Thursday, June 25, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
congratulations!
To my wife, who has discovered that February and March are a good months for babies!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Sermon: June 21 2009
Grace, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
He stood at the edge of the valley and looked down. The Valley of Elah – broad, and flat. On the other side he could see the army assembled – thousands of men bristling with the best weapons, armour, and mobile infantry he’d ever seen. At their centre in the middle of the valley was a giant of a man. Goliath. The best champion the Philistines had ever had forced the entire army of Israel to cower in their boots. No one wanted to face him. He was just too big, too terrifying to contemplate.
---------------------------------------------------------------
They sat in the boat, and watched as the waves crested higher and higher. Their boat was larger than normal for the Sea, big enough to carry all of them with enough room for at least one of them to sleep. The storm had gotten progressively worse. In their collective lifetimes of being on the water, they had seen huge and tremendous storms before; had watched as the boats of friends and others were swamped and eaten by the hungry water. They had managed to sail through the storms before, but this one was different. It was too bad, too terrible, too impossible to survive.
-----------------------------------------------------------
He stood in the foyer of their house. At the back door he could see the stroller, the little baby items that they’d bought – nothing but the absolute best, the most expensive, for their child. They’d even upsized their house when they realized they were pregnant, after all, they didn’t want their child to grow up in a townhouse or an apartment did they? But it’d begun to unravel. Too many hours worked; too much trouble getting the toddler to and from daycare, playschool, and appointments. Too tired to talk to each other at night, they watched as their investments dry up and their bills get longer. New house, new cars, magazine-perfect life summed up in two words: irreconcilable differences, on the petition for divorce. Too many troubles, too big for them to handle.
---------------------------------------------------------
Does any of this sound familiar to you? Too big troubles, too much stress on your ‘boat’ – the circumstances of your life. Standing at the edge of a valley overlooking what appears to be certain doom if you put one foot wrong. I’d be willing to bet that everyone here knows what that’s like. It’s called life. And folks, it’s terminal.
But how we face life as Christians should set us apart from everyone else, because we have a gift – the gift of knowledge, not only of eternal life, but that Christ walks beside us in our journeys and because of that we do not need to fear what seems so terrible.
Consider David. He’s a shepherd, and he’s been alone on many a cold and desperate night when the hungry dark has sought his flock. Lions and bears, two of the most terrifying animals to encounter in the wild, both have succumbed to a well-aimed rock from his sling or turned away in the face of an adversary that just won’t back down. For a simple shepherd David’s seen how complicated life can be.
He comes to the aid of Saul, a great and mighty king. If you remember from the readings last week David has already been anointed as Saul’s successor by Samuel, though Saul doesn’t know that yet. But David comes to Saul, who stands at the centre of the army, too afraid to choose a champion to go out and do battle against the mighty Goliath. Actually David came to deliver food to his brothers who were serving with Saul, and he heard Goliath’s taunt, and watched the army of Israel – men trained for fighting and experienced in war -- tremble with fear.
But David volunteers to go out and fight Goliath, because Goliath dared to defy the armies of the living God. Saul still wants David to do things the way they should be done – so he lays all of his armour on the shoulders of the boy, then stands back and watches as he falls over. David shucks it off, and taking five smooth stones from the wadi goes out in the Holy Name of God to defeat the terror that makes Israel tremble. You know how it ends.
Even in our own lives we play out the same comic scene, though -- Saul, as he lays his armour on David, those sure things he knows will protect his life. Often we do the same thing.
No family until “we can afford it” – chink goes the mail shirt over our heads.
No dedication to charity in our lives until “it’s a good time” – clunk goes the helmet.
“We need a bigger house, a better car” – strap on the shield.
“We want the best” – always the biggest, most expensive – and we try to heave the sword over our heads.
…and we fall down under the weight, because all of our modern armor constricts us and doesn’t actually protect us as we think it does.
There’s a story told about an order of soldiers who were found in Northern Scotland. Tasked with transforming a bunch of Highland rabble into a “proper” fighting force, the general took them to task for their sloppy appearance, kilts and all, and decided to introduce them to the finer points of plate armor. The General dressed in his finest armor and presented himself to the men, who promptly pushed him off his horse in the middle of a river.
When the General was finally winched ashore and his body shipped back south for burial, the men stood before their court martial. “You killed the General!” accused the adjutant.
“Och, no,” came the reply. “ We didnae do that. That was his armor. We just helped him into the water.” Sometimes the very thing we think protects us actually makes us far, far more vulnerable than we would ever believe.
Jesus and the disciples are on the boat when the storm hits. Storms in the Levant, I’ve read, can come suddenly and violently, so it’s likely that all those fishermen had experienced them before. But this time, it was different. This time, their boat was being swamped and this time, they had precious cargo.
You see, the more I read this story from Mark, the more I’m convinced that the disciples panicked out of concern for Jesus. When you invite someone over to your home, suddenly the hairball the cat choked up seems like the most awful thing you have ever seen. ‘Tis a matter of perspective.
Now, whether or not the disciples wanted to wake Jesus up so he would do something about the storm or just wanted him to be awake when the ship sank is something we may not ever know. But we do know that Jesus does calm the storm, which may in fact have scared the disciples even more than the storm itself.
