September 23 sermon - The Greatest

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

(Mark 9:30-37)

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     I have to confess that when I hear the words “the greatest,” I do not think immediately of these words of Jesus. No, when I hear “the greatest” I inevitably think of Muhammad Ali. He was “the greatest.” As he admits, he said he was the greatest even before he knew he was the greatest! His greatness mostly stems from his boxing career. Many people forget that in 1960 he was the Olympic heavyweight gold medalist representing the United States in the Olympic Games in Rome. And of course most people know that after that as a professional he became the three-time heavyweight champion of the world. That does mean that he lost the title twice – but only once did he lose it in the ring, and he followed that up by winning the title back a few months later! But it wasn’t only what he accomplished in the ring. He was a man of strong beliefs and principles and he was willing to stand up and pay a price for them. After returning home as Olympic gold medalist in 1960, he assumed that he would be respected and even honoured for being an American Olympic champion. Instead he found that the people of his home state of Kentucky (and perhaps most other Americans) still thought of him as just another … well, I won’t use the word. But he threw his Olympic gold medal into a local river in disgust. A few years later his religious convictions changed and he became a Muslim – which earned him the wrath of many and there were people who for many years refused to call him “Muhammad Ali” but insisted on using “Cassius Clay” instead. And a few years after that Ali risked jail time by refusing to be inducted into the United States Army to fight in Vietnam. No Vietnamese had ever hurt him, he said. The only people who had hurt him were other Americans, so why would he go to war for America against Vietnam? He didn’t go to jail, but he was stripped of his title for that. Those things perhaps stand out as a sign of greatness. And perhaps it was just his colourful and larger than life persona. But there were reasons for thinking of Muhammad Ali as “the greatest.” There are others. In hockey there was Wayne Gretzky. And in baseball there was Barry Bonds. And basketball today has LeBron James. World champion – most goals – most home runs – most points. That’s usually how we define greatness. It’s about accomplishments. The great ones are those who are better at something than anyone else and who get noticed for it. That’s why it’s fascinating for us to have had the chance in today’s Scripture passage to see how Jesus defined greatness.

     A lot of things can distract us from the work of God. One of those things is human pride; the desire for greatness. This story today illustrates that. It tells us that as the disciples traveled with Jesus, they got distracted. As they walked with Jesus, the passage tells us, even though they were supposedly devoted to him, “they had argued with one another who was the greatest.” I’m sure it was a fascinating argument. Peter said, “It’s me – because I’m the rock!” and John said, “No way! It’s me, because Jesus loves me the most!” and maybe Matthew, being a tax collector, said “It has to be me because I have the most money.” And maybe Thomas was the tallest, and Andrew was the most handsome. Judas probably even had something he could point to. You get the point. They had argued about which of them was the greatest – using very worldly definitions of greatness, no doubt. Now you would have thought that being in the presence of Jesus they might have conceded that title to him, but human pride can get in the way of what seems to be reasonable and it can get in the way of doing God’s work.

     The disciples seem to have thought that they had carried on their argument very discretely and so it must have been an embarrassing moment when Jesus suddenly turned to them and said, “What were you arguing about on the way?” There were probably red faces and feet scuffing the ground and eyes turned away. Some hemming and hawing. Mark tells us that “they were silent.” It was one of those awkward moments when you get caught doing something that you know you shouldn’t be doing and you just really don’t know how to respond – but you do discover how fascinating it is to be counting the number of tiles on the floor, because the last thing you want to do is look the other person in the eye. But the good news for the disciples – and for us, I daresay – is that Jesus didn’t become angry. Instead, he saw a teaching moment emerging from this silly argument.

     If human pride was the problem afflicting the disciples, then a good dose of humility would be the solution. It’s said that Benjamin Franklin once made a list of character qualities that he wanted to develop in his own life. And he would work his way down the list, and as he mastered one virtue he’d move on to the next one. But he could never finish the list, because he finally reached humility. And, he said, then he encountered a problem, because every time he made progress in developing humility be became proud of himself for doing so! Pride is a hard thing to overcome and pride may be the thing, more than anything else, that pulls us away from God. Ultimately, it’s pride that makes us say “i don’t need God. I can figure this out all by myself.” And I’ve known all sorts of people who profess to have deep faith but who, when push comes to shove, demonstrate in all sorts of ways that they really want to handle problems and answer questions by themselves without making any room for God in the process – and sometimes, I confess, I have to fight that temptation myself. And it’s pride – nothing more; nothing less. It’s pride that puts the idea into my head that I can do it all by myself, and the Book of Proverbs tells us that “pride goes before destruction ...” Then, in the very next verse of Proverbs we’re told that “it is better to be of a lowly spirit among the poor than to divide the spoil with the proud.” This was advice Jesus obviously agreed with.

     “He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, ‘Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.’” For the next few weeks, I’m going to be taking a bit of a look at pride and its consequences and the challenges it presents to us, and then in about a month I’m going to be coming back to this idea of the followers of Jesus being servants and asking what that really means. But today I just want to focus on this obsession we have with greatness and with how we define it. I find the Guinness Book of World Records a fascinating thing, and it always amazes me how many silly and even dangerous things people will do to get in on being a part of a world record. Just a few days ago – at a Presbye=tery meeting of all things – I heard about people who tried to get into the Guinness Book of World Records by being a part of the picture of the most people holding stuffies! I’ve personally never done anything dangerous for that purpose, but I did once try to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. It was several years ago in Port Colborne, and the City organized what they hoped would make Guinness as the biggest water gun fight ever. Hannah and I both took part. This is us after the fight:

     It doesn’t show up too well in the picture but we were soaked from head to toe. We had spent about half an hour running around the local park firing water pistols at everyone we saw and having everyone we saw firing water pistols at us. Unfortunately, even though there were about 850 of us in the fight, I think we fell a little bit short of the record – but we tried. I have some other claims to greatness. I am one of the relatively few ordained people in the history of the Christian faith to have preached in two different millennia! And about 15 years ago I may have become the first (and maybe still the only) ordained minister to have baptized baby boys named Jackson on two consecutive Sundays. I mean – it’s not a common name, and it’s a pretty recent name! Whatever it might be, the ways we define greatness from a human perspective are a bit silly – because as Christians the only thing that should really matter to us is how Jesus defined greatness. Right? “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” From a worldly perspective, that doesn’t make much sense, but it’s true: real greatness is defined not by our spectacular accomplishments, but by our humble service. That’s easy to forget.

