Sunday September 26

There once was a man in a land of winter who bought a fine, new coat. It was beautiful, and wonderfully warm, and the man would bundle himself in it whenever he set out, and he was proud of his wonderful coat.

One day the sun had an argument with the cold north wind. They wanted to see who was the most powerful, and they decided to settle their score over the man with the new coat.

Whoever got the man to shed his coat and give it to another person would be declared the most powerful.

So the cold north wind prepared himself, and began to blow. He blew icicles in the air and snow across the ground, and he tried to blow that fine coat right off the man. But the man stubbornly pulled his coat tighter about him, pulled up the collar, and huddled against the wind. Around him, people were shivering and dying of cold, but the man walked on.

Then it was the sun’s turn. And the north wind stopped blowing. And the sun came out, and smiled at the man.

And as the sun smiled, it became warmer, and the man took off his coat. As he kept walking, the coat became heavier and hotter on his arm. Seeing a small boy who was still shivering, he gave the little boy his coat.

(pause)

How do you determine what your life is worth? If you were to break your body down into its component elements, its total value would about $4.50. Are you worth more than that?

Close to two thousand years ago, a physician sat down to write a book. He had been very successful and was well learned. Then, as now, physicians were respected, usually attached to centres for learning. But this doctor was different. He gave up everything he had, and went to follow a man he had met.

That man we know as the apostle Paul, and his doctor friend was Luke, the compiler of the book that bears his name. Why Luke left his position and his home to follow Paul on one knows. But, if you consider how we today would treat a doctor who left a thriving practice – not to do something really attention grabbing, like going on a mission to Africa – but to follow a homeless itinerant preacher, you might get a feeling of what it cost Luke to follow.

Luke’s gospel today is all about finding a life worth living; a love worth finding. True, this passage is all about money – but it’s also about much, much, more than money.

There’s a rich man. And I mean VERY rich. He’s rich enough that he doesn’t even feel a twinge of remorse when he steps over the prostrate body of Lazarus. After all, he’s rich and famous, and Lazarus is a nobody. He owns his hard-earned money, so why share it with some lazy man who won’t even get up off his duff and get a job?

On the other side is Lazarus. He’s a beggar, the lowest of the low. Filthy, covered in sores and stinking rags, nobody notices him. At least, nobody worth mentioning. The rich man has his parties and shares with others who, like him, are deserving. But Luke reveals that, in fact, Lazarus is noticed, and in a big way.

Perhaps as a way of illustrating that Lazarus’ suffering was a way of preparing him for eternal life, when he dies he is welcomed into the arms of Abraham – but the rich man dies and goes into eternal torment. And the rich man, understanding that he cannot be freed from the consequences of his actions, begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers’ houses, so that they won’t suffer the same fate.

But Abraham won’t let him, telling him that they do have the Law and the Prophets – the bible of the day. The rich man replies, “but if someone shows up from the dead, they’ll really listen!” And Luke records a nice bit of foreshadowing when he replies, “if they do not hear Moses and the Prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone rises from the dead.”

(hint: he’s talking about Jesus. And how we respond [or not] to the words of the One who is risen from the dead).

The point of Jesus’ story is not to shake his finger at those who are financially well off – but also note, that to Jesus, wealth is not a blessing. To Christ, being poor is a blessing, because there is less distraction in life. It is easier to really – in the words of Paul – take hold of the life that is really life – apart from the distractions that wealth provides. That’s why so many of Jesus’ parables tell of selling all that we have, in order to follow.

But remember: this story is also about much, much, more than money. It’s about the law, and about the gospel.

The Law is always conditional: it uses words like should, and if. The rich man wants Lazarus to tell his brothers, “you should give more generously to the poor if you want to go to heaven.”

But the problem with the law is that it’s hungry. You’re never doing enough. The rich man’s brothers could reply, “yah, I put an extra twenty in the plate at church. I’m doing enough, aren’t I?” And the law then condemns: no, you’re not. Do better. Do more, or else.

But the gospel is stated fact. It uses words like because, and therefore.

“Because you are saved by Jesus Christ, therefore you live lives that store up for yourselves a treasure for the future.

The Law makes salvation our responsibility. The Gospel makes it a gift to us.

Remember the story of the north wind and the sun? The north wind is the Law. It wants to get its way by force, by coercion, and we respond by buttoning up our coats more tightly and ignoring what’s going on around us. We forge blindly forward, not seeing that wrapping ourselves in our protective surroundings merely insulates us from real life.

The sun is the gospel. When the gospel shines on us, when we feel the gospel in our lives, then we are blessed to be a blessing to others. Those wrappings that protect and insulate us from the world are shed. We share freely, and act in ways that benefit our neighbours and our community.

Because we are sinful people, we are always more prone to feeling the sting of the law than the comfort of the gospel. Paul wrote to Timothy what was to become one of the most-misquoted lines of Scripture: the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Our conscience wants to wiggle out of it: “I don’t love money, but I enjoy its benefits,” and too often we stop there, with the Law.

