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Rags to Riches … and Beyond

TV series often start with a voice–over intoning the words, “Previously on NCIS …” So today I begin, “Previously in this sermon …”

We met Joseph, a 17–year–old brat and tattletale. His brothers hated him, so they got rid of him and sold him to a caravan going down to Egypt. Once he got there, Joseph was sold to an Egyptian official named Potiphar as a slave. Potiphar’s wife made advances to Joseph, which he refused, so she charged him with sexual harassment and had him thrown in jail.

In jail, Joseph develops a reputation as an interpreter of dreams. It just so happened that the Pharaoh, the ruler of Egypt, had some dreams which no one else could interpret. Joseph is called on to interpret the dreams: there will be 7 years of abundance, O mighty Pharaoh, followed by 7 years of famine. Do this: store up 20% of the grain in each of the 7 years of plenty; that way you’ll have enough food for the 7 years of famine.

The Pharaoh agrees and puts Joseph in charge of the storage and rationing program. Joseph becomes the second most powerful man in all of Egypt. It’s a real rags–to–riches story. He’s an Egyptian lord now. He dresses as an Egyptian, he speaks as an Egyptian, to all intents and purposes, he has become an Egyptian.

The 7 years of abundance pass quickly. Then comes the famine, which afflicts the whole region, and soon people from other nations are coming to Egypt to buy food. Among them are Joseph’s brothers, who have been sent by Jacob to buy some food.

Joseph recognizes them immediately. Revenge is sweet. Joseph accuses his brothers of spying and throws them in jail for three days. But he relents, and sends them home with the grain they came to buy, and puts their money back in the sacks as well.

He demands however, that when they come back, they must bring their youngest brother Benjamin with them. He keeps Simeon to guarantee the return of the brothers.

When the brothers return home, Jacob is heartbroken. He’s already lost two sons— Joseph and Simeon. He couldn’t bear to lose Benjamin, Rachel’s other son.

But the day comes when he has no choice. They have run out of food, and so they go back to Egypt.

To their very great confusion, Joseph throws a feast for them. After the feast, he orders his steward to fill their sacks with grain and also to put his personal cup in Benjamin’s sack. The brothers leave, but are soon overtaken by Joseph’s servants, who accuse Benjamin of stealing the cup.

Joseph is playing with his brothers. He has all the power, and he uses it ruthlessly. He’s going to get back at them for what they did to him so long ago. It’s a game of cat–and–mouse for Joseph, and the brothers are afraid. Joseph has all the power now. As the one who decides who will get grain and who won’t, Joseph literally gets to decide who will live and who will die.

With that, we come to Genesis 45. This is the climax of the Joseph saga. He finally reveals himself to his brothers: “I am Joseph, your brother. You sold me into slavery; but don’t be afraid, for while you meant to do evil to me, God meant it for good.”

It sounds as if Joseph has finally forgiven his brothers. That’s a good thing … but we can’t forget how he played on the fears of his brothers and exploited his imperial power. In fact, we find in Genesis 50 after the death of Jacob that his brothers are still afraid of him. “What if Joseph gets back at us, now that Dad is dead?” they ask.

Joseph, by playing this cat–and–mouse game, has destroyed all possibility of community. He might have told his brothers not to be afraid, but he has all the power, and they will always be afraid of him. They will never quite trust him fully ever again.

Sure, it may have been the consequences of their own actions. After all, they got rid of him many years ago. But Joseph has the power to set things right … and he chose to play on their fears. He has unleashed something which can’t be undone.

This story tells us something about how we might live together in peace and forgiveness and wholeness. Joseph could have come to the place of forgiveness much sooner, particularly since he apparently believes that this was God’s purpose all along. But he gave in to his baser instincts.

Finally, there is one other troubling question. Joseph tells his brothers that this was God’s plan all along. Is that really so? After all, this is a story of human trafficking. The brothers sold him into slavery. Does the relief from the famine truly justify the actions of the brothers?

I’ve heard too many sermons saying that any social ill may be part of God’s purpose in bringing about a greater good.

I don’t believe it. And I think it’s okay to disagree with these stories. As with any story, our interpretation of them changes over time.

When Joseph tells his brothers that this was God’s purpose all along, he was doing what so many of us do. He was trying to make some sense of his experience. He was trying to find some reason for his experience, and we all do that, particularly when we’ve had a hard and painful experience.

When Joseph says, “it was not you who sent me here but God,” it’s Joseph’s own perception of the circumstances of his life. He’s trying to make sense of his experience. Contrary to some preachers, this story is not a way to justify any social ill as if God is at work in things like slavery, human trafficking, or any other social ill over which we manage to triumph.

God’s purposes are never expressed through harm done to other people. God’s purposes are not accomplished by the tragedy in Charlottesville this past week. God’s purposes are not accomplished in the increasing hatred and bigotry of people who seem to feel more free to express it. God’s purposes were not accomplished in the Indian Residential Schools. God’s purposes are not met in any act of violence or hatred or bigotry or any other such thing.

Rather, we remember Joseph and tell his story. We remember the family he came from with all of its troubled history. We remind ourselves that even in the most troubled family, forgiveness is possible. Even in the midst of the most unspeakable evil, we can stand firm as God’s people and speak out against that evil and speak out for justice and peace. We remember Joseph, and we are given an opportunity to reflect on our own relationships, our own generosity towards others, our own walk in this world with God and with our neighbours.

Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

August 20, 2017 (11th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 20)

Genesis 45: 1–15

Matthew 15: 21–28

Romans 11: 29–32

Actively Looking for God

(Sing) “Way way back, many centuries ago; not long after the Bible began.

“Jacob lived in the land of Canaan, a fine example of a family man.

“Jacob, Jacob and Sons, depended on farming to earn their keep.

“Jacob, Jacob and Sons, spent all the day in fields with sheep.”

That’s how Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat opens. Surprisingly, except for the coat, they get the story mostly right. That multi–coloured coat is actually the result of a mistranslation in the King James Bible—and that’s what most people remember about this story.

It’s the story about Joseph, Jacob’s second youngest son. The last 14 chapters of Genesis is a short story. It hardly ever mentions God—and yet God is there all along in the background. Part of what this story is all about is actively looking for God’s presence in life.

I think we do the same kind of thing in our own lives. We know God is there, even though we hardly ever mention it. If we want to see God, we have to look pretty actively. And usually, we see God after the fact, with hindsight.

Let me give you an example.

When I went through my depression some 17 years ago, I didn’t see God’s hand in what was happening to me. I was so focused on how bad life was. I didn’t care anymore. Life had lost all meaning, and I thought that the world would just be better off without me.

But I didn’t stay in that dark place. With the support of family and some good friends, and with the help of a couple of outstanding psych nurses, I came through it. I learned to love myself again—and I learned to love life again.

In the years since then, I have reflected on my life—on how I got to that dark place, on what I learned from it. That’s what we do—we look back over our lives to try and make sense of what happened.

So here I am 17 years later, and now I can see where God was present. Most particularly, God was there in my daughter Yvonne and one psych nurse, Chloe. I call them my redeemers, my saviours. They delivered me from that darkness. God was also present in some of the things I learned about being gentle with myself and with others.

I think that’s the kind of thing that’s going on in these stories in the Bible. God’s people are looking back on their history. As they tell their stories, the see God in hindsight, working in their stories and their lives. Most often, God’s presence isn’t found in miraculous things. Usually, they see God in ordinary events and ordinary people—like Yvonne and Chloe.

