Advent – the start of the new church year. A time of expectation; a time of waiting; a time of hope, a time of preparation for good things to come. Right? What are you hoping will come of your Advent season? Now is a good time to think about either new beginnings or strengthening/renewing something and a time for new hope.
I read the readings for the day and wondered where to begin. What a grouping they are! – each brings a different perspective to this new year celebration. Jeremiah assures us a righteous branch will spring forth, Thessalonians offers advice for daily life, and Luke announces that the ‘son of man’ is coming again. Our gospel reading offers quite a paradox – destruction, death and betrayal are coming BUT hope is there in the midst of it. There is both suffering and comfort there.
So, confused about where to start, I started as I often do, by looking at what the dictionary said about the word Advent. The first definition of the word Advent that pops up, is “noun” a coming into place, view, or being; arrival.
And then I happened upon the good old Wikipedia definition (which is often suspect, I know) and it said… ‘a season observed in many Christian Churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas as well as the return of Jesus at the second coming.’ That return theory may be more in line with today’s Gospel reading than the traditional view of Advent 1 which, growing up, we always celebrated as ‘hope Sunday.’ That is if you just read the gospel and take it at face value.
Lots of our traditional views come into question as we look deeper into the meaning of Advent; at least for me.
Gone are the days when we think of Advent calendars and opening up little doors to find a chocolate or a mint candy and knowing that in this many more sleeps Santa would be here and we could sing Happy Birthday, baby Jesus and then get on with the joy of presents and family and neighbours and, best of all, all that special food that you had smelled baking, brewing and cooking for the last month. And, then it was over. Well, except for the leftovers and today many would say, except for the bills. Hmmm, over?? Good question, is it over? Is the Hope we share at Christmas then gone?
I think that when we learn to ask questions and look beyond the surface we get to the real story behind the story and maybe that’s what today’s gospel reading is about. And, maybe, just maybe, there is hope there; a lasting hope that will see us through much in this world.
When we learn to ask questions, we begin to wonder why the followers of Jesus told the stories about Him that they did. When we ask questions new insights into the scriptures are revealed that help us understand how those followers understood the life, death and resurrection of Jesus.
I guess, another question, as we look at today’s reading is to think about its placement in the church lectionary – we have a glimpse of the second coming at the beginning of the year before we’ve remembered the nativity story or passion week and so we question why the writers of the lectionary decided that we should read this particular text. Shouldn’t we be hearing a birth story, or of the pilgrimage to Bethlehem? Instead we are reading about a mini apocalypse.
Then I read the text in the Message and it gave me some insight into maybe what they were thinking. This translation reads…
It will seem like all hell has broken loose – sun, moon, stars, earth, sea, in an uproar and everyone all over the world in a panic, the wind knocked out of them by the threat of doom, the powers-that-be quaking.’
My goodness, isn’t that what we’re seeing today?
It ends with…
But be on your guard. Don’t let the sharp edge of your expectation get dulled by parties and drinking and shopping. Otherwise, that day is going to take you by surprise, spring on you suddenly like a trap… So, whatever you do don’t go to sleep at the switch.
So how do we not go to sleep at the switch? If Advent is about beginnings and hope that lasts – how do we keep it going and why are we told of it today?
We know that the writer of the Gospel of Luke wrote very near the end of the first century, some 50 to 70 years after the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Some 20 to 30 years after the Romans destroyed Jerusalem and for all intents and purposes put an end to the world as Jews and the followers of Jesus had known it. Scholars suggest that likely the writer of the Gospel created this story to reassure the followers of Jesus that even in their present darkness, even though it looked as if the heavens and the earth were passing away, Jesus words would not pass away. But still I ask, why did the designers of the lectionary decide to begin the church year with this story of Jesus’ apocalyptic vision? Yme gets tired of me asking why, I think. I often question why certain readings are put together or placed where they are.
Well the Luke part is easy we are entering year C of the three-year calendar cycle and Luke is the gospel we will read from. But why begin with chapter 21 of Luke? Why not Chapter One? Why not begin with the story of the birth of John the Baptist? Surely a birth story is more fitting for the first Sunday in Advent when we are supposed to hear about hope?
So, the more I questioned and the more I looked the more I wondered if maybe a wander through the dark to see what’s there may help us to not fall asleep at the switch. Maybe we need to remember that for many people in this world the world as we know it, is coming to an end.
And even in the darkness that surrounds, we need not fear for God is with us. In the darkness the realization that Christ is with us provides the hope we need to continue on.
If we look with new eyes and new questions maybe this Advent won’t worry about the world as we know it coming to an end. We might renew our hope and that of others. Just think about it for a minute; wouldn’t you like to see the end to wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Yemen? I don’t want to think about nuclear wars or how the leaders of this world antagonize each other.
