Lent 3B: Series: #MakingFaithMatter

NB: You can listen to the sermon by clicking here.

Familiar words from Jesus, eh? Those of us who’ve been around the church long enough have probably forgotten the punch that this passage packs. It’s become for many of us, perhaps, too familiar. They’ve lost their edge. We’ve house-trained these bible verses spoken by a house-trained Jesus. At least that’s what we’ve tried to do with him because what he asks us to do makes no sense when we stop and think about it.

Some of these phrases have become so commonplace that they’ve made their way into our everyday language and they threaten to morph into cliche.

“Turn the other cheek.”

“Go the extra mile.”

Or even...“Love your enemy.”

Easily recognizable words spoken by a Jesus with whom we’ve become far too comfortable. 

But if we step back and see Jesus from a distance once again, and take Jesus’ commands seriously, we might see things a little differently. But then again, when we re-hear Jesus’ words as if they were first spoken, I’d worry that we might become a first class doormat.

“If anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also...”

Hmmm....not sure about that one. If someone punches me in the face, I’d hit them right back. I wouldn’t point to the other side of my face and say, “missed a spot.”  

“If anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well

Not entirely sure I know what he’s talking about here. If someone sues me, they better have a good lawyer because I’m going to protect what is mine. 

“ ‘You have heard that it was said, “You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.” But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you...”

Really? I have enemies for a reason. Loving them is not one of them. Especially since they don’t have my best interest in mind.

And then comes the command that puts all the others in their place:

“Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

That’s were we REALLY run into trouble. Perfection, especially for us Lutherans, is not a spiritual value. Perfection is a burden. Grace is a gift.

This doesn’t sound like good news to me. It actually sounds kind of dangerous. We know we aren’t perfect. We know we have flaws. We know that we struggle along trying to do our best with what we have where we are. After all, isn’t that why Jesus came to earth, so that God could share our limiting imperfections?

So what’s happening here?

Well, if we dig a little deeper into the language, we see that the word  for “perfection” would be better translated as “holy.”  “Be HOLY, as your heavenly Father is holy.”

Does that help us any? “Be holy” may not sound much better than “be perfect.” When we think of “holy people” what do we think of? I don’t know about you but I often think of super spiritual people who walk just a couple inches off of the ground, people who live a life of prayer, who exude serenity and luminate with peace. And most of us know we are not that person.

But, “holiness” in scripture wasn’t reserved for those super spiritual Godly men and women who appear translucently semi-divine. In fact, in the bible no such person exists.

Holiness” according to the bible is simpler than that. Holiness means being set apart. It means being different, unique, distinct.

So, you could translate this passage as “Be unique, just as your heavenly Father is unique.” Or be set apart, separate, just as your heavenly Father is set apart and separate.”

As Christians, we are called to be different than others, we are made and re-made in God’s image, not the world’s. We are re-created to be alternate visions to the world God loves, but needs repair and restoration. We are called to be different.

And that’s not always easy.

One of the charges some of our evangelical friends have laid on us mainline churches is that we are “too close” to the culture, that there’s nothing unique about us to distinguish us from the rest of society, that we’re no different than the Rotary Club, except that we meet at a more inconvenient time.

I hear this all the time. That Lutherans and other mainline Christians, such as Anglicans, Presbyterians, and United Churches, have compromised their moral standards to ingratiate themselves to a secular world, and have watered down our theology to make it palatable for mass consumption.

Those charges are usually laid by Christians who seem to delight in stirring up trouble, often operating out of a robust persecution complex. If they’re not being passing moral judgment on others to the point of being hated, then they’re not doing their jobs as Christians. And since we’re not hated like they are (or perceived that they are), then we’re clearly not as Christian as they are.

They’re not completely wrong. But it’s not that we’ve sold out to culture, we’ve just been part of it for so long that we’ve forgotten how to be a minority. And we take from the culture and use it for gospel purposes.

Lutherans, and other historic state churches, had become cozy with the culture. By definition, that’s what a state church is and does. A state church blesses national ambitions.

And we’ve carried that tradition across the pond to Canada. While this is changing, clergy still are called upon to bless whatever the culture deems “good.”

And, Lutheran and other mainline clergy, including myself, are schooled in secular counseling theory, which carries with it, certain moral assumptions about human behaviour.

Even the language we use about being an “inclusive” church comes from the social sciences and not from the bible (which is one of the reasons I don’t use that word).

Our organizational structure is borrowed from a model frequently used in the 1970’s and 80’s by non-profit organizations. We’re deeply invested in the surrounding culture.

But Evangelicals and other Christians who criticize us for being too close to the culture need to relieve themselves of the logs in their own eyes before pointing out the speck in ours. Many of these churches are expert marketers, using secular business models to draw a crowd. They preach while waving iPads rather than bibles, and use latest technology to create multi-media worship experiences. They the culture’s tools to get peoples’ attention. The tools then become the message.

At best, these churches that could be mistaken for shopping malls tells the visitor, “Don’t worry, there’s nothing new for you here. Being a Christian is just like every other part of your life.”

At worst, these churches bless peoples’ consumer impulses, turning faith into a consumer choice, pulling people further away from the poor man from Nazareth. These churches may take strong moral stands, but their message gets lost in their medium.

My intent isn’t to trash these churches. That would make me a first rate hypocrite. (but what else is new?) My aim is to point out that ALL churches cozy up to the culture - or at least the part they’re comfortable with. No church is exempt.

I think our inability to disengage from culture shows us how hard it is to be a Christian. It reveals just how difficult it is to be different, just as our heavenly Father is different. It’s tough to be separate, set apart, just as our heavenly Father is separate, it might be impossible to be set apart as our heavenly Father is set apart.

But that’s what we’re called to be. But what does that look like? And how do we get there?

I think the answer lies hidden in the text.

It’s obvious. Of course, people aren’t going to offer the other side of their face to be smacked. Of course people aren’t going to give more than asked of them. Of course, people aren’t going to go the extra mile for someone who is oppressing them. Of course, people aren’t going to love their enemies.

But Jesus did. And he gave his listeners tools to live set apart from others.

Back then, if someone hit you on the right cheek, they had to use the back of their hand, which was usually a punishment for slaves. But to hit you on your left, they’d have to use an open hand, which was considered low class behaviour. To hit you on your left would lead to public embarrassment.

And people would usually have only two garments. If they gave their enemy both of them, you’d be naked. And your enemy would be shamed for requiring you to go without clothes.

And Roman soldiers were only allowed to require people to carry their packs for one mile. If someone carried the solider’s pack an extra mile, that person would embarrass the soldier and probably get him into trouble.

I could go on, but you get the idea. Jesus was giving his listeners tools for resisting those who were oppressing them. He was providing a different way of dealing with their enemies. He gave peaceful solutions to conflict. He was teaching them how to be set apart. He was showing them how to make their faith matter.

Jesus wasn’t asking people to become doormats. Just the opposite. Jesus was giving people back their power. He was providing non-violent forms of resistance against oppressive authority. He was equipping a beaten down people with the tools to defy the forces that made them feel less than human.

He was giving them back their dignity, helping them regain their sense of personhood, lifting them up, empowering them, so they could live out their lives with a renewed feeling of self-worth, after so many defeats. He was given them back their self-respect after so many years of finding their noses in the dirt. He was endowing them with nobility, reminding them that they were God’s people, servants of the Most Hight God, created in the image of the one through whom everything came into being, in the face of an empire that stripped them of everything they had.

He was making their faith matter.

While Jesus doesn’t provide a solution to every oppressive encounter, he’s pretty clear about what it means to be different.

This is how Jesus calls us to make faith matter:

When the someone lashes out in anger, you respond in love. When others demean you, you have creative solutions to maintain your dignity.

You will not let other peoples’ destructive behaviour turn you into your enemies. Your enemies will not dictate your actions or let them define you. You will not become who they are.

You will not let setbacks, shattered dreams, injustice, or abuse define you. You are more than that. You will not let circumstances tell you who you are. You will not let those who hurt you rob you of your dignity. You will not let those who do not have your best interest in mind tell you who are. You will not let your past decide your future. You will not let the principalities and powers destroy the love that is within you. You will not let the power of death steal your joy.



You are more than what people have done to you. You are more than the sadness and pain that has been thrown at you. You are more than your broken past. You are more than your stolen dreams. 