The other thing to be aware of is that as we choose to see God at work in our lives, we are making a choice. I choose to interpret my life this way. I choose to see God present in Yvonne’s love for me; I choose to see God’s healing presence in Chloe’s particular skill set which helped me and others through such painful times. I could have chosen other ways to interpret my life—but this is the choice I have made, and I am content with it. It makes sense of my life to me to review it this way.

So even though God is hardly ever mentioned in the story of Joseph and his wonderful long coat, Israel tells these stories long after the fact as a way of pointing to God’s presence and providence.

I’ll have much more to say about that next week … so y’all be sure to come back. Today is part 1. Today is mostly story–telling.

We left Jacob last week after his night–long wrestling match and his reunion with his brother Esau. Folks are calling him Israel now, and a lot of things have happened—but I’m not going to talk about that. If you want to find out, you’ll have to read Genesis 32—36 for yourself.

You remember Jacob—the con man, liar, thief, and cheat. His whole goal in life was to get ahead, no matter who he had to step on to do so.

Jacob has settled in Bethel with his wives and their maids, his children and servants, his herds and flocks. He’s a rich man, and even more amazingly, Jacob’s beloved wife Rachel has finally given birth to a son. Joseph was the apple of his daddy’s eye. Jacob loved Joseph more than any of his other kids—a lousy parenting choice if ever I heard one.

Joseph ends up being a 17–year–old brat and a tattle–tale. He knows he’s Daddy’s favourite. He struts around in the fine new coat Dad gave him—and his brothers hated him. It’s the same word used when Cain hated his brother Abel. The story is that the brothers “could not speak peaceably with him” … which is to say they could not even wish him “shalom”. The word stuck in their throats. When it was time to pass the peace in church, they … just … could … not. They hated him.

To top it all off, Joseph had some dreams.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” he told his brothers. “I had a dream that we were out in the fields gathering up the wheat. Suddenly, my sheaf stood up straight, and your sheaves bowed down to mine.”

“Hey guess what, guys? I had another dream. The sun, the moon, and eleven stars were all bowing down to me.”

That one was even too much for dear old Dad, who warned Joseph to keep his mouth shut.

One day, since they were sheep herders, the brothers took the herds out to pasture. Dad decided to send Joseph with some provisions. When he arrived, the brothers saw their chance. “Let’s kill the little so–and–so! We’ll tell Dad a wild animal got him. Come on, guys, let’s get rid of him!”

Reuben, the eldest, wouldn’t go along with it. So instead, they threw Joseph into a pit. When some slave traders happened by, they sold him and made a little extra money for themselves. They ripped the fine coat up, dipped it in blood, and went home to tell Dad the sorry tale. “Dear old Joey. Killed by a wild animal! Poor guy!” (sob sob sniff sniff).

Joseph ends up in Egypt, and he is sold to a court official named Potiphar. Potiphar’s wife ends up lusting after Joseph; he refuses, and ends up in prison.

What will happen to Joseph now? Will he rot in jail? Will he die there? Tune in next week to find out how the story ends …

So far, there’s not much of God in this story. It’s a classic tale of a dysfunctional family. We’ve seen some themes from other stories in Genesis—

Let me say it again: a central question in this story is about discerning how God is present. In the midst of this dysfunctional family, is God actually at work? So far, it’s looking pretty bleak. There doesn’t seem to be much evidence of God so far.

And like the story of our own lives, we may not be able to see God while we’re going through some of the tough stuff in our lives. As we look back, however, as we reflect, as we actively seek to find signs of God’s presence, we will discover that God was there all along.

The promise of Jesus is that those who seek … will find.

Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

August 13, 2017 (10th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 19)

Genesis 37: 1–4, 12–28

Romans 10: 5–15

Matthew 14: 22–33

Seeing God’s Face

I’m going to continue thinking with you about these wonderful stories about Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The stories about Israel’s patriarchs are stories about Israel’s origins.

Now if you’re anything like me, you probably grew up thinking that these Bible stories are salutary tales about Biblical heroes—you know like, David and Goliath, or today’s story about Jacob wrestling with God. I was taught that these heroes could inspire us with their example.

I no longer think that way. The characters in the Bible are flawed human beings like you and me. They get some things right. Much more often, however, they screw up.

These stories also show us that theology is not tidy. It is worked out in the day to day lives of God’s people. Theology is a living thing for us.

Last week, I was sitting in the choir, and Joel said, “That story about Jacob being tricked into marrying Rachel’s older sister Leah, and then finally marrying Rachel as well, and fathering children by both of them, as well as their maids … that story feels a lot like what’s been happening in the courts here with Bountiful.”

He was right. These Bible stories feel very contemporary. They are very similar to the stories of our lives. The names and the places change, but the stories are much the same, because we too are trying to figure out how God is present in our lives.

So let me remind you of two important things as we read these stories.

First of all, they are stories. They didn’t start as “Holy Scripture”. They likely started as stories told around the fires at night as ancient Israelites remembered their ancestors. These are family stories.

The second very important thing is that these stories are not about what God actually said and did; they are stories about what Israel believed God said and did. They are theological stories, and we tell these stories over and over again as a way of remembering that the same God continues to be active in the life of God’s people. That’s why these stories have such a contemporary feel. They are as much about us as they are about our ancestors.

So let’s dive into the story about Jacob.

Jacob’s not a nice guy. Even his name means “heel” or “cheater”. Jacob goes through life depending on his own wits. He doesn’t care who he steps on to get ahead. He is a liar, a cheat, a con man, a trickster. In short, Jacob is a jerk.

He was born a twin, behind Esau. The story is that he grabbed Esau’s heel in the birth canal, as if to get out first. When they were young men, he stole Esau’s birthright. His mother Rebekah helped him trick his father Isaac into giving him the blessing intended for Esau. As you can imagine, Esau was royally ticked off, and threatened to kill Jacob, so he ran away. What a guy!

He stayed with uncle Laban’s family. He fell in love with Rachel, and agreed to work 7 years to marry her. At the end of the 7 years of labour, Laban tricked him and substituted Rachel’s older sister Leah. Jacob had to work another 7 years for Rachel. As you might imagine, the two wives didn’t get along; on top of it, Rachel couldn’t bear children, and Leah lorded it over her.

The short story is that Jacob fathered 11 sons and one daughter by three women—Leah, her maid, and Rachel’s maid. It really does sound a lot like Bountiful!

So far, it’s a rollicking good story. You can imagine the fun Jacob’s descendants would have as they told this story around their fires at night. This is the man who started it all! This is their ancestor! What a guy!

Jacob grew rich, mostly at his uncle Laban’s expense. He juggled the accounts, breeding the flocks in such a way that Jacob’s herds grew and Laban’s herds declined. What a guy!

Jacob has made another enemy; it’s time to run away again, but he finds himself between a rock and a hard place: Laban? Or Esau?

He decides to go home. On the way, Jacob sends a servant to scout out the terrain ahead; the servant reports that Esau is coming with 400 men. Afraid for his life, Jacob sends his family and all he has ahead, placing them between Esau and himself. It’s a real act of courage, don’t you think? What a guy!

And now he’s left all alone. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he is jumped by a man who wrestles with him the whole night long.

Now, many interpreters say that the anonymous wrestler is God. But the text never actually says that. “A man wrestled with him until daybreak.” So who is this man? Is it really God? Or is it someone else?

After all, Jacob has made lots of enemies—Esau and Laban, to begin with. Given Jacob’s behaviour, there were likely more than a few other enemies.

