Stolen from Gunfighter.

1. What is your occupation right now? Vicar (intern Pastor) at Hope Lutheran Church Calgary, AB

2. What color are your socks right now? beige-y.

3. What are you listening to right now? 'High Society' (movie that the coDirector and the Boys are watching)

4. What was the last thing that you ate? Spicy turkey wraps for lunch

5. Can you drive a stick shift? yup. 5, 6, 10, 13, 15, and 18 gears as well as Caterpillars.

6. Last person you spoke to on the phone?office administrator.

7. Do you like the person who sent this to you? nobody sent this to me. But I do like the person who's blog I stole this off of.

8. How old are you today? 27. Married and father of two. What have the rest of you accomplished?

9. What is your favorite sport to watch on TV? rally car racing.

10. What is your favorite drink? ice water.

11. Have you ever dyed your hair? nope. shaved it, though.

12. Favorite food? pizza

13. What is the last movie you watched? Hitman.

14. Favorite day of the year? Christmas.

15. How do you vent anger? grr.

16. What was your favorite toy as a child? pet dog (I spent more time with it than any toy!)

17. What is your favorite season? winter

18.. Cherries or Blueberries? blueberries.

19. Do you want your friends to e-mail you back? no. But they could post this themselves.

20. Who is the most likely to respond? dunno.

21. Who is least likely to respond? dunno.

22. Living arrangements? myself, the co-Director, and the Boys in a 2-bedroom suite.

23. When was the last time you cried? holding my youngest after he was born.

24. What is on the floor of your closet? a lot of my wife's crap!

25. Who is the friend you have had the longest that you're sending this to? again, not sending it to anyone.

26. What did you do last night? watched a movie...the rest is not fit for a 'G' audience

27. What are you most afraid of? losing one of my children

28. Plain, cheese or spicy hamburger? mmm...burger...(drools)

29. Favorite dog breed? border collie!

30. Favorite day of the week? Sunday

31. How many states have you lived in? I live in Canada! long live socialism!

32. Diamonds or pearls? how in the name of holy hell am I supposed to be able to afford either?

(#@#$%## holiday ads!

okay...I thought I could make it.

I thought I could make it through this season without standing on my soapbox and preaching on my corner. But I can't.

Because people, this has gone too far. The radio ads for useless crap have gotten worse since Christmas, if you can believe it. So let me add a couple of observations of my own:

I heard an ad for a jewelry outlet store, urging people to use their payment plan for a $4000 diamond engagement ring. They even had the audacity to say that they would accept other rings if women wanted to 'trade up' the one they'd received. Another commercial equated the size of the diamond with the amount of love the person offering it held for the person who was supposed to be receiving it.

To all the guys reading this, let me point this out: if she thinks the size of the diamond matters, or tells you outright what she wants, or wants to pick it out herself,

RUN!

Run fast, run far, and do not, under any circumstances turn around. Only prostitutes accept gifts for some sort of love.

To all the women reading this: if you feel that you're being given a ring to fix something broken in your relationship, or to keep you longer, or to tie you to someone,

RUN!

Run fast, run far, and do not, under any circumstances, turn around. You cannot be bought and paid for, although society tells you that you should be.

On to the next. To all those parents who think that your little darling children desperately need that $500 toy, don't buy it. Instead, try spending a little time with them, unless you've already ruined them.

And yes, I say ruined them, because it's YOUR fault they're shallow, thoughtless little sociopaths. Not the fault of their teachers, friends, television watching, or anything else. The greatest gift you can give your children is that of doing without.

Men: you married the woman you love. Trying to get her spa treatments, gym memberships, yoga classes, Mexico vacations, or anything else will not change the fact that you are both getting older and the changes of age are not always glamourous.

Women: face it, the man you married is the same man you live with now. Buying him gym memberships, bikes, quads, or any other useless crap will not change the fact that he is still the man you married.

You cannot change each other. The most you can do is be the best person that you can be for your partner because you know they don't deserve less than that.

Kids: ignore the TV. better yet; smash it with a hammer. You have my permission. Turn off the friggin' computer; leave facebook alone, burn your Ipod, and stuff your cellphone in the toilet.

Then try going outside and TALKING to other people. Yes, they're boring. Yes, they're rude. But you know what? People are like that! The reason why most people you meet outside your fekking electronic world seem so boring is because they are! But it's pretty difficult to pretend you're thinner, prettier, or more popular than you are when you're face-to-face with someone.

And one more thing: yes, Call to Duty and Halo are fun to play. But here's an idea. If playing soldier is that much fun, go out and BE one. Step into a recruiting office near you and give yourself a Christmas present: a whirlwind tour of all the hotspots in the world. Free room and board.

And maybe, when you come back, you might be able to better distinguish between reality and fantasy.

That the love you share with the woman you love makes the most expensive diamond ring look dull.

That when you look with love at that woman, you see that she really is the most beautiful woman in the world.

That she sees in you all the things you know you aren't, but wish you could be. And you know that you'll do your damndest to BE that person for her.

And that no amount of toys or games can take away YOUR responsibility in the lives of your children.

Sermon for Thursday December 25, 2008

Christmas Day
Text: Luke 2: (1-7), 8-20

I read a book a this past summer that conveyed a very simple message to the reader – that keeping a population in a constant state of fear makes it easier to be controlled. Reading that book, then looking around at my world, I see how in fact we are encouraged to be in a constant state of fear, if not despair, at all times.

Newspaper headlines scream about the economic catastrophe. Four days – four days!! – of weather headlines proclaimed the arrival of a snowstorm and cold snap that is really neither unexpected nor surprising for our geographic location and climate. If we don’t have snow tires, all wheel drive, four wheel drive, or traction control, we’re warned that we may not even make it out of our drive way without becoming buried in an avalanche of biblical proportions.

And for what? Would this even have made headlines 60 years ago? A generation ago, winter came and went with nary a peep. I’ve read newspaper articles from 1929 and 1930 that do more to foster hope in these circumstances than the blithest financial commentator on CNN.

And that’s just local news, really. Watch the international news and…well, if you can make it through the international news without strong medication you’re a better person than I. Even human interest stories – the Duggar family, for example, who just welcomed their 18th child – are tempered by editorial and reader comments that spout off such gems as “don’t they know that many children is too many for the environment to support,” and “don’t they know they’re hurting their children by not allowing them the room to be individuals?”

And I won’t even comment on the health and lifestyle news.

Fear. Fear that you’re not doing enough. That you’re not doing something right. That the world is coming to an end as a direct result of you and your choices. Fear that death from dubious circumstances lurks just beyond your sofa.

