November 14 - Pentecost 25

Texts: Luke 25:5-19; Isaiah 65; Isaiah 12:2-6

On certain websites all throughout the world wide web, there is a kind of breathless anticipation. The kind of anticipation in which kids wait for Christmas, dads wait for the Stanley Cup playoffs, or expectant moms wait for the Ikea catalogue.

This anticipation is so real, so tangible that the words seem to leap off the screen. But if you slow down and read the content, it’s terrible.

Because these are websites dedicated to the end of the world. They track every possible event, every time some negative news from anywhere in the world comes winging around the internet, and they type it into their ideas about when and what the end of the world will be. And beloved, this is a boom time for them.

We live in a world that in the last one hundred years has seen the wholesale slaughter of millions – and that’s good fodder. When the Twin Towers fell, the websites were flush with Messiah spottings. The earthquake in Haiti last year – oh yes, it made it onto these websites. In fact, there’s relatively little that goes on the world that doesn’t make it as evidence of Jesus’ return. The only thing they’re really lacking is evidence of a really nice persecution.

Although it’s not for lack of trying. Someone suggests trying to remove the words “under God” from the American pledge of allegiance, and it’s irrevocable evidence of the oppression of Christian faith. A mosque is built in a city somewhere, and President Obama is the new Nero, and Christians are going to be burned for going to church. And don’t even ask me what the people who run these websites think of Canada. Let’s just say that if they’re right, we’re all in deep trouble up here.

When I read these things, I think – dear Lord, I understand fires. I understand earthquakes. I understand wars. Even plagues. But plagues of idiots? I mean, really.

Jesus and the disciples stand looking at the walls of the temple. They’re huge; tens of feet high, brightly decorated, and adorned with works of art. The Temple they look at is a testament of greatness; though not built by Solomon, nor by Josiah. The Temple they stand to look at was being built by Herod, who sought a civic monument to rival that of Rome. The young countrypeople travelling with Jesus cant’ stop talking about how great the Temple is.

And Jesus tells them the plain truth: all things made by human hands will be destroyed. But the people don’t really want to hear that; they want assurances of their own supremacy and constancy; evidence that they will survive for many long years. It’s a time of uncertainty, of military occupation, and the Temple is the only evidence they have that they may still be a sovereign state.

But Jesus doesn’t even give them that. Does he tell them that life is only going to get worse? No, not really. He tells them that life is going to stay pretty much the same. Wars, rebellions, earthquakes, plagues, famines, mysterious things in the sky. This is not new! They already live in a world in which all these things happen. They happen because fundamentally, human beings don’t get along with each other. We are frail, we get sick. When we are frightened of things we don’t understand, we try to explain them using whatever means are at our disposal.

Often, like the people around Jesus, we think that following him means that we can find a cushy little spot to call our own. Like somehow the name of Jesus is a blanket that we can pull over our ears to insulate us from our fears and from the stinky reality of life. If we trust in Jesus, that little voice thinks, then nothing bad will ever happen to us.

Can you imagine the surprise of Jesus’ listeners when he continues? Think of it: “…okay, so all these bad things are going to happen. It’s going to be terrible, lightning, thunder, wars, rebellions, Lady Gaga…just awful. But wait, wait: I left something out. Before these things happen, guess what? You’re going to be dragged out into the public places, mocked, tried, and killed.”

I sometimes wonder if the crowd that hangs around Jesus ever actually listens to him; or if they’re like my confirmation class. Yada, yada, yada. Is he done talking yet? But that’s what Jesus promises: You want to follow me? Don’t expect life to be different. If anything, expect it to be harder.

But also know this: I. won’t. leave. You.

I will give you words.

I will walk with you when you are hated and despised.

I will speak for you when you are silent before your accusers.

I will be your family after they have left you.

And I will do this because I have walked that walk before you.

And because I know what it’s like, I know how it ends.

Your end is eternal life.

But what does that really mean for us? Do we honestly need a religion that tells us that life is poo, get used to it, it gets better in the end? NO!! But even that is better than one who tells us that if we do everything right, nothing bad is ever going to happen to us.

God does so more than that. This world is broken – and it’s been broken for a long, long time. It’s broken because, deep down, we like it broken, because then we can claim the ability to make our own destinies, or our own successes. But sometimes, our own carefully fabricated world comes crashing down around our ears in the sheer cursed randomness of the universe, we are left wondering why we are on this earth.

We live on this earth. But we yearn, we long for the one to come.

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;

The former things shall not be remembered, or come to mind.

But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating;

For I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.