Or is this a story about Jacob wrestling with himself, with his own demons, with his own grasping and malicious way of being? All have been suggested. The text doesn’t make it clear; it only says “a man”.

The wrestling match continues all night. Just as the sun is about to rise, the man cheats. He strikes Jacob in the hip, ripping the socket out of joint. Forever after, Jacob will have a limp.

The man asks Jacob to let him go, since it is almost daybreak; but Jacob refuses unless the man gives him a blessing.

Jacob gets his blessing, and his name is changed to Israel because “you have striven with God and humans and you have prevailed.” For the first time, God is named in the story. And Jacob names the place “Peniel” which means, “I have seen God face–to–face and lived to tell the story.”

Jacob is the one who names this wrestler as God. But after everything he has done, do we believe him? Can we really believe this liar, this cheat, this con man?

Nevertheless, Jacob has won. He has his blessing. He claims to have seen the face of God and lived to tell the tale.

But here’s the interesting thing. It’s not included in the little snippet we read, but when Esau and Jacob finally meet, Esau has forgotten all about what Jacob did to him. He doesn’t hold a grudge. The two brothers embrace and weep with joy, and Jacob says to Esau, “to see your face is like seeing the face of God.”

Seeing the face of God. There’s that phrase again. Where do we see the face of God in this story? In the wrestling match where Jacob prevailed? Or in the face of his brother whom he wronged so long ago who took him into his embrace?

For me, here is the good news in this story. We see the face of God in the face of our family, our neighbours, our friends. More to the point, we see the face of God in the least of these.

It sounds very close to what Jesus taught us. We see the face of God in each other. We see God in “the least of these our brothers and sisters”.

It is what Jesus taught, but let’s be quite clear about this. It’s not always easy to see God in our neighbours. It’s hard sometimes to look past their faults, or the way they have hurt us or betrayed us. It’s hard to love our neighbours sometimes.

Maybe that’s why we keep telling this story of Jacob wrestling, and then continuing on to meet Esau after 20 years. We need to learn again and again to look for the face of God in the face of those whom we meet day in and day out. In a sense, loving our neighbours is a lot like struggling with God.

That’s why we pass the peace in worship. It’s not a time to gossip or to catch up with each other. We pass the peace as a sign of reconciliation, a sign that Christ is present with us, that God is there in the form of the person beside you, in front of you, behind you. We pass the peace, hoping to catch a glimpse of the face of God in the faces of our neighbours. We reach out in hope that somehow God is present in these very ordinary people. We look at each other and say, “The peace of Christ be with you.” We recognize God in each other. We seek the face of Jesus in everyone we meet. We pray that they may also see the face of Jesus in us.

I suspect Jacob had to wrestle that night so that he would be able to see the face of God in Esau. I suspect that as we continue to tell this story, we learn to define ourselves as a people who refuse to let go of God until we learn to see God in each other.

We will fight with God and demand that God bless us. As we do so, we will be changed. As we are transformed, we may be damaged. But that transformation will also lead to our healing.

Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

August 6, 2017 (9th Sunday after Pentecost—Proper 18)

Genesis 32: 22–31

Romans 9: 1–5

Matthew 14: 22–33

 

 

 

Simply A Love Story

We’ve been looking at stories about Abraham and Sarah the last few weeks. I’ve reminded us that we should read these as stories, because that’s what they are. The Bible is a library of stories, written by different authors at different times in history, covering a span of some 1200 years.

Now, to be fair, not everything in the Bible is a story. There are parables and poems, songs and genealogies, laws and letters and bits of history. All kinds of literature, and all of them pointing somehow to God. This is how our ancestors in the faith tried to figure out how God is present in life.

Some of the stories are fun; some tell of everyday human actions like love and betrayal, hope and loss; some stories are horrifying, like the story of the binding of Isaac. Some are love stories, and others are letters. Many of the stories are playful. Some of the stories are even told two or three times, and usually they’re told differently. It’s what you would expect of a good story—it never stays exactly the same.

These stories were first told by our ancestors in the faith. In other words, they were oral; they were only written down centuries later. If you can imagine our ancient ancestors in the faith sitting around their fires at night, telling stories about their origins and ancestors—then you get a sense of how these stories began.

The purpose of these stories was to try to find ways of talking about how God was present and active in their lives. So when they tell a story about creation, they also understood that God was still at work, creating them. As God called their ancestors, so God was calling them. As God was involved in the lives of those who went before them, so God continues to be involved in our life.

In other words, these are not just stories about way back then. They are stories about now. This is who we are. This is our God. We are people who belong to this God.

One of the things that makes our Bible different from any other kind of religious story is that these stories tell about a God who gets involved in human life. Other religions affirm a distant God, an all–powerful God who stands above the petty affairs of human life, a God who is untouched by our lives.

But not the Bible. We tell stories about a God who cares—about our lives, who cares about creation, and who demands that we also care about one another and about all the other creatures of this wonderful creation. We tell stories about a God who gets involved with us, It is, after all, one of the names given to Jesus—Immanuel, which means “God with us”.

Sometimes in these stories, God is front and centre. Other times, God is hiding in the shadows. The book of Esther, for example, never mentions the name of God. Not once. The story of Joseph, one of Abraham’s great–grandsons, hardly ever mentions God, except when Joseph talks about his trust in God.

Today’s story is like that. Sarah died. She was 127. Abraham is old too; it’s time to make sure that the next generation will continue the story. So Abraham calls his most trusted servant and gives him a mission. “Go back to the place I first came from, to my kin. Find a wife for Isaac there.”

It’s a pretty vague set of instructions, but away the servant goes. He reaches the city, and stops at a well outside the gates. He prays, “God, if I ask a woman for a drink, and she responds ‘Drink, and let me also water your camels,’ then let her be the one.”

It’s kind of like saying, “God if I find a parking spot in front of the CD store, let that be a sign that you want me to go in.”

And it happens exactly that way. Rebekah comes to the well. She is stunningly beautiful. She offers the servant a drink, and then waters his camels as well. She’s the one! It’s a sign from God, right?

The servant offered her the gifts he had brought—two arm bracelets, and a nose ring. (I’m not going to say a word about that. Not. A. Word.)

She runs back home to tell everyone what had happened. The family invites the servant to stay, offering hospitality as was expected. And, in good story–telling style, the servant tells the whole story again, from Abraham sending him off, to his prayer at the well, to seeing Rebekah. “And I praised God for leading me here.”

Rebekah’s brother Laban responds, “This is totally God’s doing. We have no say. Rebekah is yours. Take her, and may God bless you.”

The next morning Abraham’s servant and Rebekah leave for home. The story ends with Isaac seeing her as they come close. Isaac and Rebekah were married. The story ends on this simple note: “She became his wife and he loved her.”

Now some people want to make more of this story than it is. I found a long essay online entitled, “How to Find a Godly Wife”—as if this story were God’s instruction manual for finding a spouse.

I don’t believe that for a moment.

It’s an ordinary story, a simple love story, with God very much behind the scenes. It comes from ordinary human experience. It’s the kind of story we might tell about meeting someone at a bar or coffee shop or a dance. Ordinary stuff.

When these stories were first told, no one thought that they’d become “Holy Scripture”. They were simply stories about ancestors, and stories about God working in their lives.

And just as we might say when we are celebrating a 50th anniversary, “It was meant to be…”, so our ancestors in the faith tell this story looking back and seeing God’s loving purposes in the story. God was there, active behind the scenes. It’s a story about providence and guidance. It’s a story about God’s promises being fulfilled. It’s a story about blessing.