Even religion prospers from fear – throughout its history Christianity has certainly been guilty of promulgating conversion through the threat of fiery hell while at the same time condemning other religions that use the same tactics. In the Small Catechism Martin Luther begins every explanation with the statement “we are to fear and love God…”

Paraphrasing Adrian Rogers, a former president of the Southern Baptist Conventions, your Vicar would argue that most – if not all – of the problems of the world stem from 3 things –
1. sin
2. sorrow,
3. and death.
And those three problems are, in fact, fuelled by fear.

Because people fear the unknowns of the world they turn inwards to themselves and seek only their own advancement – sin.

Because they fear sorrow as the inevitable consequence of love they seek superficiality in relationships and use others as they themselves are used; and the fear of death that leads people to focus solely on their own immortality – through money, wealth, fame – as the expense of others.

St John writes in his first letter (1 John 4:18), “there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear, for fear has to do with punishment.” The root problem of fear is that it is irrevocably tied with the idea of punishment or retribution for what we’ve done wrong. Fear paralyzes us, leaving us unable to move outwards to engage in relationships and it freezes our attentions onto ourselves and we need to do.

And God comes into this world? Into this world of fear the Eternal Word becomes flesh and comes to us? Yes! That is exactly what happens. Into this world of fear and fright and terror God comes a single solitary baby. And this baby did not become God – indeed, God became flesh and dwelt among us so that fear would cease.

Rather than living as humans doing all those things that kept us from punishment we would instead become humans being in relationship with each other because that fear of punishment is lifted.

When the angels appeared to the shepherds who were in the fields, they brought with them a message that contained three instructions:
1.) do not fear.
2.) Look.
3.) See.
Three simple messages.

Do not fear. The shepherds were terrified, as would we be if the night sky over Huntington Hills was suddenly populated by a celestial chorus wreathed in blinding light. But their fear also had to do with the fact that, by and large, the angels in Old Testament stories are not usually ‘nice’ – they wrestle with you, or are part of a ginormous army, or are there to test you somehow – they aren’t cute, round, cuddly cherubim that look like Keiran with fluffy wings. They big, powerful, and carry with them the terrifying reality that God actually exists and quite possibly is mad at you.

But that night, the message they brought was different. Do not fear. That’s a common message in Scripture; that combination of words – ‘do not fear’ occur some 400 times in the 66 books of our Bible. But the angels brought something different. Instead of “do not fear, because the Lord is with you,” they brought the message ‘do not fear, because to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ, the Lord.” Instead of God being with them in spirit, in the form of those militant angels striding the field of battle God was with them in their humanity; in the great colossal theological mess that we label “the Incarnation” and let it be.

Do not fear, because you have a Saviour. Go and look at him.

Look. Go and look at where he is. Your king is born, not in a palace or castle but in a stable, and laid in a manger. Look not in the things or places of power in your world – where you are told the beautiful people are – but look in the everyday for the presence of God. In the manger, in the pages of a holy Book you will find the Christ, for he is present with you. You no longer need to seek out God’s face because that tiny, chubby face is looking right back at you. Look at it.

And see. See the glory of God and the presence of Christ in your lives. Yes, there’s a choir of angels in the night sky forming a celestial combo that’s rocking the world. But Christ is with you. See him. Because in becoming human, Christ was one of us so that we may find Christ in each of us.

One tiny baby. “Call him Joshua,” Mary was told. Yeshua, in Hebrew, meaning “Yahweh saves.” The Greek conquerors of a few centuries earlier left their linguistic legacy with Jesus. We call him the Christ – the Messiah, the saviour that was born that day – this day – in the city of David.

Not a delivered from oppression of an occupying army or the yoke of poverty – although these are indeed consequences when his message is taken and practiced and lived – but delivered from fear. From the fear of sin, sorrow, and death.

We talk of death-defying acts in our culture as those extreme-sports junkies who ski down mountains or parachute with a shopping bag from 60 000 feet. But those are death-inviting acts. You are participating in death-defying acts every morning you wake up, because you wake up baptized.

To defy death is to love Jesus Christ, and to love Christ is to bear out the expression of that love in relationships with each other. We maybe use different language, though – instead of death-defying, we call these things life-inviting. The incredible passion of this congregation for Inn from the Cold, the incredible response to the pleading of the Calgary Women’s Emergency shelter; the sense of mission that leads to the calling of more pastoral staff – all these things and all the others that you can possibly name invite into this community the presence of God and the gift of love.

I’ve often told confirmation classes and youth that I believe there are three things that are needed to have abundant life – God, love, and community. Those three things can exist separately, certainly, and even any two of them can coexist – but finding all three means finding everlasting life.

Do not fear. For God is with you and among you.
Look. For love is in you, and is a gift of God.
See. Because you are surrounded by community; as great a cloud of witnesses that has borne witness to the saving grace of Jesus Christ from the very beginning when the whole world was born by the breath of heaven.

You are a holy people; the redeemed of the Lord. You have been sought out. Go out and lift up your sign before all peoples: the message “Do not fear, for Christ is with you!”

Amen.

8 Days

8 days was all it took.

8 days, since I announced at Hope that the Calgary Women's Emergency Shelter needed help.

Economic conditions, combined with the ready supply of alcohol that is bought at this time of year, have resulted in a surge of domestic violence. For some women, the best hope they had for a Christmas without bruises or broken bones was a shelter that if they had room for them, possibly had no supplies.

I hate abusers with a passion that is almost holy. I'd be quite happy to break the arm of any man who's ever abused a woman or child, or his jaw so he'd keep his mouth shut. That wouldn't help the problem, though -- but at a place like CWES shelter women and children should have what they need. I knew that we could help with that problem.

Yesterday, I took a cheque for nearly $1500 down to to shelter -- donations made up out of spare bills, pocket change, and a lot of hope.

If by chance, you've been brought here by googling 'Calgary Women's Emergency Shelter,' please consider donating to them -- either directly or out of their Wish Book.

If you were looking for the shelter because abuse is a reality in your home, please seek out help. No love is love if it comes with bruises, broken bones, and scarring. There is a safer life for you -- and for your children -- with hope.

Thanks so much. God bless you.

???

It's nice to know I'm not alone. Along with some other fine people, This drives me nuts.

if you're in the neighbourhood...

You ought to stop by. The Calgary Women's Emergency Shelter is desperately short of just about everything, so we're trying to do what we can.

So if, you're in the neighbourhood (and here in southern alberta that means within an hour or so's drive), you're invited!

