November 10 sermon - For What Would We Give Our Lives?

As the Father has loved Me, so have I loved you. Now remain in My love. If you keep My commands, you will remain in My love, just as I have kept My Father’s commands and remain in His love. I have told you this so that My joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are My friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from My Father I have made known to you. You did not choose Me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit - fruit that will last - and so that whatever you ask in My name the Father will give you. This is My command: Love each other.  (John 15:9-17)

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     “In Flanders' Fields” is, of course, about sacrifice. I'm very familiar with the poem. I have been since I was a young teenager. In Grades 7 and 8 I attended John McCrae Senior Public School in Scarborough – named after the author of the poem, Lt. Col. John McCrae. Not surprisingly, Remembrance Day was a big event at John McCrae Senior Public School. And, having been a student there for two years, I've visited John McCrae's birthplace in Guelph twice. It was an annual field trip for us. The recital of “In Flanders' Fields” is a standard part of any Remembrance Day ceremony, much as the recital of the Lord's Prayer is a standard part of the liturgy in many churches. And I thought about it this week as I was thinking about the whole concept of sacrifice. As I worked this through in my mind, I thought of a couple of numbers.

     The first number is 114,724. That's the total number of Canadians who've died either in war or in peacekeeping missions since Confederation. There were 267 in the Boer Wars, 66,665 in World War I, 46,998 in World War II, 516 in Korea, 121 in peacekeeping missions and 157 in Afghanistan. A total of 114,724 Canadians killed. When you first add it all up and hear that number, it makes you pause for a few moments. 114,724. Why would 114,724 Canadians sacrifice their lives? And why would so many more than that be prepared to sacrifice their lives? It's a tough topic for the church to address in some ways, because our attitudes toward war differ so greatly. Some Christians are pacifists, believing that any war for any reason is wrong. Others believe in the Just War theory, which says that war, while evil, is sometimes necessary, if only as the best of a bunch of poor alternatives. And some allow their Christianity to be effectively usurped by nationalism or patriotism or militarism, so that if the nation says “go to war,” they go (or at least they support going) in the full belief that God marches with them and is on their side, no questions asked – even though we know that many on “the other side” believe exactly the same thing. Over the years I've known a lot of veterans. For a few years in Sundridge, I served as Padre to the Royal Canadian Legion Branch 67 (for those of you not familiar with the title – it basically meant I was their chaplain.) I conducted a lot of their memorial services over those years. I came to know their stories. And I came to know that many of them were motivated by love: love for family, and the desire to make the world a better place for their families. Love for neighbour, and a desire to make sure those neighbours could live in peace and safety. Love for country, and a desire to make sure that this country would never fall victim to some of the inhuman ideologies that they fought against. War and love may seem an awkward fit, but I've known enough veterans to know that love in some form was often at the forefront of their thinking. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” That reminds me that, whatever my thoughts about war and pacifism, there are at least 114,724 people who, over the last 133 years since the first Boer War, have chosen to call themselves my friend. I choose to honour them today, as I'll honour them tomorrow at the cenotaph.

     The second number I want to reflect on today is a simple one – it's the number “1.” It's the one sacrifice that, as far as I can see, really matters to the church. I'm thinking, of course, about Jesus. The sacrifice against which all other sacrifices pale in comparison. His was not a sacrifice made in a time of war – except, perhaps, that it might be considered in the context of a spiritual war. But his wasn't a military sacrifice.  It was violent and it was bloody, but in a strange way it was Jesus' way of standing against violence and bloodshed. When Peter picked up a sword to defend Jesus against those who would arrest him, Jesus said, “Peter. Put away your sword. Whoever lives by the sword will die by the sword.” Prophetic words, indeed. For all those who have fought in any of the various incarnations of the “war to end all war,” the sad reality of human history is that one war simply seems to lead to another ... and another ... and another. The sacrifice of Jesus on the cross was, in one sense at least, a way for God to be linked with all of human suffering; a way for God to be in solidarity with His creation; a way for God to weep with those who weep. It was the “1” sacrifice, perhaps, that made a real and substantive impact on the world – because, as much as we often choose to use our faith for purposes Jesus probably never intended, the cross still stands as the supreme act of sacrifice: God, who had no need to experience either suffering or death, willingly experiencing both suffering and death to be in solidarity with His children. A sacrifice that wasn't necessary; that wasn't being called for; that Jesus didn't have to make – but that was made solely out of love. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” The “1” sacrifice – on the cross so long ago – reminds me of the great privilege of being in relationship with Jesus, my Lord, my Saviour, my Redeemer, my Friend.