Our responsive reading this morning comes from the Song of Songs. It’s a wonderful, erotic love story. We only read the cleaned–up bits, but if you read the whole Song, it gets pretty racy.

Ordinary stories. Simple love stories. And yet, for those who have eyes to see, our extraordinary God is at work in the ordinary stories of our lives. For those who have hearts to trust, our God is present and active in our lives and in our world.

So, as you look back over your life, where has God been at work? Can you see moments when you felt the rush of God’s love? Were there moments of sorrow and disappointment where now you can say, “I learned something important”? Do you have eyes and hearts which have seen and experienced the love of God at different times in your lives?

God is there. We are in the presence of the divine, in the presence of the holy. Because here’s the thing—God is involved with us. God is deeply committed to God’s people. God is with us.

And that’s a very good thing.

Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

July 9, 2017 (5th Sunday after Pentecost / Proper 14)

Genesis 24: 34–38, 42–49, 58–67

Song of Songs 2: 8–13

Romans 7: 15–25a

Matthew 11: 16–19, 25–30

A Son Named Laughter

 

One of the things I love about the Bible is that it is so very much like a storybook … and some of the stories are real doozies! They were written by different authors at different periods in history. The stories are not so much eyewitness accounts or history. Rather, they were written as a way of trying to figure out where God is present in life.

Actually, they first sprang to life as oral stories, told over and over again. Years, centuries later, they were written down long after they first came to life. If you can imagine our ancient ancestors in the faith sitting around their fires at night, telling stories about what their life was all about—then you get a sense of what these stories are like.

They’re playful. Many of these stories are told in several different ways. They change a little bit over time. They’re based in a memory of history, to be sure, but like any good story they reflect the times in which they are told and retold as much as they reflect the time the story was born.

As I mentioned, these stories are a way in which our ancestors in the faith tried to describe how they saw God present in their lives. As God created the world, so God was creating them. As God called their ancestors, so God was calling them. As God was involved in the lives of those who went before them, so God is involved in our life.

In other words, these are not just stories about way back then. They are stories about now. This is who we are. This is our God. We are people who belong to this God.

Like any good stories, they tell the good and the bad. They don’t gloss over the bad, and paint our ancestors as if they were some goody–two shoes plaster saints. The people in these stories struggled with faith and doubt, just like us. They fought with God, just like us. They weren’t sure whether God was really present or not, just like us.

Over the next few weeks, we’re going to take a look at some of the stories about Abraham and Sarah. Our reading from Genesis jumps into the middle of the story, so here’s the back story.

The first eleven chapters of Genesis tell the story of creation and flood, or God’s incredible goodness and the disappointment of a creation gone terribly wrong. These stories are a way of trying to figure out why the world is the way it is. It ends on a note of hopelessness … the story ends with a single family, but “Sarah was barren; she had no child.”

There is no future for this family. There is no future for the human family which began in creation.

Then, out of the blue, God speaks again to this family. In Genesis 12, God calls Abraham: “Leave everything you know: leave your homeland, leave your kin, leave your family; go to a land you’ve never seen. Don’t worry, I’ll lead you.

“And here’s my promise to you Abraham. You’re going to have many descendants and be a great nation. You and your descendants will inherit the land of Canaan. You will be a blessing to the whole world.”

There’s only one problem with this scenario—Abraham and Sarah have no children. Remember? Sarah is barren. And as someone once said, “Infertility is hereditary; if your parents didn’t have any kids, you’re not likely to have any either.”

You can imagine the laughter and rollicking good fun people would have as they told this story. It’s hard to be the ancestor of a great nation if you don’t have any kids.

There’s another story about the promise again in Genesis 17 … “I’m going to give you and Sarah a son; I will bless her, and she will give rise to nations.”

Except that this time, the problem is that Sarah is 90 years old. At the thought of Sarah giving birth, Abraham falls on his face laughing. In Hebrew, the word is tsahak … and God responds, “No, you will have a son. Name him Isaac,” which in Hebrew is yitshak … which means, “He laughs.”

Isaac forever after is a reminder of Abraham and Sarah’s laughter in the face of the promise.

Then we get to Genesis 18.

Abraham is sitting by the oaks of Mamre. He sees three men approaching in the heat of the day. In that semi–arid climate, hospitality is a matter of life and death, so he jumps up and offers water and food. Moving as fast as his 100–year–old legs will carry him, he runs to the tent to tell Sarah to whip up a good dinner, and he rustles about some good veal from the herd.

After they have eaten, the strangers ask after the missus—“Where is your wife Sarah?”

As it turns out, Sarah is eavesdropping on them just inside the tent. When one of the visitors promises that she will bear a son in her post–menopausal years, Sarah, like Abraham before her, laughs (tsahak) and says to herself, “An old woman like me? Pregnant? With this old man of a husband?” She snorts.

And the way they tell the story is that it turns out that one of these strangers is the Lord. God asks Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh, and say, ‘Me? Pregnant in my old age?’”

Then comes the point—the whole story hinges on this question: “Is anything too wonderful for the Lord?”

We can understand why Sarah and Abraham would have given up hope. They’ve got one foot in the grave … and the promise that they’re going to have the other foot in the nursery is simply unbelievable. Impossible! Life doesn’t happen that way.

We can see why our ancestors in the faith loved this story, why they would have told and retold it.

Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? Can God fulfill these promises, despite the facts on the ground? Sarah and Abraham don’t believe it. In fact, Sarah, forgetting that she’s not supposed to be listening to the conversation, says from behind the tent entrance, “I did not laugh.”

And I imagine the Lord with a twinkle in the eye and a chuckle at the divine absurdity of it all, says, “Oh yes, you did laugh.” And then joins in the laughter.

This is the humour in this story. It’s not stand–up comedy. Rather, it is what Frederick Buechner calls “high comedy” … something so extraordinarily good, something so wonderful, that it’s hard to believe, something so out–of–the–ordinary that we laugh until the tears stream down our faces. Buechner tells us that these are “glad tears, not sad tears, tears at the hilarious unexpectedness of things rather than at their tragic expectedness.”

Is anything too wonderful for the LORD? Can God bring life even out of the dry husk that is Sarah, not to mention 100–year–old Abraham—the one whom the writer of the Book of Hebrews calls “as good as dead”?

These stories elicit laughter and faith. Forever after, their descendants would remember that they came from a son who was named laughter—Isaac, Yitschak, “He laughs”.

It’s a good story for us to remember. The word “gospel” comes from an Old English word which means glad tidings. Our faith is good news. In this story, in all of our stories, is a God who speaks a word of hope into hopelessness, a word of life into barrenness.

This child named Laughter becomes a living symbol that God can transform the depths of hopelessness into hope. We confess our trust that God takes the worst and bleakest in our world and brings new life just when we had given up. We worship a God who transforms the laughter of hopelessness into the laughter of joy.

Abraham falls on his face in a fit of laughter. Sarah laughs behind the tent door. And I dare to believe that God laughs with them, and with us, at the divine, wonderful absurdity of it all. We are descendants of a child of the promise—and the kid’s name is “Laughter.”

Thanks be to God.

 

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

June 18, 2017 (2nd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 11)

Genesis 18: 1–15

Romans 5: 1–8

Matthew 9:35 – 10:8

The Faith I Have Claimed

Every week we sing the Creed. The familiar lines … I believe in God … I believe in God’s Son … I believe in God’s own Spirit. The Creed is a way of saying and singing our faith.

