, and maybe sing in a choir, but most of the leadership is with me. At a funeral, I see people wanting to be involved. I see friends and family stand up and share their memories, I see children offer poems, I see folks who want to read Scripture, I see those with musical talent often offering that talent. In all those things I see the family of God at its best. It's a privilege to be a part of it.

Funerals aren't fun. There's a lot of pain involved. But they are perhaps the part of my ministry that gives me the most satisfaction when they're over.

A Thought For The Week Of May 26

"For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Galatians 5:14) I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the relationship between law and grace, and about what it means to be under grace rather than under law. In a lot of ways it seems as though living under law would be easier - at least there'd be a set of rules and regulations (a check-list of sorts) that would guide us. We could tick off the things we've done or the things we've failed to do, add them up and see if the laws we've kept outnumbers the laws we've broken - and if they do, we'd feel good about ourselves (in spite of the fact that a lawbreaker is a lawbreaker); and if they don't, well, at least we'd have lots of incentive to do better, knowing that punishment awaits. But grace intervenes and makes the check-list a moot point. Grace sets us free from the details of the law, and grace allows us to live by the spirit of the law. What was the law intended to show us or teach us becomes the operative point. And both Jesus and Paul sum it up - the law is intended to move us to live in love. Jesus says that we're to love God and our neighbour. Paul is even more succinct in Galatians - "love your neighbour as yourself." So perhaps loving our neighbour is a sign that we love God. Maybe that's what God asks of us - to love our neighbours. Not to judge them. Not to threaten them. Not to condemn them. Just to love them. Could it be that simple? It's not really simple of course. The love being talked about here is hard, and it demands a sacrifice from us, but still - we can understand it. Live in love as best we can and we've kept the law as God wants us to. And because we can only do it as best we can and not perfectly - we have God's grace showered upon us. Good news indeed. Have a great week!

May 25 sermon: In The Every Day Things Of Life

Afterward Jesus appeared again to his disciples, by the Sea of Galilee. It happened this way: Simon Peter, Thomas(also known as Didymus), Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two other disciples were together.“I’m going out to fish,” Simon Peter told them, and they said, “We’ll go with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Early in the morning, Jesus stood on the shore, but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. He called out to them, “Friends, haven’t you any fish?” “No,” they answered. He said, “Throw your net on the right side of the boat and you will find some.” When they did, they were unable to haul the net in because of the large number of fish. Then the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” As soon as Simon Peter heard him say, “It is the Lord,” he wrapped his outer garment around him (for he had taken it off) and jumped into the water. The other disciples followed in the boat, towing the net full of fish, for they were not far from shore, about a hundred yards. When they landed, they saw a fire of burning coals there with fish on it, and some bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you have just caught.” So Simon Peter climbed back into the boat and dragged the net ashore. It was full of large fish, 153, but even with so many the net was not torn. Jesus said to them,“Come and have breakfast.” None of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” They knew it was the Lord. Jesus came, took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time Jesus appeared to his disciples after he was raised from the dead. (John 21:1-14)

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     At some point you've probably all heard of what are called “mountain top experiences.” These are the powerful spiritual experiences that we have when something dramatic happens that makes us have no doubt about the presence of God in our midst. They can be different things for different people (there's no single definition of what a “mountain top experience” would be) but they can happen to anyone and everyone and they simply bring us into the presence of God and they usually change us in some meaningful way when they happen – because how can you not be changed when you realize that you've had some sort of encounter with the divine. Sometimes we want to talk about these experiences because they are so powerful and so meaningful to us; sometimes we're a little embarrassed by them and we decide to keep it to ourselves. But somehow people usually notice. 

     I guess the classic biblical example of a mountain top experience would have been the experience of Moses on Mount Sinai with God, who appeared in the form of a burning bush. The experience transformed Moses from a frightened and uncertain shepherd looking after his father in law's sheep into the leader of God's people. Or you could consider Paul's experience on the Road to Damascus. Paul was on his way from Jerusalem to Damascus in order to engage in persecution against the followers of Jesus in that city, when he had an experience that he could only describe as a blinding light that transformed him into the leader of the church's mission to the Gentile world. And there was Peter, who was suddenly confronted by the sight of Jesus standing on a mountain top with Moses and Elijah on either side of him. Moses – the giver of the law, and Elijah – the greatest of Israel's prophets; an experience that convinced Peter that here, in Jesus, was God's final and perfect revelation: Jesus, who held together the law and the prophets, and Jesus, who went beyond the law and the prophets. And, of course, who can forget the story of Mary Magdalene, standing distraught at the empty tomb on the first Easter morning, in tears because she couldn't find the body of Jesus, only to be lifted to a mountain top experience when the risen Jesus suddenly revealed himself to her, and she realized that the cross hadn't been an end – it had been a new beginning. There are more – but those are four wonderful examples of mountain top experiences that had a dramatic effect on those who had them.