When life treats you as little more than a chew toy, you have the power to stand up and say, “Enough!” 

When life punches you in the face, you turn your head sideways and say, “I dare you.”You won’t be like everyone else. You will be different.

You will be different because you ARE different. You are God’s holy house, you are a living sanctuary, you are a dwelling place of the Lord. 

You are God’s people. You are a light to the nations. You are a people of mercy and love. You are a people of peace and justice. You are a people of forgiveness and freedom.

You are a chosen people, set apart to be a beacon of the divine. Your life bears witness to the love God has for the world and everyone and everything in it.

You are a resurrection people whose eyes are fixed on God’s new horizon, where all sorrow, pain, and suffering is transformed into an abundant future for all.

You have welcomed with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.

You may not know this about yourself. You may not see this in yourself. But you are tomorrow’s people because that’s who God has made you. That is who you are becoming.

You are God’s holy temple, where the Lord, the giver of Life dwells. You shine with the light of God’s glory, where the spirit of the crucified and risen Jesus radiates love in a world so often devoid of hope.

You are all these things because that’s who Christ is. And you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.

That is who you are. That is how you are making faith matter.

May this be so among us. Amen.

Epiphany 3B

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Repentance. What do you hear when someone speaks that word? What springs to mind?

I think the Christian proclamation has twisted this word into so many knots that it would be unrecognizable to Jesus’ first listeners. And now that the mere utterance of it evokes strong, feelings of shame. At least it does for me.

“Repent!” we hear preachers say. And what they usually mean is “Stop sinning! Change those parts of your life that is putting you in conflict with God. Cut out those impure thoughts and actions and turn to the purity of God’s will. If you want to be close to God then you have to remove anything that gets in the way with your relationship with God.”

Have you ever heard that? I have. And I’ve always asked, Where’s the good news in that?

But sadly that’s what I’ve heard a lot of preachers say. Maybe you have too. It’s hardly anything resembling what we call “gospel.”

That’s not what Simon and Andrew, and James and John heard when Jesus told them to drop everything, bail on the family business, and leave their lives behind to follow him. They would have known the code. They knew that Jesus wasn’t telling them to stop sinning. They knew that he asking something much harder.

But that word, “repentance” evolved down the centuries and lost its potency. And has created more confusion for people than it meant to, leaving some to needlessly worry about their relationship with God. 

For me, when I hear that, or even just hearing the word “repent” I always wonder if I have repented enough. I always worry that there’s something that I’ve missed, that there might be a spiritual blind spot that is keeping me from growing spiritually. I wonder if I’ve done enough to maintain my relationship with God.

Thankfully, in an old prayer of confession in the traditional Lutheran liturgy, there’s an escape clause. The prayer confesses those sins “known and unknown.”

While we may be forgiven of those sins with a linguistic sleight-of-hand, practically, we are no better off because we cannot change that which we do not know that we SHOULD change. Also, if being close to God and greeting the kingdom when it arrives is dependent on something that I do, then I’m not sure that really sounds like good news. If managing my sins is a requirement to receive the fullness of God’s love, then I wonder what Jesus was doing on that cross.

And I’m not sure that this was Jesus’ point. We’ve put words in Jesus’ mouth as a way of controlling each other. We’ve emphasized sin rather than freedom. And we’ve reduced sin to individual moral failings rather than the result of human brokenness and creation’s fallenness. A celebrity in a bikini on the front page of Cosmo creates more outrage than a child dying of hunger or preventable disease.

A lot of Christians are worried about moral confusion than they are about God’s love. They hate sin more than they love grace. They somehow believe that they’re under attack and lash out at an unbelieving world rather trust God with the final victory.

And Christians then become known for what we oppose rather than what we proclaim. We aren’t always know for our love. Care and compassion aren’t the first words that comes to many people’s minds when they hear the word “Christian.” Forgiveness isn’t even an afterthought.

Sadly, when many people hear the word Christian they think of judgment. Anger. Entitlement. Condemnation.

That could be because as Christians, we tend to focus our faith on the sin/forgiveness transaction. We reduce our faith to us sinning and God forgiving. And we repeat that over and over and over again, as if that is the full content of our faith.

This nothing new. Traditional Lutheranism has the sin/forgiveness transaction built into it, and it’s hard to tinker with it without damaging the whole. The Lutheran insistence on “grace” was a much needed corrective to the abuses of the institutional church. When Martin Luther recovered the word “grace” from religious bullies he set free all those who were trapped in guilt and shame by telling them that God loved them, and Jesus died for them.

They didn’t have to do anything to earn that love. No amount of proper prayer. No church obligations. No morally correct behaviour was going to bring them closer to God. God’s saving love was given to them as a free gift.

They received “grace;” which means “undeserved favour.” Or in other words, grace is God’s love for us even though we don’t deserve it.

But think about that for a minute. While I affirm God’s grace wholeheartedly or I wouldn’t still be a Lutheran preacher, I think we’ve created another trap for ourselves by such a puny understanding of it.

Lutherans throw that word “grace” around so easily that it’s become a buzzword. And keeps us self-identifying as people who are forgiven of sin, which is good. But it also reinforces our identity as people who are undeserving. Which isn’t the point of receiving grace. The point of receiving grace is feel loved.Also, grace doesn’t let us take the next step. It doesn’t ask the question “Now what?” The Christian faith becomes a matter of sinning and forgiving, and nothing more.

But our Christian faith is SO much more than that. Receiving forgiveness of sins is just the beginning of our faith. It’s not the whole of our faith.

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

There’s more here than meets the ear. Jesus’ first listeners might have gasped at the boldness of such a proclamation. Not because of it’s religious expressions, but for it’s political overtones. Such talk was a good way for a guy to get himself killed.

That’s because Caesar wasn’t interested in sharing his kingdom. And Jesus’ listeners had seen plenty of loved ones fixed on crosses so Caesar could keep his real estate.

So Jesus set up “The Kingdom of God” in direct competition to Caesar and the kingdoms of the world. And that’s the Kingdom call that Andrew and Simon, James and John responded to.

They knew that “Kingdom of God” that Jesus recruited them into isn’t a disembodied existence in the heavenly realm. 

But the Kingdom of God that Jesus talks about is God’s presence in this world. The Kingdom of God is God’s vision of life, of peace, of forgiveness, of justice, of mercy, alive and running loose in our world.

Repentance was the code word. It means to “turn in a different direction.” So when Jesus says “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” what they’re hearing is:

“Turn away from the kingdoms of this world, and turn to God’s kingdom. Where the Caesar and kingdoms of this world protects its power through force and oppression, God’s Kingdom brings peace and justice.

“Where Caesar and the kingdoms of this world seek revenge against those who hurt them, God’s kingdom brings mercy and forgiveness, and blesses their enemies. 

“Where Caesar and the kingdoms of this world seek to grow their wealth by stealing from others, God’s kingdom feeds the poor and sets the captives free.

So don’t align yourself with Caesar and the kingdoms of the world. Be part of God’s kingdom. For it is here. The kingdom of God arrived!

Be an agent of healing, work for justice, seek peace, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, forgive one another. That’s the kingdom that I have brought to the world.”

That’s the Kingdom that you’ve been called into. That’s the life that God has prepared for you. That’s the Kingdom that calls you beloved, and knows what you’re capable of. That’s the Kingdom that wants you to thrive in your gifts.

So, maybe, instead of confessing our sins and receiving God’s forgiveness, maybe we could celebrate our Kingdom Accomplishments.

Instead of always talking about where we have failed, we can share about those times we have succeeded!
Instead of always admitting our guilt, we can proclaim our successes in Jesus’ name.
Instead of pointing to our shortcomings, we can share our victories for God’s kingdom.

You can talk about where you have seen God working the world.
You can tell stories of how God is working in your life.
You can share about how you have participated in God’s kingdom work.
You can talk about the forgiveness you offered and received.
You can talk about the justice you worked for.
You can talk about how you fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and visited the sick. You can talk about how you were that caring ear, that comforting touch, or that encouraging word.

You can talk about how you fished for people by letting them know about a God who loves them.

You can share all of this, not to brag about how spiritually awesome you are. But because this is evidence of the kingdom of God at work in the world and in your life.

You can share these stories to bear witness to the God who promised to make all things new.