Christmas Carol Sing-Along at Hope Lutheran Church

3527 Boulton Rd NW.

December 21, 2008, 3:00 p.m.

Come out and sing your favourite Christmas carols,

with The Range, Hope Lutheran Church's in-house band

and special guests.

Then join for some hot cocoa, cookies, and friendship after.

No charge for admission; but an offering will be taken

for the Calgary Women's Emergency Shelter.

Come out for fun singing and support a worthy cause!

Sermon for Sunday, December 14, 2008

Text: John 1:6-8, 19-28

Let us pray…

Now may the words of my mouth and the meditations of each of our hearts be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Rock and our Redeemer.

There was a man, sent from God, whose name was John. He came for testimony, to bear witness to the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness to the light.

I am Michael Macintyre. I am a pastoral candidate in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Canada, a husband, a father, a son; I am…well, I’m lots of things. But somehow I can’t quite seem to capture everything in a list like this, so let me try again.

I am baptized. That’s the place to start. Usually, I tell people I was baptized. But, it’s occurred to me that if I were to tell people that I was married, you would likely either a) kick me out of this pulpit for idiocy (‘cause I know how lucky I am to have my wife); or b) offer your congratulations to said wife (‘cause I know how difficult I am to live with). I am married. I am baptized.

But what does that mean? Am I baptized United Church, you ask, or Lutheran, or Anglican, or whatever? Well, as a wise pastor in this congregation told me shortly after I came here, it doesn’t matter what denomination did the washing; Christ did the redeeming. I am a baptized Christian, a reality that shapes my worldview, my outlook, my values, and my identity.

Because I am baptized, I know that I am justified by the grace of God that I have received as gift through faith in Jesus Christ. In the words of that old hymn, I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see. It doesn’t mean that I am free of sin -- what we call our age-old rebellion before God – but it does mean that I am free of the sentence of death – death of soul – that is its end result.

I am baptized. I am free. Because I am free of working to redeem myself before God, I am free to turn and minister to those who live beside me, who in turn may need to hear that they too, can be free. I am free to bear witness to the light.

There was a man, sent from God, whose name was John. He came for testimony, to bear witness to the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness to the light.

John was a scary sight. No pristine hair, no startling white alb, no suit, no tie. Mark tells us that John was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist; and he ate locusts and wild honey. He didn’t smell all that bad, by virtue of standing in the river Jordan for so many hours of the day. But he was emaciated; his hair and beard matted by dirt.

Yet the people revered him as a man of God. Where he was, there were crowds of people who came to be baptized for the remission of their sins. He was so important that the Temple authorities sent men to question him; to find out exactly what he was about. Surely, such a popular holy figure must be someone important. So they sent priests and Levites – the cleanest of the clean – all the way from Jerusalem to where John was baptizing.

Who are you? They asked, meaning, are you someone we should trust and place our hope into? Are you one of us? Are you clean? Are you holy?

And John answered honestly. No. I am one who came to proclaim to you that though I baptize with water for the remission of sins, One who comes after me will wipe away all transgressions, one who is so powerful that I am unworthy to even touch his feet.

And the priests and Levites then asked, are you Elijah, who was supposed to come before? Or are you THE PROPHET – Moses? What are you talking about?

John answered again: I am one who proclaims the coming of the Lord, telling people to prepare themselves.

Again the priests: why then are you baptizing? Or more succinctly, why are you performing an official rite if you don’t have any official status?

And John replied: what I do doesn’t matter. All things will be through him.

The message John brought was one of hope: that for all the worries, cares, and demons that walked with the people who came to see him, he proclaimed that there would hope for the helpless, rest for the weary, and love for the broken heart.

That there would be grace and forgiveness and mercy and healing – for people wherever they were, no matter what. That for all who were broken, there would be wholeness. For those who suffered injustice, there would be justice. For all those who sat in deep darkness, there would be light.

There was a man, sent from God, whose name was John. He came for testimony, to bear witness to the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness to the light.

To bear witness to the light means to bear witness to hope. Hope for those who feel hopeless and helpless:

- for everyone who’s lost someone they loved

- for everyone who struggles, just to hold on to today

- for the lonely, the lost, and the forsaken

- for the marriage that’s struggling just to hang on

- for the parents who can’t reach their children

- for all children whose nightmares come in the daytime

For all of us. For in Christ alone, all hope is found.

In our baptism we are joined together in the body of Christ. We are found, reborn children of God through Christ Jesus. In baptism, we become witnesses to the light of the world, the hope through which the world finds salvation.

We come to bear witness to the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the light of the world, the light which no darkness can overcome. For He alone overcame the power of sin and death and brought to each of us everlasting life.

This is the promise that we receive at our baptism; the promise that we bear witness to. This is the song of creation, in which we unite and sing back to God, joining in the chorus of voices that proclaim the sovereignty of God in all creation, the incarnation of Christ in humanity, and the blessing of all of us in sanctity. We are holy, because Christ first was holy.

We are whole, because Christ made us whole. We are in Christ, because we are baptized. We are baptized; we are free. We are free to proclaim the good news of Jesus Christ, that because God so loved the world, he gave his only Son, that whosoever believed in him would not perish, but have life everlasting.

We remember God’s promise of salvation to the world; we remember Christ’s promise to return. We remember that Christ walked our path, first as a baby, so that we may walk with him, and not be lost.

There were people, sent from God, whose names were Grace, and Tanya, and Michael, and Stewart, and Margaret, and Norman, and Diäna, (their names are all the names spoken by the breath of God) -- all who were baptized into Christ Jesus. They came for testimony, to bear witness to the light, that all might believe through their witness. They were not the light, but came to bear witness to the light. And their song was joyous, and their reward was everlasting.

Amen.

Sound off!

for those of you who pass by this blog on your way to grander schemes, pause for a second, please.

When I woke up this morning, here in Calgary -- on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains -- it was -34 degrees celsius (that's -29.2 farenheit for you of the American persuasion).

So what I'd like to know, in the comments section before you toddle off, is the weather report from your neck of the woods.

Humour me~!

missed....and hit.

So, I managed to avoid that old devil 'flu that's been stalking my house. In the midst of our toilet crapping out (pardon the pun) during out our little epidemic and the fact that Keiran is still pukey (smile-giggle-groan-puke-smile-giggle), I felt victorious.

But only for a little while. Last week I felt the tingly sensation at the back of my throat that signals a bout of my recurrent tonsilitis. So I attended to that.

But by Sunday afternoon I thought I was going to die. My sinuses were pounding. I have the worst sinus infection I've ever had. My hospital visits are cancelled for this week.

