November 25 sermon: Christ: Our King

Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

(John 18:33-37)

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     Kings and Queens seem almost outdated in today’s world – a thing of the past. Not that they don’t still exist, of course. We live in a constitutional monarchy – but our monarchy (our Queen) has pomp with little real power. Just to be clear, I’m not anti-monarchy. I’m not a republican and I’m not arguing that the monarchy’s symbolic role isn’t important. I’m just pointing out that it is a symbolic role. We just heard a passage from John’s Gospel that speaks about the question of monarchy and kingship. It describes an exchange between Pilate and Jesus. If that seems a bit out of place in late November (because we normally hear about Pilate during Lent) it really isn’t. The last Sunday before Advent is the official end of the church year, and so, in a way, everything else in the church year leads up to this moment. The Gospel proclaims that as history itself comes to its eventual and inevitable conclusion, it will be Jesus who is the culmination of everything God has done. In today’s passage, Pilate asks Jesus if he is the King of the Jews. And by asking that question, Pilate also forces us to confront the question of Jesus’ identity: whose King is he? Is he someone else’s King, or is he our King?

     One of the first things made clear in this passage is that Jesus was not immediately recognizable as a King. Pilate wasn’t really sure who (or what) it is he’s talking to as he confronts Jesus in this passage. The emphasis is everything in the question Pilate asked. When the passage is read, the emphasis is often something like this: “Are you the King of the Jews?” But I think as a starting point to get into this passage the emphasis needs to be different. It should be: “Are you the King of the Jews?” In the first, Pilate is asking a question (“Are  you …?”) In the second, Pilate is expressing surprise and even bewilderment (“Are you …?”) I believe that confronted by Jesus, Pilate was (at first at least) incredulous and was perhaps even being mildly sarcastic. Keep in mind the state Jesus was in as he stood before Pilate: he had been beaten, he was bleeding, he had been spit upon. And looking at that, to paraphrase, what I think Pilate is saying is “You don’t look like a king to me! What a joke this is!” And Pilate’s reaction is completely understandable – because Jesus didn’t look like a King; in fact, he was unlike any King that Pilate had ever heard of.

     Even the people of Jerusalem, who had proclaimed Jesus as their king just a few days before, must have been startled. He didn’t look like a king. He didn’t lead an army into Jerusalem – he led a bunch of ragtag, scruffy disciples. He didn’t ride in a chariot drawn by a horse – he rode on the back of a donkey. So even to the people who proclaimed him to be their king, Jesus must have seemed to have been a strange one. To Pilate he would have been even stranger. Pilate was not unfamiliar with kings, and nothing about Jesus said “king” to him. Pilate would have understood a king as someone who governed a particular territory. But Jesus had no land to rule and he claimed no land to rule. Jesus’ words to Pilate must have left the poor governor scratching his head: “My kingdom in not from this world.” And even to our ears, being a king is tied to having a kingdom. Jesus didn’t actually deny to Pilate that he was a king – but it left a question hanging: how could a person be a king if his kingdom was not from this world?

     So the issue is how to define kingship as Jesus understood the concept. So often what we do is try to redefine Jesus. So we downplay the regal aspect of his identity and think of him instead as merely a friend or a brother. And there’s nothing wrong with thinking of Jesus as a friend or a brother, because he is. There may be no more moving hymn in the entire Christian faith than “What A Friend We Have In Jesus.” But Jesus is more than that., and rather than simply discarding the title because we don’t like the political overtones of the word or because it’s so masculine, what we really need to do is try to understand kingship as Jesus understood it.

     When we think of royalty today, what do we think of? Social status; prestige; a throne; yachts and palaces; wealth. Jesus had none of these things. He is a king without land, without a throne, without a palace, without wealth. He’s certainly a different kind of king. He didn’t inflict punishment on people; instead he showed compassion to them and he wept when confronted with suffering and need. He came to get nothing from anyone – he asked for no awards or honours, and he collected no taxes; instead he gave for the sake of those around him. Those who accepted him as king became not his servants but his friends. In the end, this king would be exalted not in comfort on a throne but in agony on a cross. And even as he was dying rather than lashing out at those who were torturing him, he forgave them. Pilate – not sure about anything because nothing seemed to be what it should have been – asked Jesus “Are you the King of the Jews?” And it’s actually a pretty good question. Is Jesus a King? And, if so, whose King is he?

     Well, Jesus is a king. However uncomfortable some people might be with that word and that imagery, Jesus is a king – and that’s vital today. Jesus’ identity as a king is one of the things about him that almost literally turns the world and all its expectations and practices upside down. We live in a world full of brutal dictators and evil kings and violent tyrants and corrupt politicians. The way leadership is exercised in the world is a sign of the fallenness of the world. It’s enough sometimes to lead us into despair. But then we confront – or are confronted by – Jesus. Not brutal, not evil, not violent and not corrupt – rather kind, compassionate, gentle and loving. And in Jesus we see that these are the qualities of a king; the qualities of leadership; and in Jesus we understand just how fallen the world is. But Jesus gives us hope that a better day is dawning; that God will overthrow all the injustice and oppression and hatred of the world; that Jesus will indeed reign. We wait for that; we hope for that; we yearn for that; we believe in that. We believe that, in the words of a hymn, “Jesus shall reign where’er the sun shall its successive journeys run.” Which leaves only one last question: if Jesus shall reign, then whose king will he be?