You can tell these stories not to point to you, but to point to the one who called you, who chose you, who tapped you on the shoulder and said, “Follow me.”

You can do this to remind yourself and each other, that God has not given up on us or the world, but that God still creating and re-creating everything. Just as Paul tells us that the present world is passing away just as the new world is arriving in Jesus.

You can do this because you are a citizen of Kingdom of God, named and claimed as God’s own because Jesus has called you to new life. You are part of God’s salvation movement. You are changing the world’s direction.

And that’s what we’re going to do. Over here on the wall is a banner for you to write down your God sightings. Where you have seen God do something in your life and in the world. And next to it, under “Kingdom Accomplishments” you are invited to list those times in your life when you have been faithful. When you have impacted the world for Jesus. When you have touched another with God’s love. When you have used your gifts, skills, and talents, to further God’s Kingdom on earth.

This will be left up for the next few weeks. So over the course of your daily lives, keep your eyes open for what God is doing. And celebrate those moments when you have been faithful.

“The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Now Go! Be the kingdom people that God made you to be!

May this be so among us. Amen!

Christmas 1B

I rang the doorbell and a young woman answered.

“Hello I’m Pastor Kevin,” I said.

She let me in and we sat down on the couch. The baby was asleep in the crib by the window.

“So, why a baptism?” I asked.

“Well, I think it’s important to have God in my child’s life,” she said.

“What’s the baby’s name?” I asked looking over to the crib.

She muttered something I didn’t recognize.

“That’s an interesting name. Is there story behind that name? Is it a family name?” I asked because I hadn’t heard that name before.

“No, it’s not a family name,” she answered.

“Do you know what it means?” I asked.

“No, it doesn’t have any meaning. It’s just a word I made up. I just like the way it sounds.”

I have to admit, and maybe I’m being a little judgmental,  but was I taken a bit off guard, because I’ve always heard people offer fuller, more thoughtful, explanations on why they chose a name that will be with their child their whole lives - and beyond, other than a made-up sound that was easy on the ears. 

It wasn’t always this way, and she is an extreme case. Most people know what their names mean, or why they were given their name by their parents. I thought this was a missed opportunity for this mom and her child.

What does your name mean? Most of us have names that mean something. Perhaps they reflect the hopes and dreams that parents have for their children. Or they’re carrying a family tradition. Or they name them after a celebrity or important public figure.

Bible names all mean something. In fact, if you don’t know the meaning of the many of the names you could miss the point of the story. And my former spouse and I took that into consideration when we named our children.

Our oldest daughter is named “Sophia” because means “wisdom” (but she likes “Sophie”). Her mom and I chose that name to honour Lady Wisdom found in the book of Proverbs. Sophia in Proverbs is a feminine expression of God, and her mom and I wanted to recognize aspects of the divine that are sometimes overlooked. However, we didn’t do our homework. It wasn’t as unique a name as we figured it would be. We had no idea that there would be so many Sophias in her school. And Sophie was not at all impressed when I baptized another “Sophia.”

Sophia’s sister is named “Naomi” to remember the biblical story of Ruth and Naomi and the message of faith and commitment that it inspires. It’s a powerful story of integrity and sacrifice for others. We gave her the name “Naomi” because her mother and I hoped that our child would embody those virtues as she grew.

When my parents named me, I know they struggled for days to find just the right word to describe who they saw when they peered into my future. They wanted to place upon me the mantle of my destiny, hoping that I would be a force for good in the world, that I would lead others into a new tomorrow. And so they reached out to the heavens, grabbed with two hands and pulled down the name “Kevin” which means...”handsome.” Or more accurately, “handsome birth.”

And every time I look in the mirror I’m absolutely shocked by how prophetic my parents were!

Mary and Joseph did what they were told and named their son, “Jesus” which they knew meant “God rescues” or “God saves.” They were glad to give him this name because they had laid all their hope on him, as one who would save God’s people from their sins, and rescue them from the hands of their enemies.

And so, as required by law, Mary and Joseph bring Jesus to Jerusalem to offer the usual sacrifice as a thanksgiving to God.

And they meet Simeon, the old man who’d been around the temple forever, whose eyes may have given out, but he could see well enough to recognize God’s promises being fulfilled in this infant.

And Anna then wants to hold the baby, because she wants to feel in her arms the very power of God.

Both of them may have had more years behind them than in front of them, but they could see God’s bright future being born among them. They could see that everything old was passing away. And that God was doing something new.

It was like there was a flip of the calendar in this baby, and a new age had begun. And they were glad that they could see it before they closed their earthly eyes, and entered their own futures.

And this week, at this flip of the calendar we also can look to the future that God has given us in Jesus. While self-reflection is a yearly exercise for me, this new year seems different than most.

This is the first new years where it actually feels like a NEW year. It could be because I’m in a very different place physically, emotionally, and spiritually than I’ve been in a while. 

Being in this new environment, and carving out a new life, has forced me to think about what I REALLY want from my days, how I spend my 24 hours that add up to a lifetime. What I REALLY want my time on earth to be about. How I think God REALLY wants me to use my gifts. 



On a practical level, I figure that if I’m going to be away from my daughters’ day-to-day lives then I want this time to mean something. I want it to count. I want 2015 to be worthy of my - and their - physical absence.

So, this flip of the calendar is an important opportunity for me.

What about you? How do you meet 2015? What’s important to you?

Is it just another year, just like the last one, where you go about your day-to-day activities, not really challenging, but not inspiring either.

Or do you see 2015 as a time pregnant with possibility, and you feel that anything is possible, and you just can’t wait to get in the game, grab the ball, and run to the end zone?

Or are you anxious about 2015, not knowing what’s around the corner, since 2014 has provided unexpected challenges, especially given the price of oil and the damage it threatens to do to our economy?

Or did you face personal challenges in 2014, and are hoping that 2015 might be a year of healing, and maybe, of reinvention?

Or are you hopeful that this will finally be the year when you get your life together? When the challenges of the past are left behind and a new you will emerge.

Or are you all of the above? A muddle of mixed motivations? A patchwork quilt of expectations?

What about for us here at First Lutheran Church? What do you hope for our congregation in 2015? What are your dreams and ambitions for our family of faith? What would you like to see happen here at church?

A growth in membership?

Fresh programming to meet new spiritual needs?

A deeper sense of connection to one another?

Stronger outreach?

Longer sermons?

All of the above? None of the above?

In my job as interim pastor, I have the luxury of both immersing myself in the life of the congregation, and standing back to observe from a distance. And what I’ve seen so far is that this congregation is still in a period of transition. You’re looking for stability in order to try to figure out the future that God has prepared for you, because the ground under your feet has been shaky over the past while.

But also, thankfully, I don’t sense any real anxiety about the future either. I don’t feel as if there is an urgency born from fear, among the congregation or leadership, as you transition.

What I do sense is that the church, you and I together, are willing to take a step back and let things unfold a bit, to let our life speak, to hear the message that God is saying through the opportunities that present themselves to us instead of trying to move too quickly in one direction or another.

As Simeon and Anna knew, the kingdom of God is still in its infancy, it’s just been named “Jesus.” It’s still learning about its future, even though it is the fulfillment of that future.

And we’re still learning too. Even though First Lutheran has been around longer than many Lutheran churches in Alberta, we’re still beginning new each day, as God’s kingdom is being born again, and again, and again, and again within and among us.

One of the gifts that First Lutheran has been given is a forward looking perspective. Not all churches can look ahead as well as this congregation. First isn’t afraid to try new things. To think differently. To explore territory unsullied by human cynicism. 

So far I haven’t heard the dreaded phrase “We haven’t done it that way before” and I hope I never hear that phrase here, because it’s a phrase that shuts down innovation before it can begin.

For me, such openness to new ideas in this congregation means I can flex my creative muscles, to see just what I’m capable of as a church leader. 

And for us, it means that we can explore fresh ways to advance our mission, to grow and become strong, filled with wisdom; with the favour of God upon us. And that’s exciting!

After all, our name is “First Lutheran” and we have been challenged to live up to that name. With our name comes a responsibility. The First to test new ideas.The First to take holy risks. The First to step out in faith to show others that God is faithful even when we break out of beloved conventions and long-held traditions. God is doing a new thing in Lutheranism, and we have been saddled with the responsibility to be “First” among that new thing.