And I'm preaching this Sunday. Ick. Oh well, I guess if I sound like Boris Karloff telling the good news about Jesus Christ it'll make a good story for my internship review.

Christmas Tree

This is our Christmas Tree; I picked it up today.
What's that, you say? How nice! how cool!
But I for one was a bloody fool.

For in my desire to please my wife
I unknowingly endangered my life.

And came to the gradual conclusion
that my Christmas spirit may be an illusion.

'Cause as pleasing as the sight is to Her,
I, for one,
am allergic
to Balsam Fir.

ick.

The 'flu made a visit to my house last night.

Boy2 and the co-Director are out of action. The Boy didn't want supper. This doesn't bode well.

Small mercy is that I'm not preaching tomorrow. But I still don't want to get sick.

hm?

note: happened a couple of weeks ago, just didn't post.

me: (wearing a clerical collar, waiting to pay for gas)...

young lady: Father? can I ask a question?

me: (not bothering to correct the perception that I'm Anglican) Certainly.

yl: what do you think about spiritual people? I mean, I'm not religious, but I'm probably more spiritual than even, like, you.

me: how do you mean?

yl: ?? How can you ask me that?! (walks away.)


Wow, do I hate those discussions.

New Pics!

A few new pictures for those who've been waiting. The first is us visiting my Great Aunt. Note two things: one, just how much bigger I am than other members of my extended family; and two, just how fast I'm losing my hair!

1 Advent
Texts: Mark 13:24-37; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Isaiah 64:1-9

So this is the first Sunday in Advent – the first Sunday in our new liturgical year. Here at Hope we’re buzzing with new ideas – the decision to seek out more pastoral staff, our youth group is hopping, Sunday School is vibrant…I can go on for longer, but that’s not really necessary.

It seems that energy often runs high at this time of year – at least, if you buy all the hype from radio and TV about the ‘season of Christmas.’ At least, some of those ads tell you that your energy is brimming; others tell you you’re tired; burned out, and you can take a load off and let someone else do all your Christmas work for you – for a price. Ah, we can never ignore the Christmas hype. When Wal-Mart employees are trampled to death in New York by people looking for that ‘great Christmas gift,’ it’s difficult to ignore.

Of course, it’s also difficult to avoid the Christian hype. “Remember the reason for the season,” we’re urged. Calm, serene pictures of mangers, parents, babies, and farm animals clomp their way into our consciousness. There’s a whole lot of triumphalist messages associated with that: Christ came to save us; Christ came to conquer; Christ came to triumph.

Interestingly, that Christian message often misses the point of the Advent season – to prepare for the coming of Christ. We’re told “look up, and see the glory of the choir of angels,” and so we often miss the Christ child, born in a manger – at our feet.

As we prepare for the coming of the Christ we sometimes need to look beyond the urgings to look ‘up’ – to spend big, give big, everything big – to ‘celebrate’ his coming; to sing with the choir of angels, as it were. But the angels don’t know when Christ is coming. So we need to look down – for a baby in a manger, for a poor family travelling, desperately close to the time of birth. For Christ came down – to the lowly, to the poor, to us.

At least, kind of to us – at the times when we can bring ourselves to admit that we, though blessed through material wealth, remain as spiritually poor
as every other soul that has ever sought Jesus Christ.

At times, many of us are very similar to the Corinthian community to which Paul wrote. They were pretty affluent, but in the first part of the first chapter Paul is more concerned that they know where their blessings come from.

The Corinthians were rich; not only did they have money, but Paul stood amazed at the tremendous number of spiritual gifts they had been given as well. But they often had trouble remembering where those gifts came from.

“We’re righteous,” they’d say, “we’re blessed because we deserve it. We’ve worked for it.”

But Paul knew better. He knew that all gifts came from God, all manner of blessings not because people deserved it but because God was full of love and that He gave joyously.

So Paul appealed to the Corinthian community; that as they gave thanks for their blessings they needed first to remember the ultimate source of those blessings – God. The attitude is gratitude, as some phrase it.

And he reminded them: “God is faithful, by Him (and not by yourselves) were you called into the fellowship of His son Jesus Christ our Lord.”

The Almighty came down to show grace to the needy.

In my reading over the past week I was reminded of a story that many of you have probably never read before – it doesn’t show up in our lectionary, at all. It’s a story from 2 Samuel 9 about King David – but really, in the end it’s about how the king comes down.

King David sat on the throne of Israel, surrounded by servants, slaves, and supplicants. He was the richest of the rich; in all of Israel he was tops. People lived and people died at his command. He was a great warrior, could have anything he wanted. Had everything he wanted.

But he was troubled. He was troubled because a long time before he had promised the old king – King Saul – that he would look after his descendants. Now, Saul and his son Jonathon had been killed in battle many years before and as David settled into his fancy new digs he forgot about his promise, a covenant he had made with his friend Jonathon to care for his descendants.

In 2 Samuel chapter 9 we pick up the story: one cold night King David remembered that covenant. Calling a servant to him, he asked “is there anyone left of Saul’s family, to whom I could show kindness?”

And the servant replied that yes, there was. Jonathon’s son Mephibosheth, who lived and worked as in someone else’s house. The son of royalty lived as a pauper. The son of a beautiful man – as the Bible describes Jonathon – was a cripple.

He was a cripple, you see, because when his nurse had received word of Saul and Jonathon’s death she had picked him up to flee with him, but as she ran she stumbled and dropped the baby, leaving him lame in both his feet.

Now in David’s time if you were lame, you were lame because you deserved it. And nobody wanted anyone near them who was being punished by the Almighty.

But David sent for Mephibosheth, and he came. Crippled, poor, broken. He came to the King’s table and knelt as if to serve. Actually, he knelt to plead for his life, asking, “what is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?” As we come in humility before God, the son of the fallen came before God’s chosen.

But, even as our own Gospel story reminds us, that wasn’t David’s plan.

David took him, dressed him, and waited for Mephibosheth to be seated at the banquet before the King’s family could eat. They waited, while the lame man hobbled to the table and took his seat beside the King, like one of the King’s own sons. The poor, the deformed, came into the presence of the king and was treated like royalty. And he dwelt there, the story ends, always.

That’s grace. That the riches we have given through God we may share with those who have less, or have none. King David found that although he had everything he wanted – even another man’s wife – he that wasn’t enough. To be complete, he was compelled – even obligated – to show grace to others even as grace had been given to him by God.