     Pilate asked “Are you the king of the Jews?” Is he merely the king of one particular people? Is he merely a king from antiquity, perhaps of historical interest but of little contemporary relevance? Is he a sort of media star of interest, much like our own royal family? Is he someone else’s king? Every single thing about Jesus – his birth, his life, his teachings, his death, his resurrection and his ascension – challenges us to face this question: whose king is he? The church year ends today, and the Christian cycle begins anew next Sunday with the beginning of Advent, and everything in the church year from the start of Advent last year has challenged us to eventually face this question: whose king is he? It all comes down to that. In fact, it comes down to an even simpler question than that. Is Jesus our king? And for each one of us individually – is Jesus my king? With Advent on the horizon, it’s worth remembering how it all started – and as the Brazilian author Paolo Coelho reminds us, “it was the shepherds who were the first to recognize a king that the rest of the world refused to acknowledge.” It’s those who most need hope in their lives that understand Jesus as the great hope; the great King!

November 4 sermon: The Commandments In Short Form

One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” Then the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher; you have truly said that ‘he is one, and besides him there is no other’; and ‘to love him with all the heart, and with all the understanding, and with all the strength,’ and ‘to love one’s neighbor as oneself,’ - this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” When Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” After that no one dared to ask him any question.

(Mark 12:28-34)

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     There are things that happen that shock us, grab the headlines and dominate the news for months. On June 17, 2015 nine people were killed while attended a prayer meeting at an African American church in Charleston, South Carolina. On January 29, 2017 six people were killed in an attack on a mosque in Quebec City. On April 23, 2018 ten people were killed in a van attack on Yonge Street in North York. And, of course, just last Saturday nine people were killed while attending Sabbath service at a synagogue in Pittsburgh. They are shocking, horrifying, terrifying events. Attacks that were all based on hatred: hatred of African Americans, hatred of Muslims, hatred of women and hatred of Jews. I remind you of them today not with any desire to bring you down or to make you sombre but just to acknowledge something that’s saddeningly very real: there is a lot of hatred in our world today. We Canadians have generally tried to look at these things and think “well, at least they don’t happen here. At least not very often.” And yet, at the end of 2017 (about one year ago) Statistics Canada reported that the number of hate crimes in Canada had risen for the third year in a row. Churches and synagogues and mosques and even cemeteries were increasingly targeted by hateful graffiti or vandalism, hateful literature attacking various groups and cultures is sometimes being circulated, and those things aside, the hate crimes being committed in this country are becoming increasingly violent. People are being attacked not only verbally but also physically because of their sexual orientation, because of their race, because of where they were born, because of what they believe. Our wonderful country – which we’ve generally believed to be happily multicultural, tolerant and welcoming – has an increasingly unsavoury underbelly that’s starting to creep up and be noticed.  And I wondered: how do you counter feelings of rage and hatred that are so unimaginable that they lead to such unthinkable acts?

     It was The Beatles who many years ago sang “All You Need Is Love.” Is that too simplistic? And what would we mean by “love,” anyway? What kind of love would be required to counter a hatred that is so powerful, so raw and so violent that I can’t think of a word to describe it except, perhaps, for “demonic”? I suppose that to counteract a truly demonic hatred would require a truly divine love. And perhaps that requires that we adopt a way of thinking of love that’s different from the typical worldly definition of love. The world tends to define “love” as a noun. We think of it as a feeling or as an emotion; sometimes it’s a commodity to be offered or withheld. We cheapen it by applying the word to all sorts of things that are less than important to our lives. Really – how many things do we say we love? “I love ice cream.” “I love hockey.” “I love The Big Bang Theory.” What we mean is that we “really, really like” those things – we enjoy them, but we say we “love” them. That kind of overuse of the word “love” diminishes its power. And as I reflected on all that I found myself thinking about the words of Jesus in our Gospel reading for this morning. Jesus speaks of the importance of love in this passage – but Jesus speaks of it not as a noun, but as a verb; not as something passive, but as something active; not as something to be given or withheld, but as a way of life that should overflow from us. And Jesus grounds his understanding of love in God – and, more specifically, in God’s commandments. I’m not sure that most of us would think of doing that. Our society has turned “love” into such a thing of the heart that we forget that Jesus sees it as not so much a thing of the heart but as a thing of the hands and feet – defined not so much by how you feel as by what you do.

     In fairness, it was the scribe who actually seemed to have an understanding of the concept. He was the first to bring up the commandments. It’s not really clear what he was referring to. Was he thinking of the entire Torah – all of Genesis through Deuteronomy – or was he thinking about what we now call the “Ten Commandments”? Either way, the law of God is the revelation of the will and the nature of God.. Think about the Ten Commandments and what they tell us about God’s will. To sum them up: Have no other God, don’t use God’s name improperly, keep the sabbath, honour your parents, do not kill, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not lie, do not covet – either your neighbour’s spouse or your neighbour’s things. None of that is emotional, but all of that is love – at its most basic, it’s the way you act toward those whom you love. And if these commandments reveal God to us, then what they reveal is that God is love – not merely that God loves, but that God is love; not merely that God feels love, but that God acts lovingly. Love is God’s very nature. And, of course, Jesus, hearing the scribe refer to the commandments, puts the whole thing even more succinctly: to paraphrase, he says “everything God wants of you can be boiled down to two things – love God and love everybody else!” And, in this context, you love not by feeling – you love by doing.