     But mountain top experiences can also create problems. Sometimes, people become so fixated on their own version of the mountain top experience that they think everyone else should have the same experience, and they can begin to think that anyone who doesn't have the same experience has a problem, or isn't as good as they are. There are more than a few biblical examples of that too. What greater mountain top experience could there have been than to have been one of the disciples of Jesus? To have walked with him, to have talked with him, to have learned from him – to have literally seen God in him? And yet, at times at least, it seems that the experience had exactly the opposite effect on them than Jesus would have liked. Jesus welcomed people, and his goal was that the will of God would be done through those whom he called. But then there's the story of the people bringing their children to Jesus to be blessed. There's no suggestion in the story that Jesus was bothered by this, but the disciples seemed to have been jealous. Indeed, they “rebuked those who brought them” - as if time with Jesus was an experience that children weren't worthy of having. They were themselves, of course, rebuked by Jesus. “Let the little children come to me,” he said. But the mountain top experience of spending time with Jesus made the disciples judgemental and jealous. And there's the example of the church at Corinth. The Corinthian church was a strong church, with many people who had received the mountain top experience of being specially gifted by God, but some (especially those who had received the gift of speaking in tongues) started to believe themselves better than others, because they had received a very obvious gift that others hadn't received and so, surely they thought, those others were lacking in something; they weren't as good. Powerful, mountain top, spiritual experiences don't always have a positive effect.

     So I started thinking – as wonderful as mountain top experiences are, maybe we need to celebrate other ways of experiencing God's presence. Maybe it isn't all about being on top of the mountain with something dramatic and exciting happening. Maybe it isn't about all the “signs and wonders” that some churches and some Christians seem fixated on. Maybe it's time for people to start to concentrate on seeing and experiencing God in the every day things of life. Maybe God is just as present in the mundane as in the dramatic; in the ordinary as much or more than in the extraordinary. Take, for example, the experience we read about in John's Gospel a few minutes ago.

     We tend to focus on the catch of fish described in the passage – and that's all well and good. It was a seemingly miraculous event that certainly deserves the attention it gets. But the story goes from dramatically miraculous to strangely mundane in a few short minutes. How did the disciples in the passage really experience Jesus most powerfully? They shared a meal with him. “Come and have breakfast,” Jesus said. Is there anything more “every-day” than having breakfast with someone? But that was Jesus' invitation. “Come and have breakfast.” That was literally how the disciples came into Jesus' presence on that day. That little part of the story makes me wonder: how many times do we miss the presence of God in the every day things of life because we expect that God is always going to appear in the dramatic and powerful events that happen? Even the great prophet Elijah had to learn that lesson. There's a story in the Old Testament, in the First Book of Kings, about Elijah looking for God's presence. “The Lord said, 'Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the Lord, for the Lord is about to pass by.' Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave. Then a voice said to him, 'What are you doing here, Elijah?'” Elijah expected to see God in the dramatic; he found God in a gentle whisper. The disciples thought the miraculous catch of fish was what revealed Jesus to them; but they really encountered him over an early morning breakfast.

     So it seems to me that while mountain top experiences of God are fantastic, maybe we should spend less time worrying about them and thinking that's the only way to experience God, and perhaps we should spend more time looking for God in the everyday things of life. After all, we spend most of our time engaged in the everyday things of life, so it seems to me that's where we'd be most likely to find God. But if we become convinced that God is only in the extraordinary things, then when our lives get filled with the ordinary (as probably all of our lives are) then perhaps we can easily start to think that God isn't with us; that God doesn't care. But God is with us – and in the everyday things of life we see God perhaps most clearly. While looking at a sunrise or a sunset. While laughing at a good joke. While crying at a graveside. Maybe – who knows - even while attending a church service. Or maybe – most importantly – while looking at the face of the next person you cross paths with and seeing the image of God being reflected in it. These are the every day things in life. Here's where we really encounter God. So don't overlook them. Don't think that because something is ordinary and everyday, it's also devoid of God. Tomorrow morning, when you wake up, it's very possible that Jesus might be speaking to you in the most ordinary, everyday way. Just maybe he's say to you - “come and have breakfast.” Because he'll be there at the table with you!