The thing I love about this particular paraphrase by Sylvia Dunstan is the last line: “This the faith that I have claimed.” When we believe something, we claim it as our own. We say, “This is what I trust. This is what I give my heart to.” So when we say that we believe in God, in Jesus, in God’s own Spirit, we are saying that this is the one to whom we give our heart.

The heart of the Creed, and the heart of our faith, is that God promises to be with us. We can think of our Christian faith as a story which is centred around this throught: God is with us. We heard it twice today in our readings. Paul’s last word to the church in Corinth is, “The God of love and peace will be with you.” Matthew says it just as strongly. Jesus’ last words to the church are, “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

God is with us. That’s the heart of what we trust.

Our response to God is this: “I give my heart to God whom we know in Jesus in the power of the Spirit.

Today is Trinity Sunday. I’m not going to try to explain the Trinity to you. What I am going to say is that the Trinity is another way of affirming that God is with us. Trinity is a way of telling the story of our faith.

It all begins in Genesis, in the book of beginnings. Our story begins with a wonderful portrait of God calling creation into being, of a God who longs to be with creation.

Behind everything in nature, behind every living thing, behind all of humankind, there is God. God is involved in our world. We claim, we trust that the world has meaning and purpose. God is involved in life, and God’s creative power continues to work day by day. My world comes from God; my life comes from God; all that I touch and handle and own—it all comes from God. Every breath I take; every ability or gift, and every possession, comes from God. God is with us.

And at the end of this wondrous story in Genesis, God commissions us all, men and women and children together, to take care of creation. Doesn’t that just take your breath away? God says to us, “Here’s my beautiful, amazing, wondrous, life–filled creation. Now you take care of it for me.”

God entrusts all of it to us. We are stewards of God’s good creation. We get to take care of what God has given to us.

But something went terribly wrong. Our close relationship with God was stretched to the breaking point. We were entrusted with creation—and we’ve made a mess of it. We’ve done a lousy job. We have confused what is good with what is merely advantageous for us. We have become arrogant, thinking that the water and the air and the resources of this earth are nothing more than commodities for us to buy and sell so that we can make life as comfortable for us as we can. As if it were all about us …

So the Creed continues, “We believe in Jesus.” Here’s where we run into a bit of a problem with the Creed—there’s nothing in it about Jesus’ life. It’s all about his death and resurrection. So let me fill in some of the gaps of the story.

Jesus came into our lives and called us, “Follow me! Walk with me. Journey with me. As I am with you, so you be with me. Let me show you how God’s world is meant to work. Let me help you discover God’s Kingdom—the Reign of God—God’s way of doing things.”

Jesus calls a group of followers around him. They watch what he does; they listen to what he says; they see how he touches lives. They discover his priorities, his concerns, his passions. Slowly, they come to understand that Jesus is showing them what it means to be trusted servants of God. The theme of stewardship which we found at the very beginning of the story is also important in Jesus’ teaching and life. He calls us over and over again to be faithful with what is entrusted to us. Take care of what God gives you.

When the disciples complained that their resources were limited, Jesus showed them God’s abundance. When the disciples thought they weren’t enough, Jesus taught them that in God’s economy we are always enough.

They followed; they watched and listened; they learned—sometimes very slowly, but they learned. They saw broken lives changed; they watched Jesus give dignity to nobodies; Jesus touched people with love and treated them with respect; outcasts were welcomed. All were embraced within God’s love.

Gradually it dawned on them that Jesus was preparing them to take on his work—to do what he did—and they were afraid. They saw a hostile world and they were so afraid that they huddled behind locked doors. The resurrected Jesus came to them, greeted them with peace and promised them a gift.

That gift was God’s holy Spirit. Here’s the third part of the story. We celebrated this gift last week, at Pentecost. God’s holy Spirit is given to followers of Jesus. God’s holy Spirit strengthens us, teaches us, encourages us, enables us to be the trusted servants God intends us to be.

God’s holy Spirit blew through the lives of the first followers of Jesus, and they lost their fear. They came out from behind closed doors, and began to work with what God had entrusted them. They touched broken lives as Jesus had; they shared good news with the poor as Jesus had; they talked about the Kingdom as Jesus had. It was said of them that they “turned the world upside down”. They made a difference. They suffered for it; they died for it, but they made a difference…just as trusted servants—just as stewards—always do.

We believe in that same Holy Spirit. That same holy Spirit blows through our lives to make us more faithful followers of Jesus, to be more faithful stewards of all God’s blessings.

This is our story. We are part of this story of God with us. When we say “We believe”, we confess that all we have and all we are, is entrusted to us by God. God invites us to help build the Kingdom—to reach out into the world we live in—to touch and change hurting, broken and marginalized lives.

And for us who believe in God, for us who trust God—we also trust that as we take up our vocation to follow Jesus, our lives will be filled with God’s grace and love to reach out to our world with healing and compassion and grace.

We are called to live faithfully in the world as people who trust God, who follow Jesus, who are empowered by God’s holy Spirit. We are empowered to live faithfully as God’s people.

That’s what happens at the end of Matthew’s gospel. Jesus speaks one last word to the church: “Go. Make disciples of all nations. Baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Teach them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

This is how God’s kingdom happens. Just as God invited us to take care of creation at the beginning, so now God invites us to give birth to the kingdom, to God’s way of doing things. God invites us to live, day by day, knowing that God is with us.

That’s the promise on which the gospel ends. “Remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” We heard this same promise at the beginning of Matthew’s gospel. When Jesus is born, he is named Emmanuel—God with us. God is with us. In every moment of our days, God is with us. In every circumstance of our lives, God is with us. In every act we pursue, God is with us.

Here is our story. It’s the story of life lived in the presence of God. It’s the story of God action and our response. It’s the story of the partnership which God invites us into.

“This the faith that I have claimed.”

Thanks be to God.

 

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

June 11, 2017 (1st Sunday after Pentecost—Trinity Sunday)

Matthew 28: 16–20

Genesis 1:1 – 2:4a

2 Corinthians 13: 11–13

Living with Spirit

Happy Pentecost!

Today we celebrate the gift of God’s spirit. God’s holy Spirit fills us and empowers us. There are many images for holy Spirit …

The wind of God blows through us and around us. The breath of God revives us. The light of God shines in us to brighten the world. The fire of God inflames our passion for God’s good news. God’s life courses through our veins, strengthening us to share the good news of God’s powerful love and loving power in the world.

Holy Spirit … wind … breath … light … fire … God’s very life. This is how God is present.

Happy Pentecost!

The classic story for Pentecost is found in Acts 2. About 120 of the early followers of Jesus are waiting together, praying, wondering what might come next. Suddenly they hear the sound of a gale -force wind blow through the room. They see what appears to be tongues of fire dancing over their heads. These are ancient symbols of God’s presence … God is here! God is present!

Holy Spirit spreads through them like wildfire, sending them out into the streets to tell whoever will listen about God’s love for the world. They are so filled with Spirit that people think they’re drunk!

Peter starts to preach … “We’re not drunk. It’s only 9 o’clock in the morning! We haven’t had time to get drunk. This is God’s spirit. God’s holy Spirit fills the world with joy, sets the world free, reaches out to the world in compassion and makes the world whole. This is so much better than being drunk.”