     I have heard it said many times that there is a fine line between love and hate. I heard someone say once that what love and hate have in common is that they can both cause us to do things that a rational person would not do! And perhaps that’s true. And perhaps that means that, indeed, there is no way to counter hatred except with love – love as Jesus defines it; love as God reveals it. In a blog that he calls “The Waking Dreamer,” Dr. Alan Brehm, the pastor of Hickman Presbyterian Church in Hickman, Nebraska, wrote that “God’s original intention for humanity in the first place was to live in relationship with God, loving and serving God by loving and serving others. It is a life of obedience that creates justice, and freedom, and peace for us all.” I want you to think about those words for a moment. Brehm defines love not as some heartfelt, emotional, swooning sort of sensation, and it’s a lot more than just really, really, liking something. “It is a life of obedience that creates justice, and freedom, and peace for us all.” It s living in such a way that our actions have a positive impact on the lives of those around us, and especially on the lives of those who are hurting, so that they can know that there is someone who truly stands with them – but it also must be extended even to the lives of those who hate and who act in unspeakably evil ways, so that they might come to understand the power of the true and only alternative to hate: which is the love first demonstrated by God. In 1 John 4, the whole concept of love is described in this way:

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world so that we might live through him.  In this is love, not that we loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins. Beloved, since God loved us so much, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God, [but] if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us. ... God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. ... There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love. We love because [God] first loved us. Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. The commandment we have from him is this: those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.

     Friends, hate cannot win, and hate will not win. There may indeed be a fine line between love and hate, but only one can ultimately prevail – and it will not be hate that prevails. This past week, in response to the terrible events in Pittsburgh, the United Church issued a statement that included these words: “We continue to … remind our members that we need to cultivate love, understanding, and acceptance of each other, rather than giving in to fears that provide fertile ground for hate and extremism to flourish.” Hate always comes from fear. Fear of the other; fear of those who seem different; fear of our own loss of status or privilege; fear that something is being taken away from us, and the need to find a scapegoat for those losses. Hate always comes from fear. But the way of God is the way of love, and all of the commandments of God can be summed up so easily: “love God, and love everyone else.” As John wrote, “those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.” That's not optional. There's no wiggle room there. The defeat of hate starts with us. Hate can start so easily – with petty grievances, that lead us to become irritated with someone, and then to dislike them, and then to want to get back at them, to make them pay. And it can take over a person’s life. But those who claim to love God must love others in return. And when that love becomes more than an emotion – when it becomes the motivating force in our lives, the thing that drives us incessantly forward, then love overcomes hate. Then hatred is defeated and then love is victorious.

     I want to give the last word today to a man named Ari Mahler. You’ve probably never heard of Ari Mahler. He is an emergency room nurse in Pittsburgh – at the hospital that Robert Bowers was taken to after he killed those 11 people last Saturday at the Pittsburgh synagogue. Ari Mahler was the ER nurse who treated Bowers. Ari Mahler is Jewish. Ari Mahler’s parents belong to the synagogue that Bowers attacked. Ari Mahler wrote this on Facebook just yesterday, and it seems to sum up what Jesus meant perfectly. After relating that Bowers entered the emergency room shouting “DEATH TO JEWS! DEATH TO JEWS!”, Mahler wrote:

I didn't see evil when I looked into Robert Bowers’ eyes. All I saw was a clear lack of depth, intelligence, and palpable amounts of confusion. Robert Bowers probably had no friends, was easily influenced by propaganda, and wanted attention on a sociopathic level. He’s the kind of person that is easily manipulated by people with a microphone, a platform, and use fear for motivation. I can’t go into details of our interactions because of HIPPA, but Robert Bowers thanked me for saving him, for showing him kindness, and for treating him the same way I treat every other patient. This was the same Robert Bowers that just committed mass homicide. The Robert Bowers who instilled panic in my heart worrying my parents were two of his 11 victims less than an hour before his arrival.

I’m sure he had no idea I was Jewish. Why thank a Jewish nurse, when 15 minutes beforehand, you’d shoot me in the head with no remorse? I didn’t say a word to him about my religion. I chose not to say anything to him the entire time. I wanted him to feel compassion. I chose to show him empathy. I felt that the best way to honor his victims was for a Jew to prove him wrong. Besides, if he finds out I’m Jewish, does it really matter? The better question is, what does it mean to you?

Love. That’s why I did it. Love as an action is more powerful than words, and love in the face of evil gives others hope. It demonstrates humanity. It reaffirms why we’re all here. The meaning of life is to give meaning to life, and love is the ultimate force that connects all living beings. I could care less what Robert Bowers thinks, but you, the person reading this, love is the only message I wish instill in you. If my actions mean anything, love means everything.