“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
This is the question to be asked. Who then is this, who sends a shepherd out to battle a tyrant? Who then, is this, who commands the storms and troubles of life to be still? Who then, is this, who binds our own broken souls and cleanses our hearts?
This is Jesus, who is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. This is Jesus, God With Us, who sits with us in our circumstances and speaks out of our fear and trembling.
Would the boat have sunk if the disciples hadn’t woken Jesus? That’s a question much like “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. The disciples, just like we do, sought to fix their own situation and prepare for the worst. You don’t want the revered teacher to go down with the ship, but in their own concern they maybe miss the most important point: Jesus is in the boat with them. Jesus in the midst of their own lives’ narratives and stories, with them and beside them. His presence is known, but often ignored until something terrible happens.
In our own lives, in our own circumstances, we are much like the Apostles. We are in a creaky boat on a big ocean. Sudden violent storms spring up and surprise us and we often react the only way we know how --- by preparing ourselves to abandon ship, perhaps to look for a bigger, safer boat or even just to swim to (we hope) calmer waters.
But what sets us apart as Christians – and how we should be different – is that we know that Jesus is in the boat with us. And he alone has power over the wind and sea. Just as David knew, as he walked across the Valley of Elah, that God is with us, beside us, and will not forsake us.
In the words of the psalmist, yea, though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
God is with us. May this be so among us. Amen.
He stood at the edge of the valley and looked down. The Valley of Elah – broad, and flat. On the other side he could see the army assembled – thousands of men bristling with the best weapons, armour, and mobile infantry he’d ever seen. At their centre in the middle of the valley was a giant of a man. Goliath. The best champion the Philistines had ever had forced the entire army of Israel to cower in their boots. No one wanted to face him. He was just too big, too terrifying to contemplate.
---------------------------------------------------------------
They sat in the boat, and watched as the waves crested higher and higher. Their boat was larger than normal for the Sea, big enough to carry all of them with enough room for at least one of them to sleep. The storm had gotten progressively worse. In their collective lifetimes of being on the water, they had seen huge and tremendous storms before; had watched as the boats of friends and others were swamped and eaten by the hungry water. They had managed to sail through the storms before, but this one was different. It was too bad, too terrible, too impossible to survive.
-----------------------------------------------------------
He stood in the foyer of their house. At the back door he could see the stroller, the little baby items that they’d bought – nothing but the absolute best, the most expensive, for their child. They’d even upsized their house when they realized they were pregnant, after all, they didn’t want their child to grow up in a townhouse or an apartment did they? But it’d begun to unravel. Too many hours worked; too much trouble getting the toddler to and from daycare, playschool, and appointments. Too tired to talk to each other at night, they watched as their investments dry up and their bills get longer. New house, new cars, magazine-perfect life summed up in two words: irreconcilable differences, on the petition for divorce. Too many troubles, too big for them to handle.
---------------------------------------------------------
Does any of this sound familiar to you? Too big troubles, too much stress on your ‘boat’ – the circumstances of your life. Standing at the edge of a valley overlooking what appears to be certain doom if you put one foot wrong. I’d be willing to bet that everyone here knows what that’s like. It’s called life. And folks, it’s terminal.
But how we face life as Christians should set us apart from everyone else, because we have a gift – the gift of knowledge, not only of eternal life, but that Christ walks beside us in our journeys and because of that we do not need to fear what seems so terrible.
Consider David. He’s a shepherd, and he’s been alone on many a cold and desperate night when the hungry dark has sought his flock. Lions and bears, two of the most terrifying animals to encounter in the wild, both have succumbed to a well-aimed rock from his sling or turned away in the face of an adversary that just won’t back down. For a simple shepherd David’s seen how complicated life can be.
He comes to the aid of Saul, a great and mighty king. If you remember from the readings last week David has already been anointed as Saul’s successor by Samuel, though Saul doesn’t know that yet. But David comes to Saul, who stands at the centre of the army, too afraid to choose a champion to go out and do battle against the mighty Goliath. Actually David came to deliver food to his brothers who were serving with Saul, and he heard Goliath’s taunt, and watched the army of Israel – men trained for fighting and experienced in war -- tremble with fear.
But David volunteers to go out and fight Goliath, because Goliath dared to defy the armies of the living God. Saul still wants David to do things the way they should be done – so he lays all of his armour on the shoulders of the boy, then stands back and watches as he falls over. David shucks it off, and taking five smooth stones from the wadi goes out in the Holy Name of God to defeat the terror that makes Israel tremble. You know how it ends.
Even in our own lives we play out the same comic scene, though -- Saul, as he lays his armour on David, those sure things he knows will protect his life. Often we do the same thing.
No family until “we can afford it” – chink goes the mail shirt over our heads.
No dedication to charity in our lives until “it’s a good time” – clunk goes the helmet.
“We need a bigger house, a better car” – strap on the shield.
“We want the best” – always the biggest, most expensive – and we try to heave the sword over our heads.
…and we fall down under the weight, because all of our modern armor constricts us and doesn’t actually protect us as we think it does.