Do Animals Sacrifice For Us?

As I was doing a little bit of reading this morning, I came across an article that got me thinking about the nature and meaning of sacrifice. It was written by Christian author Rachel Marie Stone, and it was entitled, "The Animals That Sacrifice For Us." And as I read it, I wondered - do animals really sacrifice for us? I can think of three scenarios in which we might suggest that an animal has sacrificed for us:

1) a family pet that gives its life in defense of its home or a family member
2) a police or army dog on duty
3) animals that we eat

From time to time I've heard all three of these referred to as "sacrifices" by our animals. But do any of them really count as sacrifices? I really don't think so. Animals can "be" sacrifices. The Old Testament is clear enough on that - but it's us making the sacrifice if we use them that way. The animal is something that's of value to us and we're giving it up for a purpose. But I honestly don't think that an animal can "make" a sacrifice for us. We can sacrifice an animal, but an animal can't sacrifice itself.

Now, before animal lovers take me on - I do love animals. I have a dog. And for that matter two birds. I believe those family pets feel emotion. They display joy and excitement and happiness when I or any member of the family come home after being away. They can equally display sadness and even what seems to be depression at times. So I'm not suggesting that my pets don't love me or that your pets don't love you. Not at all. I believe there's an emotional bond between humans and the animals that live with us. But I'm not sure that any of the above scenarios represent the kind of "love" that results in a "sacrifice."

Surely a sacrifice has to be a conscious act for it to be a sacrifice. We have to understand what it is that we're willing to give up in order for it to be a sacrifice. Now, it's true that I don't know what exactly goes on in an animal's brain, but I don't think they're consciously thinking of making a sacrifice in any of the above scenarios. In the first, there's an instinctual act to defend the home or the pack. Does the animal think through the consequences of doing so, or does it just do it? In the second, these animals are trained to do certain things, but do they really understand that the consequence of doing the things they've been trained to do might result in them taking a bullet or stepping on a land mine? Or do they just do what they've been trained to do? The third is even more problematic. Do animals raised for food (in sometimes abhorrent circumstances) have any idea that they're going to be slaughtered so that we can eat them or do they just live out their sometimes miserable existence day by day? In any of the three scenarios, is there a conscious thought process going on in the animal's mind that says "I have decided that I'm willing to give my life for you?" I doubt it.

Suggesting that animals "sacrifice" for us seems to me to be almost a guilt response on humanity's part. We feel better about animals dying for us (in whatever circumstances) if we romanticize the animal's death by sub-consciously at least thinking the animal was doing it willingly and with a full understanding that it's giving its life. But the animal really (in my opinion anyway) doesn't have that level of understanding, and if we start to think that it does, we also cheapen the very notion of sacrifice.

Our animals may well love us on an emotional level (I believe they do) but I would suggest that the concept of a sacrifice isn't based on an emotional understanding of love. Jesus would have used the word "agape" - a knowingly self-sacrificing love that willingly risks everything for the sake of the beloved. While there may be in the Christian world different interpretations of the reason and purpose of the crucifixion of Jesus, the biblical account makes clear that Jesus understood that his words and actions would likely lead to his death and that he willingly made that sacrifice in the belief that it would benefit others. At least that's how I read the Gospels. As I said, there may be different understandings among Christians of how Jesus' death benefited us, but there seems no doubt to me that Jesus believed that his death would benefit us. He had thought it through. He understood the potential consequences of his actions. Thus, Jesus made a real sacrifice. The cow that's slaughtered in a slaughter house, or the dog that steps on a land mine or takes a bullet or gets killed defending its family or its home isn't going through the same rational thought process, understanding what might happen.

I'm grateful for the animals whose lives in one way or another or for one purpose or another are taken for our benefit. And I'm sorry it has to happen. The story of Creation in Genesis assumes that if the world were as God intended it to be there would be no killing - not of humans, and not even of animals for food. After all, the instructions given to humanity were found in Genesis 1:29-30:

Then God said, “I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds in the sky and all the creatures that move along the ground - everything that has the breath of life in it - I give every green plant for food.” And it was so.