Respectfully, 

Ari Mahler, RN

October 21 sermon: Servant Leadership

James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What is it you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” But Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptized with the baptism that I am baptized with?” They replied, “We are able.” Then Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized; but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” When the ten heard this, they began to be angry with James and John. So Jesus called them and said to them, “You know that among the Gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. But it is not so among you; but whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

(Mark 10:35-45)

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     When I was in Grade 6 at Knob Hill Junior Public School in Scarborough, I won something that was called “The History Award.” I’m not sure really why it was called The History Award because it really had more to do with current events than anything else. To be eligible you had to be in Grade 6, be nominated by your teacher, take a multiple choice quiz and write a short essay about leadership. I remember that I wrote about the different people who were leading Canada at that time: what their backgrounds were, what their goals were and what kind of people they were. I think back to that and I remember that there were a lot of people who seemed really important to write about: Pierre Trudeau, Peter Lougheed, Bill Davis, Allan Blakeney. Rene Levesque came along about a year after I graduated from Grade 6, but I’ll add him to the list today. These were significant people who I still remember today. Different parties, different philosophies, different styles – but I look back at them and I think of leadership. They had it. They had not just charisma, but what we’d call today “gravitas.” I can’t help but wonder what I’d write about today if I had to do it over again. I don’t mean to criticize but somehow Justin Trudeau and Rachel Notley and Doug Ford and Scott Moe and Francois Legault just don’t seem to have “it” - whatever “it” is – in the same measure. There are times when I lament the state of leadership in our country and in our world today. I find myself thinking about leadership today. Once again we’re a day away from electing new people (or perhaps some of the same people) to positions of leadership and entrusting them with the responsibility of leading our townships and towns and cities for the next four years. I have not voted yet. It’s a mail-in ballot, but I haven’t filled it in yet and I’m going to hand deliver my ballot to the Brock Township office in Cannington tomorrow. So I have a few decisions to make over the course of the next 24 hours or so. Which forces me to ask myself: what am I looking for in a leader? It was Abraham Lincoln who said “Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Whose character will I be testing, and whose character will we all be testing, over the next four years of municipal government in Ontario? And what will be my standard for deciding whose character is deserving of being granted that test? It seems to me that maybe the thoughts of Jesus have something to teach us about the qualities we should be looking for in those we select to lead us.

     “James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came forward to him and said to him, ‘Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.’ And he said to them, ‘What is it you want me to do for you?’ And they said to him, ‘Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.’” That’s how our passage from Mark’s Gospel opened this morning. James and John were part of what you might call the leadership team; pretty important disciples in the band of followers that had coalesced around Jesus. But what becomes clear just from those few words is that they didn’t as yet understand the concept of leadership as Jesus wanted to see it exercised. Did you notice that they actually seemed so full of themselves that they began by essentially giving an order to Jesus: “we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” In the overall scheme of things – the church at this point being little more than a tiny band of ragtag disciples following an itinerant preacher – there wasn’t much power to be had here – but apparently even a tiny little bit of power corrupts! “Do this for us,” they said to Jesus. And they wanted the places of glory: one to Jesus’ right and one to Jesus’ left. They’d be sure to be noticed there. Everyone would see them and be impressed at how important they were. They would have the importance and the power of sitting beside Jesus through all eternity. Oh yes. What a gig! But that wasn’t going to happen. James and John instead were going to have to be taught a lesson about the true nature of power and what it was all about.

     I think there are actually several things we learn about power and authority from this passage. The first is that power isn’t taken – it’s given. In some way, power has to be derived to be legitimate. If you seize power – well, you might have the ability to force people to do the things you want them to do or to silence them from speaking against you – but it won’t be real; it won’t be legitimate. Because it will have been taken rather than given freely. You can’t really be in any honourable position of authority over people if you have to force your authority upon them. And so Jesus said to James and John “… to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” You can’t have power just because you want it. You’re not entitled. It’s not your right. That’s lesson one.

     The second thing we learn is that power shouldn’t be about a competition that divides people, but should rather be about co-operation and bringing people together. That doesn’t mean that there can’t be legitimate disagreements among those seeking power or in power, but it does mean that behind it all is a common commitment to a common good; that there has to be a common goal that we’re all working toward, even if we may have different ideas about how to reach the destination. We fail in exercising power of we start to demonize others; if we start to set those who disagree with us up as enemies; if we start to pit this group against that group. Those are all failures of leadership. James and John set themselves up above the rest of the disciples. They felt entitled to these positions of leadership. They thought they were better than Peter and Andrew and Matthew and the rest. Rather than working together for a common cause, they wanted to be the ones directing the cause with everyone else working for them. But Jesus said that wasn’t what it was about. Being a leader doesn’t set you up above everyone else. In fact, that’s the third thing we learn about power.

     Power is the opposite of what we usually think it is. We think of power as the ultimate achievement. We think of power as having the right to make decisions and to set agendas and to direct others. We think of power as something that fills us. We talk of people taking power or assuming power. But then we listen to Jesus and we’re struck with the reality: power doesn’t fill us – power leaves us empty. Power isn’t about getting people to serve us – it’s about us accepting the responsibility of serving others. “… whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.”