There’s a story told about an order of soldiers who were found in Northern Scotland. Tasked with transforming a bunch of Highland rabble into a “proper” fighting force, the general took them to task for their sloppy appearance, kilts and all, and decided to introduce them to the finer points of plate armor. The General dressed in his finest armor and presented himself to the men, who promptly pushed him off his horse in the middle of a river.
When the General was finally winched ashore and his body shipped back south for burial, the men stood before their court martial. “You killed the General!” accused the adjutant.
“Och, no,” came the reply. “ We didnae do that. That was his armor. We just helped him into the water.” Sometimes the very thing we think protects us actually makes us far, far more vulnerable than we would ever believe.
Jesus and the disciples are on the boat when the storm hits. Storms in the Levant, I’ve read, can come suddenly and violently, so it’s likely that all those fishermen had experienced them before. But this time, it was different. This time, their boat was being swamped and this time, they had precious cargo.
You see, the more I read this story from Mark, the more I’m convinced that the disciples panicked out of concern for Jesus. When you invite someone over to your home, suddenly the hairball the cat choked up seems like the most awful thing you have ever seen. ‘Tis a matter of perspective.
Now, whether or not the disciples wanted to wake Jesus up so he would do something about the storm or just wanted him to be awake when the ship sank is something we may not ever know. But we do know that Jesus does calm the storm, which may in fact have scared the disciples even more than the storm itself.
“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
This is the question to be asked. Who then is this, who sends a shepherd out to battle a tyrant? Who then, is this, who commands the storms and troubles of life to be still? Who then, is this, who binds our own broken souls and cleanses our hearts?
This is Jesus, who is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. This is Jesus, God With Us, who sits with us in our circumstances and speaks out of our fear and trembling.
Would the boat have sunk if the disciples hadn’t woken Jesus? That’s a question much like “how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. The disciples, just like we do, sought to fix their own situation and prepare for the worst. You don’t want the revered teacher to go down with the ship, but in their own concern they maybe miss the most important point: Jesus is in the boat with them. Jesus in the midst of their own lives’ narratives and stories, with them and beside them. His presence is known, but often ignored until something terrible happens.
In our own lives, in our own circumstances, we are much like the Apostles. We are in a creaky boat on a big ocean. Sudden violent storms spring up and surprise us and we often react the only way we know how --- by preparing ourselves to abandon ship, perhaps to look for a bigger, safer boat or even just to swim to (we hope) calmer waters.
But what sets us apart as Christians – and how we should be different – is that we know that Jesus is in the boat with us. And he alone has power over the wind and sea. Just as David knew, as he walked across the Valley of Elah, that God is with us, beside us, and will not forsake us.
In the words of the psalmist, yea, though I walk through the Valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
God is with us. May this be so among us. Amen.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
ugh...
I've done it again.
If there is one thing in my life that I consistently fail at, it's this.
I've worked harder before, been better, but always I regress.
Wonder what it is?
I've gained a whomping 32 pounds since August. Because I am lazy at one thing in my life -- ironically enough, it's the thing that could be most responsible for my own early death. I can't, if you'll pardon the pun, live with that.
So, I brought the bike out and started riding to the church two or three days a week. 10km, one way. This in in Northwest Calgary, I might add -- right around Nose Hill. So, 10km one way to a vertical elevation of nearly 1300m above sea level, and then down the other side to the church. Then, at the end of the day, back up the other side again.
And tonight, I ran (or tried to...mostly, I crawled and wished I would die) for 7km. Not much, but it's a start.
I'm determined to lose 15 pounds by moving day, by hook or by crook. Wish me luck.
If there is one thing in my life that I consistently fail at, it's this.
I've worked harder before, been better, but always I regress.
Wonder what it is?
I've gained a whomping 32 pounds since August. Because I am lazy at one thing in my life -- ironically enough, it's the thing that could be most responsible for my own early death. I can't, if you'll pardon the pun, live with that.
So, I brought the bike out and started riding to the church two or three days a week. 10km, one way. This in in Northwest Calgary, I might add -- right around Nose Hill. So, 10km one way to a vertical elevation of nearly 1300m above sea level, and then down the other side to the church. Then, at the end of the day, back up the other side again.
And tonight, I ran (or tried to...mostly, I crawled and wished I would die) for 7km. Not much, but it's a start.
I'm determined to lose 15 pounds by moving day, by hook or by crook. Wish me luck.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
observation
it's 6:23 on Sunday morning. The co-Director is showering (we should be at the church in an hour), both boys are still asleep. The Boys shut their eyes so tightly -- it's like part of their brain wants their eyes to be open, but the sleepiness keeps them closed.
I love my family.
I love my family.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Sad but True
I am a "high-energy person". I put that in quotations because, I've found, I almost need to tatoo that as a disclaimer on my forehead when dealing with most people.
I've been this way as long as I can remember. I ask my mother, and she says the first time anyone suggested her taking me to see "a specialist or a councillor; someone in the know" I was 3. In a quarter century, very little has changed.
Yes, I've found that that energy, when unfocussed, is a great deal like sitting on a high-powered streetbike with no idea about the controls. I'm going somewhere -- might not know where, but I'll get there really fast. Focused, it's the greated gift in my life that allows me to share my joy and enthusiasm with people. It's not really an act, because when I'm tired I don't feel the need to push myself.