I'm just noting that meat was apparently not the original idea for food. I'm not arguing in favour of veganism or vegetarianism. Neither am I criticizing them. They're ethical choices. There are certain foods I refuse to eat based on ethical choices, but I do eat some meats. After all, Peter was told in Acts 10:13 that he was allowed to "kill and eat" in spite of the law. So, eating meat is allowed according to the New Testament.

Having said that, let's understand that the animals we eat aren't "making" a sacrifice. They're just being killed. And the police and army dogs and watchdogs aren't sacrificing for us. They're just dying. The word "just" isn't meant to suggest that what they're doing isn't important or that we shouldn't be grateful for it. It's to point out that to consider it a "sacrifice" is to cheapen the concept of the sacrifice made by someone who knows exactly what it is that they're risking - someone like Jesus, for example.

A Thought For The Week Of May 19

"Gracious words are a honeycomb,  sweet to the soul and healing to the bones." (Proverbs 16:24) There's an old saying that everyone has heard: "sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me." The problem is that it isn't true. Names hurt. Broken bones and bruises aren't pleasant - but they do heal. But when people are subjected to name calling and verbal attack, it leaves a lasting scar.  Language has the ability to build others up or to tear others down. But it strikes me that we're not very careful with our language anymore. It saddens me sometimes to listen to the language that gets used on an everyday basis - sometimes even by young children. There are times that I almost cringe as I walk past a schoolyard and hear how some children talk - but of course we hear it from adults as well. Sometimes the way we speak is innocent fun (at least it's meant to be) but there are times as well when what we say is hurtful. It shouldn't take a great deal of effort to speak with "gracious words," but it just doesn't happen all that much today. Perhaps we don't live in a very gracious society. What I hear too often is name calling, obscenity and anger. That puts a lot of responsibility on followers of Christ. I'd like to think that Christ calls us to a higher standard. Not that we're to be prudes in language or anything else - but it does seem to me that a follower of Christ should be making an extra effort to speak in gracious and wholesome and life giving ways that offer healing and wholeness and dignity to those who hear them. I'm going to make a very conscious effort to watch my language this week, and also to look for opportunities to build others up with a few well-chosen and gracious words. I hope you will, too. Have a great week!

A Thought For The Week Of May 12

Martin Luther wrote that "you may as well quit reading and hearing God's Word, and give it to the Devil, if you do not desire to live according to it." For all his faults, and they were many, Martin Luther understood the basic importance of the Word of God. To read it or hear it but not want to live by it seems contradictory at best and hypocritical at worst. Why bother with the Word of God if one isn't going to at least have the desire to live by it, to put it into practice. I think there's a basic truth being illustrated by Luther's words here. Even something as good and as powerful as the Word of God can become an idol. Even the Bible can draw us away from God rather than to God if we start to think that knowing the Bible can be a substitute for truly knowing God. If a person reads the Bible (or hears it) and thinks that just by reading or hearing it they've accomplished something, then the Bible has become an idol - because if we don't allow it to transform us, then we've emptied it of any real power and turned it into a god unto itself. But the Bible - the Word of God - can never replace God. It's sole purpose is to reveal God, to point us to God. As we are both comforted and challenged by the Bible this week, let's seek to also put what comforts and challenges us into practice. Have a great week!

May 11 sermon: The Answer We Often Don't Have To The Question That Rarely Gets Asked

Finally, all of you, be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing. For, “Whoever would love life and see good days must keep their tongue from evil and their lips from deceitful speech. They must turn from evil and do good; they must seek peace and pursue it. For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous and his ears are attentive to their prayer, but the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.” Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed.“Do not fear their threats; do not be frightened.” But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behaviour in Christ may be ashamed of their slander. (1 Peter 3:8-16)

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     “ Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” There's a story told about something that happened on a plane in the midst of a long trip. The captain's voice suddenly came over the intercom system: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I have to advise you that one of our engines has stopped working, but I want to assure you that there's no reason for alarm. The plane can fly perfectly well on three engines, but we will be arriving at our destination 15 minutes late.” A little while later, the captain's voice was heard again. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I have to advise you that another of our engines has stopped working, but I want to assure you that there's still no reason for alarm. The plane can fly perfectly well on two engines, but we will now be arriving at our destination 30 minutes late.” After another while, the captain's voice was heard yet again: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking again. I have to advise you that a third engine has now stopped working, but I want to assure you again that there's no reason to be alarmed. This plane can fly perfectly well on just one engine, but we're now going to be arriving at our destination about an hour later than scheduled.” This was finally too much for one man on board. He looked at a flight attendant and in an impatient voice said “this plane better not lose its last engine because if it does we'll be up here forever!” I wonder what that man would have said if one of his fellow passengers had asked him to give the reason for the hope that he had? To me, at least, whatever answer he offered wouldn't have been very convincing.