The gospel is the verses that follow.

People of God, pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, and gentleness. Take hold of eternal life, not because if you do so will be blessed; but because Christ called you.

Be blessed to be a blessing to others. Take hold of the promises of God, and let go of the law and idols that hold you here. Dare to take hold of the life that really is life, to see as your Saviour sees – every child of God, every blessing in struggle and pain, every joy in every moment of your life.

Because your Saviour called you, and watches and waits for you.

And the Son smiles on you, for no other reason that you are a beloved child.

Amen.

meet The Girl!

Imagine our surprise when our new son turned out to be a girl! She was born at 12:20am on Sept 4, after we spend the whole of our anniversary in the hospital waiting for her to arrive!

Mom and baby are doing fine. Drop me an email if you'd like to know her name :)

thought of the day (not my own)

The British Isles are composed of four races of man

. . . the Scottish, who keep the sabbath--and everything else they can get their hands on.

. . . the Welsh, who pray on their knees--and on their neighbours.

. . . the Irish, who don't know what they want, but are willing to fight for it anyway.

. . . and the English, who consider themselves a race of self-made men, thereby relieving the Almighty of a terrible burden.

(I don't know who this should be attributed to; but it always makes me chuckle).

on butterflies (thoughts about hope)

My friend Gunfighter over at A Modern Warrior's Life just posted some of his thoughts about hope: what it is, what it means. I've been ruminating about hope as well, though I confess that my thoughts are a little more scattered.

"Hope" is such a...loaded...word in our society. Culturally, I think we sometimes conflate 'hope' with 'wish,' or 'desire,' or even 'want,' which leads to a host of problems as we come to grips with our lives and struggle with faith.

But I've been wondering about the myth of Pandora's box: Pandora finds a box that she is not supposed to open, but then succumbs to temptation and opens it, only to discover that she has unleashed upon the world a whole host of evil. The last thing left in the box is a butterfly, which is 'hope'.

Why was 'hope' in that box in the first place? The myth of Pandora's box is a theodical exercise -- it developed as an answer to the question of how did evil get into the world -- but I wonder if there's not a word of caution, as well. 'Hope' can be a tool of evil. The chancellor of the Third Reich hoped to have his perfect society. Long centuries of Christians - really, of all religions - have hoped to create their perfect world, usually at the expense of someone else. Unrestrained, wild hope can be used to justify great evil.

St Paul wrote in his letter to the Corinthian church that three things abide in us and around us -- faith, hope, and love. That's at the end of chapter 13, where Paul concludes what most label as his 'great hymn of love', and true to form he tells the listener that the greatest of those three things is love. So do faith and hope fight it out for second place?

But back to Pandora for a minute: in the first version of the myth that I heard many years ago, Pandora left hope shut up inside the box -- it never got out, to run wild over the world. But later versions have it that the last thing to escape was hope. But which is it?

If hope is a mirror image of our own sense of self-worth or self-entitlement -- and then all that we hope for is that the world conforms to our selves, wants, and desires -- then may God help us all; hope is then indeed an evil thing.

But what can hope then be? If hope cannot be self-centred, then it must be other-centred; it must be guided by a kind of selfless love that admits our own selves often perversely seek our own self-destruction. Hope must be centred outside of our reality, seeking some greater understanding -- not to be understood, but to understand -- of this world and all that is in it. The good and the bad, evil and beautiful, life and death, all things that are beyond human understanding must then be somehow linked to hope. Hope then is rooted in a kind of whimpering faith that seeks something upon which to cling.

If hope, then, is a butterfly; faith is the flower upon which it rests and refreshes itself.

Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen (I didn't say this first, folks). Faith feeds hope, keeps yearning alive, keeps hope from shrinking and putrefying into nothing less than shameless self-absorption. Faith is necessary to carry hope at times when hope along cannot be strength for the journey.

What then of love? How do faith and hope really relate to love?

Love is the great animating wind that brought the seed of the flower to ground, the breeze that pushed the butterfly along on its first trembling flight. It is unmeasurable, unmeasuring, the only thing it desires of people is know how to move around, along, and through them. Of those three, it is the greatest. It is respired, inspired; the last breath of one becomes the first of another. Neither hope, nor faith, can exist without love.

I live in hope. I am blessed with faith. But I am nothing without love.

for those who want to know...

Here's a bit of an update:

I have accepted a call to serve as minister to the people of St Matthew's Evangelical Lutheran Church in Spruce Grove, Alberta (just west of Edmonton). I'm seriously excited to begin doing the job I've spent almost a decade training for! I begin there on September 1, but we're moving to Spruce Grove at the end of this month.

My ordination will be at Hope Lutheran Church in Calgary, Ab. It will be on August 15, 2010 at 3 in the afternoon. For those on my email lists, your invited should beam into your inbox within the next week.

Thanks to everyone for your love and support. I -- and my family -- couldn't have done it without you!

hobbling along....