So I work for the church. Did I mention that? Did I also mention that, apparently, for people like me -- and I'm the only one I've really met, which may tell me something -- there are a series of numbered responses that people learn:
1) Why are you like this?
2)did you know a lot of people don't like your attitude? (which I've only ever heard from church leaders; people in congregations seem to like it just fine); and,
3) you're headed for burnout.
I have yet to actually reach the limits of my energy. I've been working hard this year at finding its limits and they just don't seem to exist. It's good to know.
But then I saw this. I don't think Bill Watterson (the creator of C&H) penned it, but it almost makes me cry.
I am what I am. Legions of 'professionals' -- educators, teachers, and yes, even pastors -- point out my base identity and way of interacting with the world like it's a fault.
But I would rather life my life of joy than die for an existence of plumbed whitebread consistency.
I hope that I have the strength and the courage as a parent to encourage my boys to indulge their imaginations and their energies, to tell them that yes, they can fly, dinosaurs live in our backyard, and that stuffed tigers can be our best friends.
And that, in the midst of a world enforcing conformity of behavior (especially in regards to "seriousness") they may find that a laugh can be more meaningful than a measured silence and a pretentious statement.
I'm going to go play with my tiger, thank you.
I've been this way as long as I can remember. I ask my mother, and she says the first time anyone suggested her taking me to see "a specialist or a councillor; someone in the know" I was 3. In a quarter century, very little has changed.
Yes, I've found that that energy, when unfocussed, is a great deal like sitting on a high-powered streetbike with no idea about the controls. I'm going somewhere -- might not know where, but I'll get there really fast. Focused, it's the greated gift in my life that allows me to share my joy and enthusiasm with people. It's not really an act, because when I'm tired I don't feel the need to push myself.
So I work for the church. Did I mention that? Did I also mention that, apparently, for people like me -- and I'm the only one I've really met, which may tell me something -- there are a series of numbered responses that people learn:
1) Why are you like this?
2)did you know a lot of people don't like your attitude? (which I've only ever heard from church leaders; people in congregations seem to like it just fine); and,
3) you're headed for burnout.
I have yet to actually reach the limits of my energy. I've been working hard this year at finding its limits and they just don't seem to exist. It's good to know.
But then I saw this. I don't think Bill Watterson (the creator of C&H) penned it, but it almost makes me cry.
I am what I am. Legions of 'professionals' -- educators, teachers, and yes, even pastors -- point out my base identity and way of interacting with the world like it's a fault.
But I would rather life my life of joy than die for an existence of plumbed whitebread consistency.
I hope that I have the strength and the courage as a parent to encourage my boys to indulge their imaginations and their energies, to tell them that yes, they can fly, dinosaurs live in our backyard, and that stuffed tigers can be our best friends.
And that, in the midst of a world enforcing conformity of behavior (especially in regards to "seriousness") they may find that a laugh can be more meaningful than a measured silence and a pretentious statement.
I'm going to go play with my tiger, thank you.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Trinity Sunday Sermon
Note: Though I normally hear fairly positive feedback about the sermons I deliver, this one in particular really seemed to strike a cord with the people at Hope and I heard a LOT of good comments on it.
Sermon for Sunday, June 7 2009
Text: Isaiah 6:1-8; Romans 8:12-17; John 3:1-17
Grace, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
There was a woman who owned a piano. Beautiful, old instrument: the rich mahogany of the wood was polished to a deep gleaming red; the ebony and ivory of the keys were kept in miraculous shape. Blessed with an ear for the pitch of sound, she had taught herself the basic tuning of her own instrument. Then one day a rich aunt of hers died; in the will, she was gifted yet another beautiful piano.
It had been well taken care of; but nevertheless, it was not in tune with her own instrument. She would try to play pieces for two pianos with her friends, but eventually stopped because the sound was terrible. She initially blamed her friends for making mistakes, but as time wore on she realized that no, it was the piano that sounded different than hers. Again dependent upon her gift of hearing, she sat down at the new piano while a friend played the keys of the old. She hoped to bring her aunt’s piano into tune with her own.
It became apparent after a few frustrating hours that she could not bring her aunt’s piano into tune with her own. Then, one day another friend of hers – one whom she had blamed for poor playing – showed up at her door again and claimed that she could fix both pianos. The woman exclaimed, there’s nothing wrong with mine!, but her friend reached into her bag and brought out tuning fork.
Both pianos were out of tune; but the woman for all her musical ability didn’t realize that she couldn’t tune one piano to another. But tuned to a tuning fork they were, as a matter of fact, in tune with each other. The music they made was beautiful.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I wonder, are we reallay ‘in tune’ with God? Judging by the plethora of Christian help and devotional books I saw the last time I was in the Christian bookstore, a lot of people realize that they are out of tune with God. It seems to me that often, we try to tune our hearts to something else to try to bring ourselves into tune – and by ‘tune’ I mean a right relationship – with God. We read books, listen to teachers, preachers, leaders we hope will lead us to something better.
But often these things have the opposite effect and bring us into conflict with others. Those people who we feel aren’t ‘in tune’ with ourselves and our worldview and we set out to fix them.