     The concluding verses of the passage force us to abandon the earthly understanding of power and to confront power as it looks in the Kingdom of God – and in that Kingdom what we see is the exact opposite of how power is usually exercised in the world. Jesus becomes for us the ultimate example of how power should be exercised. “… the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” Jesus – with the power to command legions of angels to rescue him from his fate as he said in the days leading up to his death – displayed his power in the ultimate sacrifice, on the cross, his life ebbing away, giving everything for the sake of those he came to serve.

     I wonder: what would the world be like if our leaders and politicians understood power this way? I wonder: what would the church be like if our clergy and lay leaders understood power this way? I wonder: what would the world and the church together be like if we all accepted a call to power by committing ourselves to the simple service of all around us rather than grasping at power as a means to push our own agendas? I wonder?

October 14 sermon: Did He Really Mean Everything?

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions. Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.” Peter began to say to him, “Look, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age - houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions - and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

(Mark 10:17-31)

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     “…  go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor ...” Wait a minute here. I mean – hang on for one second. Did he really mean – everything? Seriously? Everything? I mean – surely not. Because – well, everything would mean a lot of things. It would be – I guess – everything! He couldn’t have meant everything. Could he?

     That’s what really makes this a tough passage for a lot of people to deal with. “…  go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor ...” Let’s face it – even the most hardened fundamentalist who insists that the Bible has to be taken absolutely literally is going to start looking for some escape clause on this one. Jesus was talking to someone who was apparently a man of wealth. So, maybe that’s our out. I’m not rich. Not me. So, sure, Jesus wants the wealthy to sell all that they have and give the money to the poor. But I’m not wealthy so I don’t have to worry about this one. Right? That’s a relief. Except. When we were in China in 2005, people on the streets constantly asked us for money. We had been warned by our guides never to give money to anyone who asked for it. It’s heart breaking, because they would send little children out of the shadows (3 and 4 year olds) to approach our group to beg for money. You wanted to give – but we were told that if we gave to one child, there were dozens of others watching and we would be immediately swarmed by others demanding money, and by their parents, and things would get out of control, and the police would have to be called to restore order, and – as we were told – “you don’t want to get involved with the police in Beijing.” I said to one of our fellow travelers that people must think that we were rich. My friend (who had been to China before) said “We can travel from Canada to China and back. To them we are rich.” And I thought about the fact that every morning I was going down to the front desk of our hotel and cashing $100 or $200 in travelers cheques without a second thought, being greeted by someone earning about $15 a month. So I have to wonder - who’s rich and who’s poor? The reality is that we here are a tremendously blessed people indeed, by any measure, and Jesus wants us to share our blessings with those who have less. But, still - “…  go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor ...” It seems a bit extreme. It grates on us. At the very least Jesus is reminding us that whatever we have, none of it is ours. Everything comes from God. John Wesley once said that “if I die with ten pounds to my name, I’ll have stolen it.” And he was making the same point – nothing he had was his own. It came from God and God expects us to use our blessings in order to be a blessing to others. Some people talk about “tithing” - the idea that we should give 10% of our income to the church. I don’t talk much about tithing – for two reasons. First because it’s easy for tithing to become a form of legalism, so that I do it grudgingly, only because I have to. Secondly, it gives the impression that actually only 10% of what I have belongs to God and the other 90% is mine to do with as I please. But Jesus seems to say “no.” Whatever we have and everything we have is God’s and our overarching God-given purpose is to use what God has given us to be a blessing to others.

     Part of the problem in this story was the rich man himself. He thought he could earn his way into God’s good book. He thought that if he just did enough things, everything would be fine and dandy and God would be so proud of him. But – maybe deep down inside – he seemed to realize that something was lacking. So he went to Jesus. “I’ve kept all the commandments. But I still don’t feel it. So what more do I have to do?” And Jesus basically said “everything.” So if you’re going to try to earn your way into God’s favour then you better leave no stone unturned. You better be willing to give everything and to do everything. So this rich man had a problem because he was willing to do things, but he had a lot of stuff, and he wasn’t willing to give his stuff away. You see stuff – whether money or any other possession – can easily replace God; it can become an idol; people can live for their stuff rather than for God; they can live to get more and more and more rather than to give abundantly and be a blessing. The rich man had done a lot of things – but most of what he had done hadn’t cost him anything. “Don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t cheat, honour your parents.” Those things don’t “cost” us anything. In fact they come with a reward. We’re admired for doing those things. The rich man was admired because of all he had done, but now because he had been pious enough to gain all that admiration from people he expected to be admired by God as well. But he hadn’t really done anything for God. He had all the trappings of religion, but nothing particularly life-changing and he couldn’t figure out why that hadn’t given him any assurance. Gandhi, in a book called “The Seven Dangers To Human Virtue,” identified one of those dangers as “religion without sacrifice.” If our faith calls us to give up nothing (or as little as possible, or only so much that we don’t notice that it’s missing) then there’s a problem in our relationship with God. That, I think, is what Jesus was getting at. When he said to the rich man “…  go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor,” I don’t think he was calling so much for a material sacrifice but for a spiritual change of heart that would cause the rich man to understand that what he possessed was really God’s and that he needed to be constantly aware of opportunities to serve God by using what he had for the benefit of God’s people, regardless of the costs involved. That’s the point.