Simeon and Anna waited their whole lives to see the kingdom of God in their midst. We don’t have to wait that long. The kingdom of God is already within and among us. 

And the kingdom - the Spirit of God in Jesus is present within you, guiding you, speaking to you through your life, and leading you in the words of others.

No matter where you are in your life. No matter the challenges or opportunities, dreams or disappointments, troubles or delights, problems or possibilities, we trust in a God who was born in the middle of all of this bewildering and beloved mess, a God who has blessed you in your confusion and your hopes, so that you can rise to meet God’s future with open hands.

What Simeon saw in the baby, God also sees in you. What Anna held in her arms God also bestows on you, because you have been joined to Jesus. You are Christ’s living body. You have God’s promises knitted to your very being.

Your own eyes have seen the salvation that God has prepared for you and for everyone. You are a light to every nation. You are a candle in the dark. You are God’s answer to prayer. You are the first ray of sun appearing after a long, cold, sleepless night.

As we enter 2015, enter knowing that you are God’s beating heart, enter knowing that you are growing, enter knowing that you have become strong; enter knowing that you have been filled with wisdom, because God has found favour with you. 

And when we flip the calendar at this time next year to 2016, we will look back with amazement at what God has done.

May this be so among us. Amen!

Easter 7A

I don’t know about you, but for me, Jesus’ prayer in the garden is more of a challenge then perhaps I should admit. Especially the part where he prays that his followers “made be one as he and God are one.”



Yes, Christian unity is important. Being unified in the gospel is a tremendous witness to God’s love in action in a constantly fragmented world.

But I get tired just thinking about it. For me, Christians getting together is like the family reunion that you dread, where old wounds reappear, and once-thought-resolved fights are re-fought.

Christian unity, to me, is a lot like that. When Christians get together I know what most of the conversation will be.

From the United Church, I’ll be asked to defend Martin Luther’s involvement in the Peasants’ Rebellion of 1524, as if their hands are clean of historic wrongs.

From the Anglicans I’ll be teased about our “fixation” on Martin Luther and how he must have missed the Letter of James, as if we never covered that theological divide.

The Roman Catholics will try to make pleasant, yet awkward conversation amidst the 500-year-old elephant in the thee room.

And the evangelicals will natter on with a curious mixture of superiority and inferiority.

At least that’s how I experience it.

Then there are the voices that are NOT there. Other Lutherans who don’t want to talk with us. And if we’re honest, we may appreciate their silence.



And the recent split among some of our Lutheran congregations, may have provided comfort to those who supported their moral stand, but it hurt our witness as Christians since it gave the message that, once again, Christians aren’t getting along.

But so often, Christian unity, or to use the fancy church word: ecumenism, tends to be about creating wonderful documents affirming common areas of interest, emphasizing theological congruities, and celebrating historic similarities, with high level denominational officials meeting, often with the greatest of ambitions and the highest of hopes – organic union; a merger, an organizational return to one world-wide church of Jesus Christ.

And every once in a while, someone writes a book about how God is tearing down denominations, bringing believers together, boundaries will be erased, structures will fall and God’s one universal church is rising from the rubble, and Christians will, at last, be unified in the gospel.

Maybe I’m just too cynical. But I always roll my eyes at self-proclaimed prophets declaring a mystical union of Christian churches. Perhaps it’s not just cynicism. It could be muddy-booted pragmatism.

If all Christians are going to be the same, how will we worship? Whose liturgy will we use? Will we use a liturgy at all? Christians can’t even agree on what DAY to worship let alone HOW to worship.

What bible translation will we use? Which confession of faith will undergird our church life and doctrine? Can you imagine the nightmare of working all this out?

Is that even what Jesus meant when he prayed for his followers to be “one” as he is “one” with God?

After all, I LIKE being a Lutheran. It’s where God has called me to serve. I feel nurtured and fed by our rich theological tradition. And I think our tradition is a gift to the rest of the Christian community. It’s something we lose at our own peril, and to the diminishment of the worldwide church.

But maintaining our unique contribution while forging partnerships with other churches is not easy, even when the relationships have been close, historically, and liturgically.

And despite our best efforts and purest of intentions, our traditions clash when we’re actually asked to work together.

I was at a Deans’ meeting in Mississauga, Ontario in 2002 and Eastern Synod Bishop Mike Pryse was telling us Deans (I was Conference Dean in Atlantic Canada) about what was happening with the Full Communion agreement between the Lutherans and Anglicans that was signed the year before.

“We have some kinks to work out,” he said.

And I knew what he was talking about. In Halifax our church had an evening service, and on one of these Sunday evenings we recognized “Take Back the Night” sponsored by the Women’s Centre at Dalhousie University, and we invited members of the community who worked in the social service sectors, especially those who worked with abused women and children to attend and be recognized for what they did. We wanted to pray for them and thank them for all their hard and often thankless work on behalf of hurting and often neglected people.

I invited a female Anglican priest from the area to preside over Holy Communion, since Rebekah (my wife at the time, also a Lutheran pastor) was on maternity leave. I wanted a woman clergyperson at the table because many of the people attending said they’d never experienced communion offered by a woman before. And since “Take Back the Night” was about women asserting their safety, I thought it was a powerful symbol of a woman in a position of authority. 
However, this priest said that she needed permission from her bishop to preside at communion at another church.

Ummm. Okay. So she received conditional permission from her bishop. “He just needs a copy of the liturgy before he gives is final ‘okay’” she said.

Ummm. Fine. So I emailed the bishop a copy of the liturgy we were using that night, which included a communion prayer written by Janet Morley, an Anglican poet.

A couple weeks passed and I hadn’t heard anything from the bishop so I assumed everything was good to go. But then I received a message on the church answering machine the day before the service. It was from the Anglican bishop. He was informing me that the Eucharistic prayer was not one of the “approved” prayers of the Anglican Church and therefore he was not giving his permission to have this priest preside at Holy Communion at the service.

My Lutheran blood boiled. “I beg your pardon Lord Bishop, but did I just hear you say the words, ‘approved prayer’? How dare some bishop decide what prayer can and cannot be said in this church! How dare he stick his nose into my congregation! How dare he act like…like…an ANGLICAN!” 



Rebekah talked me down from sending the Anglican bishop a nasty, un-Christian email.

So, our Lutheran bishop Pryse was right. There were “kinks” to be worked out.

“The Waterloo Declaration [the agreement between Lutherans and Anglicans] was like a marriage ceremony,” Bishop Pryse said. “Everything was fun and romantic when we got together and signed the papers. And then you have a wonderful honeymoon. It’s only after you’ve started living together that you run into problems and discover that the other person isn’t as perfect as you’d like them to be.”

True enough. But where does that leave us?

Bishop’s Mike’s assistant then noted that there weren’t any other Full Communion talks with other churches on the horizon.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Not enough money,” she responded. “Too expensive.”

“Too expensive for what?”

“For the meetings, the papers to be written and presented, the agreements to be circulated. These things all cost money,” she said.

“But how much does it cost put on a pot coffee and chat?” I thought to myself. Isn’t that really how it should begin?

But I wonder if her response was more a convenient bureaucratic smoke-screen than an honest answer. I think she knew that the experience with working with the Anglicans was proving harder than anyone thought it would be. And they simply didn’t have the energy to start the process with anyone else. I think we all learned that Christian unity IS hard once you get past the platitudes.

But that’s the challenge, isn’t it? That’s the goal that scripture lays out for us.

In 2007 I preached at the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity service at McKillop United Church in Lethbridge. In my sermon, I noted that Paul doesn’t see Christian unity as one option among many, but that God has MADE us ONE body, despite what anyone might have thought.



In his first letter to the Corinthians Paul scolds those Christians who were creating division in the church, those believers who believed they were better than others because of what they believed and how they worshiped.


But Paul was having none of it, “Whether you like or not,” Paul more or less says, “you are a church family. You are Christ’s body. For all your faults, for all your disagreements, for all your mistakes, you are the only visible form the risen Christ has in the world. So start acting like it.”

That’s quite the rebuke, don’t you think? But a rebuke and a promise. It tells us that no matter what we do to each other, no matter how much we fight and disagree, no matter how far we stray off the beaten theological path, how far we’ve wandered from each other, we can’t escape each other. We’re Christians. We’re stuck with each other, like it or not.

“Does that sound like good news to you?” I asked the congregation of about five different denominations.