     Jesus was a model of humility. Humility doesn’t mean never speaking out or being noticed – Jesus did plenty of that – but it means being noticed in such a way that you don’t always make yourself the centre of attention. So in response to the argument of his disciples about who was the greatest “he took a little child and put it among them ...” Even without the words he spoke (I’ll get to those in a second) the simple symbolism of putting a child among them was important. Children were looked on as weak and vulnerable and they didn’t belong in the company of adults. In the context of the time, they were to be seen and not heard, and preferably not seen if possible. But Jesus took the time to find a child, and put the child in their midst. The point was simple – Jesus took the time to focus on the weak and the vulnerable of his society; he invited them into his presence; he put them in the centre. He made them the most important people of all. But Jesus was doing more than just illustrating for his disciples that greatness is defined not by importance but by service to the weak and vulnerable. Jesus actually claimed identity with the child; he made himself one with the child: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” It is in those who are the weakest and most vulnerable and least privileged of our society that we truly find Christ; it is in serving them (not paternalistically as in “we know best” but as true servants who hear them and listen to them) that we truly serve God.

     With all due respect to Muhammad Ali or Wayne Gretzky or anyone else who has either claimed the title of “the greatest” or has had it thrust upon them, greatness isn’t defined by how many people you’ve knocked out or by how many goals you’ve scored. Greatness is defined by humble service, and by a person’s willingness to give of themselves for the sake of the least, and by our willingness to make the most vulnerable the most important of all.

   

September 9 sermon - The Unnamed Woman Who Changed The World

From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go - the demon has left your daughter.” So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.

(Mark 7:24-30)

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     Labour Day is over, school is back and Sunday School starts today! So it’s time to ask the age old question: how did your summer go? I can remember that was often one of the first assignments I’d be given in school – I had to write some sort of story about what I did over the last couple of months. I don’t have to write those stories anymore but it’s always interesting to look back. Some of us probably had nice vacations; some went to the cottage; some just stayed home; some probably worked the summer away. And for some – for a variety of reasons – the summer probably didn’t turn out the way you expected. That’s life, as they say. I don’t know what time of year it was when the incident recounted in today’s Gospel reading occurred – but it might have been summer, because it seems that Jesus was looking for some time off; a bit of time away. “He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there,” we’re told. It might well have been summer – a time when a lot of us are looking forward to taking life at a slower pace and just getting away from it all for a little while. Jesus needed to get away. He had been experiencing a very busy time in his ministry. He had been surrounded by crowds of people in different parts of Galilee, and he had spent time teaching them. In the synagogues and in the countryside, on top of mountains and at the seashore he had been busy teaching. He was in need of a break. And so he found a spot on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea (and doesn’t that sound nice!) and he set himself up in a little house to rest and relax; to do away with his weariness and stress. And then – the most irritating thing happened! This woman, who undoubtedly had heard about him from stories that were circulating, found him there and invaded his privacy and interrupted his rest, in order to make a request of him.

     This was a woman who – at least as far as Mark was concerned – had no name. It sounds a bit like today to be honest. How often do we neglect to learn the names of the desperate and the hurting people around us? Instead of learning their names we ignore them, we pity them or we make them statistics – but how often do we learn their names? This was a Greek woman, apparently from the region of Syrophoenicia, which was basically what we would call Syria today. Mark doesn’t tell us why she had traveled to where she encountered Jesus, but while there she had heard stories about this miracle healer who had come to stay in the area, and the stories interested her, because she was in need of healing – not for herself but for her daughter. We don’t know really what was wrong with her daughter. Mark says that she “had an unclean spirit,” but exactly what that meant we don’t know. There are a lot of diseases we understand today that were once thought to be demonic. Perhaps she had a mental illness; perhaps she was an epileptic and suffered seizures. Mark doesn’t explain, but something was definitely wrong with the little girl and her mother was determined to get her help. So if there was a worker of miracles around – a healer who had demonstrated power over even demons – then she was determined to find him and get his help, even if he was tired and in need of rest. And so she found out where Jesus was staying – and she showed up. She explained her story to Jesus and told him that she needed him to work a miracle; to heal her daughter.

     Jesus’ response is very un-Jesus-like. Actually, this passage is one that reminds us that as much as we talk about Jesus as the Son of God, he was also very much the Son of Man – and his humanity sometimes shows forth so clearly that it can make us uncomfortable. We see it in the grief that he sometimes expresses and in the anger he sometimes explodes with. In this passage what we see is an irritated Jesus who not only dismisses this woman – but who insults her in the process. He actually compared this woman to a dog: “… it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs,” were Jesus’ actual words. In a 1960 book the biblical scholar Floyd Filson wrote in reflecting on this passage that he believed Jesus must have winked at the woman when he said that, suggesting that Jesus was being playful and friendly rather than rude and condescending. But I don’t see any evidence of that. First, it sounds a bit whiny. The words “it’s not fair” always get under my skin to be honest. Who ever said everything was going to be fair? But basically, this was a somewhat rude way of saying what Jesus said at another time as “I only came for the lost sheep of Israel.” His point was that then – at that time – his ministry was directed to a specific group of people. And we should understand the meaning of the word “dog” in this context. He wasn’t using it in the way it would be used today – to refer to a woman’s appearance; basically he was comparing her to an animal that at the time was seen as no better than a detested scavenger; a pest to be eradicated. In that context, Jesus was basically trying to shoo the woman away. It’s not what we expect from Jesus – but it’s perhaps moments like that that make Jesus a little more approachable. Who among us hasn’t at times been irritable and perhaps even a little bit insulting when someone interrupts our down time? So Jesus really isn’t that much different than we are. But while I actually appreciate this very human portrayal of Jesus, I’m even more interested in the woman with no name.

     You have to recognize and admire this woman’s love for her daughter and for her commitment and persistence. She was a very clever woman, and she understood what Jesus’ answer meant; she knew he was trying to shoo her away. But she didn’t give up. Jesus could help her daughter and that was all that mattered, so – no matter what – he was going to help her daughter! No ifs, ands or buts about it! “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” It seems that her words softened Jesus up. Maybe he took a deep breath; maybe he counted to 10. Maybe he just thought regretfully, “I shouldn’t have said that.” What said was, “For saying that, you may go - the demon has left your daughter.” And the woman went home, and found her daughter lying on the bed, and the little girl was healed. The demon was gone. All was well.