John 20 tells the story much more quietly. On Easter evening, as the disciples huddle together in fear, Jesus appears. “Peace,” he says. “Shalom. As the Father sent me, so now I’m sending you. Go out into the world.” Jesus breathes on them, whispering, “Receive holy spirit. Whoever you forgive, I will forgive.” God’s breath fills them with life. And then Jesus is gone.

In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul lists some of the gifts God’s holy Spirit gives to the church. All kinds of gifts—teaching, wise counsel, simple trust, clear understanding. Each of us, given gifts of the Spirit. All of these gifts are to help the world know just how deeply God loves the world.

“All of us,” says Paul, “all of us have been baptized into one Spirit. All of us have received God’s holy Spirit.”

One of the ways in which we can read these stories is to say that they are about vocation.

So let me ask you a question. By a show of hands, how many of you have a vocation?

Now, let me ask you the same question in a different way. By a show of hands, how many of you have been baptized?

I know those questions sound different. They are—but they both point to the same reality.

When we are baptized, God gives us a vocation. God calls us to reach out in love to the world.

The word “vocation” comes from the Latin word vocare — which means “to call”. Too often, we think of priests and deacons as having a vocation—and we do. But we’re not the only ones. All of us in the church are called to live for God. God calls all of us to live out the good news. All of us. Not just priests and special ministers. All of us.

That’s what those questions at baptism are all about: “Will you proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ?” “I will with God’s help.” Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbour as yourself?” “I will with God’s help. We are talking about being called. We are talking about vocation.

Frederick Buechner is very helpful in helping us understand this. He writes,

“There are all different kinds of voices calling you to all different kinds of work; the problem is to find out which the voice of God rather than of Society, say, or the Superego, or Self-interest.

“By and large a good rule for finding this out is this: The kind of work God usually calls you to is the kind of work (a) that you need most to do and (b) that the world needs to have done. If you really get a kick out of your work, you’ve probably met requirement (a), but if your work is writing cigarette ads, the chances are you missed requirement (b). On the other hand, if your work is being a doctor in a leper colony, you have probably met requirement (b), but if most of the time you’re bored and depressed by it, the chances are you have not only bypassed (a), but probably aren’t helping your patients much either.

“Neither the hair shirt nor the soft berth will do. The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

Thomas Merton deepens our understanding when he writes, “Vocation does not come from a voice ‘out there’ telling me to become something I am not. It comes from a voice ‘in here’ calling me to be the person I was born to be, to fulfill the original selfhood given to me by God.”

Vocation is about becoming our deepest, our best selves. This is God’s gift to us, and this is what we celebrate today.

Archbishop John is inviting all of us in this season to think about where God is calling us to serve.

What do you love to do? What is your passion? Is it to be with other people? Is it to do something about homelessness? Is it to do something about our public life? Is it to teach? Is it to reach out to the poor? Is it to help those who can’t help themselves?

That’s step 1. What’s your passion?

Once you’ve thought about that … the second question is where does your passion and the world’s need meet. If you love to be with other people—perhaps you can visit. If you are passionate about a social need, perhaps you can volunteer on a committee or a task force. If you have a passion to teach, perhaps you can work with children or adults. If you have a passion to help the less fortunate, perhaps you can volunteer. There are all kinds of ways to breathe that kind of life into your passion.

Now I hope you noticed something … I’m not talking about working in the church. Yes, absolutely, some of us have a calling to work in the church—as priests, or deacons, or lay associates, or lay ministers, or servers, or coffee time hosts, or maintenance people.

But many more of us are called to work in the world, to live as people who know God’s love and have a desire to share that love with the world. We are all called to proclaim the good news of God’s love. We are all called to seek and serve Christ in all persons.

We are all called.

And today, on Pentecost, we celebrate the gift of God’s holy Spirit who empowers us to work out our vocation.

So … Happy Pentecost! We are all empowered. We are all gifted. We are all filled with the breath of God. We are all set on fire with God’s love. We are all living with Spirit.

God’s holy Spirit is active in us all.

So let me ask those questions again.

By a show of hands, how many of you have been baptized?

By a show of hands, how many of you think you have a vocation?

Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

June 4, 2017 (Pentecost Sunday)

Acts 2: 1–21

John 20: 19–23

1 Corinthians 12: 3–13

Up, Down & Out

Last Thursday, the church celebrated one of the minor festivals of the Church Year, the Ascension of our Lord.

It’s an odd little story, and we only find it in Luke … and he tells it twice—once at the end of his gospel; and then he repeats it at the beginning of Acts. The book of Acts is part 2 of Luke’s story. It’s a sequel … like The Empire Strikes Back or The Godfather Part 2. Luke’s purpose in writing this sequel is to show that Jesus’ death and resurrection is not the end of the story. The story of God’s dream continues in the life of the church.

Luke writes this story about Jesus ascending to heaven, some 40 days after the resurrection. The point of the story is that Jesus is gone. He is no longer with us on earth—so now what?

This is a transition story. It’s an interlude.

Up till now, the story has been all about Jesus living on earth, teaching his disciples, showing the world how we might all experience God’s love in our lives.

But then the state executed him. Just like that, he was gone. But that wasn’t the end of the story. The world was surprised by God’s gift of new life. Jesus is risen! He’s alive! Alleluia!

But there’s something different. It’s not the same. Jesus tells his disciples that he must return to the Father.

So what happens now? Now what?

Through this story, Luke lets the church know that God’s love continues to pervade their lives. Even though Jesus is gone, God’s love for the world hasn’t ended. Now it’s up to the church to live God’s love out the same way Jesus did. Now it’s up to the church to live a life filled with God. The story of God’s dream which began in the life of Jesus continues now in the life of the church.

With this story of Jesus ascending, Luke wants us to know that while Jesus’ body may be gone, his spirit remains with us.

The disciples, who are still uncertain about it all, ask a final question: “Is this the time? Now will everything we had hoped for come to pass?” Jesus responds that the time is held in God’s hand. Our work is to be witnesses, to tell the story of God’s dream, to participate in God’s dream of a world which is whole for all creatures.

“You will be empowered…” says Jesus. And then he is lifted from their sight. The disciples stand there watching, and two men in white appear and ask, “What are you doing here, looking into the sky?” It’s as if they’re telling us, “Don’t stand around speculating. Get out there and tell others about the love of God.”

It reminds me sometimes of the old Star Trek episodes. “Beam me up, Scotty.” Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and the away team have finished their work on a planet; when it was done, they would be teleported back to the Enterprise. “Beam me up, Scotty”.

Part of what’s going on here is that in Luke’s time, people saw the earth differently than we do. They lived in a three–storey universe.

We live in the middle storey, the earth. As everyone can see, it’s a flat disc. When I lived in Regina, you could almost believe that the world was flat like that. All you saw was flat land, bounded at the horizon by hills and mountains.

Underneath us, on the ground floor, the earth is held up by pillars arising from Sheol, the underworld. And up there, on the third floor, beyond the sky … well that’s heaven. That’s where God lives. So of course, Jesus goes up. He ascends.

That’s the worldview in which the Bible was written. We know now of course that the world is a beautiful and fragile ball spinning in space amidst millions of other stars and galaxies and universes.

But even though we know differently, our language still reflects that ancient cosmology. If I tell you to look to heaven, your eyes automatically go up. We still think of good as being up … and bad being down. It’s natural for us to say things like “I’m down in the dumps” or “I feel really good today. I’m up for it.”

This story is not meant literally. It’s an image, a metaphor for something profound that happens in the life of the church. This story is about moving up … and down … and out.