Then I paused. And I noticed that NOT ONE PERSON was nodding their head “yes.” People couldn’t decide whether Paul’s version of Christian unity sounded like good news or bad news.

So, I let the question just hang there like a wet sock. Then people started to giggle – uncomfortably. Then I said, “You had to think about it for awhile didn’t you?”

People knew that, behind and beyond the platitudes and good intentions, Christians aren’t comfortable with each other. We know that we are entrenched in our own traditions, for good and for bad. We know that unity may ask us to make compromises, compromises that threaten our very identity.



We know that Christians don’t have a very good history of getting along. We know that, despite all the papers written and all the official statements, all the joint worship celebrations and social proclamations, Christians still fight with each other. And we want to be honest about our disagreements.

But Paul’s rebuke does sound like good news to me. But I had to dig around for it. If Christian unity were easy, then Jesus wouldn’t have had to pray for it. If Christian unity were easy then we wouldn’t need God to bring us together.



We can only be unified when the Holy Spirit makes us so, not when we come up with authorized agreements and institutional declarations. We are unified when God says we are.

We ARE unified BECAUSE God says that we are. 


We ARE unified because of the Jesus we share.

We ARE unified because the Spirit gathers us into one.



And, by God’s grace we will live into that unity. We will be guided into oneness, we will see the worldwide church summoned by the Spirit, crowded together in our messy humanness, celebrating the diversity of the Christian community, assembled around the throne proclaiming in various languages, songs, hymns, and stories, a joyful noise of praise that Jesus Christ is Lord!

May this be so among us. Amen!

Easter 5A

“Show us who God is,” Phillip impatiently demands of Jesus.

But he’s not alone. Phillip speaks for all of us. If you could sum up all human longing in one sentence, I think that would be it. “Show us who God is.”

There’s a lot packed into that one request, isn’t there?

I would guess that’s why most of you are here at church today– especially on this holiday weekend – is to see who God is. It’s not as if you didn’t have other options on this beautifully sunny morning.

You come hungry or merely curious, with great need or simply out of habit, or both. But the unspoken words on your lips as you gather here for worship are “Show us who God is.”

And we all have our own expectations of what that looks like.


“What are you drawing?” a teacher leans over and asks a little girl who was drawing a picture in school one day.

“I’m drawing God,” the little girl responds.

The teacher laughed and said, “No one knows what God looks like.”

“They will when I get finished with this drawing,” said the little girl.

Everyone has their vision of what God is like.


So what do you think God looks like? If you could draw a picture of what God, what would that picture be?

Would you draw a person? An old man? A bearded octogenarian with ripped abs scowling on a cloud, lightening bolt in hand?

Would you draw a woman giving birth? Since God is the God of creation, giving life to the universe, bringing into being to all that exists?

Would you draw a nature scene, with radiant sunbeams shining luminously through soaring trees, with just the right mixture of light and dark to signify presence and absence, intimacy and mystery?

Would you draw a self-portrait, believing that since we are all created in God’s image, God looks just like each one of us?

Would you draw a group scene, since you believe that God is found in each other, in community?

Would you draw Jesus? Or at least what you think Jesus would look like?

If you listen to today’s gospel reading closely, that’s just what you might do. That’s the picture Jesus paints for Phillip, as an answer to his questions.

“Show us who God is,” Phillip demands. 

“Show us the grandeur and majesty of divine love. Show us God Almighty in splendor and magnificence. Show us ultimate cosmic power. Show us God’s brilliant light in a dark and sinful world.”

“Show us what the life and existence are all about. Show us that our mortal lives are connected somehow to Eternal Life.”

“Show us God’s vision of the future, where justice and peace, mercy and love reign over all of us, so the world today won’t seem so scary.”


“Show us that God really cares about us. Show us that God is somehow active in the world and does something in our lives.”

“Show us goodness in world overrun with evil. Show us life everlasting in world consumed by death.”

“Show us wisdom in a world overflowing with mere information. Show us compassion in a world overwhelmed with self-centredness.”

‘Show us wealth in a world weighed down by mere riches. Show us something more than what we see in our daily lives.”

Isn’t that really what Phillip was asking? Isn’t that maybe what you came here asking from Jesus? 

“Show us who God is.”

But Jesus can’t believe his ears.

“Are you really asking me that?” Jesus asks.

“You’ve been with me all this time and you STILL haven’t figured this out? If you want to know who God is, just look at me. If you’re wondering what God is all about, look at what I do. If you’re trying to hear God’s voice, just listen to what I say. God is in me and I am in God.”

But Phillip wasn’t asking anything from Jesus that everyone else wasn’t wondering about, back then and even now. It was his voice that was speaking but it was our words coming out of Philip’s mouth.

And Jesus’ answer seems more like the beginning of a reply instead of a definite answer.

God is in Jesus and Jesus is in God. Christians believe that in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, we have seen God. That’s the grand claim of today’s gospel.

But that doesn’t fully satisfy, does it? It doesn’t totally answer the question.

We were told that we have a God who loved us too much to remain distant and unapproachable. So, Philip, says, if that’s true show us who God is.”

“If you want to know who God is,” Jesus responds, “just look at me. I am the way, the truth, and the life. If you want to get to God, you get to God through me.”

“I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except by me.”

To some, this passage sounds hopelessly exclusive, that he’s drawing new boundaries, and creating needless divisions. At least that’s the way this passage has traditionally been read.

But for Jesus’ listeners, he was being anything but exclusive. In fact, he was doing just the opposite. He was drawing people in, enlarging the circle, reaching out to those who felt abandoned by God because they had no access to official religion.

They were searching for a love they could grasp from a God who seemed like a stranger. Because everywhere they turned they hit a religious roadblock when they went seeking God. It was like the game was rigged to keep them as far away from God as possible.

Sacrifices they couldn’t afford. Religious teachings that were irrelevant - or even dangerous - to their daily lives. The feeling that they were there for the institution, rather than the institution being there for them.

Prayers that went nowhere, cries for help that evaporated once they left their mouths, worship that dried up in the desert sun when they were longing for water to refresh their scorched spirits, teachings that left them more lost than when they began, preaching that made them feel worse about themselves than when they walked in.

The more they sought God, the further away God seemed.

And then along came Jesus who said, 

“If you are feeling lost, like every road leads nowhere, where street signs keep pointing you in the wrong direction, where the highway takes you further and further away from where you need to be, and God seems like just a distant memory, then follow me, I am The Way.”

“If you are looking for truth in this muddled world, where nothing seems fixed, where there’s so much competing information demanding your attention, where the world’s noise is drowning out the voices that speak words of love, where self-interested media are trying to influence your daily decision-making for their own gain by massaging the facts to fit their pre-determined agenda, just look to me, I am the Truth.”

“If you are looking for life when there’s SO MUCH death around you, if you are looking for abundance amidst so much scarcity, if you’re looking for signs of vitality emerging from the chaos that humanity has caused; if you are looking for a fresh start, a new direction, a clean break; if you are looking to explore new worlds that you didn’t know existed and opportunities that you didn’t know were available to you, then follow me. I am the Life.”

“I will take you to God.”

But what they didn’t know, but perhaps suspected, was that Jesus was using words differently than what they were used to.

The Way that Jesus talked about, is the cross, the Way of sacrifice born from love. 



The Truth that Jesus proclaimed is the God who walks among us, spreading seeds of wisdom, whose presence demands that we see ourselves and our place in the world with eyes of mercy.



And the Life that Jesus shows us is by wrapping a towel around his waist and kneeling down to wash the disciples’ feet.

That’s “the way, the truth, and the life.” Three different ways of saying the same thing.

So, if you want to see God, just look around and see where Jesus is and what God is doing. 

God is at the hospital bed holding someone’s hand and saying a gentle prayer.

God is with the confirmand and faith mentor sharing each other’s lives, growing in faith – together.



God is at the funeral home, wiping away tears.



God is in the voice of protest against injustice. The words of forgiveness that bring people back together. The hand that reaches out in friendship.

God is downstairs teaching Sunday school helping our children grow in faith. God is setting up coffee in our foyer to enhance our fellowship. God is making layettes for the Bissell Centre. 



God is in that caring phone call. The visit to the nursing home. The boxes of sweaters for Syria. The canned goods for the food bank.