     So – it’s a really good story, but does it justify the extravagant title I’ve given to today’s message? Did this unnamed woman really change the world? Did this one little event that takes up seven verses of Mark’s Gospel (and seven more in Matthew’s) really make such a difference? I think so. We need to look at the bigger picture of how this fits into the story. Let’s go backward for a moment. A few weeks ago I preached from a passage in Mark 6 just before this one: the feeding of the five thousand. That’s a mind-boggling story. Then comes this story in Mark 7, and then we get another feeding miracle in Mark 8, as Jesus feeds four thousand with very little food to start. The first feeding story takes place in Galilee – in Jewish territory. The second takes place in an area called the Decapolis – which was Gentile territory. The point is that between the first and second feeding miracles Jesus has shifted from a ministry that was directed only to Jews to a ministry directed to all. And, for Mark at least, the hinge between those two events – where the world turned, you might say – was this encounter Jesus had with an unnamed Gentile woman, whose plea leads him to broaden his horizons, so to speak, and expand his ministry. In a way, you might say that this was Jesus’ “AHA!” moment. Luke’s Gospel tells us that Jesus had to grow in wisdom, and this might have been the point at which he suddenly realized “this is bigger than I ever thought!” That woman’s persistence might, in fact, have changed the world. If she hadn’t interrupted Jesus’ Mediterranean vacation when would Jesus have encountered Gentiles, since most of his life was spent in Galilee? And if he had never encountered Gentiles that it’s quite possible that the whole history of the Christian faith (and, therefore, the whole history of the world) would have been different! It’s at least possible to think that maybe Jesus would have been remembered by a few people simply as a rejected Jewish Messiah rather than being celebrated by billions of people as the Saviour of the world!

     Perhaps not surprisingly, this unnamed woman is not one of the better known women of the Bible. Without a name, she fades away into a bit of obscurity. And yet, you could argue that she’s one of the giants of the Christian faith. This unnamed woman reminds all of us who follow Jesus to display open doors of welcome, open arms of compassion and open hearts of love to all; to set aside our differences and to celebrate that we are all God’s children. She exemplifies love for her daughter, persistence in caring for her daughter and faith through her belief that Jesus could help. And Jesus responded to this woman. Maybe her qualities reminded him just a bit of God – God’s love for all people and God’s persistence in caring for us. Maybe this woman shows us that by acts of sincere and deep love – by God and by God’s people - the world is changed – even just a little bit at a time, person by person. John McAfee wrote that “the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world are the ones who do.” This unnamed woman is just a bit player in the Bible – probably because she has no name for us to remember her by. But she was crazy enough to believe that she could convince Jesus to help her daughter, and by her faith in Jesus’ healing power and her love for her daughter she really did change the world, and her example – if it’s followed – continues to do so, if those of us who follow her today are crazy enough to believe that each one of us can make a difference.

August 12 sermon - The Sunday After

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. ... Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me. Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father. Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

(John 6:35, 41-51)

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     I want to look back to some of the words that were included in our closing prayer last week, often called the Post-Communion Prayer, since we had just celebrated Holy Communion: “Grant that what we have done and have been given here, may so put its mark on us that it may remain always in our hearts. Grant that we may grow in Christian love and understanding, and that ours may be lives of faithful action, poured out for all in Christ’s name.” And having heard those words again, let me ask you in the famous words of Dr. Phil: “how’s that working for you?” Now – I quote Dr. Phil with some hesitation. When he began his television odyssey I actually thought he was a rather serious psychologist dealing with some serious issues. Over the years he became (along with Dr. Oz) what I’d call an “Oprah celebrity” and his shows became – to me – less and less serious and more and more sensationalistic and more driven by the desire for high ratings than anything else. And I’m aware of the fact that on his website Dr. Phil identifies “how’s that working for you?” as “the one question you need to ask to get what you really want.” From a Christian perspective I’m pretty sure that getting what I want is not and should not be my priority. But that question, raised on the Sunday after we celebrated Holy Communion and prayed that prayer still seems important. How’s that working for you? Has Communion put its mark on us? Does that mark remain always in our hearts? Are we growing in Christian love and understanding? Are our lives lives of faithful action? Are they poured out in Christ’s name? Or is what’s said in that traditional post-Communion prayer empty rhetoric with no substance? Are we just the same as we were when we gathered last Sunday? Has Communion made a difference in us? Has faith made a difference to us? Has Jesus changed us? Surely, we should be changed! Communion is a means of grace, and after being confronted by grace, after experiencing grace, we should surely in some way be impacted by what we did last week and by what it symbolized for us, but two things seem to get in the way of us actually allowing ourselves to be changed.

     The first thing that we learn from today’s passage is simply that not everyone wants to be changed. Today’s Gospel reading is a continuation of last week’s Gospel reading. In fact the first verse we read today was the last verse we read last Sunday. The emphasis of the passage is the same: Jesus is the bread of life. Some of the people who responded to Jesus’ in today’s passage found themselves confronted with an image or understanding of God that they had never encountered before – a God who simply gave and who asked for no works in return. That was a shaky proposition for a lot of people, and the passage tells us that many of the people “complained.” They weren’t happy about the fact that the image of Jesus as “the bread of life” that was available to everyone was contrary to their view of God – that others might have access to that divine love that they themselves had worked so hard for. That also might explain why we might find it difficult to allow the experience of grace in Holy Communion to change us – because that would remind us that we don’t have God cornered, and that God isn’t just what we want God to be and that God isn’t just for whoever we want God to be for and that God doesn’t just do whatever we want God to do, and that God doesn’t just love only those whom we deem worthy of God’s love, and we often work very hard to make sure that the God we talk about is the God we want and not necessarily the God that is. Edwina Gately is a British Catholic and author and feminist who illustrated the problem in one of her books called “Mystics, Visionaries and Prophets” this way:

Once upon a time we captured God and we put God in a box and we put a beautiful velvet curtain around the box.  We placed candles and flowers around the box and we said to the poor and the dispossessed, "Come!  Come and see what we have!  Come and see God!" And they knelt before the God in the box. One day, very long ago, the Spirit in the box turned the key from inside and she pushed it open.  She looked around in the church and saw that there was nobody there!  They had all gone.  Not a soul was in the place.  She said to herself, "I'm getting out!"  The Spirit shot out of the box.  She escaped and she has been sighted a few times since then.  She was last seen with a bag lady in McDonald's.

     That’s what happens too often. We want people to accept God on our terms, but not necessarily on God’s terms. We want to be the gatekeepers who control access to God – forgetting that God is, perhaps most powerfully of all, with that bag lady in McDonald’s rather than being confined to our church or our experience.