I’d be willing to bet that none of you can remember the gifts that you were given in the Christmases of your childhood; but that all of you can remember when your family showed grace to another – helped in times of trouble. Or maybe, like mine, your family was the recipient of grace like that, and have since then done your best to carry on that kindness.

Our response to the blessing of God in our lives is that we, like David, in turn go and seek out and serve the people in the same way the he sought out and served Mephibosheth.

Keep awake. Watch. Watch for those images and actions of grace; those tiny, squirming bundles of hope through which we feel the presence of Jesus Christ.

Because he is coming: Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again, and we await his coming with hope that often not even words can express.

Amen.

I wonder...

Y'know, I wonder sometimes...

...about how much money some city churches spend to get those freakin' pompously annoying 'keep Christ in Christmas' ads on the radio...

...if I'm the only one tired of hearing and reading sermons that tell me I'm rich, spoiled, consumeristic, and need to DO MORE to help all the poor, underprivileged minions of society that I'm oppressing...(and no, I'm not picking specifics; I listen to and read a lot of sermons online)

...if maybe I'm hypersensitive to those messages because, quite frankly, I've stared at the last can of food in my pantry with nothing in my bank account and wondered what to do next...

...that maybe the most important part of my calling as a minister is to help people feel loved and cared for...

...and to stop pretending that I'm smart or erudite or knowledgeable because I certainly don't feel that way...

...if my supervisor knows that I think he's right pretty often, even if I don't let him know that...

...where my socks go when my wife does the laundry...

...why I don't do the laundry more often myself...

...if I can ever tell my wife and children that I love and adore them often enough...

...if I can ever openly say that my identity as a minister is irrevocably tied to my identity as a man; a husband and a father without being labelled a paternalistic pig...

...why I even worry about that...

...why the fur on the bridge of a cat's nose is so soft...

...if higher biblical criticism is really just a load of bunk...

...how I can be the best possible husband, father, and provider for my family.

funniest.video.ever.

growing up, we had a cat that had a love affair with the vacuum cleaner. He loved it.

But this takes the cake:

something that suits

because my heart is heavy, and my soul is burdened with sorrow.

This song was played during Holy Communion at the memorial service of Judith Lopez Damian. Please God, be with her husband and young son.

Holy Mary, mother of God, abide with us now, and in the hour of our death. Amen.

It's been a long week. The wife of a friend died after a short -- too short -- fight with cancer. Her husband and 8-month-old son miss her dearly. I'm certain she misses them.

You could pray for them, if you wanted to. Not big, complicated prayers. Just little ones.

And then maybe include yourself. That could be good.

take two minutes.

take two minutes tomorrw, to remember those who have gone before.

If you haven't before, go to a Cenotaph service. Look those men and women in the eye, and say 'thank you.'

But damn you if you don't at least take those two minutes.

pictures...

as in, family pictures. That we went to a studio and got. Today.

You may have noticed that members of my family -- myself excluded -- are very photogenic. I'm not so much -- the light reflects off my rather (ahem) high forhead and back into the camera, producing a high amount of glare.

But seriously, my boys love the camera. The Boy mugs for the camera every time he sees one, and Boy2 is interested, though now mostly he seems concerned that they be a possible source of nourishment. But even he's been known to produce a smile or giggle for a picture with a little prodding.

Not so today. Today, though they giggled and laughed before we sat down for our portrait, as soon we were posed their faces lost all expression. Seriously, folks. It was scary. So now we have family pictures. The coDirector and I are smiling and happy (and she should be; she looked gorgeous) and our children look like poster children for a brainwashing cult.

bah. from now on, our families get pictures of the us looking harried and the boys cookie-smeared and stinky, but at least happy.

oof.

today I pulled a long white hair out of my beard. At first I thought it was just caught in it. Then I noted it was rooted firmly, in amongst others of its kind.

Venerable, right? I'm trying for venerable.

Hallowe'en

So I forgot to post pictures of the Boys for Hallowe'en.


Boy2 was a little lumberjack -- would that be a lumberjohnny?




And The Boy was a fireman. Now he wants to wear that coat all the time.

5:15 am

It's 5:15 am.

Snow gently falls outside the window; big flakes have fallen during the night, leaving the trees across the street picture-postcard perfect.

I'm impressed my wife hasn't yet begun the Christmas music -- it's been on since the beginning of this month, but not yet today and we've been up for 20 minutes.

My youngest is sitting on the floor, gnawing a cookie. My eldest son is reading a book, as best as he can.

In a few hours we'll dress them warmly and take them outside to play in the new snow. Neither one knows this, but neither do they know that I hope that the world they grow up in will look drastically different from this one.

In the wake of the election of Illinois Senator Barak Obama to the White House, I hope that the change that is promised comes to pass. I'm not a terribly political person, but as a Christian I've been offended at how easily it's been assumed (by President Bush, Senator McCain, and several politicians here in Canada) that myself and people like me can be manipulated by the tossing off of a few glib catchphrases.

And I'm thankful that my country doesn't quite expell the same amount of pseudo-religious rhetoric that floats up from down south. It would be hard for me to name the religious traditions of our last four or five Prime Ministers. Roman Catholic, mostly, with a couple of Anglicans thrown in for good measure, I suppose.

I'm incredibly thankful that in Canada, I can be poor and not have to watch my children suffer for it. In the United States, I admire President Bush for his No Child Left Behind policy; I hope it can better be remembered as his legacy than any number of other things.

During the past eight years I've prayed that my own Prime Minister and the American President would be strong, caring leaders. I've not been disappointed in that.

But change is good.

And I hope that this snow doesn't melt immediately. 'Cause this change is good, too.

The Gospel of Christ is like a crucible in which we are formed.

We enter it willing, and knowingly bring ourselves to the refiner's fire.

The law is the heat that breaks us down, melts our hearts, shapes us into new forms

and new expressions of being.

As by metallurgist, we are squeezed and pounded, bound by laws

and the Creator's discerning hand. The slag is not wanted; it is not of the Creator's desire

though we ourselves may fear to be less without it.

The gospel is the soothing coolness of grace that calms us and affirms our new form.

It sets us into the New Creation; something that is pleasing to the eye of the Creator

and gives glory to his Name.

Toddler Property Laws

If I like it, it's mine.

If it's in my hand, it's mine.

If I can take it away from you, it's mine.

If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.

If it's mine, it must never appear to be yours in any way.

If we are building something together, all of the pieces are mine.

If it looks just like mine, it's mine.

If I think it's mine, it's mine.

If I give it to you, and change my mind later, it's mine.

If it's broken, it's yours!

-unknown

This is my life.