     Whether we think of the “114,724” today, or whether we focus on the “1,” we think of sacrifice being made for others. We think of the desire of the 114,724 or the 1 to create a better world, a better life for others. But there's another number. I don't know what it is. It refers to my generation, and to the generations that have come after me. I'll be 50 in less than two weeks (although I prefer to think of myself as a pair of 25's!) and that means that I was born well after World War II, and while things in my generation haven't always been peaceful, there's been no need for me to choose what I'd be willing to give my life for. I (and those who've come after me) belong to a privileged (and some would say too privileged) generation, who've been given everything and who've perhaps lost sight of our responsibilities while clinging ferociously to our rights. Whenever I think about the rights that have been gained for us at such incredible cost (the right to live in freedom gained by soldiers who died or the right to be called children of God gained by Jesus who died) I can't get out of my mind a story a few months ago about a woman who hauled a men's barber shop in Toronto before the Ontario Human Rights Commission – because they only cut men's hair and not women's. And that's what “rights” have been reduced to for many people? Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Do we understand? Do we get it? I'm not sure. I'm really not. And what is it – exactly – that we who have been so privileged would be willing to give our lives for? I'm not sure about that either. I'm really not.

     But I do want to honour the sacrifices that have been made for me. I want to honour those 114,724 who gave their lives for what they believed in and because they believed they would be helping to create a better and safer world for people such as me – whom they had never met. And, of course, I want to honour the sacrifice made by Jesus, Who gave His life so that all of us might know true life. Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” Yes. We will remember them. And yes. We will remember Him!

A Thought For The Week Of November 4

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give you." (John 14:27a) As Remembrance Day approaches here in Canada (and this coming Sunday is Remembrance Sunday or Peace Sunday as some call it) I - as I often do - find myself thinking about some of the words Jesus offered about peace. Did Jesus ever envisage a world without war? I don't think so. "You will hear of wars and rumours of wars," he said after all. I don't think Jesus approved of war. He seemed uninterested, for example, in taking on the Romans, and - to some extent at least - he even seemed to preach co-operation with them. So I wonder what Jesus really meant when he spoke of peace - or when Scripture declares him to be the Prince of Peace. I think the reference is not to the state of the world but is rather to a state of mind. Perhaps to Jesus, "peace" didn't mean the absence of war. Perhaps it meant contentment. Think of the difference it could make to the world if we could learn to be content. We wouldn't be selfishly grasping after what others have, and we might even be more willing to share what we have with others. That would be a radical change in the mindset of how the world operates - and, if put into practice, it might even lead to the absence of (or at least the reduction of) war in the world - because if we're content to the point at which we're willing to share, then what would be the point of fighting? It seems to me that's the kind of "peace" Jesus is offering. Not just putting an end to war and violence, but changing our minds and our hearts so that war and violence become increasingly unthinkable. Have a great week!"

November 3 sermon - What Is A Friend?