I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people;

No more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime…before they call, I will answer, while they are yet speaking, I will hear.

Look around you. There are signs of the dawning of God’s kingdom all around us. We often look for the bad, but we overlook so much of the good.

Natural disasters happen, and thousands of people open their hearts to help.

For every two people who scream war, there are a thousand voices that shout for peace.

For every screech of false persecution there is an answering call of lived discipleship that shows Christianity as so much more than an empty shell of a once-great religion.

And for every eye that seeks the crises that foreshadow the coming of the end, there are people who see Christ present, here and now, in each other.

The kingdom of God is at the same time here, and now, but just not yet. We take water, bread, and wine – and with nothing but the promise of Christ with us dare to come together as a community and proclaim the Living God.

There are so many things that surround us, and fill us with joy and delight –

For we have the burble and coo of babies, and the wise presence of our elders.

We have the vitality of our youth, the promise of our young families. We have a unique problem with our Sunday school. Do you know what that is?

We have too many students. We don’t have enough teachers. We can probably use a staffed nursery, and don’t have one, yet. Our problems are those of abundance, not of scarcity.

We have so much of God’s kingdom right here with us, and yet we don’t always see it in front of us, because we’re looking around and waiting for the nasty stuff to happen.

The world around us is at the same time frightening and uncertain, and a joy and a delight. God is faithful to God’s own promises, in God’s own time. Our time is for life, for endurance, and for joy.

You have the promise of God – not a hair of heads will perish. So live. Come to the table today, and feast. Join this community of promise and salvation, and proclaim the kingdom of God. Christian life is abundant life, not scarce or rationed.

Surely God is your salvation; trust and do not be afraid.

The Lord God is your strength and might, and has become your salvation.

Draw water with joy from the wells of salvation,

Say in that day “give thanks to the Lord!”

Sing aloud, and shout for joy, O my royal people,

For great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.

Let the people of God say, amen.

Sunday October 3

Grace, and peace to you from God our heavenly Father and our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.

There is a lot throughout the entire lectionary lessons for today – in Lamentations we heard the prophet’s anguish at the exile of Judah, in a series of verse that often mimic the same shame and suffering that churches experience in their own stresses, when they imagine that God is testing them, too.

In the second lesson we find Paul’s words of encouragement to the young pastor Timothy, reminding him that faith is both a gift, and a heritage.

But in the gospel lesson for today, we hear hard words from Jesus – not the kind of ‘feel-good’ words that we like to hear, with a lot of encouragement and kind words, but instead a simple statement of expectation: we have done only what we ought to have done.

In the midst of this today we also celebrate the sacraments of the church: the baptism of Morgan Ruth Macintyre, and we gather at the table of the Lord where Christ himself is both host, and food. Both of those sacraments centre around death, and new life.

And it makes me wonder, sometimes, when we’re so busy, how we take the time to develop our understanding of how what we read in the bible relates to these visual elements of worship.

Today I feel a little bit divided – on one hand, I’m the proud father of a baby girl who’s going to be baptized today, on the eve of the 29^th anniversary of my own baptism. She’ll be washed, cleansed, and brought to new life through the water and God’s redeeming Word.

On the other hand, I’m the pastor who’s going to kill her. Not just figuratively, because if the death of a sinful self is merely figurative in baptism, then there’s no point. Then it’s just an empty ritual. But I will literally pour the water over her head that will kill her old self, her primal sinful nature, and Christ will raise her again.

And all these things that are placed around the font signify just that. The water by which God’s Word will accomplish its task. The little white cloth that looks so cute when drying off her head is, in fact, a burial garment. It is linen to wrap a dead body in.

And the Christ candle is lit today. The apostle John wrote in his gospel, “in Jesus was life, and the life was the light of all people…the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” The Christ candle is a visible reminder to all of us today of our baptismal day. It’s lit specifically for Morgan today, and the only other time that it is lit just for her is a day that I hope and pray that I will never see – because that will be the day of her funeral. The light shines in the darkness.

And here today, like Paul commends to Timothy, are her mother and her grandmother. Like I said, I feel divided today, because of my dual role here, but her grandmother is her baptismal sponsor, and I feel confident that if Diana and I were to shirk our responsibilities to the vows we make as her parents, her grandmother would see to it they were fulfilled. After all, she did a fairly good job with her own children, and she is also Diana’s baptismal sponsor.

Paul writes: I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice, and now, I am sure, lives in you.