Driving home last night I was listening to a local Christian radio station -- something I don't do so often because I'm a huge CBC fan.

Anyways, because I'm in the habit of actually listening to song lyrics and reflecting on what they mean to me, a song from the band "Switchfoot" was playing. The chorus goes as follows:
this is your life, are you who you want to be
this is your life, is it everything you dreamed that it would be
when the world was younger and you had everything to lose?

I went for a walk with my little family, watched as my wife patiently waiting for our toddler to inspect every single item of interest along the pathway, and played 'googly eyes' with our baby.

We made supper together, and each tried different ways to get an obstinate toddler to eat, while at the same time plying a starving baby (by his facial expression) with assorted arrowroot cookies and bananas.

Then bathtime, and bedtime. We prayed together with our little family, and I kissed my boys and sent them off to bed. I read and put together a Adult Education lesson for Sunday until they were asleep, and then the co-Director and I picked the hymns that our church will sing on the Sundays in Advent.

Then, later, to bed.

And all I could think was yes, this is my life. Yes, this is where I want it to be, and yes -- it's what I hoped and prayed it would be when I was younger.

I am lucky. I am happy. I am a man most richly blessed.

now you know...

What I'm reading tonight.

A very good friend of ours breeds and raises Devon Rex cats. Incredibly nice animals. Docile, kind.

Except that the first time I was over at their house I asked how their cat survived the farm accident.

Ouch. I mean, luckily their looks grow on you -- well, they kinda have to. But now, I've seen an uglier cat:

update: now the 'Devon Rex' link actually links to their site, and I've added it to the links on the left.


more animals

'cause sometimes a 3rd or 4th opinion is good.

more animals

remembering....

For quite a while, I provided worship leadership to Christ Church Anglican in Nanton, Alberta. A wonderful congregation in a 100-year-old church. Dedicated to the Book of Common Prayer. Like, the old version.

One Thanksgiving the leadership they'd organized fell through, and I volunteered to supply, from the old BCP.

Things were running smoothly until I was leading the congregation in the Nicene Creed, whereupon I made a small s-related mistake. The line was supposed to be "who sitteth at the right hand of the Father."

Not what I said.

Later, when I was sitting talking with my own pastor, one Reverend Kevin Powell by name, I admitted my mistake and mentioned that it was entirely likely that Jesus did not shitteth at the right hand of the Father, after all.

He ruminated for a minute. Nodded sagely.

"Very incarnational." was all he said.

5 Influences

Kevin tagged me to list any five people -- living or dead -- who have influenced me spiritually. So, here goes:

1. The Rev. Reg Berg. Pastor and friend from my teens. His gentle guidance and wisdom showed to me that ministry was a possibility in my life.

2. Les and Carol Ferguson. Close friends of my family for as long as I can remember; a model for myself of lives lived wholly committed to Christ.

3. Bernice and Richard Friesen. Because if my marriage can be as strong as theirs is with its foundation in faith, I will be able to call myself successful in life.

4. the Rev. Erin Phillips. Campus Chaplain at the University of Lethbridge and Lethbridge College. Because she lit the Refiner's fire. Though I don't nearly talk to her as often as I need to, or should.

5. Rev. Dr Martin Luther. Because I too struggle with legalism and have to continually remind myself to find freedom in grace.

(and 6, because Kevin only listed 4. I'm stealing his #5.)

6. Rev. Kevin G Powell. Beer and incarnational theology 101. 'nuff said.

So, I tag Kristie, Kristen, and Gunfighter.

don't feed the bear!

Thanks in part to the 'feed the Vicar' program at church and combined with my own passion for stuffing my increasingly pudgy face, I've gained 15 pounds in two months.

Oof.

My new weight-loss program is as follows:

1) buy straightjacket.

2) wear at mealtimes.

3) eat what is accessible with a straw.

Sermon for Sunday October 12, 2008

Text: Matthew 13:44-52


Our cousins to the south paint a portrait of Thanksgiving that most of us here are probably familiar with. I remember when I was just a wee lad in school at the beginning of October we – a Canadian elementary school class – learned about the Mayflower, about pilgrims, and about kind, beneficent Natives who hosted a feast in the brutal cold.

So we too gather together to celebrate a harvest. The harvest of food, certainly, as now most of the fields surrounding the city lie fallow and empty. In about every culture in the Northern Hemisphere there’s some form of autumn harvest festival.

But there’s another element, here, in this place, as well.

Because part of our Christian walk is the time that we take to give thanks back to God for our selves, our time, and our possessions – all signs of God’s gracious love towards us. We give thanks that the kingdom of heaven has come near to us and that we have seen some of its splendours.

So we return the first fruits of our labours back unto God, as each of us chooses to give: not because we’re ordered too, but in the recognition that everything we have comes from God, that God “provided us with every blessing in abundance.

Though it’s often easier to find what’s wrong with our lives than what’s right. Maybe there’s a place for that – after all, there are Psalms of Lament, even a whole book of the Bible is called ‘Lamentations.’ Laments pop up quite often in Scripture, when the heroes of our faith find themselves in dire straights and it seems to them that the Almighty is conspicuously absent. As a Psalm begins, “by the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept.”

Yet there’s something interesting about those psalms – they often shift into praising God at the end, as if the writer remembered that even having a God to which one could complain is something to be thankful for.

A wise friend of mine read a letter that his uncle had written him many years before: “always remember,” it said, “you are the blessings for which your ancestors prayed.” For the most part, it seems, a lot of people over the years have given thanks for things that hadn’t even happened yet.

Consider Isaiah. Isaiah 24 and 25 form part of an eschatological text – it deals with a vision of the end of time. Of course, Isaiah begin chapter 25 by reminding God of things past: “for you have done wonderful things, plans formed of old, faithful and sure.” God had done marvellous things for Isaiah – and even more wonderful things for the poor and oppressed of the land.

But God is going to do even more wonders. “And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever!”

Because you see, for Isaiah and his people, death wasn’t an abstract thing. Death – or mot in Hebrew – was a noun. A person, place, or thing. So Isaiah isn’t concerned that the Lord of Hosts is going to pull a new-age mamby-pamby “crossing over” trick.

No. For Isaiah, DEATH WILL BE DONE. No more death, no more pit. No more condemnation to a kingdom other than God’s. No more tears, for that is his promise – “then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces.”

No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds. Now, that is something to be thankful for. The death – no, the absolute destruction – of death itself.