A friend loves at all times but a brother is born for adversity. (Proverbs 17:17, NIV)

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     For whatever reason, I have found myself in recent weeks giving a lot of thought to the concept of friendship. What is friendship? For that matter, what is a friend? It's a very relevant topic for the church; a relevant topic for those who claim faith in Jesus Christ. Friendship is a very biblical concept! But what is it? In a way, the word is hard to define. It's one of those words that's been cheapened a bit in the modern world by the whole concept of “Facebook friendships” - sort-of quasi-relationships that we have with people who we sometimes have never even met face to face, and yet we call them “friends.” Maybe that makes it even harder for us to understand the importance of friendship. I don't know if you've ever thought about it, but “friends” are strange things – not the people, but the concept! There's an old saying that “you can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family.” It's probably based on the same principle that Proverbs 17:17 is based upon. And yet I'm not even really sure that's true. Do we always get to “choose” our friends, or do they sometimes just appear in our lives as if they're a part of some sort of plan to help us through a little bit of life and its challenges? It seems to me that perhaps the best friendships are often the ones that surprise us: when the most unexpected people enter our lives in the most unexpected ways, and touch us very deeply. Maybe from time to time we even find ourselves having unexpected “best friends” - those same unexpected people who come in unexpected ways who we find ourselves with an immediate connection to, and who we end up unburdening our souls to, always safe and secure in the knowledge that whatever we tell them won't go any farther. And, let's face it – we all have some unburdening of the soul to do every now and then in our lives, don't we, and when there's someone in our life we can do that with? Well, it's a very precious thing indeed. And sometimes those unexpected friends go away. They touch us, they help us, maybe they even change us – and then they leave for one reason or another, but they always leave something behind for us to cherish don't they, because they've touched our lives and our hearts and our souls in precious ways.

     In John 15, Jesus said to His disciples “I have called you friends.” Think about that for a moment. Jesus – saying to His disciples (including us): “I have called you friends.” We call Him Lord, Saviour, Messiah. He calls us “friends” - and implicitly invites us to call Him a “friend” in return.

     Think about what I just said about friendship. Think about how Jesus entered the lives of those first disciples. Maybe think about how Jesus entered your life. Or mine. Unexpectedly. Suddenly. Perhaps without warning, maybe without us realizing that He was even there. Maybe without us realizing that we even needed such a friend. Someone to Whom we can unburden our souls, sure in the knowledge that what we say is safe and protected – and also forgiven, because in addition to being our friend, Jesus is, as Scripture declares, the grace of God that entered the world so long ago – the grace that assures us that nothing in our lives can change one very simple and important fact: God loves us with an unshakeable love that can never be changed. And that's a part of friendship too, isn't it? Sometimes friends come in and out of our lives, but even when they feel out of our lives (and there are times when Jesus seems rather distant to me to be perfectly honest) we know that they're still there. Jesus told His disciples “I have called you friends.” And then He was arrested, and crucified and killed and buried. And then His disciples were stunned, shaken, confused, fearful, lost and alone – but never quite without hope, because Jesus had also said, “I'll be killed, but three days later I will rise again.” And then comes the glory of Easter – strange perhaps to mention on the first Sunday of what some people consider to be the bleakest and grayest month of the year – but are we not an Easter people all year round? A people who believe in the presence of Jesus? A people who believe that the friendship He gives to us can never really be taken away? I hope you believe that. I know that I do!

     Proverbs 17:17 says “a friend loves at all times.” Not just some of the time. Not just in the good times. Not just when you're on your best behaviour. Not just when you have something to offer them. Not at all. “A friend loves at all times.” We've probably all had people in our lives we think of that way. But we also have Jesus. “I have called you friends.” He loves us “at all times” - and probably often in spite of ourselves. I started thinking about the love of Jesus when we sang one of our hymns last Sunday. It was the one based on the Beatitudes. A couple of people talked to me afterward and expressed how beautiful they thought it was and said they hoped we'd sing it again. We're going to. In just a minute. When you think about the Beatitudes, you're thinking about friendship. Those who have almost nothing to offer in return, being the most blessed people of all – because they are Jesus' friends. And I thought about this line: “Blest are they who suffer hate, all because of Me,” which is a fair paraphrase of the Gospel. That's a statement of friendship. I had never thought of Jesus apologizing before, but isn't that in a way Jesus saying to us, His friends, “I'm so sorry for what you sometimes have to go through because of Me.” That's love. That's friendship. Straight from Jesus: “I have called you friends.”