     The second thing that the passage tells us gets in the way of of our transformation is that the message is too good to be true. The passage tells us that Jesus will satisfy us; that Jesus will feed us in such a way that we will never hunger again and in such a way even that we will not truly die. That’s incredible news that should transform our entire existence and everything about how we view life. But instead of embracing what Jesus offered them, Jesus immediately faced doubt for what he had revealed about himself. “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” The immediate response of many people to Jesus was to say “it’s too good to be true.” I sometimes get concerned that Holy Communion becomes a sort of empty ritual for many people. We go through the motions, we say the words, we take the bread and the juice – but maybe we’re not sure why. We forget that the whole purpose of Holy Communion is to be a sign of the grace of God; a sign of the fact that God welcomes all without hesitation or condition. And we tend to be suspicious of anything that’s “unconditional.” If it’s free, if it’s too good to be true – then it can’t be real. I think all the “get rich quick” schemes that abound in the world today make it difficult for us to believe the promise of a God who says that there are no conditions, that there’s no price tag attached to this bread of life that we’re offered. What’s the old saying? “If it sounds too good to be true – it probably is!” And while, in a worldly sense, there may be truth to that – with God that’s just the way it is. God’s love is so extravagant and God’s grace is so abundant that it can be hard to believe. So sometimes perhaps we fail to see in the symbols of bread and wine the sign of the abundance that God gives – abundance not in material things, but abundant life and abundant spirit and abundance in eternity. If we understood that and took it seriously, surely we would be changed, and ours could “be lives of faithful action, poured out for all in Christ’s name.” It’s not too good to be true; it’s so good that it must transform us.

     Either of those responses to the grace of God shown so simply in Holy Communion – whether we think it’s too good to be true, or whether we just don’t like what it tells us about God – cause us to harden and resist the call of God’s Spirit on our lives. On the Sunday after celebrating Holy Communion we need to reflect on the experience within ourselves, and ask ourselves how it changed us, how it impacted us, and how it challenged us to be confronted by Jesus with an image of a God who tells us that all are loved and provided for and who reminds us that we cannot hold God captive. Indeed, God tries to bring people together and not to drive them apart, and as people who one week ago  were shown the symbols of what God does for us, let’s remember that we are called to be transformed into those who will share the same love and grace to the world that Jesus shared. Indeed, in the words of Henri Nouwen, “in a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred, we have the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds.”

August 5 sermon: The Right Question

So when the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus. When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.” Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

(John 6:24-35)

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     I recently listened to a radio interview with a neuroscientist (a scientist who studies the brain) who had been conducting research on the brains of various of God’s creatures in an effort to determine the respective levels of intelligence and cognitive abilities of each. She analyzed a diverse group of creatures, and basically, her research revolved around how many firing neurons each creature had in its cerebral cortex – the most important part of the brain. She came to some interesting conclusions. Cat people are not going to like this, but she concluded that dogs were twice as intelligent as cats. She explained that by saying that for thousands of years dogs have been specifically bred by humans to do certain jobs for us and so they’ve had to expand their brain activity in order to learn, whereas basically we just expect cats to be cats and to do what cats do. Bears and raccoons are at about the same level as dogs. Humans have 30 times the number of firing neurons as dogs and 60 times the number of cats, and we have double the number of firing neurons of gorillas. And she said that the truly unique thing about humans is that our brains cause us to ask questions. All higher animals, she said, are curious about their environments. I know that from watching my birds. Put something new in their cage and they’ll be apprehensive about it for a little while, but curiosity will eventually win out and eventually they’ll be trying to figure it out. But humans alone, she said, are more than curious. We ask abstract questions. What she meant was that we alone as far as she can tell have the ability to ponder and ask questions about things that aren’t right in front of us. We can ask “big questions.” Questions about the meaning of life; questions about our origin; questions about our destiny. No other creatures do that. The ability to question is what makes us by far, she said, the most intelligent creature on earth. It’s not having answers that makes us intelligent – it’s having the ability just to ask the questions in the first place. That’s what sets us apart. Perhaps that’s the divine spark – the image of God within us.

     The Gospel passage today seemed to be appropriate for a Sunday on which we celebrate Holy Communion. “Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.’” On a day when the table is set, when the bread will be broken and the cup will be raised and the feast will be shared, what’s more appropriate than to be reminded of the fact that Jesus is the one who leaves us always nourished and satisfied. But the passage isn’t really about Holy Communion. It seems to revolve largely around an abstract question – those questions that apparently only human beings - blessed with the spark of the divine presence within us; made in the image of God – are able to ask. And, remember, it’s not the ability come up with answers that fundamentally makes us human – it’s the ability so simply formulate the question. The question itself tells us a lot about ourselves – and this question, raised in this context, and shared in this context today, tells us a lot about who we are as the people of God: “‘What must we do to perform the works of God?” the people who sought Jesus asked. “What must we do to perform the works of God?” It’s an interesting question from this crowd because, remember, these are not disciples of Jesus. They’re following Jesus, but they’re not followers of Jesus. But the question rings true  to me for followers of Jesus as well, and I wondered: Is this the question asked by the people of God today? I hope so, because I think it’s an appropriate question – the right question to ask – and I want to explain why.

     My gut reaction when I read the passage and first pondered this question was one of angst. “What must we do …?” is how it starts. And I was immediately taken aback by what at first glance appeared to be this query about legalism – the idea that somehow we have to do something to earn God’s grace, which is an oxymoron, since grace by its very nature is freely given to those who have done nothing to have earned it. But legalism is the bane of the Christian faith. So many well meaning Christians are locked into the cell of legalism, desperately thinking that they have to do something to earn their standing before God, and either then patting themselves on the back because they’re convinced that they’ve done it and they want the world to know, or falling farther and farther into fear because they realize that they haven’t done it and so they’ve lost hope – even in God. But that was a gut reaction. As I thought about the question more, I realized that there was something subtle happening here – something that revolved around the question itself. “What must we do to perform the works of God?” And as I focused on those words and that specific question, I suddenly realized that there was something important in the wording of the question. Simply scratching the surface of it wasn’t enough. One has to go deeper, beneath the surface – which is usually a good way to approach any Bible passage. And going deeper, I realized that the question asked is not “what must we do to be saved?” It is “What must we do to perform the works of God?”

     Those are two very different questions. The truth is that in many ways it seems more natural to ask “what must I do to be saved?” That sort of question reflects self-interest, and what’s more natural for us – or for any creature – to be concerned with our own well-being, and for humans (with our ability to ask abstract questions) what’s more natural than to be concerned with our eternal destiny? But interestingly (and perhaps surprisingly) that isn’t the question that the  people asked Jesus, and – again, if the questions we ask tell us a lot about ourselves – that question tells me two things about these people (and, hopefully, about ourselves.) The first is that even though they weren’t well acquainted with Jesus, the knew enough that they were not afraid. Had they been afraid or uncertain about where they stood with God they would have asked about salvation or eternal life – but they didn’t. Second is that they weren’t focused on themselves. Although they asked about what they could “do” their focus was elsewhere. So, if the question they didn’t ask tells me what the people were not thinking about, then the question they did ask tells me something even more important.