Too many of us here – quite possibly even all of us – know all too well that death still plays the end of our lives. We’ve held the hands of loved ones, little ones, and tried valiantly to will away the end of their lives. In our hands we’ve held our hearts and tried to share some of our own life. We’ve prayed, Lord, how we’ve prayed. And it seems that death still comes, relentless.

Death came to Isaiah, as well. In fact, it may seem sometimes like we scramble to find an insurance policy against death – we stop drinking alcohol and caffeine, we exercise, we eat better. But death still catches us. But in Christ, this is not the end.

We give thanks for the kingdom of heaven. Matthew records that Jesus told us that the kingdom of heaven is like a pearl of great value, and if we can sell everything we own to possess it, then we may hold a small piece of the kingdom. But how big a picture is that small piece of the kingdom? We may sell everything we own to possess it – although, to be certain, church giving touches about 1.7% of the average income throughout North America – but we bring our children to be baptized, and come here on Sunday morning to remember our relationship to God.

Like all good parables that Jesus tells, I think that the pearl of great price has two messages. The first is meant for people – to find that small piece of the kingdom, and cling to it. But the second…well, the second is meant to show us just how big that kingdom is.
The life of faith begins with accepting that God’s love is already in our hearts, minds, and souls. Without that, we are nothing. With God’s love poured into our hearts we become Pearls of Great Value. Rather than being something for us to possess, we become most valuable to god.
And all pearls start as but a grain of sand. All mustard seeds are tiny.
Episcopalian Bishop Tom Shaw noted: “their shared secret is that a humble beginning and an almost secret presence are not inconsistent with a great and glorious conclusion. But the parable of the pearl of great price also reminds us of where we choose to place value upon objects. The world’s chief values are not intrinsic but extrinsic; they reside in the God who is above the world and within the world and waiting at its end.”
And that’s what we wait for. That end. As North American Christians – really, as residents of the western half of the northern hemisphere – we automatically place value on what we possess. Buildings, land – what we cunningly call ‘equity’ is what God calls ‘mammon.’ Now having things of value isn’t the problem; it’s when their value becomes what defines us as men and women that we start to lose OUR own value. In the end, God wants us – not our possessions.
The greatest value that we share is our Christian identity; the love of Christ Jesus in which we live, and move, and have our very being. And the Good News of the kingdom – the news that we need, more than ever, to proclaim to the world – are the words of Paul in Romans chapter 8 verse 25:
For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.
Because we are indeed, through the grace of God through the sacrifice of Christ Jesus, pearls of great price.
One thing I will share with you: you, each and every one of you, is a pearl of great value. It is for you that God sought high and low, it was you that Jesus Christ loved so much that he, in fact, sold out everything he had – even his very life – because you are that pearl. Because to possess you, to hold you in the love of God for eternity, Christ finally accomplished what was promised through Isaiah:

He swallowed up death forever.

Jesus Christ gave everything – even unto the point of death – for you. Not because you did something grand. Not because you worked to become a shinier pearl. But because you simply are. You are beloved of God. That’s it. That’s all the training you need.

And there is a ‘therefore’ attached to that…because we possess the kingdom;

Because we are God’s beloved;

Therefore we are like the householder who brings out of his own abundance the gifts for the whole people of God: the old –
- which is the ancient tale of salvation

and the new –
- which is the grace of Jesus Christ.

Because we have been called as disciples of Jesus Christ, because we have been baptized and brought to the Table, therefore we are bound to turn to our neighbors and share what we have with them – share our time, our presence, share ourselves.

All that we have is gift. All that we really – and truly – have is Jesus Christ.

As you gather around your meal this afternoon or tomorrow – remember: thanks be to God for that indescribable gift.

May this be so among us. Amen.

Proof

Further to the discussion about whether or not I've been spending too much time at the office, the Co-Director and I actually feel like I've spent more time at home over the last two months than I have in the last five or six years.

And I offer proof: though we have been together for six and a half years, married for three, and have spent enough time in very close proximity to have two beautiful babies --

the Co-Director, just yesterday, finally noticed that my nose is crooked. It deserves to be -- its been broken 6 or 7 times.

too busy?

"If you don't get here after me at least 50% of the time, I'm sending you and your wife for marriage counselling!"

Thus spake my supervisor the other day when he arrived in the office early, only to find that I was already there.

But it got me thinking. I've been working with the church for 7 or 8 years. For all those years but this current one, I've juggled being a full-time student, full-or part-time worker, and volunteer time.

Now that I've got the time to devote to ministry full-time, it seems like I can't get enough of it. It's like I've spent years sipping at a bottle of the purest water, and now I've found the source. And it's not even like I spend that many hours at the office. Or that many hours out visiting -- but that I just can't bring myself to believe I'm paid to do.

Sit down and talk to people about themselves, myself, and God. It's a great calling if you can get it.

What's interesting, though, is that I probably get less work done at the office then I could do at home. The habit of working through sermons, liturgies, and projects with input from my family is so deeply ingrained in me that I find myself wanting to phone the co-director at home (when I'm in the office) and run something past her.

And I've grown into the habit of stealing the wee hours of the morning to allow my muse to flourish. So, when I sent my supervisor a liturgy for the Thanksgiving Service at 2 o'clock one morning, he was somewhat less than impressed. I mean, he didn't check his mail until nine or so, but when he did he somewhat icily suggested that I find a hobby.

So I feel that my work and home life is balanced. For that matter, so does the co-director. But we may be in the minority.

??

So, I was on my way back to the church for an meeting this evening. It's been a bit of a long day, so I stopped by the Starbucks that's about a block away.

"What can I get you?" the barrista asked.

"I'll have a venti brewed coffee," said I, pleased that I was mastering the lingo.

"Oh, I think we're out," quoth she.

"my dear child," I replied (because she seemed scarcely old enough to walk to the bus stop alone), "are you honestly telling me that Starbucks is out of coffee?"

"Um, I'm pretty sure. Just a minute, I'll check. Yup, we're out. Would you like a coffee americano? Or, you could wait. It takes a few minutes, though."

So as I walked out of there with my tall pumpkin spice latte, I had a brainwave. So here's a brilliant newsflash for Starbucks:

Go to the walmart that's across the street. Buy a coffee maker. Brew coffee. Charge $1.00 for a cup and give it out with a donut. Call it coffee canadiana. I'll guarantee you'll sell millions.

advice

So, my supervising pastor passed along some pastoral wisdom tonight.

"Don't be a Moses," he said, "be a shepherd. They last longer."

I only have an undergraduate degree in Religious Studies, so I may not be remembering this correctly: But wasn't Moses a shepherd?

I'll run that one past him in the morning and check his reply.