     What is a friend? Look to Jesus. His life, His death, His resurrection. What is a friend? You'll know the answer when you look to Jesus. Let's sing this wonderful version of the Beautitudes, celebrating the friendship of those who have so little with Jesus – Who is All in All!

Blest are they, the poor in spirit, theirs is the Kingdom of God.

Blest are they, full of sorrow, they shall be consoled.

Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad! Yours is the Kingdom of God!

Blest are they, the lowly ones, they shall inherit the earth.

Blest are they who hunger and thirst, they shall have their fill.

Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad! Yours is the Kingdom of God!

Blest are they who show mercy, mercy shall be theirs.

Blest are they, the pure of heart, they shall see God!

Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad! Yours is the Kingdom of God!

Blest are they who seek peace; they are the children of God.

Blest are they who suffer in faith, the glory of God is theirs.

Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad! Yours is the Kingdom of God!

Blest are you who suffer hate, all because of Me.

Rejoice and be glad, yours is the Kingdom; shine for all to see.

Rejoice and be glad! Blessed are you, holy are you!

Rejoice and be glad! Your is the Kingdom of God!

A Thought For The Week Of October 28

No Scripture this week. I want to think about some words from a very old and very wonderful hymn: "I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see." I don't know about you, but I see a lot of lost people in the world, who just don't see to know where they're going, where they should be going, and they often don't give much thought to where God wants them to go. Aren't we all like that sometimes? Stumbling, groping our way forward, sometimes even fearful - burdened by the past, overwhelmed by the present, apprehensive about the future. A lot of people live every day like that; most of us feel that way at least every now and then. But then comes Jesus - the light of the world; the light of God that no darkness can ever extinguish. And when we trust Jesus, suddenly we don't seem quite so lost anymore. Because, after all, isn't Jesus "the way." And is that anything more than saying that He's the road to follow; the path that will bring us to God. Not Christianity, not the Church; not assent to a particular set of doctrines. Just Jesus, guiding us, and suddenly bringing us into the light, out of the darkness in which we were lost. Jesus. The way. That's what it's all about. Have a great week!

October 27 sermon - The Key To Reformation

For this reason, ever since I heard about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all God’s people, I have not stopped giving thanks for you, remembering you in my prayers. I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is the same as the mighty strength he exerted when he raised Christ from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every name that is invoked, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way. (Ephesians 1:15-23)

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     It's been said that the only things in this world that never change are the things that are already dead.  Which makes me wonder sometimes why the church is so resistant to change. Ongoing change is a sign of life. When we're willing to do things in new ways and try new things and take some chances we also show that we're alive. Which we should be. We're the body of Christ – and we believe that Christ Himself is alive and well. There's a lot of talk going on in the church of the modern world about what the future holds for the church. To a lot of people, it doesn't look very bright. We worry about attendance, we worry about membership, we worry about finances. When we start to feel overwhelmed by the problems we face, we're tempted to “circle the wagons” so to speak, and simply hang on for dear life in the face of the challenges that confront us. And when we do that, it's so easy for us to lose sight of what we're about; of what's important; of what really matters; of what makes us the church. And we end up all too often not looking like the church. We become a religious club, that talks a lot but believes very little. Or we become a fund-raising organization whose goal is simply to find the money to hang on for a little while longer. Either way, we drain the life of the gospel out of ourselves. But it's something the church has always struggled with.

     Did you know that today is Reformation Sunday? Protestants mark this day (the last Sunday in October) to honour the reformers of the church of long ago – people such as Martin Luther, who saw a church that was becoming a shadow of itself – rife with internal corruption and squabbling; consumed with money and power; quickly losing sight of the gospel and of the example of Christ – and decided that something had to be done. Luther probably didn't expect or want his ideas to actually split the church. If Luther had had his way, we'd probably all be celebrating Mass today in a reformed Roman Catholic Church. But whether things turned out the way he wanted them to or not, he did identify the problem – a lack of focus by the church on Christ and gospel, with the things of the world – money and power – substituting for them. Almost 500 years after Luther's death – what would he think of those of us who stand at least partially within his legacy? Would he be pleased, or would he immediately set out on another project of reformation? I wonder.