That’s a pretty monumental statement to make, because it completely cuts out of the role of Sunday School, catechism class, or for that matter the sermon, in helping your faith. Because what Paul is saying is that faith is caught, not taught. The opposite of faith is not, in fact, doubt – but rather certainty. You cannot have faith in what you know for certain; but faith exists to give us the conviction of truth in things that we cannot see. So, it’s both gift and heritage; it’s caught, not taught.

Think of the person who was the most formational in your faith. It may in fact be a pastor, but more than likely it’s a family member or a friend who showed you, by example, what it meant to be Christian. And you know what? Chances are, they didn’t do it because they felt they had do, but rather because they believed that sharing faith simply ought to be done. Not for rewards or accolades in heaven, but simply because it’s what you do.

When we talk of baptism – and I encourage each of you to turn in your hymnals to page 1165, just to see – we teach the death of the old self, and new birth through Jesus Christ. But that doesn’t make us naturally any better. There’s an old wives’ tale that suggested that child needed to cry at their baptism because that way you’d know the devil was being driven out. That’s wrong. No devil is driven out. But in a way, faith is driven in.

After Morgan is baptized I will anoint her with oil, and mark on her forehead the sign of the Cross of Jesus Christ with the words, “Child of God, you are sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.” Our Lutheran understanding of the role of the Holy Spirit is that it is the Spirit that brings faith. Look at the Small Catechism’s explanation of the 3^rd Article of the Apostle’s Creed.

For Morgan, faith will come as a gift, without even knowing it’s been given. Because of that, it becomes very easy for us to ignore or neglect our own faith, and instead trust ‘professionals’ to do the job in Sunday School or at confirmation.

But the truth is, Morgan will not get taught faith from me as her pastor. I’m not a particularly gifted teacher. But, like every other Christian parent who bears the same responsibilities, she will learn faith – catch it – from me as her father, and from her mother, from her grandparents, and from you. Not by accident, but by intent. Because it is simply what ought to be done.

The markings of that ‘sinful nature’ that is destroyed in baptism will never fully leave us alone. Martin Luther (from whom the Lutheran tradition takes it name) once described original sin – or if you prefer, the dominant sin – using a word that simply meant “inward-curving”.

Basically, we can never keep the first commandment – you will have no other gods before me – because we want to be god in God’s place. Our own selfish desires will almost always take first place in our lives, until we relax and let the gospel work in our lives as it ought to.

A lot of pastors and theologians who have never been parents don’t like original sin because they prefer the idea that babies like Morgan are innocent. But let me put it this way: if Morgan were innocent, she would simply trust that all her needs are going to be filled for her, that she will be fed, clothed, changed, and loved. She would never cry, because she would live by absolute trust. She would know for certain that her needs would be met; she would have no need for faith.

But instead, she is blessed with a nasty little suspicious mind. She is convinced that we don’t love her, or even know she’s there unless she yells at us. Our lives are controlled by a 8-pound, 6-ounce tyrant. And we’re fine with that.

Because, in the same way that our heavenly Father forgives us, nurtures us, and looks after us, we forgive, nurture, and care for Morgan. Not because we have to do it but because it’s what is to be done. It’s a responsibility that we welcome gladly and accept joyfully.

Grace is poured out upon all of us at our baptism; it is renewed daily when we rise in the morning, and made visible through the sacraments of the church. Tradition and superstition make them into much, much, more than they actually are.

Today, through plain water and the Word of God, Morgan will be reborn a child of God. It’s not holy water; it’s from the tap. It’s the Word spoken with it that makes it a baptism.

Today, through bread and wine, you will receive the forgiveness of your sins. There are only two things to remember when you come to table: that this is the forgiveness of what you’ve done wrong, and secondly, that it is for you. The youngest children understand that. As we become adults and expect rites of passage and stern requirements, it’s easy to lose that – in fact, the church lost that for a number of centuries. But it is a meal for all who hunger for the bread of life, and thirst for the cup of salvation. You learned that through watching your own parents, your elders, partake in the meal.

As you come for communion today, I encourage you to dip your fingers in the water in the font, and connect yourself back to your own baptism. Trace the sign of the cross on your forehead, and give thanks that your baptism connects you to this table, not because you are worthy, or work hard enough, but because God adores you.

For we will see today that Christ loves Morgan Ruth so much that he died for her to bring her to new life. To find her, redeem her, and make her holy. As she is united with Christ in a death like his, she will one day be united with him in resurrection.

You are baptized. You are fed. You are adored. The faith that you have is both gift, and heritage – always remember this: you are the blessings your ancestors prayed for. You have only done what you ought to have done – you have lived your faith.

Amen.

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!