     “ Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” That's an interesting verse of Scripture, because it tells us to be prepared for something that hardly ever happens. Let me just ask flat out: how many of us have ever actually been asked by anyone at any time what the reason is for the hope that we have? To be perfectly honest with you, I've never been confronted with that question! I suspect that most of you haven't either. And I wonder why? It's not that I don't have hope, and I'm sure that you have hope. So why don't people ask the question? Maybe it's better to put it another way: why would they? People ask about things that make them curious. People ask about things that startle them or amaze them. People ask about things that look or seem or act different. I wonder if the basic problem isn't that for the most part many Christians just blend in to the crowd these days, when it seems to me that the point of the gospel and the example of the life of Jesus was that we're supposed to stand out in the crowd, and be noticed – not to gain credit for ourselves, but so that people would want to know what it is that we have that makes us hopeful. That would give us an opportunity to talk about faith, to talk about God, to talk about Jesus, to talk about the impact that all this has on our lives. But too often there's a disconnect between what we believe and how we show it. Rebecca Manley Pippert, in a book called Out Of The Saltshaker, wrote that “I remember once encountering a zealous Christian. His brow was furrowed, he seemed anxious and impatient, and he sounded angry.” Too often we either buy into society's notion that faith is a private thing not to be spoken of in public, or we simply don't display our faith well enough to make people want to ask us about it. And if we often can't show that any of this makes a difference to us – then no one asks.

    Now, that may not be a bad thing, because I suspect that a lot of people might have difficulty asking the question if it did get asked. That's not a criticism. It's a symptom of a larger problem. It's a sign of how comfortable we've become with our faith – a faith that, really, is supposed to challenge us at least as much as it comforts us. In 1965, Pierre Berton wrote a book called “The Comfortable Pew.” He had been an active Anglican, but left the church because of his disillusionment with what he called “churchianity” at the expense of “Christianity.” Basically, he felt that the church had become comfortable with itself and comfortable with society. It had stopped being a counter-cultural movement that could offer hope to the downcast and disillusioned and had instead become simply a part of the culture, with nothing new or exciting or dramatic to offer, upholding the status quo, making people comfortable with what is rather than challenging them to hope for what might be. And – becoming fixated on the church itself (on ourselves) rather than focusing on preaching good news to the poor, on proclaiming freedom to the prisoners, offering sight to the blind, releasing the oppressed and proclaiming the Lord's favour. This was the ministry Jesus called His ministry according to Luke 4. This should be the church's ministry. But when we settle for what is rather than hoping for what might be, we too easily lose sight of what we're supposed to be about, and that makes it hard for us to even imagine what we might say to someone who asked us the reason for our hope. It's why we often don't have an answer to a question that we rarely get asked.

     This all, of course, leads up to a single point – if we know what the question is (what's the reason for your hope?) then we need to figure out what the answer is and we need to determine how to live in a way that literally begs the question to be asked. And it's really not that complicated, but I think too many Christians have it wrong – even if they are reluctant to share it.

     For most people, the idea of the Christian hope is oriented toward eternity. I certainly don't want to deny how important it is for us to believe in eternity. In one way or another it's the thing that's on everyone's mind, if only because everyone's going to die, and living with that knowledge gives us the desire to have hope that somehow we're going to continue on beyond death – if only because we love life. Paul doesn't refer to “death” as our “last enemy” for no reason. It is an enemy. It's perhaps our greatest enemy. And Christian faith does give us hope that we'll continue on; that there's more to life than just this life. That's what the resurrection of Jesus is all about – it reminds us that God is a God of life, and that in the end life always triumphs over death But the Christian hope is more than that. If we satisfy ourselves with the hope of eternity then we run the risk – to use an old saying – of becoming too heavenly minded to be of an earthly use.