     In Ephesians we read that “he raised Christ from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every name that is invoked, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. And God placed all things under his feet and appointed him to be head over everything for the church, which is his body, the fullness of him who fills everything in every way.” You see, for all the challenges we face and as much as it sometimes feels as if we're living in a constant, never-ending whirlpool of change in the society around us, one of the great ironies is that they key to reformation for the church is the One about whom Scripture declared “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.”

     How can the one who never changes be the engine for change in the church? The reformers of the church all understood that unless their reforms were founded on the unchanging Jesus Christ, nothing they did would work. Even the opponents of Jesus knew that. As the chief priests and rabbis watched the movement around Jesus begin to grow and they debated how to stop it, the best advice they received was from a rabbi named Gamaliel, who said basically, “leave it alone. If it's of God it can't be stopped. If it's not of God it won't go anywhere.” He was a wise man. The key to reformation in the church is to follow the unchanging Jesus Christ – simply because He cannot be stopped. We get so consumed by our fights and our arguments and our disagreements and our debates and our doctrinal differences. But why? Whatever the issue is that gets us upset - if it's of God it can't be stopped, and if it's not of God it won't succeed. So why don't we just be the church.

     The church in whatever form it exists at whatever point in time and in whatever place might be stopped. It might decline. It might even die. But from death always comes resurrection, and if we are the body of Christ, as Ephesians declares, then we have nothing to fear about the future. I get so distressed sometimes when I hear the laments about the future of the church – because those laments are so un-gospel, even anti-gospel. They're based on hopelessness. They're based on the feeling that nothing can ever get better. They're based on the idea that the church is on a one-way death spiral with no way to get out of it. But what is that? That's hopelessness. And why should we be hopeless? Why should we as a church (and I'm not talking just about us – I'm talking about the entire church) be so afraid of what the future holds. We follow Jesus, who died and was resurrected! What is there to fear? Why should there be fear? When you follow a living Lord who never changes, why should there be anything other than hope?

     Sometimes I get asked by people, “what's the biggest challenge facing the church today?” And people expect me to respond with something like, “declining attendance,” or “aging membership,” or “increasing deficits.” None of which are the stuff that the church is really about; none of which come even close to defining what the biggest challenge facing the church is. Those are worldly concerns; worldly measures of success or failure, of health or sickness. But the church's well-being can't be judged in worldly terms. No way. It just can't be. Now if I say this at a meeting, I'll be immediately told that “we have to run the church like a business.” Excuse me? No – we don't. That's not what the church is. A simple look at the cross reminds us that it's not about profit and loss, surplus or deficit. The church's well-being is judged on whether or not we're faithfully fulfilling our calling as disciples of Jesus Christ. Are we growing into Christ-likeness. Are we doing his ministry. Are we not concerned about what the results seem to be right now, but are we simply doing what God calls us to do – which is not looking out for our own survival, but which is faithfully giving of ourselves and even sacrificing ourselves completely if that's what we're called to. Because that's what Jesus did! Jesus gave himself completely to the point of crucifixion and death; the church too often fights to save itself and stay alive for a few more years. Where's the proclamation of the gospel in that, I wonder? The biggest challenge facing the church today is hopelessness. It's a lack of trust in the gospel. It's the inability to believe that there's nothing to fear, simply because there is Christ, and that no matter what happens to us, we will overcome – simply because Christ overcame.