     We shouldn’t be too hard on the rich man of the story. At least he understood that something was wrong; something was missing. That’s why he went to Jesus. “I’ve done it all,” he said. “So what more is there?” In a sense this was a confession – a moment of blinding self-realization as much as anything. He realized that for all the stuff he had, he actually had nothing. He had been blessed, but he had missed out on the fact that God by blessing him wanted him to be a blessing. And there’s the challenge for us all: to live in such a way that not only acknowledges that all that we have is God’s (which is easy) but also to live in such a way that acknowledges that all that we have is God’s (and that’s hard because it calls us to make sacrifices.)

     Put this story into the context of where Mark places it in relation to Jesus’ life. By the next chapter of Mark’s Gospel, Jesus would be making his entry into Jerusalem, being hailed by the crowds as Messiah, and then rejected by them mere days later but then confirmed with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead. Think about that story for a moment, and then think back to this story. We don’t actually know what happened to the rich man. Did he ever find the secret of eternal life that he was looking for? Jesus explained that secret to him rather well: “… go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” I think what Jesus was saying was that those who follow him have to be willing to give up everything – to give of themselves and their very being for the sake of the gospel and for the sake of sharing good news with the world and for the sake of being the good news to the world by how we give of ourselves for others. As I said, we don’t know what happened to the rich man, but I’d like to think that perhaps he followed Jesus into Jerusalem and saw – on the cross just a few days later – what Jesus really meant when he told the rich man to “… go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” It’s not just the material things – Jesus does mean that we have to be prepared to give out of that which God has given us for the sake of others, but there’s more. Jesus, I think, wants a change in our attitudes; a change in our perspectives; a change in our hearts. Jesus wants us to live each day knowing that, if necessary, we can give everything because we really possess nothing – it’s all God’s.

     So, let me ask you one more time: Did he really mean ‘everything’? Yeah. He did. Because ultimately he did it himself.

October 7 sermon - Who Are You Trying To Convince?

Vindicate me, O Lord, for I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering. Prove me, O Lord, and try me; test my heart and mind. For your steadfast love is before my eyes, and I walk in faithfulness to you. I do not sit with the worthless, nor do I consort with hypocrites; I hate the company of evildoers, and will not sit with the wicked. I wash my hands in innocence, and go around your altar, O Lord, singing aloud a song of thanksgiving, and telling all your wondrous deeds. O Lord, I love the house in which you dwell, and the place where your glory abides. Do not sweep me away with sinners, nor my life with the bloodthirsty, those in whose hands are evil devices, and whose right hands are full of bribes. But as for me, I walk in my integrity; redeem me, and be gracious to me. My foot stands on level ground; in the great congregation I will bless the Lord.

(Psalm 26)

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     Whose opinion do you really care about? If there was one person you could name whose opinion of you really counted, who would it be? That strikes me as a relevant question in the world today. People seem to spend a lot of their time these days trying to convince others of how good they are, how successful they are, how talented they are – maybe, when you boil it all down, of how worthy they are to have the respect of others. Some people’s concern about how other people perceive them can make them seem a little desperate. They go so overboard in their desire to be loved that the end result is that others actually look at them with a sort of contempt. It’s too much. And the truth is that you can’t force someone to respect you. They either will or they won’t. But a lot of people try.

     I have to confess that the very first verses of Psalm 26 caused me to take a bit of a step back and ponder. It sounds as if the author is guilty of some of what I just mentioned. It sounds as if he’s trying just a little too hard to say how great he was. In a way, he reminded me a bit of Judge Kavanaugh – who you’ve probably heard of from Senate confirmation hearings in the United States – who gave an interview to Fox news in which he painted an altogether too virtuous picture of himself. In Psalm 26, it sounds as if the author is boasting about the depth and intimacy of the relationship he’s established with God; even being prideful of how obedient he’s been to God’s will. “I have walked in my integrity, and I have trusted in the Lord without wavering,” the author says. Those are bold words. How many of us here today would be able to say that we’ve never (not even for a moment) wavered in our trust in God? I can’t honestly make that claim for myself. But the author of Psalm 26 does.

     In the opening words of the Psalm, the author opens himself to God. He’s almost challenging God with some of his words: vindicate me, prove me, test me. There’s a sense in which he sounds self-righteous, but a self-righteous person is either showing off to themselves – trying to convince themselves of their own goodness, or they’re showing off to others to convince them of their own goodness. And once I get through the first few verses of the Psalm, I start to realize that this is not a self-righteous person who’s showing off; this is a person who’s confident in their faith and who’s convinced of the love of Good. The author of the Psalm isn’t self-righteous; they’re “righteous.” And there’s a big difference between those two things. A truly righteous person opens is willing to open themselves to God’s scrutiny, because they’re certain that they’ll be found acceptable in God’s sight. I thought the Psalm gave us an opportunity to understand righteousness and how righteousness is different from self-righteousness

     The first point I might make is that a truly righteous person understands God’s judgment; they understand what it is that God is looking for from us. So the author of the Psalm invited God to “test my heart and mind.” That’s important. Think for a moment about what the author didn’t say. He didn’t say “look at all my good deeds.” He didn’t say “look at all the money I’ve given to charity.” It’s too easy for our actions to be for show. – the basis of God’s judgement isn’t our actions or appearances - it’s what’s in our heart.