     To be of earthly use, the Christian hope we share has to be more than a hope for eternity. It has to be a hope for today – or at least a glimmer of hope for tomorrow. And the Christian hope for today and tomorrow is that ministry of Jesus – the ministry the church is called to continue; the ministry that threatens to turn the world and our society upside down; the ministry that promises to liberate the oppressed and feed the hungry and provide for the poor and welcome the outcast and love the stranger and heal the sick. And this is the ministry that calls us not just to talk about such things – not just to make them an answer to a question – but to actually try to bring such things about in whatever way we can, or at least to create within our own church community a glimpse of that ministry (which is the Kingdom of God) being lived out.

     “Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have.” We may not get asked the question very often, and unfortunately we might struggle with the answer sometimes. But we shouldn't – because we should be living the answer out each and every day. We should be making a difference in lives right now. I don't know what the man on the plane in the story I opened with would say was the reason for his hope. But the reason for my hope (and, dare I say, the reason for OUR hope) should be that we know about Jesus' life, and Jesus' death and Jesus' resurrection, and all these things push us forward to create a better world now even while we wait for eternity.

A Thought For The Week Of May 5

Not that I am referring to being in need; for I have learned to be content with whatever I have. (Philippians 4:11) There's an interesting life lesson here. Too often, we decide that we have to measure our ability to be happy on the basis of how much we have, or we decide that we're not happy because we don't have something that we really want. Let's be honest. We all do that from time to time in various aspects of our lives. But sometimes there's great contentment in learning simply to be satisfied with whatever we have. Over my years as a pastor, I've had the opportunity to talk to many people who grew up during the Great Depression. One common theme that runs through the stories I've been told is that as children, these folks were quite content, even though they were growing up in hard times and didn't have very much of anything. They didn't know anything else, and they were grateful for what they had. Many continue in that spirit of gratitude all their lives, but for those who grow up in an environment where there's always plenty – and where there's always plenty more to have – contentment can be a hard thing to achieve. In Philippians, Paul wrote that he had “ learned to be content with whatever [he had.] Whether he had a lot of whether he had very little. Paul had learned how to be content. I believe his contentment came from his rock-solid relationship with God. He grasped for nothing, gratefully accepted what he received, and so was content with everything he had. We don't need great abundance in anything. We don't need the newest this or the latest that. We need the contentment that comes from knowing that God is with us and will always be there for us. Have a great week!

May 4 sermon - Wanted: Living Not Dead!

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith - of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire - may result in praise, glory and honour when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen Him, you love Him; and even though you do not see Him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls. (1 Peter 1:3-9)

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     It's something we've probably all seen at one time or another – usually in a movie or on a TV show about the Old West in the United States. It's the infamous “Wanted” poster. It's usually hung in either the Post Office or the Sheriff's Office. It's what we would call today the “mug shot” of some heinous criminal – a murderer or a bank robber or a cattle rustler – and the poster usually makes it point briefly: “Wanted: Dead Or Alive!” It seems that from the perspective of the authorities, “dead or alive” doesn't really matter. Either way will do. And, given the rough and tumble nature of frontier justice, I suspect that most of the citzenry would rather see the poster captioned with the words: “Wanted: Dead NOT  Alive!” It was the way of the West, after all. Frontier justice; vigilante action. Death? Life? Living? Dead? It didn't really matter. Let's just take care of the problem. That tended to be the attitude.

     I started thinking about the old Wanted posters when I read this passage from 1 Peter, and came across the verse that says “In His great mercy He has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead ...” “A living hope.” The words intrigued me. At the very least they raised a few questions for me. Can there be any other kind of hope, I wondered? Doesn't “hope” in a sense have to be living, since hope impacts our lives? Something that's dead can't really impact our lives, so how could we have anything other than “a living hope?” And yet, the fact that the phrase even gets used seems to suggest that Peter at least must have thought there was an alternative. So, hope doesn't have to be “living.” It must be possible to have a dead hope – sort of like a dead faith, which the letter of James tells us is possible. And maybe the more basic question that occurred to me was – what, exactly, is “hope”? What do we mean when we use that word? Let's talk first about the difference between a living hope and a dead hope.