     The great reformers of the church, from Martin Luther onward, knew that for the church to truly be the church it would constantly have to risk itself rather than try to save itself, if only because “whoever tries to save their life will lose it, but whoever gives their life for Christ's sake will gain it.” And they knew that they followed a living Lord who constantly challenged society, who constantly pushed the people of God out of their comfort zones, who confidently faced those who opposed Him and stood firm in His determination to do the will of God at whatever cost. They followed a Lord who stood out in the crowd, and they were willing to stand up and be counted too!

     If we want the church to be constantly reforming – which we have to be if we want to remain at all relevant to the fast-changing society around us – then the key for us is to do what Jesus did. Stand out in the crowd and stand up for God. Stand with those who so desperately need to know the love of God. Why did Jesus attract so much negative attention? Why was He crucified? Why did He die? He was a friend to tax collectors and Romans and prostitutes and children and women – all the people who stood at the bottom of society's pile. And He loved them – no matter what society thought. He simply loved them. He didn't care what it cost Him to do that. He just loved them. He only cared what He gave to others by doing that. And then there's the church. The body of Christ – but so often filled not with love but with judgment.

     “Jesus Led Me All The Way” was what we heard sung earlier in our service. The question for me is not whether Jesus leads. It's whether we're actually willing to pay the price involved in following, or whether we're just interested in getting by for as long as we can. As a reformed and still reforming church – that's the key to our own reformation and to our own future!

A Thought For The Week Of October 21

"What is truth?" Pilate asked. (John 18:38a) That's a good question - and a surprisingly complicated one. We probably think of "truth" as being simple honesty. "Always tell the truth," is what we tell our children. Of course, even that can be complicated. Do we really tell our neighbours how ugly their new car is? Let's face it, if "truth" is nothing more than just telling it like it is, then most of us aren't truthful - at least not all the time. Nor would we want to be. Being completely truthful would probably damage a lot of our friendships! But truth is much deeper than that. That understanding of "truth" seems to relegate "truth" to the status of facts. "Here are the facts. The provable, indisputable facts." But "truth" is far more than just "facts." "Truth" is wisdom and understanding and depth. At times, when I've commented on Pilate's question, I've been a bit contemptuous of the man. But maybe he was on to something. "What is truth?" Maybe it isn't something we ever really figure out - in this life anyway. Maybe it's a question that simply spurs us onward in the journey, as we seek to discover more about life, more about faith, more about God. And the ultimate truth, of course, is Jesus: the one who finally reveals God to us and brings us to God. Be a constant seeker of truth. Don't ever start to think that you've got it all. Have a great week!

October 20 sermon - When Bad Turns Out For Good

I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. And He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God. And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. For those God foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. And those He predestined, He also called; those He called, He also justified; those He justified, He also glorified. (Romans 8:18-30)

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     There's a well-known story about Chippie the parakeet. He was simply minding his own business and signing his song one day when his owner decided to clean out his cage with the vacuum cleaner. The phone rang and the lady went to answer it and that was when things began to go horribly wrong for little Chippie. With Chippie's owner gone, the vacuum cleaner sucked up the little bird and sent him to the dust bag. Realizing what had happened the woman tore open the vacuum and ripped apart the bag to find little Chippie, fearing the worst. But Chippie wasn't dead. He was just stunned and covered with dust. The woman decided that he needed to be revived and so she ran to the bathroom sink. She turned the water on and stuck Chippie under the flow. Now Chippie was cold and wet from the sudden bath. So the owner decided to dry the bird off - but not with a towel. She got out her hair dryer to blow-dry the poor feathered creature, put it on full blast and Chippie went a-tumblin'. In the course of just a few minutes, Chippie went from being sucked up, to being nearly drowned to being blown over. His owner was asked by a friend a few weeks later how Chippie was doing. She replied: “Chippie doesn’t sing much anymore, he just sits and stares.” I wonder why! But does it sound at all familiar? Life comes at us at a furious pace and a lot of it isn't good and we get blind-sided just like poor Chippie. One moment we don’t have a care in the world and the next we get sucked up by trials, problems and difficulties. And they take over. And they can blind us to the presence of goodness.    