     Second, a righteous person understands God’s love. “Your steadfast love is always before my eyes,” the author said.  That’s a way for the author to say that we are never – even for a moment – separated from God’s love. As Paul would later write in Romans nothing in all creation can ever separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Sometimes we may feel very distant from God’s love. Sometimes we may feel as if something we’ve said or done has made us either unworthy or unlovable in God’s eyes. The author of this Psalm reminds us that isn’t true. God’s love is always before us. God love is with us now and God’s love is our destiny.– that God is always yearning for us to come closer.

     And third, a righteous person understands God’s welcome – that God is always willing to accept us. “I walk in faithfulness to you.” At least in English there’s a potential double entendre to this verse. “I walk in faithfulness to you” might be a statement of the author’s faith – or it might be a statement that the author knows he is being welcomed by God – I’m walking “to you.” And either way, the emphasis on faith is the author’s way of showing that his trust in God is deep and abiding and will not be shaken.

     All that points out the main difference between righteousness and self-righteousness – it’s the audience. A truly righteous person is focused on God and on what God sees in us and is simply thankful to God for the opportunity to serve as they serve. A self-righteous person is concerned about others – how they’re perceived by others; whether they get credit or thanks for all that they do. So after being jarred a bit by the opening words of the Psalm, I came to the conclusion that the author wasn’t engaging in an orgy of self-righteous arrogance. Instead, this was an expression of humble righteousness. And in a way that’s a key question for us today: Are we most concerned with what God sees in us or with what others think of us? I liked the way that question was framed by Rev. Kevin De Young, whose words I cited in today’s bulletin: “I try to keep in mind the simple question: Am I trying to do good or make myself look good?” That strikes me as a good question on a Communion Sunday.

     Verses 6-7 of Psalm 23 struck me as what I’d call a Communion moment: they tell us that we approach the altar (the Lord’s table) thankfully and remembering the work of God within us and around us. We enter God’s presence not so that others can see how good we are, but because we know how good God is. When I served in Central Newfoundland many years ago I always found a Communion service to be a strange service indeed. There was the same phenomenon in every one of my three congregations: almost all the women would come forward to receive Communion, while all the men (except for one) would remain noticeably in their seats. I finally got so confused that I asked about this and was told by one man “I’m not worthy.” I told him that the table was for all Christians, and didn’t he think he was a Christian? “Yes, boy, but I know I’m too much of a sinner to take Communion.” And yet the looks on at least some of the men’s faces wasn’t a look of shame over some past sin; it was almost a look of pride; as if they were showing off. As they sat steadfastly in their pew while others came forward it was almost as if at least some were saying “Look at me. I’m so good I know how bad I am.” At least that’s how it often came across to me.

     Today is Thanksgiving Sunday. Today is also World Communion Sunday. The point of receiving Communion isn’t to show others how good or worthy we are, or even to make a show of letting people know that we know how bad we are. The purpose of receiving Communion is simply to gratefully accept that which God has done for us. “My foot stands on level ground,” the author said as he finished the Psalm. “In the great congregation I will bless the Lord.” In this great congregation, may we all approach the Lord’s table with humble righteousness today, thankful to God for welcoming us, even if it might be in spite of ourselves.

September 30 sermon - Heaven And Earth And Us

Are any among you suffering? They should pray. Are any cheerful? They should sing songs of praise. Are any among you sick? They should call for the elders of the church and have them pray over them, anointing them with oil in the name of the Lord. The prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise them up; and anyone who has committed sins will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective. Elijah was a human being like us, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. Then he prayed again, and the heaven gave rain and the earth yielded its harvest. My brothers and sisters, if anyone among you wanders from the truth and is brought back by another, you should know that whoever brings back a sinner from wandering will save the sinner’s soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins.

(James 5:13-20)

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     You've all heard of "thoughts and prayers." It's a phrase that's become kind of commonplace in the world today. When something terrible happens it tends to be the first port of call for politicians - they rush to Twitter and type "thoughts and prayers" on their keyboard, and then - seemingly more often than not - they seem to forget whatever it was that they were thinking and praying about, and they go on as if nothing had actually happened. We see it a lot every time there's a mass shooting. We're not immune to the phenomenon, but American politicians seem particularly stricken by it. "Thoughts and prayers" for the victims, followed by paralysis when it comes to actually trying to do anything about gun violence. It also happens when natural catastrophes strike. Terrible floods, killer heat waves, raging wildfires, massive tornadoes, devastating hurricanes and typhoons - all happening with increasingly alarming frequency. "Thoughts and prayers" for the victims, but not much action really. I don't want to be too hard on our politicians. I think all of us do it from time to time. I sometimes wonder how often "I'll pray for you" gets followed up on, or whether they're just words without much substance.