     What would a dead hope actually look like? At first, I have to admit that I had some trouble getting my head around the concept of a dead hope. It sounds like an oxymoron, doesn't it. I mean – hope is a good thing! Hope keeps us going when the temptation might be there to give up. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that there is indeed a type of dead hope; a hope that doesn't give life, but that rather deadens us and dulls us. George Orwell understood this kind of dead hope rather well. I'm thinking here of his famous novel “1984.” Written in 1948 (Orwell just reversed the last two numbers of the year to give the novel its then futuristic sound), “1984” was a description of a nightmare society – one in which lies had become the truth; where language was used to manipulate and control rather than to explain and clarify; where war was a permanent way of life; where people now existed merely to serve the system. Life in such a society was, indeed, a nightmare, and the sad thing, quite frankly, is that some of Orwell's vision sounds rather familiar to us today, doesn't it. Shall we continue on with the familiarity? Orwell understood that the people living machine-like existences in such a society would have to be given the illusion of hope, just to keep them under control, and so – voila! - the lottery! The lottery promised a huge windfall to some lucky person in that society. People's hopes and dreams for the future revolved around the lottery, the hope that they could win big, and that their winnings could lift them out of their miserable existence. We have lotteries galore in the modern world! Late last year in the United States, the Mega-Millions lottery offered a prize of $586 million! The number of possible winning combinations were 259 million. The odds of anyone winning were astronomical. But people bought tickets – in huge numbers. Stephen Goldbart and Joan DiFuria reflected on what some call “lottery-itis” in an article in Psychology Today that

 in times of economic stress, playing the lottery is a way of coping with  financial anxieties and uncertainty. We may seek a magic pill to make us feel better. Ah yes, buy a lottery ticket. Feel again like you did when you were a child, having hope that a better day will come, that some big thing will happen that will make everything right, set the course on track.

     A recent survey by the Bank of Montreal suggested that 34% of Canadians hope they win the lottery, and 14% of Canadians believe that winning the lottery is the only way they can finance their retirements. Folks, that's sad – and it represents a dead hope. It's not a living hope; it doesn't give life. It's a sign of being afraid of life, of having no hope. Planning to win the lottery isn't hope – it's at best wishful thinking and at worst delusional. It's hoping in something that gives no real hope. It's pointless. But 14% of Canadians think winning the lottery might be their only hope once they turn 65. George Orwell would be proud of his soothsaying abilities!

     But if there's a dead hope, then there must also be a living hope. What would that be? What is the “living hope” that Peter writes about? A living hope, it seems to me would be that which frees us from fear and releases us from the need to engage merely in wishful or delusional thinking and that fills us with confidence as we face the future. For a child of God, “living hope” is a sign of the relationship we have with God. The Psalms taken together portray an almost symbiotic relationship. Psalm 42:5 tells us to “put [our] hope in God,” and Psalm 62:5 tells us that “our hope comes from [God.]” God gives us hope that we then direct back at God. Hope becomes the sign of our faith and our trust in God. It's a “living faith” because it enables us to face our circumstances (whatever they might be) with the assurance that something better is coming. Paul says in Romans that “hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?” We as children of God believe that God has a plan that's somehow coming to fruition even as we gather here today. We don't know all the details, but we believe. Our relationship with God and all that we've come to know about God through Jesus have convinced us. We don't know the details, and we don't have to, because we have faith, and the Book of Hebrews tells us that “faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” It isn't wishful thinking. It's not a forlorn hope that just maybe we'll survive in retirement by winning the lottery in spite of the odds against it. “Living hope” is “confidence.” It is believing in what we hope for. It's what Jesus called for. “Trust in God; trust also in Me,” He said in John 14:1. He's inviting His disciples into hope with those words. Trust, confidence, assurance, belief. These things are what make hope “living” rather than dead.

     So, what is hope? I'll be thinking about that question more next week. But if you remember back to Easter Sunday, you might recall that I suggested that the biggest challenge facing the church today is a loss of hope – or at least the loss of a “living hope.” Too often, the church settles for surviving as best it can for as long as it can – and when we do that, we do it at the expense of truly living the gospel with passion and with joy. The passion and the joy that we as the church and as disciples of Jesus should possess should fill us with hope – real hope, living hope, hope that gives life to ourselves and to others who encounter us. It's the hope of Easter. It's the hope of resurrection. It's the hope that no matter how tough things might seem to be, hope is always there, pushing us outward into the world with a message that can raise even the deadest of spirits who are trapped in mere wishful and wistful hope for something that will never happen; it's a message for those who – even worse - who've given up on hope altogether. We offer the world not what we wish for, but what we believe; what we know to be true. We offer the world Jesus – risen from the dead, and with us still today and forever.