     In a world full of bad things that happen – from the international stage to the every day lives of every day people like us – wouldn't it be nice to be able to believe that all these bad things somehow turn out in a good way? And yet, sometimes and in some situations that can sound rather trite and patronizing, can't it. If you go up to a person who's facing some type of difficult or challenge or hardship or burden and you say to them, “don't worry – it will all work out for the best,” don't you ever wonder how the person to whom the comment is directed feels? “Sure it will. Sure.” And yet, we have all sorts of ways of saying the same thing. “It will all work out for the best.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “If life hands you a lemon, turn it into lemonade.” And, of course, there were the words Paul wrote: “... in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” “All things” must mean the bad things too. Gee, God, thanks. In a lot of ways all of those different kinds of advice that all say the same basic thing  can be just a little bit irritating. Put yourself in the shoes of the one hearing it. “Yeah, buddy, but you don't know my problems.” In most cases – that's probably true enough, isn't it. But – I do know God; at least a little bit. And when I think about God, I start to be able to understand what's being said.

     God is good. That's one of the things we trust and believe, isn't it? God is good. Always good. In every way. Psalm 100 says “Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise; give thanks to Him and praise His name. For the Lord is good and His love endures forever; His faithfulness continues through all generations.” It is the goodness of God more than anything else that makes us thankful. It isn't what God does for us that makes us thankful. It isn't what God gives us that makes us thankful. It's who and what God is that makes us thankful.  Good is good and God is love. And it's in that very nature of God that we begin to see the hopes that words like Paul's in Romans (and some of the other sometimes trite-sounding phrases that get bandied about) aren't trite-sounding at all. They're a reflection of reality; they're based on what we believe to be the very nature of God.

     God is good. And God's goodness is enough to overcome whatever “bad” may come into our lives. That doesn't mean, of course, that God takes away our troubles and our problems and our challenges. Some people face these hardships in life, and they start to question God, because they think faith should be a magic wand, driving all troubles away. But it isn't so. But it also doesn't mean that God causes them. Some people seem to have a very fatalistic view of God. Bad things are explained away as “it was God's will” - as if that makes everything better, when all it really does is paint a picture of God as a cruel monster, who deliberately causes His people to suffer. But if God neither causes our problems, nor takes them away, then we have to find the middle choice – God uses those problems to bring us to a deeper understanding.

     One of the main problems we face is that the bad things that happen can blind us to the goodness around us. They can blind us even to the goodness of God. Perhaps that's why Hebrews calls us so emphatically to “keep [our] eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith” - because if we let our eyes slip away and begin to focus on that which isn't good, then we also lose sight of God. One of our problems, I suspect, is that we equate “goodness” with “good” things happening. If bad things happen, good gets drowned out, and so does the idea of a good God. But perhaps that misses the point. C.S. Lewis, in a book called The Problem Of Pain, wrote that “We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” It is the very presence of our pains that inspires God's people to their greatest works of goodness – works of goodness that reflect the good God who inspires and guides us.

     Some say that one thing can only be understood and appreciated in relation to its opposite. If there is no “hot,” then we can't really understand the concept of “cold.” In the same way, if there is no “bad,” then we can't really understand the concept of “good.” It's the bad things that happen – the troubling, challenging, hurtful things - that turn our attention to the need for good. It's those very trials and hardships faced by us and by so many all over the world that serve to propel us to becoming God's own agents in trying to hold out a vision of hope. You see, to me the goodness of God isn't displayed in simply God doing good things and magically making all the bad stuff disappear. The goodness of God is displayed in the hope we have that things can be better, that challenges can be overcome, that problems do not have to defeat us. The goodness of God is displayed in the hope Paul spoke of in Romans: “our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

     When Paul writes that “in all things God works for the good of those who love Him ...” he isn't saying that God is causing or even using the bad things that happen as a part of some sadistic divine plan. He's saying that the goodness of God will eventually triumph over the bad things that happen. He's saying that hope exists – even when things seem to be at their most hopeless.