When I was growing up my family was friends with another family of absolutely gifted musicians. They had a little band – sort of like the Partridge Family – and played community events and such together. They were popular and well-known – at least, as well-known as a group in rural southern Alberta can be – but one day they broke up. It became a very bitter feud; but true to their gift the only answer they could give to those who questioned them was “we don’t hear each other the same way anymore.” Each member had criticized the others for doing something different, or wrong. We do the same thing when we tune ourselves to someone else’s interpretation or idea of God.
You see, being in tune with God doesn’t mean that we are above, or better, or more holy that other people we meet. Being in tune with God means that we are in relationship and community with others who seek the same sort of community and relationship with us. This is the embodiment of the Trinity – the identification of God as perfect relationship and distinct community.
God, who is above us and rules over all things.
The Holy Spirit, who is around us and brings us to relationship with God.
And Jesus, who is in us and leads us not only into a greater communion with God but even more importantly, with those around us.
We need to tune our hearts and minds to Christ; but if there is any lesson that has been learned throughout the past it is that the music Christ makes is dissonant to our hearing. We have a taste for pop music; Jesus plays us the heavenly chorus. We need the ear of the Master; the one who creates the music is also the means of bringing us into tune.
But it is not easy. It means being stretched and pulled in ways that make us uncomfortable but will eventually make us whole. It means that not being so tight even when we want to be – when we want to be strong and tense in the face of life.
Consider Nicodemus. He’s a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish governing council. He was probably comfortably wealthy, and definitely powerful. He knew what was what, so to speak, but he also wanted more. He’d heard of the miraculous things Jesus was doing, so he sought him out.
Nicodemus, an educated and erudite man, set Jesus up with a statement. “I know that you’re a teacher, sent from God…” In other words, now Rabbi, I know that you’re in tune with me… But Jesus replied to him: Not as much as you need to be in tune with me. And then we hear the 'twang' of dissonance. This was not what Nicodemus was expecting.
In the past, we’ve given Nicodemus a bad rap, and assumed that he came by night so that he wouldn’t be seen by other people; that he was a coward who wanted to preserve his own reputation but at the same time seek out the Truth of Jesus Christ. That may be so. But ancient scholars said that the Torah – the books of the Law – were best studied at night, so that the conversation could be free of distractions of the day. So Nicodemus came at night, yes, maybe because he was scared of being seen, but also maybe because he knew that time with Christ was best spent away from the toils of the day.
But Nicodemus and Jesus weren’t in tune with each other. Their discussion:
“You must be born anew” – the Greek text is deliberately confusing, with the same word having the possibility of being translated as born again, anew, or from above; all are actually correct.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You must be born of water and the Spirit.”
“What do you mean by that?”
That same painful exchange is repeated and re-enacted countless times in our lives. Trying to tune each other to make us agree with one another or to bring God into tune with us. Euphemistically, we call this ‘not seeing eye-to-eye’.
Nicodemus persisted in being out of tune until Christ spoke the words that brought all of creation, the whole universe, into consonance:
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that everyone who believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
If you listen closely, you may hear the high keening of that fork still ringing throughout the world and sounding in the hearts of believers today.
It’s necessary to be in tune, because God’s way – his tune, opposed to our own – doesn’t blend with the natural human state. We try to force each other to conform, or ignore ourselves when in fact we’re the ones who aren’t in tune with others. But we have the most perfect example of what it really means to be in tune with one another: the Holy Trinity.
The Holy Trinity: the doctrine based on the biblical witness that there are three persons of God, co-eternal and as an integral part of creation as the spoken Word that brought life and light into being. Jesus, who took upon frail human flesh to show us that the purest way of being in relationship to God is to be in community with each other. The Holy Spirit, who calls us together, emboldens us to live in community, and keeps us in grace. And God the Father, who orders all things; he alone is the composer and conductor of the music of creation.
Keeping those relationships and community together is not easy, though. It’s hard to be in tune, and frequently we find it far easier to remove ourselves from community with God when we find the cost of discipleship too much to pay and the freeing transformation of our hearts too painful.
But Christ came for us, and never stops reaching out to us. When we can suspend our arrogance, our own demands, our own insistence on getting our way, then we can find out what it really means to be in tune.
When our hearts are in tune with Christ’s we are in tune with creation and Christ is within us. Then, if we are to be in community, the Jesus in me will see the Jesus in you.
And as a matter of fact, we are born anew, in tune.
Amen.
Sermon for Sunday, June 7 2009
Text: Isaiah 6:1-8; Romans 8:12-17; John 3:1-17
Grace, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
There was a woman who owned a piano. Beautiful, old instrument: the rich mahogany of the wood was polished to a deep gleaming red; the ebony and ivory of the keys were kept in miraculous shape. Blessed with an ear for the pitch of sound, she had taught herself the basic tuning of her own instrument. Then one day a rich aunt of hers died; in the will, she was gifted yet another beautiful piano.