So...most people who know me will agree on one particular facet of my personality: I hate sitting still. I just can't. For me, unemployment is torturous, and holidays are frivolous, unless there's something for me to be doing.

Oh for sure, I can sit down with a good book and read...and read...and read. But in the midst of that reading I'll be moving, getting comfortable, and setting it down to go for a nice hour-long walk with my youngest in the stroller. I'm just that kind of person.

So when I thought about getting temporary employment till I received a call from a church, I automatically thought about getting a labor job. I like these kinds of jobs, where the only heavy lifting I do with with my knees and back (see? proper back care is essential) and not with my mind.

So I found a job, and I've been working at a lumber yard for about the last four or five weeks. It's a good job -- I enjoy the hours, and the people I work with. It's outside, and keeps me busy.

So on this past Tuesday, while I was at work, imagine my surpise when, stepping down carefully from a lift of lumber, I felt and heard a tremendous *crunch* in my right foot, and suddenly realized that said foot would not work to walk, or stand upon.

Aw, crap.

So I was hoping that I'd just twisted it or something, but working quickly to get my sock and boot off, I realized that whatever I'd done, I'd done exceedingly well: the arch of my right foot looked like I'd stuffed a couple of golf balls under the skin.

Aw poo.

So off I gimped to the emergency room of the local university hospital. Five hours later, I had a diagnoses: nothing broken, but I have either a)severely sprained or b)separated my plantar fascia, the group of tendons and ligaments that hold the bottom of your foot together. (I'm translating for the doctor, here, so any of you nurses who read this, apologies if my description is off)

So I've been on crutches since Tuesday. Which is torture. Sheer torture. And apparently, they're here for a week, at least.

But thank goodness for fast healing and a high pain threshold. I'm hoping to be back at work sooner, rather than later.

and I'll get some news on Sunday about a call. So all of you, wish me luck :)

take care of yourselves! (and recommend a book, if you'd like!)

June 13 2010 - Calvin GoForth Presbyterian Church

A good friend of mine once told me that, in his opinion, there was nothing more scary than righteousness.

When I tell that to people, usually one of their first responses is ‘huh’? We like righteousness – after all, so much of our religious language that we toss around is aimed at making certain the we know who is righteous, and who isn’t – who the ‘winners’ are, and the losers.

When I meet people for the first time outside of a church setting, they usually either know what goes on in the Christian church – our culture, if you will – or they don’t. If they don’t, I usually feel like I’ve gotten off lucky. If they do, sometimes I get trapped in horrid conversations from which there is no escape.

“How do I witness to my brother?”

“My nephew/neice/godchild/grandchild/friend is talking about converting to the [name whichever other denomination here] church. What can I tell them to convince them that they’re wrong?”

Certainly, Scripture uses a great deal of language of righteousness, but with a hitch – usually, it’s a righteousness that is an attribute of God, not of humans. We like to forget that we are not God in God’s place, and make all kinds of judgements.

But isn’t it interesting when we get choosy over who we vent our righteous indignation on? Marital infidelity is an easy target, especially when it’s the latest celebrity or sports star. We can make snide remarks over the headlines and feel safe in our insulated, cozy realities.

Yet in that reality, things are much different. How do we feel about the same behaviour in our friends? In our family? When it is our children who go astray, do we tut and tsk and judge as quickly?

We know we don’t.

And I don’t think we should. Because there’s a lot to be said for the kind of forgiveness that costs a lot.

Jesus tells the story about two debtors, both with large debts, and both of whom are forgiven. Who loves the forgiver more? Of course, the one of whom much was forgiven.

But we don’t always play it that well, at all. Jesus’ host certainly didn’t get it, as he watched horrified as a woman embarrassed herself and made the teacher unclean. She shouldn’t even have been there!

Yet Jesus accepts her ministrations. But not in a way that gives him power over her. He doesn’t exploit her condition, doesn’t bargain with her. He simply tells her, “your sins have been forgiven.”

What my friend meant when he said that there was nothing more scary than righteousness is that there is no faster way of destroying relationships and alienating ourselves from others than by focusing on our own self-perception of righteousness – what we think we’re doing right.

This is what Paul is talking about in Galatians 2:17: but if, if our endeavour to be justified in Christ, we too were found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? This is always a dilemma to Paul, because the pull be judge of others is so strong, especially since he has such a keen awareness of just how much more he knows than others.

But Paul’s point is that having Christ’s forgiveness doesn’t free us to make comparisons of others with ourselves. Instead, it should mute us, makes us so aware of our own shortcomings and desperate need for grace that we would never judge another by any standard. Because if, after we receive the grace of Christ, we use that grace to judge others – who is ‘saved’ and who is not – we are rejecting that grace in favour of law.

We are trying to be God, in God’s place.

And that’s where we get trapped. Our lives, once forgiven, are not meant to be weights on one side of a scale, tipping over to one side when others are judged by our own holiness, or righteousness. They’re beacons, illuminating the pathway that we all follow in the name of Jesus Christ, letting others see who we are, when Christ is in us.

Amen.