     Their question was “What must we do to perform the works of God.” There’s a confidence in that question; a sense of determination. Already, something about their encounter with Jesus has meant that the people are not afraid for themselves or their destiny and they’re not just acting in self interest and they aren’t worried about getting anything in return. Their desire, expressed in this question, is simply to please God – apparently, since they don’t express any uncertainty about salvation or eternity, simply because they want to please God. And Jesus’ reply to their question was “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” And then comes the narrative about Jesus being the bread of life.

     When we gather at the table, we’re showing that we believe in the one whom God has sent, and the gathering is symbolic of what Jesus himself tried to create: a community of people, among whom were no distinctions, among whom the differences of race or creed or gender didn’t matter, among whom were both wealthy and poor – but all of whom shared equally, joyfully and abundantly in the gifts God provided.

     When I reflected upon this question “What must we do to perform the works of God?” I thought of these words that were once spoken by Michelle Obama – the former First Lady of the United States: “Success isn’t about how much money you make, it’s about the difference you make in people’s lives.” I might put it a little differently for us, though. Performing the works of God isn’t about serving ourselves, it’s about treating others as equals, with respect and dignity always.” Sharing some simple nourishment from a simple table together is one way we show that.

July 29 sermon: The Man No One Remembers In The Story Everyone Knows

In the spring, at the time when kings go off to war, David sent Joab out with the king’s men and the whole Israelite army. They destroyed the Ammonites and besieged Rabbah. But David remained in Jerusalem. One evening David got up from his bed and walked around on the roof of the palace. From the roof he saw a woman bathing. The woman was very beautiful, and David sent someone to find out about her. The man said, “She is Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam and the wife of Uriah the Hittite.” Then David sent messengers to get her. She came to him, and he slept with her. (Now she was purifying herself from her monthly uncleanness.) Then she went back home. The woman conceived and sent word to David, saying, “I am pregnant.” So David sent this word to Joab: “Send me Uriah the Hittite.” And Joab sent him to David. When Uriah came to him, David asked him how Joab was, how the soldiers were and how the war was going. Then David said to Uriah, “Go down to your house and wash your feet.” So Uriah left the palace, and a gift from the king was sent after him. But Uriah slept at the entrance to the palace with all his master’s servants and did not go down to his house. David was told, “Uriah did not go home.” So he asked Uriah, “Haven’t you just come from a military campaign? Why didn’t you go home?” Uriah said to David, “The ark and Israel and Judah are staying in tents, and my commander Joab and my lord’s men are camped in the open country. How could I go to my house to eat and drink and make love to my wife? As surely as you live, I will not do such a thing!” Then David said to him, “Stay here one more day, and tomorrow I will send you back.” So Uriah remained in Jerusalem that day and the next. At David’s invitation, he ate and drank with him, and David made him drunk. But in the evening Uriah went out to sleep on his mat among his master’s servants; he did not go home. In the morning David wrote a letter to Joab and sent it with Uriah. In it he wrote, “Put Uriah out in front where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die.”

(2 Samuel 11:1-15)

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     Everyone knows the story of David and Bathsheba. Or, at least, people think they know the story of David and Bathsheba. When I hear people speak about it, it’s talked about almost as a romance. The usual way I’ve heard of relating the story from people who haven’t studied it in depth is that David sees Bathsheba and is completely smitten with her – it’s love at first sight – and nature takes its course and they marry and they live happily ever after. What could be better than a biblical romance? Except that it’s not quite that clear. Rather than a love story, this seems much more like a lust story. If you really listen to the story, David actually comes across as something of a peeping tom, spying on this presumably naked woman while she’s taking a bath. He’s a bit of a stalker, sending someone to get information about her. And many have suggested that – although the passage is worded very diplomatically – this was more of a rape than a romance. The story never tells us that Bathsheba was David’s willing partner. In today’s language – there’s no sign of consent here. And, of course, it’s all followed up with David panicking when he found out that he had made Bathsheba pregnant, desperately trying to get himself off the hook by making it seem as if her husband were the child’s father, and then carefully and deliberately arranging for Bathsheba’s husband to be killed because he couldn’t be convinced to play along with the game David was playing to get himself off the hook for the apparently unwanted and possibly scandalous pregnancy. It’s really not a nice story – but some parts of it we gloss over because it’s so fascinating. As Ronald Peters wrote, “because of human nature's popular fascination with the trappings of wealth, privilege, and power, whenever the biblical story of David and Bathsheba is read or discussed, most attention is quickly drawn to the Hollywood-style glamour or soap opera intrigue that surrounds the salacious, the unfettered license, and the corruption in high places that adorns this tragedy.” And I think that remains typical of how we respond to those with wealth and power today. In one way, the decadent lifestyle appalls us; in another way it fascinates us; part of us wants to turn away, another part can’t get enough. One thing that we can say, though – and one of the first things I thought of when reflecting on what to say about this story – is that it represents quite a contrast with what we read last week. Then we saw Jesus acting with compassion and providing a meal for five thousand hungry people. Today we see David fixated only on himself – his own desires, his own needs and his own well-being. It’s a classic contrast between the selflessness displayed by Jesus and the selfishness of David.

     But I wanted to take a bit of a different direction with this story today. I wanted to think about Uriah – Bathsheba’s husband. The story of David and Bathsheba is a well known story, but Uriah is the unknown character within it. I suspect that if I were to mention David and Bathsheba to people on the street, many would at least know that they’re the central characters in a biblical story. But if I mentioned Uriah? My guess would be that even a lot of faithful Christians would draw a blank. “Uriah?” It actually sounds more like a medical condition or maybe a medical treatment – a drug or some such thing. But Uriah – once you come to know the story – is really the one who makes the story of David and Bathsheba such a tragedy. In a way, he’s the one who gives the story meaning.

     The name “Uriah” in Hebrew means “the Lord is my light.” By naming a child “Uriah,” his parents were expressing the hope that their child would, indeed, devote his life to walking in the light of God. Uriah did that – right up to the end – and yet his faithfulness is usually overlooked in favour of David’s power. The king matters – but one of the king’s soldiers? And Uriah was no general, out on the field directing and winning battles. He was apparently a foot soldier – expendable and easily sacrificed as David displayed by sending him to the front of the line in the hope that he would die. And maybe that’s why Uriah is so easily overlooked and forgotten. David was king of Israel and ancestor of Jesus; Uriah simply died. He’s one soldier who died in a battle probably among many soldiers who died in many battles. But just because Uriah died doesn’t mean that he doesn’t matter. And if the only thing we remember about Uriah is that he died and then we move on to the rest of David’s story then we miss the fact that in a lot of ways Uriah has much more to teach us about how to live than David’s often troubled lifestyle does.