We’ve already talked about up. Jesus ascends. He is not held in the grave; he returns to God. Our faith trusts deeply that death never has the last word. Our faith is about life … and not just life in the future, but abundant life in the present.

Up … means that death is not the last word. God’s love and power and grace and life are the last word, and God’s love works through us as we live in this world.

Second, down. Jesus promises that God’s holy Spirit will come down. Holy Spirit is the empowering presence of God in our midst. Holy Spirit comes upon us … into us … among us … within us … through us. That’s what Pentecost is all about. We’ll celebrate that next Sunday.

But the point here is that holy Spirit is here now—filling us, empowering us, infusing us with life. God’s life revives our lives, making us more than we could ever be on our own. God’s life courses through our veins so that we can share the good news of God’s powerful love and loving power with the world.

Third, out. The church is sent out. We don’t get holy Spirit so we can sit here and feel good about ourselves and each other. Holy Spirit drives us out into the world to tell others about this good news we’ve experienced, to share with others the good news of life.

That begins in worship. We come together as a community of God’s people to focus on the good news of life. In worship, we learn that God’s holy Spirit fills us. In worship, we are renewed in our commission to tell good news. In worship, we receive strength and hope to live as God’s people in the world. In worship, we hear again the wonderful news that we are precious and valuable people, beloved and treasured by God.

This is not the only place where we experience God’s grace in our lives. We can get that in so many different ways … in nature, through friends and family, in the arts, in quietness and in celebration.

But worship is the time where we focus on God intentionally. Worship is the time we gather with brothers and sisters to be renewed. Worship is when we wait together to receive God’s power and life. Worship shapes our lives to be more responsive to God.

We wait together … as the early church waited … to receive power, to be filled with holy spirit, to be renewed as lovers of creation with God.

Beam me up, Scotty. That’s what they said in Star Trek when their work was done. Jesus’ work is done. Now we continue the work of God in the world … not on our own, but accompanied with the presence and holy spirit of this loving, giving, life–giving God.

Thanks be to God.

 

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt

May 28, 2017 (7th Sunday of Easter)

Acts 1: 6–14

John 17: 1–11

Feeding the Hungry—Lament, Anger & Hope

Today, we are part of a global day of prayer to end famine. Today, we join our voices with followers of Jesus and with people of goodwill all around the world in a call to end famine.
The statistics are stark:
• 14 million people & 1.6 million children are in danger of starvation in South Sudan, Somalia, Nigeria, Yemen, Kenya, Ethiopia;
• Over 20 million people in all are in danger of drought and famine;
• In 2017, over 100 million people require lifesaving food assistance, and the world is not responding quickly enough;
• There is conflict in all these areas;
• Local churches and global aid agencies are overwhelmed by the need of the people.
What do we do with this kind of news? How can we possibly handle this? These statistics make us feel so helpless. All week long, my heart was hurting as I prepared this sermon, as I thought about it, as I read. And the pain in my heart is as nothing compared to what these people are going through …
Last week, I preached that God is with us in every circumstance of our lives. I believe that with all my heart—but when I’m faced with this kind of pain and desperation, I wonder… If God is with us … then where are you? Where is God when children are starving to death?
Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor, asked the same kinds of questions. There is a remarkable scene in his novel Night. It is set in a concentration camp, and three prisoners, two men and a child, were about to be hanged.
“One day, as we returned from work, we saw three gallows… The SS guards seemed more preoccupied, more worried, than usual. To hang a child in front of thousands of onlookers was not a small matter. The head of the camp read the verdict. All eyes were on the child. He was pale, almost calm, but he was biting his lips as he stood in the shadow of the gallows…
“‘Where is merciful God, where is He?’ someone behind me asked. The three chairs were tipped over… We marched past the victims. The two men were no longer alive… The child, who was too light, was still breathing… And so he remained for more than half an hour, lingering between life and death… Behind me, I heard the same man asking: ‘For God’s sake, where is God?’
“And within me, I heard a voice answer; ‘Where is God? This is where God is—hanging here on this gallows…’”
Where are you, O God? When a child dies on the gallows? When a black child is shot? When children are starving? When indigenous youth lose all hope and kill themselves? When men and women and children are killed in the civil war in Syria? Where is God?
I don’t know. There is no easy answer.
And yet we need to wrestle with this kind of question. Let me share with you how I struggle with it …
I begin with lament. I lament all the ways in which we can be so cruel to each other. I lament all the ways in which human beings hurt or kill or oppress others. I cry out to God, wondering how it is possible that people who have been created in the image of a loving and compassionate God can forget their identity. I lament a world in which so many turn their backs on those who are suffering.
This kind of lament is a powerful theme throughout the Bible, and throughout the history of the church.
When we lamentlike this, people of faith dare to believe that we find God here … hanging from the gallows, lying in the street with the black child who has been shot, bleeding in a high school or a theatre where a shooter has just run wild, in the streets of Mosul or Aleppo, in the cold waters where a boatload of refugees has just overturned and people are drowning, in the hopelessness of northern indigenous reserves and villages, in the drought in Somalia and Kenya. Here is God …
It would be easier in many ways to say that God is not present in these places. But we affirm deeply that God is here. Here is where we find God.
On this Global Day of Prayer to end Famine, I lament a world where some of us can eat as much as we want while others starve; where we can just throw food away because it is a couple of days old while others can’t find any food. I lament the injustice of a world where we regularly run water down the drain while others cannot get enough clean water for a sip a day. I will lament.
The second step for me is that that lament often turns to anger. What is happening is not right. There is something terribly wrong with the world that this should be happening.
We find the same kind of anger in the Old Testament prophets in which they call God’s people to account for how they treat one another. A good example is found in Amos 4: “Hear this word, you cows of Bashan, who are on Mount Samaria, who oppress the poor, who crush the needy, who say to their husbands, ‘Bring something to drink!’ The Lord God has sworn by his holiness: ‘The time is surely coming upon you, when they shall take you away with hooks, even the last of you with fish-hooks.’”
We see it in Psalm 50 which I chose for today … “I will bear witness against you, for I am God, your God …”
Over and over again, the prophets called God’s people to care, to live with compassion, to love each other, to make sure that every single person was cared for, and that no one went hungry, that no one had too little, and that everyone shared in the wealth of the universe.
God wants from us not just our worship. God wants from us a faithful life. Isaiah 58 proclaims, “This is the fast I want, this is the worship I want—to loose the bonds of injustice, to set oppressed people free, to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house.”
Now I haven’t called anyone “a cow of Bashan” … yet. But I am angry when I see so many of us spend so much of our money and time and energy—and I include myself in this—on stuff, things that are shiny and pretty to have, but don’t have any real lasting value… things which distract us from the important things in life, things which distract us from life in all its abundance.
God have mercy on us …
I am learning to spend less and give more … but it’s still not enough. It’s hard … but it is so much worth it.
Lament. Anger.
Then I move to hope. That hope, for me, is based in Jesus’ command to us to love one another, to care for one another, to live together in wholeness and peace.
In Matthew 25, Jesus says to the church, “I was hungry, and you fed me.” And the church asks, “When were you hungry?” And Jesus responds, “Whenever you did this for the lowest, the smallest, the least of my brothers and sisters, you did it for me.”
It’s not just a nice thing to put on a bulletin cover. This is a command for the church. We, who claim to be people of God, cannot ignore this command. We need to honour what our God calls us to do and how our Lord God calls us to live. This is how God judges our lives—have we loved the poorest, the least of these brothers and sisters of Jesus?
The source of my hope is that God’s Spirit is at work in the hearts of God’s people, moving us to prayer and action. Let me be very clear that my hope is not based in our ability. My hope is based in this, that God is at work in our lives, moving us to prayer, moving us to action.
The only question for us is this: “Will we be open to God’s spirit moving among us?” Will we be open?
Then, finally, out of that hope, I give. Generously. I won’t tell you the amount … but today I am giving 5% of my monthly take home pay for this. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just throwing money away … but I trust PWRDF deeply as it works with partners on the ground. I trust that my money will reach those people where it will do the most good.
Today is a global day of prayer. Ion this way, our prayer–words become paryer–acts. Words become actions of feeding the hungry, giving water to the thirsty, housing the homeless and setting oppressed people free, reaching out with grace and compassion and generosity.
We pray today … we act today … on behalf of people who are our brothers and sisters. In their faces, sometimes gaunt and emaciated, we see the face of Jesus.
Today, more than ever, the church needs to pray. Today, more than ever, the church needs to act. Today, more than ever, the church needs to give.
Our final hymn this morning is by Herbert O’Driscoll. In the last verse, we sing, “The love of Jesus calls us in swiftly changing days to be God’s co—creators in new and wondrous ways; that God with men and women may so transform the earth that love and peace and justice may give God’s kingdom birth.”
It’s another way of speaking about the 3rd and 4th Marks of Mission: To respond to human need by loving service; and to transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation.
The love of Jesus calls us.
More to the point, the love of Jesus compels us.
Because as Elie Wiesel discerned, this is where God is found. When we see these starving people, we see the compassionate heart of God.
God’s compassionate heart beats for the life of the world, and God’s compassionate takes my broken and hurting heart into itself, and healing … slowly, but inexorably … begins.
Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
May 21, 2017 (6th Sunday of Easter) — Global Day of Prayer to End Famine
Matthew 25: 35
Psalm 50