God is where life and love are given away freely. God is where mercy and grace are received with gladness. God is where new possibilities emerge from discouragement. God is where promises of a new and better tomorrow are met with hope and trust.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life,” Jesus says, “I will take you to God.”

May this be so among us. Amen.

Easter Sunday

“Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.”

What else could they have done? Who would have believed them? If they told their friends that Jesus’ grave was empty, I’m not sure that would have been welcome news.

Let them grieve their friend. It had only been a couple days since he died. Silly stories about empty tombs and folded grave clothes didn’t help. They needed time to remember Jesus. Not to indulge in fanciful stories about him not being dead. That was childish at best. Ghoulish and insensitive at worst.

So it must have been hard both to say and to hear that Jesus was alive. The other disciple believed what he saw but had no clue what it meant. It was probably the same for everyone that day.

News of Jesus’ resurrection couldn’t have been welcomed by everyone because, if it was true, then that meant everything Jesus said became real. It meant that his message was real, the healings were real, stories about God’s judgement were real, and promises of God’s mercy were real. It meant that they hadn’t wasted those years following Jesus.

But it also meant that they encountered a God they couldn’t control. A God whose power is unchained. A God whose Spirit flows freely wherever the Spirit wants. A God who was much more than what they could ask or imagine or believe.

So, I would assume that news of Jesus’ resurrection was met with both fear and awe, as well as joy and celebration. It was all jumbled together. The disciples probably didn’t know what to feel, let alone what to think, or even what to do. They didn’t know what to say to the other believers.

I often think that’s the same for us. When we talk about our faith we do so with some hesitation. That’s not because we’re embarrassed or ashamed by what we believe. But because, like the disciples who believed but didn’t understand, we know that our stories sound crazy to unbelieving ears - or even to believing ears.

Like in the story we just heard, we’d rather go home than to tell others what we have seen. We know that our words don’t do justice to what we say God has done with and among us.

We don’t often talk about our faith stories as Lutherans, and I think we’re poorer for it. Like the disciples sharing the good news to each other by telling what they have seen, we too can grow by sharing what we see through our God-given resurrection eyes.

And by telling our resurrection stories we can reflect on how we live as people who believe in a God that raised Jesus from the dead.

How DO we live if we believe that Christ is risen from the dead? What does Jesus’ resurrection mean for us as a church - as the risen body of Christ, as people of God? 



How DO we live if we confess that the tomb is actually empty? What does this mean for us as individual believers? As enlightened skeptics? As critical thinkers? As a people still searching, not having yet fully arrived? As people wondering who God is?

These are not new questions. These are questions that Matthew is wrestling with all through his gospel. The same could probably be said of the other three as well. If not the whole of scripture.

The gospel writers tell Jesus’ story as if he has already risen from the dead. That’s their basic assumption. In their minds they start at the end and work their way backwards. In fact, some say that the gospel stories are just extended prologues to the resurrection story.

I’m tempted to say the same thing about us and our lives, that we begin with the end in mind, that we can see our lives as extended prologues to our own resurrection stories.

I’m tempted to say that but I worry you might get the wrong idea. It could sound like I’m saying that THIS life is just a prologue to the NEXT one, and God’s REAL life is waiting for us for after we die. It could sound like I’m saying that THIS life doesn’t matter, and that the NEXT one is what we should be preparing for.

But that’s not even close to being true. And today proves that. Jesus didn’t fly up to heaven to a disembodied celestial existence when he died.  But Jesus burst from the tomb, living and breathing, scarred and wounded, but making THIS day, and ALL our days holy.

That’s what the gospel writers saw and tried to teach us. The gospel writers saw the world with resurrection eyes. And they ask that we do the same.

The gospel writers saw a world were God was everywhere; where justice, compassion, peace, healing, mercy, and forgiveness was in the air they breathed. Where mercy was their daily food, and love was the wine they drank.

They didn’t see this world as Heaven’s waiting room. They saw Heaven come to earth in Jesus.

They didn’t live their lives looking forward to some disembodied heavenly existence, way up in the cloud somewhere.

They saw God HERE, all over the place. And they saw the possibility of God where others didn’t think to look. 

They trusted in a new and better tomorrow because they saw it with their own eyes.

They believed that the worst of human behaviour cannot stop the God who is committed to giving life, because they saw Jesus alive three days after his death. 



They knew that the most devastating human impulses to destruction cannot destroy what God has so lovingly made, that the God of creation is still creating and re-creating everything, until, one day, the New Creation that God has promised will rise among us in its fullest, because that New Creation began when Jesus walked out the tomb by the power of God.

That’s the life we live as believers. That’s who we are as Christians. We tell God’s story beginning at the end. We start at the final chapter and work our way backwards.



Through the gift of faith, given to us in the waters of baptism, where we are joined to Jesus’ death and resurrection, we are given new eyes through which to see the world, and a vocation to participate in God’s healing work, taking part in God’s on-going resurrection of everything God has created.

We still see suffering, but we know that healing is possible.
We still see sadness, but we are called to comfort.

We still see injustice, but we are asked to act justly, and speak words of challenge and truth to those tyrannizing  others.


We still say good-bye to loved ones in death, but we trust that one day we shall all be gathered together, raised from our tombs, to new life in Jesus.

That’s why, in the meantime, we live the resurrection life that came in Jesus, and that is coming to greet us, one day, in its fullness.

That’s why...

...instead of cruelty we see and we seek justice.
...instead of division and separation we see and we seek reconciliation.
...instead of judgment we see and we seek mercy
...instead of indifference to suffering we see and we seek, and we bring compassion.
...instead of selfishness we see and we seek opportunities to serve others.
...instead of sin we see and we seek forgiveness.
...instead of death we see and we seek life.

Seeing the world through resurrection eyes means seeing hope where others only see futility, it means seeing healing where others see only pain, it means seeing miracles where others see mere events, it means seeing new possibilities and fresh opportunities where others see failure and defeat.

Seeing the world through resurrection eyes means believing that God has not given up on us or the world, that a NEW world is possible, and is indeed coming.

Seeing the world through resurrection eyes means knowing that our lives matter, and that we are making a difference, an impact, no matter how small, because God can take the tiny fragments of our lives, those moments of setback and shortfall, and mould them into something new and beautiful.

Seeing the world through resurrection eyes opens our mouths to declare what God has done for us, it’s about bearing witness to the God who has raised US from the dead, who has planted in OUR hearts the gift of faith, so that we can fill the world with God’s love.

I’m glad that the first disciples found the courage to tell each other what they had seen. It’s my hope that we’ll have the same strength to tell what WE have seen. 



Because it’s in telling our stories as a people that we begin to see divine patterns emerge, and together we can live God’s story with the confidence that Jesus has truly risen among us!

Christ is risen!
Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

Amen!

Good Friday

If you look around you’ll see that crosses are all around us. On church steeples, around people’s necks, on hot cross buns, on wwjd (what would Jesus do?) bracelets.

This is not new. The cross and various other cruciforms - or cross-like images - have long been used by various cultures and religions as symbols of life. 

For some, the cross might depict the four corners of the earth, the four elements of creation, the four beasts in a scheme of the zodiac, the four solstices and equinoxes, the four winds that bring rain.

Ancient Egypt used the cross as symbol of eternal life. Much New Age religion has popularized the image of a cross-tree, with each corner representing one season of the tree's annual cycle. In all these examples, the cross is a symbol of the life of nature or community.(Gail Ramshaw, Treasures Old and New)

But try telling that to Roman-occupied Israel. To them, the cross was anything but life-giving. Too many of them had seen friends and loved ones murdered on them. Too many had encountered forests of crosses, terrible reminders to anyone who broke Roman law. From stealing to murder, the punishment was the same. They had to keep these rebellious folks in line somehow.

That's why the crowds cheered when Jesus arrived in the Holy City. Finally, someone was coming who would stop the cruelty, throw the Romans out, and bring Israel back to its former glory, a glory not seen since King David ruled, so many years ago. AndtThey pinned all their hopes on this poor, backwoods preacher.



He could heal sick people. Maybe he could heal the political sickness that kept God's people from inheriting their destiny.



He could cast out demons. Maybe he could cast out the demonic tyranny of these Roman oppressors.

He could raise the dead. Maybe he could raise the people to reclaim their citizenship as God’s chosen people, a light to the nations.