     In today’s troubled world where there’s so much concern about refugees and immigrants, it might be worth noting that Uriah was “Uriah the Hittite.” He was an immigrant who had come to Israel and made a commitment to God, to the nation, to his king and to his fellow Israelites. He became an outstanding citizen and an outstanding man. He had an integrity that made him an object of respect, and he had a transparent faith that must have served as an example to all who knew him, and he had a loyalty to those around him. I mean, without being too crude, let’s be honest here – David brought him back from a war for the sole purpose of giving him time with his wife, thinking that he wouldn’t be able to resist such an opportunity. But Uriah refused. And the story tells us that David “… asked Uriah, ‘Haven’t you just come from a military campaign? Why didn’t you go home?’ Uriah said to David, ‘The ark and Israel and Judah are staying in tents, and my commander Joab and my lord’s men are camped in the open country. How could I go to my house to eat and drink and make love to my wife? As surely as you live, I will not do such a thing!’” And the next night – growing more desperate - David got him drunk. “But in the evening Uriah went out to sleep on his mat among his master’s servants; he did not go home.” That was how devoted he was to his fellow soldiers. If they couldn’t go home to their wives, he wouldn’t go home to his.

     I’ve been talking a lot this month about the need for people to serve as examples to others, and the cost involved in being an example who stands for faith, for God and who lives with loyalty and integrity – the very qualities that Uriah displayed in abundance. But, again, there was a price to be paid for these qualities. David gave up on his plan to get himself off the hook for Bathsheba’s pregnancy because he couldn’t get Uriah to play his part. So, “in the morning David wrote a letter to Joab” - Uriah’s commander - “and sent it with Uriah. In it he wrote, ‘Put Uriah out in front where the fighting is fiercest. Then withdraw from him so he will be struck down and die.’” For lack of a better way to put it, David had Uriah murdered – a desperate act from a desperate man who wanted to escape the consequences of his own actions.

     It’s a scenario we still see played out in today’s world over and over again: those with power trying to evade their responsibility for their own actions, and being willing to use and abuse others in order to do it. Uriah was a man of neither power nor prestige. But he was a man of both integrity and faith. And we need people of integrity and faith in the world today – we need them desperately. We need a few Uriah’s in the halls of power. And if we read the story of David and Bathsheba and become fixated on David or fall into the trap of thinking this is some sort of love story, we miss perhaps what Ronald Peters calls the “most important [aspect] of this rather sad tale: the significance and the importance of the man Uriah” - the man no one remembers in the story everyone knows.

July 22 sermon: The Top Ten Things About Christian Ministry

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things. When it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a deserted place, and the hour is now very late; send them away so that they may go into the surrounding country and villages and buy something for themselves to eat.” But he answered them, “You give them something to eat.” They said to him, “Are we to go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread, and give it to them to eat?” And he said to them, “How many loaves have you? Go and see.” When they had found out, they said, “Five, and two fish.” Then he ordered them to get all the people to sit down in groups on the green grass. So they sat down in groups of hundreds and of fifties. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people; and he divided the two fish among them all. And all ate and were filled; and they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. Those who had eaten the loaves numbered five thousand men.

(Mark 6:30-44)

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     I want to start by taking a show of hands. How many late night TV hawks do we have with us today who, years ago, watched either Late Night or The Late Show with David Letterman? I used to watch them from time to time, and if you recall the shows one of the nightly features was Letterman’s “Top Ten” list, when he would give us the “Top Ten” on a whole variety of subjects. In fact, I remember that when he moved from NBC’s “Late Night” to CBS’s “The Late Show” NBC at first tried to prevent him from doing a “Top Ten” list on CBS, claiming that the very idea of a Top Ten list was their “intellectual property.” Well, I don’t want to get either NBC, CBS or David Letterman suing me for stealing their intellectual property, but I do remember that last week I said that Christians sometimes had to be willing to live dangerously and take risks. And since today’s passage is a superb teaching passage that tells us at least ten things about the nature of the Christian ministry we’re all called to share in all I can say is: NBC, CBS, David Letterman – bring on the lawsuit! And I trust that the church will pay for a lawyer to help me defend myself against this theft of intellectual property! Because today I’m going to share “The Top Ten Things About Christian Ministry!”

     Number 10: Ministry is accountable. “The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught.” As this passage begins, Jesus had just commissioned his disciples to go into the surrounding towns and villages and to engage in ministry – teaching and healing those whom they encountered. But it’s important for us to note that even though for the first time Jesus had sent them out on their own, they weren't free agents who had  ablank cheque to do or teach whatever they wanted. They were still accountable to him for what they did. So today’s passage tells us clearly that while the disciples may have been sent out by Jesus, they were still expected to come back to Jesus and to report to him; to tell “him all that they had done and taught.” So today, we are still accountable to both the teaching and example of Jesus that we find in the Gospels, because, after all, it isn’t our ministry that we’re engaged in – it’s his! 

     Number 9: Ministry is work. It’s tough! And no one – least of all Jesus – ever said it would be easy. It was so tough ministering in Jesus’ name that even after they returned to Jesus so much was happening that “they had no leisure even to eat.” Doing Jesus’ work can be overwhelming, and Jesus certainly understood that. It’s why he said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Ministry is tough, but it doesn’t mean that we always have to be on the go. Sometimes we can step back and take some time for ourselves. One of the most important things I was ever taught before I was ordained was that if there’s nothing essential that has to be done, it’s OK to spend some time doing nothing because if you’re always doing the things you could be doing even if they don’t have to be done then you’ll always be doing something and you’ll never really be able to do anything well. If you get the point. Sometimes you just need a break, because ministry can be tough to the point of overwhelming if you let it. And that principle applies to every Christian’s ministry – you have to put your heart and soul into it, but you have to take time for yourself too – because if you’re doing Jesus’ ministry, you’ll find it tough and you’ll need to rest from time to time.

     Number 8: Ministry is everywhere.  The disciples tried to get away but “many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them.” So the disciples tried to get to a place where they could have some time to themselves but when they got there, needy people were already waiting for them! Yes, we need time to rest, but then again – ministry has this funny way of finding us. Over the years I've done ministry in places and circumstances where I least expected to be doing ministry - because needs arise, and people with needs appear. It’s often said that opposites attract, and that applies to ministry as much as to anything else. When a person has a need they’re going to be attracted to someone who can meet that need. And if you’re doing Jesus’ ministry, you’re going to find yourself meeting people’s needs – so you always have to be ready.