     James would have understood my doubts, I suspect. He believed in the power of prayer, and one doesn't pray about anyone or anything unless one is thinking about them. So, "thoughts and prayers"? Absolutely? But James would have expected more. Throughout this letter, James makes the point that "thoughts and prayers" with no intention of following them up with some sort of concrete action are relatively meaningless. His basic point about “thoughts and prayers” seems to be – don’t bother thinking and praying about things if you have the ability to do something about them but choose not to. In other words, there’s no point to praying if you’re expecting God to do everything afterward. That’s a pretty common theme in James’ letter. But there’s also another way of looking at things. In this passage, James suddenly segues into a brief discussion about the great prophet Elijah. In 1 Kings 17 and 18 there are stories about a terrible drought in Israel that 1 Kings said was the result of Elijah intervening and calling the drought down upon the land because Israel had turned away from God. The drought lasted years. Finally, Israel repented, and Elijah called down rain, and the rains come.  Why did James include this strange story in the letter? Maybe it was because in addition to wanting to say to people “don’t pray unless you’re going to do something about it,” he’s also saying “don’t pray unless you believe that God can do something about it.” Sometimes we wonder why we don’t get answers to our prayers (and for today at least I’ll avoid pointing out that when we say we don’t get answers what we really mean is that we didn’t get the answers we wanted.) I do wonder, though, if at least in part it’s because we’ve misunderstood the whole point of prayer. Prayer is so much more than just me speaking to God one on one. It includes that, but prayer is about establishing what I’d call spiritual relationships; prayer is about holding in balance ourselves with God and with all that God has created. Prayer is about recognizing that there’s a spiritual connection that’s established through prayer. I’ve sometime shared with people that my personal working definition of spirituality is that it is the sense of one-ness that exists between and among God and everything God has created, including us. I think James would agree with that.

     The Letter of James is about how Christians should live together in community. Someone like Martin Luther actually wanted James tossed out of the New Testament. He called it “the Epistle of Straw” because he thought it was too legalistic. But – with all due respect to Martin Luther – I think he was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t say that. I mean – I’m just me, and Martin Luther was … well … Martin Luther. But still, I think he was wrong. James wasn’t laying out rules and regulations for Christians to obey. It’s more that he was laying out the patterns of behaviour people should expect to find in a Christian community. In a way you might call this letter a tourist guide. “If you visit a Christian community here are the things you should be looking for,” is essentially what James was saying. And, mostly, James was telling people that the word “community” is, in fact, what really matters. This passage basically gives us a vision of a caring community whose members truly look out for one another. But as I read the Letter, and especially this passage for today, I started to wonder: a community of whom? It’s not just the people in that particular church. The community is created first and foremost by prayer – and prayer binds together the community praying with God, and with all of the creation. I think the example of Elijah was included by James as a way of demonstrating the powerful impact our prayers can have if they’re offered in faith.

     Truly faithful, deep and heartfelt prayer impacts not just us and not even just those around us; it has an impact on all of creation; it even impacts God in some way because we are involved in a relationship that’s in balance. The impact comes from the fact that truly faithful, deep and heartfelt prayer changes us: it becomes the engine that helps make us who God wants us to be and that empowers us to do what God wants us to do – and since we’re the stewards of what God has created that has the potential to change all of creation, just as Elijah’s truly faithful, deep and heartfelt prayers impacted the whole creation.

     I said a few moments ago that prayer is about a balance of ourselves with God and with creation. I don’t think it takes much imagination to realize that things in our world are horribly out of balance right now in so many ways. Our churches are being reduced to businesses whose motivation is the bottom line rather than the mission of God. Our politics is increasingly dominated by anger and a lust for power rather than humility and a desire to serve people; our cities and towns are increasingly becoming increasingly fearful as we become more and more suspicious of newcomers and those who are different; our environment is on the verge of collapse as we see those terrible floods, killer heat waves, raging wildfires, massive tornadoes, and devastating hurricanes and typhoons in numbers and places we haven’t seen them before. I’m not suggesting that thoughts and prayers alone could solve those problems – heaven forbid I suggest that! - but I am suggesting that as the people of God we perhaps need to take prayer more seriously and more faithfully as a way not of changing the world but of changing ourselves and of making ourselves better stewards of the creation God has given us to care for.

     It was Franklin Roosevelt who said that “a nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people.” He seemed to understand the balance. It’s equally true that a world that destroys its lands, its waters and its air destroys itself, or that a world filled with fear and anger and hatred and suspicion is no longer the world God created. It’s just as equally true that a church that stands by and watches it happen while offering nothing more than thoughts and prayers in response is destroying itself by making itself irrelevant. I don’t have all the answers to the problems plaguing the world. If I did, I suppose they wouldn’t be plaguing the world anymore. But I do know that we need to challenge one another to always be a part of the solution. Too often our thoughts and prayers are really about ourselves – we pray for others, but even so it often seems like little more than an attempt to display our piety; to show others just how faithful and religious we are – but without much follow up action. Actually, our prayers should be just the opposite: they should an admission that we have a long way to go, but also a commitment that we want to make as much of a difference as we can; that we care not about ourselves but about all that we see around us.

     God will work. And God will work through us. But we have to believe that. We have to make sure that our words are more than just mere words – that they spur us to action; action that becomes a sign of God’s presence and activity in the world around us.

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.