It had been well taken care of; but nevertheless, it was not in tune with her own instrument. She would try to play pieces for two pianos with her friends, but eventually stopped because the sound was terrible. She initially blamed her friends for making mistakes, but as time wore on she realized that no, it was the piano that sounded different than hers. Again dependent upon her gift of hearing, she sat down at the new piano while a friend played the keys of the old. She hoped to bring her aunt’s piano into tune with her own.
It became apparent after a few frustrating hours that she could not bring her aunt’s piano into tune with her own. Then, one day another friend of hers – one whom she had blamed for poor playing – showed up at her door again and claimed that she could fix both pianos. The woman exclaimed, there’s nothing wrong with mine!, but her friend reached into her bag and brought out tuning fork.
Both pianos were out of tune; but the woman for all her musical ability didn’t realize that she couldn’t tune one piano to another. But tuned to a tuning fork they were, as a matter of fact, in tune with each other. The music they made was beautiful.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I wonder, are we reallay ‘in tune’ with God? Judging by the plethora of Christian help and devotional books I saw the last time I was in the Christian bookstore, a lot of people realize that they are out of tune with God. It seems to me that often, we try to tune our hearts to something else to try to bring ourselves into tune – and by ‘tune’ I mean a right relationship – with God. We read books, listen to teachers, preachers, leaders we hope will lead us to something better.
But often these things have the opposite effect and bring us into conflict with others. Those people who we feel aren’t ‘in tune’ with ourselves and our worldview and we set out to fix them.
When I was growing up my family was friends with another family of absolutely gifted musicians. They had a little band – sort of like the Partridge Family – and played community events and such together. They were popular and well-known – at least, as well-known as a group in rural southern Alberta can be – but one day they broke up. It became a very bitter feud; but true to their gift the only answer they could give to those who questioned them was “we don’t hear each other the same way anymore.” Each member had criticized the others for doing something different, or wrong. We do the same thing when we tune ourselves to someone else’s interpretation or idea of God.
You see, being in tune with God doesn’t mean that we are above, or better, or more holy that other people we meet. Being in tune with God means that we are in relationship and community with others who seek the same sort of community and relationship with us. This is the embodiment of the Trinity – the identification of God as perfect relationship and distinct community.
God, who is above us and rules over all things.
The Holy Spirit, who is around us and brings us to relationship with God.
And Jesus, who is in us and leads us not only into a greater communion with God but even more importantly, with those around us.
We need to tune our hearts and minds to Christ; but if there is any lesson that has been learned throughout the past it is that the music Christ makes is dissonant to our hearing. We have a taste for pop music; Jesus plays us the heavenly chorus. We need the ear of the Master; the one who creates the music is also the means of bringing us into tune.
But it is not easy. It means being stretched and pulled in ways that make us uncomfortable but will eventually make us whole. It means that not being so tight even when we want to be – when we want to be strong and tense in the face of life.
Consider Nicodemus. He’s a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish governing council. He was probably comfortably wealthy, and definitely powerful. He knew what was what, so to speak, but he also wanted more. He’d heard of the miraculous things Jesus was doing, so he sought him out.
Nicodemus, an educated and erudite man, set Jesus up with a statement. “I know that you’re a teacher, sent from God…” In other words, now Rabbi, I know that you’re in tune with me… But Jesus replied to him: Not as much as you need to be in tune with me. And then we hear the 'twang' of dissonance. This was not what Nicodemus was expecting.
In the past, we’ve given Nicodemus a bad rap, and assumed that he came by night so that he wouldn’t be seen by other people; that he was a coward who wanted to preserve his own reputation but at the same time seek out the Truth of Jesus Christ. That may be so. But ancient scholars said that the Torah – the books of the Law – were best studied at night, so that the conversation could be free of distractions of the day. So Nicodemus came at night, yes, maybe because he was scared of being seen, but also maybe because he knew that time with Christ was best spent away from the toils of the day.
But Nicodemus and Jesus weren’t in tune with each other. Their discussion:
“You must be born anew” – the Greek text is deliberately confusing, with the same word having the possibility of being translated as born again, anew, or from above; all are actually correct.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You must be born of water and the Spirit.”
“What do you mean by that?”
That same painful exchange is repeated and re-enacted countless times in our lives. Trying to tune each other to make us agree with one another or to bring God into tune with us. Euphemistically, we call this ‘not seeing eye-to-eye’.
Nicodemus persisted in being out of tune until Christ spoke the words that brought all of creation, the whole universe, into consonance:
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that everyone who believes in him will not perish, but have eternal life. For God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.
If you listen closely, you may hear the high keening of that fork still ringing throughout the world and sounding in the hearts of believers today.
It’s necessary to be in tune, because God’s way – his tune, opposed to our own – doesn’t blend with the natural human state. We try to force each other to conform, or ignore ourselves when in fact we’re the ones who aren’t in tune with others. But we have the most perfect example of what it really means to be in tune with one another: the Holy Trinity.
The Holy Trinity: the doctrine based on the biblical witness that there are three persons of God, co-eternal and as an integral part of creation as the spoken Word that brought life and light into being. Jesus, who took upon frail human flesh to show us that the purest way of being in relationship to God is to be in community with each other. The Holy Spirit, who calls us together, emboldens us to live in community, and keeps us in grace. And God the Father, who orders all things; he alone is the composer and conductor of the music of creation.