     Number 7: Ministry is anytime. As much as ministry is everywhere, it’s also anytime. The passage tells us that “it grew late.” The disciples had just returned from their journey, and they were tired and they seemed to think that their ministry should take place only at times that were convenient to them. I remember years ago in a different church I served the doorbell of the manse ringing at 2:00 in the morning, interrupting a blissful sleep. “No,” I thought. I didn’t really want to answer until I looked out the window and saw a police car. A young man had got into the church during the day when it was unlocked, fallen asleep and woke up in the middle of the night. He called the police to tell them because he was afraid he’d be accused of breaking in and stealing. At 2 in the morning I had to get dressed and go to the church to make sure nothing had been damaged or stolen. The the officer asked if we could find any place for the man to sleep. Well, we had a deal with a motel down the street, so I went there and made the arrangements. This was all between 2 and 3 in the morning when I would have rather been in bed. But ministry happens anytime – even when you don’t want it to happen. The response of the disciples to this inconvenience was to try to get Jesus to stop. “Send them away,” they said to him. As far as they were concerned this ministry was going on far too long and it was time to put an end to it. But Jesus wouldn’t send the people away. Simply put, opportunities for ministry come up at the most inconvenient times, and we just have to be ready for them.

     Number 6: Ministry is from the heart. The passage tells us that “As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them ...” Ministry is always – and must always be – a thing of the heart, and we develop a heart for ministry by keeping our eyes and ears open and making sure that we’re aware of what’s going on around us. There was a three-fold pattern that Jesus demonstrated here. First, he saw the need; then he felt compassion for the needy; then he responded to the needs of the needy. We don't engage in our ministry to score points, or because it's a duty, or because Jesus tells us to or because we think it's the right thing to do. We engage in ministry because our hearts are touched and moved by the needs we see around us. Jesus had compassion on the people who stood before him; he saw their needs. He didn’t judge them for being needy, he didn’t blame them for having needs and he didn’t turn them away. Jesus was confronted by a need – and he responded from the heart with compassion to the need that he saw in front of him.

     Number 5: Ministry is personal. After their complaint, Jesus said to the disciples, “You give them something to eat.” The disciples were convinced (or at least they were hoping) that the answer to meeting the needs of the crowd gathered around them was to send them to someone else to look after them, but Jesus placed the responsibility squarely on their shoulders. “You give them something to eat.” If you read those words a certain way you might come to the conclusion that Jesus wasn't too happy that his disciples were trying to pass the buck by sending the needy away. He expected them to act. He expected them to take responsibility. If we start to look to others to do what should be our ministry, then what’s the point of being the church? Jesus tells all of us that we are to minister to those around us and not wait for someone else to do it.

     Number 4: Ministry is expensive. Real ministry costs. Jesus’ disciples said to him, “Are we to go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread, and give it to them to eat?” In the end, of course, they didn’t have to because Jesus provided the food, but the point is that ministry is a valuable thing and we have to be willing to put real resources into it. A lot of churches look at the cost of helping those with needs and they decide to do less because they fear they can't afford to do it. But if we spend all our time counting the cost of doing real ministry – whether the cost is measured in time, money, effort or anything else – then I suspect we’ll never get around to doing real ministry, because doing ministry is an expensive business. I suppose that there will always be those who are going to ask how much it’s going to cost them to be a part of a dynamic and meaningful ministry that actually has an impact on the lives of the people around them, but maybe the real question is how much it's going to cost not to be a part of such ministry. What matters isn't how much ministry is going to cost – what matters is who it’s going to help.

     Number 3: Ministry brings people together. Jesus “ordered them to get all the people to sit down in groups on the green grass. So they sat down in groups of hundreds and of fifties.” It's interesting that Jesus had to "order" the disciples to do this. It sounds as if they didn't want to do this - and perhaps we need to keep in mind as I said a few moments ago that they really didn't want to do this in the first place. The crowd was too big, and they were strangers anyway. They weren't disciples. They were "others." Maybe they were taking advantage of Jesus. Maybe they had nothing to offer back. And it's true that - at this moment at least - the people who had followed the disciples and were now gathered around them weren't making any commitment to Jesus and didn’t have anything particular in common with the disciples or with each other – except that they believed that Jesus and the disciples could meet their needs. The symbolism of the people sitting “down in groups of hundreds and of fifties” is that this diverse group of people with different experiences were brought together from different places and they were turned into a community – and what better way to celebrate a community than by sharing a meal!

     Number 2: Ministry is centred on God. “Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves ...” Jesus didn’t want his disciples to be under any illusions about what was about to happen. I've heard two theories about what happened here. One is that it was a supernatural miracle. There were only five loaves and two fish and somehow that little bit of food fed this huge company of people. The other is that some of the crowd had food and others didn't. As people with very little were moved by God to start putting food into a common pool starting with five loaves and two fish - those with more than they needed were struck by God with compassion and threw more into the common pot and what started as five loaves and two fish grew until it could feed thousands. Either way, the point of the story is that this wasn’t simply some really neat magic trick Jesus was going to perform to dazzle those watching like pulling a rabbit out of a hat. What was about to happen was possible only because of God. Our ministry – while it has to be directed outward to others – is first and foremost centred on God. If our ministry doesn’t in some way glorify God or reveal God, then there’s no real point in doing it.

     And the number 1 thing about ministry: when all is said and done, ministry is satisfying! “ And all ate and were filled.” My guess is that it wasn’t just the crowds of people in front of them who “ate and were filled.” I suspect that Jesus and his disciples also shared in the loaves and the fish. The passage does say “all.” So Jesus and his disciples were among those who were satisfied on that day by the ministry they performed. There is satisfaction both for those providing ministry and for those receiving ministry. As we see lives changed, as we see the sick healed, as we see the broken made whole, as we see the grieving comforted, as we see the poor provided for, as we see the oppressed liberated and as we see God glorified by it all, we should feel the greatest satisfaction we’ve ever felt.

     I’ll end with some words from one of the best known “ministers” of all time – the Reverend Fred Rogers, better known as Mr. Rogers, who wrote this in a book called “ The World According to Mister Rogers: Important Things To Remember”: “A ministry doesn't have to be only through a church, or even through an ordination. And I think we all can minister to others in this world by being compassionate and caring. I hope you will feel good enough about yourselves that you will want to minister to others, and that you will find your own unique ways to do that.” 