Sermon for Sunday, September 28, 2008

*note* I know that there are two different sermons tacked together here. I just couldn't decide between the two, and then I couldn't get an ending I was terribly pleased with.

Pentecost +20

NB: some help from workingpreacher.org commentary on the lessons for today.

In the middle of the wilderness of Sinai an unruly group of people turn ugly on Moses. “We’re tired of listening to you. Why did we think you had any authority to begin with, to drag us out here, from our safe home in Egypt, to die of thirst. Where is this God of yours anyways?”

In the Temple courtyard a group of men crowd around Jesus. “Who gave you the authority to do the things you do, and why do you act like you expect us to listen to you?” they demand.

As I listened to the news the other day I heard a reporter ask a loaded question to one candidate for the US Presidency. They scoffed at their opponent in their response, a terse “they don’t have the authority to do that.”

_______________________________

Authority and power. In our societal mindset the two are irrevocably attached to each other. Having power gives you authority. Having authority gives you power. From our first experience as children to our last drawing breath we see ourselves captive to a particular set of ideas, an invisible framework that gives us a sense of place in society and an awareness of those both above us and below us.

“There are two kinds of people in the world,” goes the old saying, “those born with a taste for power, and those born with a craving for it.”

At election time we listen to various interest groups try to exert their authority at various levels of government. When they achieve something we compliment we feel powerful with them, and if they fail we fall with them, losing something of our image of power and influence in a political and economic system that seems often geared towards those with the most – be it power, money, influence, or sex.

But by whose authority do we even pretend that we exercise solemn governance over our own lives, that we are, in effect, self-made individuals charged with the task of, to blindly paraphrase the Apostle Paul, “work[ing] out our salvation with fear and trembling.”

1500 years of church history has ingrained in us an idea of the kind of authority wielded by the world-wide church. “All authority in heaven and earth has been given to me,” spoke Christ in Matthew 28, “go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptising in the Name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” The church can sometimes be big on authority.

Really, at some level, many of us still come to be married in the church as a means of ensuring that because the vows are exchanged “in the sight of God”, someone will whack us with a big stick if we break them.

But why doesn’t that kind of authority seem to work with Jesus? In the Gospel lesson for today the leaders, the religious authorities come to Jesus with the big question: “what in the holy name of God do you think you’re doing!?”

They come prepared to counter all claims of human authority with their own, God-given power. They are the Temple leaders; they are the be-all and end-all of their faith. As far as the local status quo is concerned, the religious buck stops with them; there is no authority higher. They’re James Dobson and Benedict XV combined.

What they are not prepared to accept is the possibility that Jesus’ authority actually comes from elsewhere. Not just from someone or somewhere else, but from a source so vast as to be unimaginable. What they are not prepared to accept is that Christ’s authority, in fact, came from heaven.

So his question in response to them catches them off guard. The question about John’s authority is, in fact, the same question that the chief priests and elders just asked Jesus himself. Their response, then, is dedicated towards preserving their own authority in public rather than risk a damaging public scene. This could be an excerpt from the current news – a political or religious leader embarking upon damage control in an effort to save face.

So just where does Jesus get his authority? What, exactly, does he do with it? He could argue with the priests – throw their own theology back into their faces, throw some God-dust around and get with the miracles again.

But he doesn’t. Instead, Jesus tells a parable about relationships, and how they play out in world. A story about authority lived in love, care, deference, and respect; not in violence and struggle.

For if we trust that Christ’s authority is, indeed, from heaven, then we partake in a mission in our world that is wholly unique.

It is unique in that it does not seek power in this world – not through the means with which we have been taught to acquire it – but in that our Christian mission in the world relinquishes power in bringing Christ to the world, just as Christ gave up power in bringing himself to the world (through emptying himself, as in Philippians 2:7).

This is a power and an authority given and received in love. It is not a sharing or granting of authority – as in the parable of the two sons, the father simply says “son, go and work in the vineyard today” – it is a call to submission and obedience to a mission that is greater than our desire for church and denominational survival.

The mission we are called to asks that we abandon our competitiveness and quest for influence, and instead work to embody Christ’s transformation and reclamation of the world.

To be disciples of Christ, who embody his love for the world, and who accept upon ourselves the authority to help bring care and healing to a broken world. That kind of authority can change the world, because it is an authority that is given and received in love.

If you have trouble visualizing this, consider this: anyone who has had small children knows one thing for certain. Those of you without small children will maybe one day experience this; those of you without no doubt know just how lucky you are.

Life with small children, babies really, is governed by one simple rule. All authority in the family – decisions about where to go, when to go, how to get places, and who to see – is given to the member who can not as yet change their own underpants or eat, as it were, solid food.

Certainly, you can choose to ignore that child. Play loud music, wear earplugs. But because you love that child you acquiesce that authority. In turn, the authority given to you is for the well-being of that child.

It’s in this context that Christ reminds us in Matthew 19 to “let the little children come me…for it is to such as these that the kingdom of heaven belongs.” That kind of authority belongs to the powerless. It is authority that has its foundation in love and its action in grace. The best way that I can illustrate this is through a rite that is familiar to everyone here.

Today, as part of our worship service we will welcome Keiran Patrick Macintyre into the family of God through the sacrament of Holy Baptism. In a rite that has been repeated endlessly since the first Christians gathered in houses to hear one another, he will be washed in water. The Words will be spoken over him, and he will be marked forever with cross of Jesus Christ.

In the very words of our baptismal liturgy, he will be given new birth, cleansed from sin – the very enemy that still stalks us today – and will be raised to eternal life.

And when he dies, (God willing many, many years after me), the sign of the cross will be made over his body and the family assembled will be reminded that as he was united with Christ in death – for baptism as much as anything symbolizes being buried and raised again – so he too will be united with Christ in the Resurrection.

The authority granted through Christ is the authority to know that, in spite of whatever legalistic steps we mask it in, baptism is and remains at its heart the opening verse of a love song that is sung to us for all the days of our lives. It is a song so much a part of us that its chorus is in our waking and sleeping and our life passages form its verses. It ends with all things in time – but when God will make all things new in the world that new creation, in turn, will sing of the grace of God through Jesus Christ.

So it is my prayer for Keiran Patrick that he may be one of the blessed in this life who embrace that love received through his baptism and sing a love song right back to God, as he walks with Christ Jesus.

I pray that authority he experiences is love given and love received, and that he may grow up and live in a world trembling with the anticipation of a new creation. For this is the promise of God given to him. This – this -- is the promise of God given to us all.

May this be so among us. Amen.