But when they saw Jesus in handcuffs, they started asking questions. When he wouldn't speak up for himself, they grumbled amongst each other. 



If he wouldn’t defend himself, then he wouldn’t defend them. If he wouldn’t rescue himself, he couldn’t save them.



So when they realized he wasn't going to be the liberator they hoped, they turned against him and watched him die.

The cross was saved for lowest class of people. The Romans knew that it was the most painful and horrific form of torture and death. The victim could hang there for days. And when the Romans got bored they crucified their victims upside down while their families watched in agony.

So, for many of these people, the cross was anything but life-giving.

The early Christians didn't like the imagery of the cross; they didn't use it in their worship and art until centuries after its actual use had declined. 



The cross was for them still so raw, still an instrument of death. If it was empty, it was waiting in deathly silence for its next victim, like an empty hangman's noose or unoccupied electric chair. If Jesus was pictured on it, his tortured body was a reminder of his agony, not his resurrection, and not our salvation. 


But they used the the cross to retell Jesus’ story, because they knew in their bones that Jesus' story had become their story, and their story had become his. They couldn't beautify the torture of the cross away, and so they didn't picture it, but they also knew something had happened in those holy days that forever transformed their lives. And not just them. Us too.

When we look to the cross, we know that when we are rejected, he has borne that rejection, we know that when we've failed, he has borne that failure, we know that when we've sinned, Jesus has borne that sin. We know that when we die, he has borne our death.

We know this because his story and our story have been woven together in a strange tapestry, stories that collide with this story that we gather to hear today. To remember how God entered our story in Jesus. And how we find our way into God’s story through Christ.

In Jesus, God has entered our story when it looks like our story might not have unfolded the way we wanted. When life and circumstance take the narrative of our lives in a direction we didn’t expect or certainly didn’t want.

When dreams crumble under the weight of family expectations or social obligations, and when you look at your life you KNOW that you’re capable of so much more.

When you read the news and wonder if human greed will lead to the collapse of the system that’s sustaining it, and you can’t believe no one else can see it.

When the doctor enters the examining room, and the look on her face tells you that the news isn’t good.

When you look across the table and you wonder who this stranger is that you’ve been married to all these years.

When you find yourself across the desk from a funeral director, saying good-bye to someone who is gone too soon, and everyone goes too soon.

When you can feel your own life draining from you, and you’re terrified that when you close your eyes in death, you will never open them again, despite the promises of everlasting life you’ve heard since your were a child.


Today, those stories become God’s stories. They’re interwoven together, so that our stories and God’s GREAT BIG story of creation and life are tied together, and that the ending to our story will change. And the strand that ties these two stories together is Jesus.


That day, on the cross, it was Jesus who wasn’t just standing up the destructive powers of the world. Jesus wasn’t just confronting the forces that defy God’s vision for creation.



That day, on the cross, Jesus was standing up to God on our behalf. Jesus was showing God what it means to be in pain. 



That day, on the cross, through Jesus, God endured the frustrations of limitations, the terror of mortality, the outrage of injustice, the agony of brokenness, the violence of sin, the anguish of estrangement, the ruin of disease, the alienation of isolation, the sadness of separation, and the threat of oblivion.

In Jesus, God learned what it means to be human, and God was exposed to the world that human beings live with.

It was from Jesus’ view on from the cross, that God saw how easy it can be that...

...countries invade each other just to enlarge their territory

.

...massive disparity between the rich and the poor can be justified, or even celebrated.


...disease can almost destroy entire continents while the rest of the world shrugs its shoulders

.

...”environmental responsibility” can be dirty words and caring for God’s good creation can be met with hostility.
 


It was from Jesus’ view on from the cross, that God saw how easy it can be that...

...planes can disappear from the sky leaving their loved ones with a open wound of grief

.

..five young university students can be stabbed to death for no good reason, if there would ever be a good reason.

...people can discriminate against others simply because they are different.

...people’s pride can destroy lifelong friendships.

...how the human impulse to self-protection can overpower the human longing for love.

In Jesus God knows what it’s like to be absolutely helpless and hopeless.


In Jesus God learned what your life is like. In Jesus God learned what the world is like, not from some far away heaven where God looks down at us from a safe distance, quietly observing us.

In Jesus God learned what the world is like from the very heart of human existence, where Jesus took all the suffering, all the grief, all the fear, all the hopelessness, all the injustice, all the sin, all those things that keep us from God and that hurt ourselves and each other, and were nailed to the cross with Jesus, and buried in his tomb with him.

And today, as we place Jesus in his tomb, we look at our lives, ourselves, each other, and the world, with eyes open for the God who destroyed our delusions about who we are, and is demanding that we are honest about our vulnerability, recognizing our culpability, embracing our weakness. Remembering that we are buried with him in his tomb.

Amen.

Lent 5A

“What bible readings do you suggest, pastor?” she asked as we sat across the table from the funeral director.

“How about Psalm 23, ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want...’”? I asked

“Perfect. Mother loved that psalm. She had a copy of it on her bedroom wall.”

“Also, what about Romans chapter 8, ‘Neither death nor life...nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“Lovely. I think she would have appreciated that message.”

“For a gospel reading, how about John 11?”

“Which one is that?”

“‘I am the resurrection and the life, those who believe in me shall not perish, but whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.’ It’s the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.”

“Absolutely NOT!” she snapped. “No one is raising mother from the dead. She is NOT coming back to life. How dare you suggest that story!”

She looked at me as if she couldn’t tell if I were a monster or moron. Or just some religious nut spewing biblical nonsense.

I was shocked by her vehemence, but could see her point. She was still trying to come to grips with the fact that her mother had died. She was drowning in details and trying to just get through the next couple of days. She didn’t have time to reconcile the Christian proclamation with her own understanding of life and death.

“No one is raising mother from the dead. She is NOT coming back to life!”

She wasn’t saying anything that everyone else wasn’t thinking. They probably said the same thing about Lazarus. No one is raising him from the dead. He is NOT coming back to life.

He’d been dead for four days. Tradition said that the soul had since departed and what was left in that tomb was an rotting, empty, shell.

When Jesus arrived on the scene he must have seemed terribly insensitive. People were grieving. He even wept.

When Jesus shouted, “Lazarus, come out!” I’m sure that some of Mary and Martha’s friends wanted to put a hand over his mouth and hustle Jesus back to where he came from. How would you respond if some preacher just showed up at family member’s funeral and starting pounding on the coffin, and shouting “Wake up! Wake up!”?

This was NOT a pleasant scene.

It got even worse when Jesus demanded that the grave be opened. And when the stone was pulled back, the smell probably reached their noses before Lazarus appeared at the entry way. This was no sanitary resurrection, because death is not clean.

I’m sure Lazarus emerging from the tomb was met with mixed reaction. His sisters I’m sure were overwhelmed with relief that they got their brother back. Others might have been terrified at such an industrial-strength display of God’s power. Still others probably didn’t know what to think.

For the reader, questions remain. Was his body healed?  Was his skin repaired after days in the sweltering tomb? What could he tell us about his experience during those four days in death?

Not everyone was glad to see Lazarus alive, however. For some of the the religious leaders, Lazarus being raised from the dead created a problem. Seeing Lazarus walk around again would create a huge support base for Jesus, which would catch the attention of the Romans, who would then act swiftly and mercilessly to protect their rule.

If Jesus became too popular, the Romans would step in. If Jesus became too powerful, then Caesar would protect the peace by killing Jesus’ supporters.

But if Jesus died, then the Romans would stand down. If Jewish leaders dealt with the Jesus problem themselves, then the Roman problem would take care of itself.

So there is a direct line between Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, and his own execution.

“It is expedient than one man die than to have the whole nation destroyed,” admitted Caiphas, the high priest. Many bible commentators call Caiphas “ruthless” for sentencing Jesus to death to spare the country.

But I’m not sure that’s true. “Ruthless” isn’t the word I would use to describe Caiphas. I can see the bind he was in. Despite the way history reports it, I’m sure Caiphas wasn’t happy about sacrificing one of his fellow Jews to satisfy Roman anger. It wasn’t a perfect solution to the Jesus problem because their wasn’t one.

I’m obviously not saying that I agree with Jesus being executed. But I understand the reasoning behind it. At least in this situation.