Keeping those relationships and community together is not easy, though. It’s hard to be in tune, and frequently we find it far easier to remove ourselves from community with God when we find the cost of discipleship too much to pay and the freeing transformation of our hearts too painful.
But Christ came for us, and never stops reaching out to us. When we can suspend our arrogance, our own demands, our own insistence on getting our way, then we can find out what it really means to be in tune.
When our hearts are in tune with Christ’s we are in tune with creation and Christ is within us. Then, if we are to be in community, the Jesus in me will see the Jesus in you.
And as a matter of fact, we are born anew, in tune.
Amen.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Remembering
I can't imagine what it must have been like.
I don't want to.
But for those of you, who read this, who are veterans --
as the world remembers the invasion of Normandy on June 6, 1944 --
these are mostly for you.
But especially, they're for those who came home in spirit only,
and for those whose bodies still rest on foreign shores.
Thank you, and God bless you.
I don't want to.
But for those of you, who read this, who are veterans --
as the world remembers the invasion of Normandy on June 6, 1944 --
these are mostly for you.
But especially, they're for those who came home in spirit only,
and for those whose bodies still rest on foreign shores.
Thank you, and God bless you.
Monday, June 1, 2009
why me?
So...let me tell you about yesterday...
Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, also Confirmation Sunday at Hope Lutheran Church, where I serve as the Vicar. For those who wonder what confirmation is and why we dedicate a Sunday for it, come to church and find out. (Actually, if you really, really want to know, let me hear about it and I'll dedicate a post to sorting out some things about the Lutheran practice in the Christian tradition).
I was at the church from 7:30 in the morning until almost 1:30 in the afternoon, led both services. Actually, I led the second service; in the first service I stumbled blindly through -- I made more mistakes in worship than I have for like, eight years; it was terrible.
But it went well, nevertheless. I was greatly impressed with our confirmands faith statements (instead of a sermon on Sunday, they instead were asked to write a short message on "What My Christian Faith Means to Me"); but was still somewhat irritable regarding something that had troubled me before. How do you write a statement about that topic -- what your Christian faith means to you -- without once mentioning the name of Jesus Christ? Boggles my mind.
Like I said, I was really impressed with the statements. Afterwards, we got treated to brunch by the family of one of the confirmands (thanks Lynn!) at a fabulous restaurant. I mean, even Boy2 was suitably impressed enough that he only threw four watermelon rinds and part of a waffle on the floor. This is like, a five-star Michelin rating, people!
Soon enough we were on our way back home. It was good to get out of the clericals and into some shorts, and then we went outside to spend some time in the backyard.
At this point in time I need to explain something. We live in one side of a duplex that's been subdivided up-and-down again. There is a shared entryway to which both us and family downstairs have keys, and then the inner doors to our suites have keyed locks again.
We were outside without our keys. After all, all the doors were open.
Then the family downstairs came outside, grumbling about being late for a dinner, and took off. A couple of minutes later I decided it was time to go inside and nap on the couch, lest I be exposed to a great deal of sun and end up looking like a Christmas ham.
I grabbed the doorhandle, and promptly committed several venal and numerous mortal sins. I used language that, in fact, I thought I'd forgotten.
They'd locked the door when they left. And we were outside, the co-Director and I, with both boys and no cellphone, no keys, no wallets.
Not the way I like to spend my Sunday afternoon. I'm also going to add at this point that our windows -- bedroom, kitchen, etc. -- are all 10 or 12 feet off the ground. Our balcony railing is also about 10 feet off the ground.
Do you see where this is going?
I managed, with the help of a nearby recycling bin, to haul myself up onto the balcony and tried to get in to the house through the patio door, which the co-Director had assured me was unlocked.
She lied to me, people. Locked up tighter than....than...well, than a locked patio door.
So decided to ask our neighbours, who share our landlord. They, however, weren't home. Here is where some skills I've acquired through the years started to percolate. You see, if you have a house, I can get into it. I won't say, "break into it" because that would assume those skills were developed by dishonest means, but no, they were just gotten out of necessity. I have managed to have to get into every house I've ever lived in without keys. Every time, except once (when I locked myself out of the house immediately after getting my acceptance letter from Harvard), it has not been my fault. I have, however, been able to gain access to the residence through a window, a door, or something at least.
This, however, was going to be a challenge. I am, after a year of sitting at a desk, in much, much, worse shape than I have been in the past when called upon to exercise those skills.
The door was not an option -- no tools to get the weatherstripping off so I could access the tongue of the deadbolt lock. That left the windows. Remember I told you they were 12 feet off the ground?
Cue the handy recycling bin, again. I now know it's weight-rated for over 250 pounds, because I was standing on it.
Getting the screen out of our bedroom window.
At this point, I must also point out that in a departure from tradition, I wasn't wearing any shoes. I always, always, wear shoes outside. I have no idea why I hadn't put any on before going outside. I paid the price for that.
Because the siding on our house is pebbelate -- like stucco, but with thousands of diamond-sharp little pebbles impeded in the concreted siding. After getting the screen out, I jumped, hauled myself up through the window (bent at a 90-degree angle because the window itself is only 30 inches tall -- and I'm six feet -- you do the math) and -- because if you recall what I said about being in worse shape -- scrabbling with my feet for purchase.