The Jesus Way

Throughout this Easter season, we’ve been thinking about the places where we can see Jesus in our lives. Over the last few weeks, I’ve suggested several movements in our lives where Jesus can be found—in our laughter and joy; in our pain and grief; in our vulnerability.
Southern US Bible scholar Clarence Jordan once wrote, “The proof that God raised Jesus from the dead is not the empty tomb, but the full hearts of his transformed disciples. The crowning evidence that he lives is not a vacant grave, but a spirit–filled fellowship; not a rolled–away stone, but a carried–away church.”
What Jordan is talking about is abundant life … and the good news of Easter is that God’s life is born in the world and it fills our lives to overflowing. This abundant life comes to us in all the different moments, moods, emotions, actions, and occasions of our lives.
That’s at the heart of today’s gospel reading. Jesus promises to be with us always. Our relationship with God is assured.
Scholars call this part of John’s gospel (chapters 13–17) the “Farewell Discourse”. These are the last few days Jesus spends with his disciples. He washes their feet, and then, knowing he is about to die, he says goodbye to his disciples and friends and speaks words of comfort and promise to them.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. I am going to prepare a place for you in the presence of my Father. I will come back for you, and we will be united eternally.”
We usually hear these words at funeral services … and thought they offer incredible comfort at the time of death, they are powerful words in the midst of life as well. These words are a gift to us, a completely unconditional promise. Jean Vanier says that with these words, Jesus promises “that when he comes back, he will draw us into a long, loving embrace.”
As if often the case, however, the disciples don’t get it. Thomas responds, “Master, we have no idea where you’re going. How do you expect us to know the way?” He wants directions, something he can plug into his GPS.
Jesus responds with nothing but love. “You already know the way, Thomas. You know me, Thomas, so you can’t get lost. I am the way, Thomas. You know me, so you can’t get lost. And if you know me, you’ve seen the Father.”
You see, the “Father’s house” is not a place, somewhere we can go. The Father’s house is a metaphor for our relationship with God. We live into this relationship. Jesus is inviting the disciples, and Jesus is inviting us, to have the same relationship with God as he has. See God wherever you are. Know that God is present with you in every day. Know that God’s love holds you up and surrounds you in every moment of your lives.
This is the heart of the gospel for John. Jesus and the Father are one. Those who see, hear, touch, and know Jesus also see, hear, touch and know the Father. Therefore don’t be afraid. You know me. Keep trusting me. You know me, so you also know God..
In your laughter, know that God laughs with you. In your pain, know that God embraces you. In your vulnerability, know that God’s life is being born in you.
That’s what John means when he says that Jesus is the way. We are a people who are on the way. Being in relationship with God means we undertake a journey. When we walk in the way of Jesus, we journey together to live lives of service, compassion, grace, love and humility. This is the way of life in all its abundance. “I am the way, I am the truth, I am the life”
What a tragedy it is then that so many of our brothers and sisters take these words of comfort and promise and turn them into words which exclude people. So many Christians interpret these words to mean that if you don’t accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Saviour, you’re going to go to hell.
What happens then is that these words which are given as comfort become a hammer to clobber people over the head. They turn words which are meant as a bridge into a wall.
But that’s not what they mean. They’re not a threat. They are a promise. If you know me — and you do know me — then you also know the Father.
These are words of encouragement to continue on our journey with God. Keep walking in the way I showed you. Keep doing what I’ve been doing. Keep loving God. Keep loving your neighbours. Keep showing compassion. Keep being gentle with each other. Keep being tender with creation and all earth’s creatures.
Then your life will be filled to overflowing abundance. You will know the truth, and that truth is the love in the heart of God.
This is the way to being one with God, says Jesus. It’s a way of compassion and love and service that is for all people.
So how are we doing that? How are we walking in the way of Jesus?
When we hear this call to live with compassion and love, and when we do it, we are part of the Jesus movement in the world. We live without fear. We live with a deep trust that we have seen God. We live in the profound trust that God’s love permeates our lives and flows into the world. We live in an intimate relationship with God, trusting deeply that God hears us and cares for us.
When we walk the Jesus way, we walk in harmony with all of creation, caring for all God’s beloved creatures, embracing those who are walking the way of compassion, grace and love with us.
When we live the Jesus truth, we don’t just hear the truth, but we live it out day by day. We are caught up by the way of life that he embodied. We live the vision of God’s kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.
This is the place which Jesus prepares for us. It’s a relationship with God which makes our lives whole. It’s a relationship which we live out today, in our homes, in our neighbourhoods, in the shopping mall and on the street.
Anglicans talk about the Jesus movement by talking about the 5 Marks of Mission.
We tell others about this incredible good news that we don’t have to be afraid.
We teach others to live as God’s beloved people.
We tend others in loving service.
We participate in God’s transformation of the world.
We treasure this world, and all the blessings which God has given us.
Tell … teach … tend … transform … treasure.
We live the Jesus way, day by day, reaching out to this world which God loves so deeply. We know deeply within ourselves that God loves us deeply, and that God wants to do something wonderful in us and through us. We accept God’s invitation to live in intimate relationship with God and with God’s world.
That is Christian faith. It’s not a series of propositions to which we give mental assent. Christian faith is a journey. We walk together in the way of Jesus.
“Do not let your hearts be troubled.” Don’t be distressed. Don’t be afraid. Live in trust. Live in hope. Live in faith. Live as people who love.
Thanks be to God.

Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
May 14, 2017 (5th Sunday of Easter)
John 14: 1–14
Acts 7: 55–60
1 Peter 2: 2–10