July 15 sermon: The Example Of John The Baptist

King Herod heard of it, for Jesus’ name had become known. Some were saying, “John the baptizer has been raised from the dead; and for this reason these powers are at work in him.” But others said, “It is Elijah.” And others said, “It is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” For Herod himself had sent men who arrested John, bound him, and put him in prison on account of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, because Herod had married her. For John had been telling Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” And Herodias had a grudge against him, and wanted to kill him. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he protected him. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed; and yet he liked to listen to him. But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his courtiers and officers and for the leaders of Galilee. When his daughter Herodias came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests; and the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it.” And he solemnly swore to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, even half of my kingdom.” She went out and said to her mother, “What should I ask for?” She replied, “The head of John the baptizer.” Immediately she rushed back to the king and requested, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” The king was deeply grieved; yet out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Immediately the king sent a soldier of the guard with orders to bring John’s head. He went and beheaded him in the prison, brought his head on a platter, and gave it to the girl. Then the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body, and laid it in a tomb.

(Mark 6:14-29)

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     When we think about John the Baptist, it’s usually in some sort of connection to either the Christmas story or the baptism of Jesus. John’s birth and his early life as a prophet preparing the way for Jesus are regular features of Advent and just after Epiphany. But there’s one other story about John the Baptist - and every three years the lectionary includes this reading in the middle of summer. John the Baptist appears again and we get a depiction of his execution – an act so brutal that if it happened today it couldn’t be shown on television. I’ve often wondered what this graphic and unpleasant story that interrupts our summer doldrums means for us in today’s world, and as I tried to puzzle that out, I found myself drawn to some words of Mark Twain. “Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.” There’s a lot of truth to that – in part because those who are good examples sometimes serve as a reminder to us that being a good example as one who stands for God often comes with a price. The history of the church is full of examples of people who stood for God who have paid a price – up to their very lives. In fact the ancient church leader Tertullian once wrote that the “blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” For 2000 years many Christians have been inspired by the example of Christian men and women who have sacrificed for the gospel, and although we don’t often think of John the Baptist in those terms, this passage reminds us that John the Baptist was one of them.

     The story of John the Baptist challenges us to be among those who will have the courage to speak God’s truth to those with power – and those with power are often the last who want to hear God’s truth, and so there’s always a temptation to play it safe, to stay quiet, to not offend, and to just keep the peace. And there is safety to be found in doing things that way. But are we called to simply stay safe and keep the peace? John the Baptist is a biblical example of someone who says that isn’t our calling – that our calling as the people of God is to stand up and be heard, and to risk the potential consequences. John the Baptist was a martyr in the best sense of the word. His example was his willingness to sacrifice everything for the sake of standing for what he knew to be true.

     Now today, the word “martyr” gets misunderstood, because usually it gets claimed and applied by fanatics whose goal is often to kill as many people as they can even if it means dying themselves, but that’s a hijacking of an honourable word. The people who use the word “martyr” that way aren’t martyrs – basically they’re murderers. They kill others, but true martyrs (like John the Baptist) simply give themselves for their cause, willing to face whatever consequences might follow. We’re going to end our service today with the hymn “Faith Of Our Fathers” - which is a celebration of Christian martyrs throughout the centuries:

Faith of our fathers, living still, in spite of dungeon, fire and sword …

…

Faith of our sisters, brothers too, who still must bear oppression’s might,

Raising on high, in prisons dark, the cross of Christ still burning bright.

      John the Baptist died (and people who follow his example today suffer consequences) because he was willing to stand up and be counted. He didn’t kill anyone - because real martyrs don’t - but he spoke out; he spoke truth to power - because real martyrs do. They express themselves. They don’t keep their faith private. They’ll speak up when they see evil or injustice or oppression happening, and because they do that they tend to get into trouble. It’s easy to believe in Christ and never face consequences. Most of us can accomplish that without even having to think about it. If we keep quiet we won’t get hurt and nobody will bother us.  But as soon as you open your mouth about Christ and the Christian faith and start to stand for what Christ stood for – that’s when the trouble starts, because power doesn’t like the message of Christ. Power is afraid of it. Maybe public opinion disagrees with it. I know people in the United States who won’t talk about politics because they’re concerned about how their neighbours would respond. But Christians can’t live in fear. We can’t refuse to speak the gospel to power just because many people won’t like us doing it or might be offended by it. Christians sometimes have to be prepared to fly in the face of public opinion and to take unpopular stands simply because we know that what’s popular might be wrong. Most Christians do a pretty good job of talking about Christ and social justice in church because usually nobody in church gets too upset about it. But it takes guts to take the gospel outside the doors of the church and to go against public opinion and to stand against power. That’s tough. That’s risky.

     John the Baptist did it. He expressed his beliefs to Herod - and he got killed for it. John could have presumably just spoken to his followers and his friends and nobody would have noticed. But no. John had to go to Herod. And he paid the price with his life. Martin Luther King, Jr.  could have just preached about civil rights from his own pulpit in Montgomery, Alabama and laid low and his congregation would have patted him on the back and said “good job, pastor,” and nobody else would have noticed. But no. He spoke at huge rallies in support of civil rights. And he paid the price with his life. Oscar Romero was the Archbishop of San Salvador in Guatemala when a brutal dictatorship governed that small Central American country and when many people were either tortured – or just disappeared, never to be heard from again -  just because they opposed the government. Romero could have simply served the poor – fed them, clothed them, sheltered them, cleaned them - and no one in power would have noticed. But no. He preached a public sermon on March 23, 1980 in which he called on Guatemalan soldiers to obey God instead of government and refuse to violate people’s basic rights, and the next day after celebrating mass, a gunman fired shots through the door of Romero’s church. Struck in the heart, he paid the price for speaking out with his life.

     Disciples of Jesus have to be willing to speak out – openly and boldly and confidently – and to face the consequences of doing so. We have to be willing to speak the truth to power. It isn’t always – or even very often – going to cost Christians their lives, especially in our society. But it could cost us some friends. There might be a price to be paid. But disciples of Jesus have to believe in Jesus and his gospel with passion and we have to be willing to take risks – because the biggest challenge the church faces and the thing that could eventually destroy us isn’t speaking up – it’s not speaking at all; it’s becoming irrelevant to the world around us.

     This is what we learn from John the Baptist. This is what we learn from Martin Luther King, Jr. This is what we learn from Oscar Romero. This is what we learn from all of those “who still must bear oppression’s might, raising on high, in prisons dark, the cross of Christ still burning bright.” These are our examples of how to live as disciples of Jesus and of how to live with passion for the gospel. And what Mark Twain wrote is true: “Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example.” Indeed, there is a lot of truth to that –  because those who are good examples sometimes do remind to us that being a good example comes with a price.