But I got inside. However, the bookshelf under our window will never be the same again. But I got the door unlocked.
And then sat down to soak my poor feet. They are now wrapped under, at last count, 11 bandaids to keep them together.
So, brothers and sisters, the moral of the story is this:
I'm going to win the damn lottery, and buy my own damn house!
Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday, also Confirmation Sunday at Hope Lutheran Church, where I serve as the Vicar. For those who wonder what confirmation is and why we dedicate a Sunday for it, come to church and find out. (Actually, if you really, really want to know, let me hear about it and I'll dedicate a post to sorting out some things about the Lutheran practice in the Christian tradition).
I was at the church from 7:30 in the morning until almost 1:30 in the afternoon, led both services. Actually, I led the second service; in the first service I stumbled blindly through -- I made more mistakes in worship than I have for like, eight years; it was terrible.
But it went well, nevertheless. I was greatly impressed with our confirmands faith statements (instead of a sermon on Sunday, they instead were asked to write a short message on "What My Christian Faith Means to Me"); but was still somewhat irritable regarding something that had troubled me before. How do you write a statement about that topic -- what your Christian faith means to you -- without once mentioning the name of Jesus Christ? Boggles my mind.
Like I said, I was really impressed with the statements. Afterwards, we got treated to brunch by the family of one of the confirmands (thanks Lynn!) at a fabulous restaurant. I mean, even Boy2 was suitably impressed enough that he only threw four watermelon rinds and part of a waffle on the floor. This is like, a five-star Michelin rating, people!
Soon enough we were on our way back home. It was good to get out of the clericals and into some shorts, and then we went outside to spend some time in the backyard.
At this point in time I need to explain something. We live in one side of a duplex that's been subdivided up-and-down again. There is a shared entryway to which both us and family downstairs have keys, and then the inner doors to our suites have keyed locks again.
We were outside without our keys. After all, all the doors were open.
Then the family downstairs came outside, grumbling about being late for a dinner, and took off. A couple of minutes later I decided it was time to go inside and nap on the couch, lest I be exposed to a great deal of sun and end up looking like a Christmas ham.
I grabbed the doorhandle, and promptly committed several venal and numerous mortal sins. I used language that, in fact, I thought I'd forgotten.
They'd locked the door when they left. And we were outside, the co-Director and I, with both boys and no cellphone, no keys, no wallets.
Not the way I like to spend my Sunday afternoon. I'm also going to add at this point that our windows -- bedroom, kitchen, etc. -- are all 10 or 12 feet off the ground. Our balcony railing is also about 10 feet off the ground.
Do you see where this is going?
I managed, with the help of a nearby recycling bin, to haul myself up onto the balcony and tried to get in to the house through the patio door, which the co-Director had assured me was unlocked.
She lied to me, people. Locked up tighter than....than...well, than a locked patio door.
So decided to ask our neighbours, who share our landlord. They, however, weren't home. Here is where some skills I've acquired through the years started to percolate. You see, if you have a house, I can get into it. I won't say, "break into it" because that would assume those skills were developed by dishonest means, but no, they were just gotten out of necessity. I have managed to have to get into every house I've ever lived in without keys. Every time, except once (when I locked myself out of the house immediately after getting my acceptance letter from Harvard), it has not been my fault. I have, however, been able to gain access to the residence through a window, a door, or something at least.
This, however, was going to be a challenge. I am, after a year of sitting at a desk, in much, much, worse shape than I have been in the past when called upon to exercise those skills.
The door was not an option -- no tools to get the weatherstripping off so I could access the tongue of the deadbolt lock. That left the windows. Remember I told you they were 12 feet off the ground?
Cue the handy recycling bin, again. I now know it's weight-rated for over 250 pounds, because I was standing on it.
Getting the screen out of our bedroom window.
At this point, I must also point out that in a departure from tradition, I wasn't wearing any shoes. I always, always, wear shoes outside. I have no idea why I hadn't put any on before going outside. I paid the price for that.
Because the siding on our house is pebbelate -- like stucco, but with thousands of diamond-sharp little pebbles impeded in the concreted siding. After getting the screen out, I jumped, hauled myself up through the window (bent at a 90-degree angle because the window itself is only 30 inches tall -- and I'm six feet -- you do the math) and -- because if you recall what I said about being in worse shape -- scrabbling with my feet for purchase.
But I got inside. However, the bookshelf under our window will never be the same again. But I got the door unlocked.
And then sat down to soak my poor feet. They are now wrapped under, at last count, 11 bandaids to keep them together.
So, brothers and sisters, the moral of the story is this:
I'm going to win the damn lottery, and buy my own damn house!
Pentecost Sunday
no sermon yesterday, but over at A Modern Warrior's Life my friend Gunfighter -- he of the Lutheran persuasion who also happens to be a tactical firearms instructor (why isn't somebody like this in my church?) -- wrote a sermon.
He'd been looking for blog topics, so I challenged him to see how the other half lives and crank out a sermon.
Check it out.
He'd been looking for blog topics, so I challenged him to see how the other half lives and crank out a sermon.
Check it out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)