But what Caiphas didn’t know, was that he was sending Jesus to his death not just to “save a whole nation,” but to save the whole world. Jesus’ death wasn’t just for his own people, but for all people everywhere. His death was political. And it was universal. The cross wasn’t just an isolated event on a lonely hill just outside the city. It was an event that grabbed history with the force of its love.

And unlike Lazarus who appeared from the grave still wrapped in his grave clothes, still bound to death, Jesus rose from the dead with his grave clothes neatly folded and tucked away. He wouldn’t be needing them any more.

“No one is raising mother from the dead. She is NOT coming back to life!”

That’s true today. But that’s not true tomorrow. There will be a day when our grave clothes will be neatly folded and put away forever. 

There will be a day when the strength of Jesus’ death and power of his resurrection will flood the universe with love. 

There will be a day when the whole world will rise and meet its God. There will be a day when tomorrow lasts forever.
Our God is in the LIFE business. Our God is always putting something there where there wasn’t anything there before. Our God never gives up on us or the world, but our God takes our deaths and destroys them, and calls us out of the tombs of our lives.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of second chances.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of forgiveness.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of strength when we are afraid.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of hope, when the world seems to be against us.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of confidence, when circumstances demand that we step out in faith, not knowing where our foot will land.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of seeing new opportunities and fresh possibilities when we fail.

It’s Jesus who gives us the resurrection of comfort when we grieve.

“I am Resurrection. And I am Life,” Jesus announces. “I am the power of God that is making all things new. I am God’s creative energy that gave birth to the universe. I am the one who will not let death defeat YOU or anything God has made.

“I am breaking open the graves that the world has created.”

“I am breaking open the graves of hopelessness.”

“I am breaking open the graves of failure.”

“I am breaking open the graves of hatred.”


“I am breaking open the graves of greed.”

“I am breaking open the graves of cruelty.”

“I am breaking open the graves of selfishness.”

“I am breaking open the graves of sadness.”

“I am breaking open the graves of death, so that you will rise to a new and better tomorrow, meeting God’s abundant future today, unbinding your mortality, and greeting God’s eternity in your life - at this moment - to claim the joy and freedom that comes from knowing that your days will never end. ”

“I am resurrection. And I am life,” declares  Jesus.

May this be so among us. Amen.

Lent 3A

Last week, Jesus encountered Nicodemus. This week, he meets the woman at the well. And the two interactions couldn’t be more different.

Nicodemus is a man. She’s a woman. Nicodemus arrives at midnight. Jesus meets the woman at noon. 

Nicodemus is a highly educated, and greatly respected moral and religious leader.

The woman is an outcast and outsider, forced to retrieve her water from the well under the hot sun, instead of during the cool morning breeze, with the rest of the women.

He’s received honours throughout his life. She’s been rejected by most people who knew her.

The two couldn’t be any less alike.

But I know who I’m closer to. If I’m honest with myself I know that I’m more like Nicodemus than I am like the woman at the well. I think most of us here are, too. We may have our fair share of rejection in our lives, we may have gone through tough times, we may have had terrible challenges and almost insurmountable obstacles put on our life’s paths, but we’ve mostly managed to get through them with the help of friends, family, fellow church members, and government safety nets.

She didn’t have those options. She was alone, fending for herself. 

She lived in a culture that placed woman in the same category as livestock. She observed a religion on the fringiest of fringes of her world.

She was a member of a race that was met with hostility by everyone else around them. Her family was held together by the flimsiest of strings. She bounced from one bed to another, just to secure food and shelter for another night for herself and her children.

We know his name. We don’t know hers.

Like I said, I have no idea who this woman is. I can’t imagine what her life is like.

Despite the pain I’ve experienced in my years, I can’t measure it against her suffering. I can’t put myself in her dusty sandals. I don’t see my face in hers. She’s a stranger to me.

I’m guessing it’s the same is most for most of you. It was certainly the same for Jesus. Jesus was more like Nicodemus than he was like the woman.

Even though Jesus was a poor, wandering, homeless, preacher, he still had the respect of his friends (for the moment), crowds gathered to hear him speak, he’s ego was well stoked. He saw the gratitude in peoples’ eyes as they were healed. His life was pretty good - for now.

And Jesus could have easily walked past the woman at the well. He’d seen hundreds like her. He could have walked past her as he walked past the thousands of beggars in back alleys who didn’t come to hear him preach, or the lepers who stayed at a safe distance so not get to into trouble by being so close to others, or the other women who knew that religion at that time was supposed to be a man’s business so they stayed home with the kids.

But something must have caught Jesus’ attention that day. It was probably his parched throat, since they’d been walking for hours. He was thirsty. She had water.

In what must have sounded like a reverse pick-up line, Jesus asked HER for a drink. And she probably thought that this strange man wanted more than a cup of water from her. 

It turned out that Jesus knew everything about her. The men. The rejection. The loneliness. His knowledge may have come from God but it wasn’t hard for him to guess what her life was like. Her story wasn’t unique.

Of course she bounced from bed to bed, she had no other option. She traded her body for a flimsy security. 

Of course, she had to get water from the well in the worst heat of the day because the “respectable” women would push her away if she showed up at a more convenient time.

She was just trying to get through her life and provide for her children the best and only way she knew how. While she had been the victim of her circumstance, she was also a survivor.

She was strong. But she felt weak. She was resilient. But she felt like she would pass out from exhaustion at any moment. She was tough. But she longed to just let herself collapse into someone’s arms, someone who didn’t want anything from her, and rest.

And here was this Jewish preacher, who, by definition, should be her enemy. This man who preached the ancient faith and worshipped in the REAL temple. This man who exuded life and strength. This man, who by all accounts should hate her, looked at her with a love she hadn’t seen in a long time - if ever.

He told her all about her life. And he didn’t forgive her of her sins, as if survival was something to forgive. He just drank from HER cup. He accepted HER gift of water. And that was enough.

Jesus’ disciples didn’t know what to say. They just watched this scene unfold with their mouths hanging open, until one of them had to put a stop to it.

Pulling Jesus aside he asked with a voice everyone could hear, “Don’t you know who this woman is? Why are you talking to her?”

That’s when she bolted. She didn’t want to be reminded of her past, she didn’t want the men thrown in her face, she didn’t want to be judged for what she had to do to survive,  because, all of a sudden, she could see a different future for herself - God’s future for her life. And NO ONE was going to take that from her. She wouldn’t let them. And neither would God.

This Samaritan woman who bounced from bed to bed, who worshipped in a sham temple, who was hated and judged by everyone, became the first gentile evangelist, spreading the good news to those beyond Israel’s borders, making true John’s announcement that “God so loved the WORLD that he gave his only begotten Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life.”

On that day, God’s saving work spilled into the world, from a broken woman, simply trying to survive.

“Come and see!” she says, “He can’t be the Messiah, can he?”

Not exactly the proud, confident, proclamation of the disciples. But a proclamation nonetheless. People probably never looked at her the same way ever again. Her new life was a witness that could not be denied.

I don’t know why that is, but that’s the way God works. God has a way of using your brokenness for God’s purposes. God has a way using your weakness to show God’s strength. God has a way of using your pain to reveal God’s glory.

God seems to be attracted to pain and weakness. That could be because that’s where God’s greatest work is done.

I’ve noticed that’s true in my life and ministry. When I meet people as “Pastor Kevin” or “Rev. Powell” I encounter a shield where people protect themselves against me, afraid of what I may say about their lives.

But when I drop the titles and formalities, when I take off my collar and minister to people as one who’s gone through his own personal challenges; the death of a parent at a young age, a divorce that almost killed me, and depression that never fully goes away; professional setbacks and personal bombshells; when my scars show themselves, often despite my best effort to keep them hidden, that’s when people drop their guards, and I can minister as one human being to another, trusting that God will bring healing in the midst of common pain. In fact, it’s in that shared experience, that God’s healing work begins. For both of us.


It’s your scars, not your strengths that make you effective in your ministry, whatever ministry that may be. It’s your wounds, not your wins, that shine with God’s love and mercy. It’s the battles fought and lost, the victories denied, those moments of lostness and grief that give you the wisdom out of which God offers healing to others.

So, the woman at the well was the perfect first evangelist. She couldn’t look down her nose at anyone. She was no one’s judge. All she could do was point to Jesus and say, “Come and see the man who told me everything about myself...and made me a new person, and gave me a new future.”

May this be so among us. Amen.