I’d like our own government to live up to its promise to put an end to poverty and homelessness here in Canada and work to end world poverty. I long for an end to violence, hunger, plagues and war. Wouldn’t it be great to have a divine rescuer ride in from outer space and ‘fix’ it all? But I don’t think any of us are even thinking that may happen soon.
We know that our hope is found in the here and now; we need to work for it, develop it and then share it. We believe God is love and in love there is always hope. We believe that rather than looking to the heavens for salvation, we should look around us and see that God is located within our experience, our struggles, our communities and in our hearts. God is love and that love is manifest in us and that love is on our side and is ours to share.
Yme has talked about our need to show love to each person we meet. You show love through alternate giving and reusable grocery bags, by showing up to offer love and comfort at a funeral, and so on. We see that love in action at places like Street Angels, in groups like the Transition House, Community Connections, the Salvation Army and many of our health care professionals and law enforcement officers who go the extra mile every day. I see it in the people I go to church with. That’s love in action, God in action. That’s hope with a capital H.
We receive that love too; it reaches out to us in a neighbour’s smile, a huge hug when we need one, an empathy or understanding of our differences. Love is all around us in our land, our communities and our lives. That love is on our side, is for us, and can hold us. We call that love God. That love is God with us, that love is also within us like a seed waiting to grow and flourish. That kind of love gives us all hope – Advent hope; hope that is timeless hope -. hope that is for NOW. But that seed of hope will not grow on its own nor do we stand up one day and say, “I am now forever filled with hope.” Hope is the result of several things such as our encounters with others, our receptivity to love and hope, and our awareness of the spiritual power of love that is within all life. In Advent we hope, and we look for seeds of love and hope in ourselves and others and then like a gardener we tend those seeds that are hidden in the darkness of life so that they will nurture and grow and then bloom.
Advent is a time to acknowledge that at the heart of our world there is a power of love that reaches out to us, believes in us and sustains us, and that power of love is God.
We need not fear the darkness. For it is in the darkness that we will find the seeds of hope and love. Hope lies in the darkness of our experience. The light of God is within us. And so, this advent, as in all others. we will tell the stories of our experience and we’ll tell the age-old story we read in the Bible. And in those stories, we will discover the stirrings of Christ who waits to be born in us.
A carol we sing each Christmas is ‘The Huron Carol” tells the story quite simply and fills us with hope. (to paraphrase)
Twas in the moon of winter-time
When all the birds had fled,
That mighty Gitchi Manitou
Sent angel choirs instead;
Before their light the stars grew dim,
And wandering hunters heard the hymn:
“Jesus your King is born, Jesus is born,
Within a lodge of broken bark
The tender Babe was found,
A ragged robe of rabbit skin
Enwrapp’d His beauty round;
…
The chiefs from far before him knelt
…
Come kneel before the radiant Boy
Who brings you beauty, peace and joy.
In this hymn we are reminded that when all have fled, and the world seems dark, God sends angels to sing out hope. It also reminds us, as does the nativity, that great and powerful things come from small beginnings. The carol reminds us still now, as was then, we need to be humble to be filled with love and hope. The great and wise fell to their knees in hope and arose with love and an even deeper hope.
In a world often too busy to look for hope, in a world where we have yet to learn just how to love one another, Christ comes to us. He comes when we hurt of are in pain and when our world is darkest or when were just plain tired and can’t think of hope.
Christ is called Emmanuel, which means God is with us. Remember God laughs, cries, rejoices, suffers, heals walks with us and loves us more than we can hope or imagine and that should give us Advent hope to last all year.
And so, today, on Advent 1, God stands with us and speaks to us a word of hope; a word that is the hope of the world.
Come, Gitchi Manitou, send the angel choirs. And, we will remember to look within the moon of wintertime when the light is low to find our seeds of love and hope and then watch them grow. That way, we won’t be found sleeping at the switch. Amen.
Deb Saffin
December 2, 2018 (1st Sunday of Advent)
Jeremiah 33: 14–16
1 Thessalonians 3: 9-13
Luke 21: 25–36
Let me begin with the old joke: I’ve got some bad news and I’ve got some good news. I’ll start with the bad news, but before I deliver it, I have to tell you that we’ve dressed it up as good news. We’ve even made a song of it —
“Oh, you better watch out, you better not cry,
you better not pout, I’m telling you why:
Santa Claus is comin’ to town.
He’s making a list and checkin’ it twice
Gonna find out who’s naughty and nice
Santa Claus is comin’ to town
He sees you when you’re sleepin’
He knows when you’re awake
He knows if you’ve been bad or good
So be good for goodness’ sake.
Now can you think of any worse news than that? A list? Checkin’ it twice? Watching you asleep and awake? I don’t know about you, but I’d never survive!
And here’s the good news. In the midst of all the pain and disruption and chaos of this world, in the midst of all the bad news that we hear about politicians and natural disasters and one crisis after another, God is coming to wrap us in love.
I want to use this as an image for the reality that we are living in two different worlds at the same time. We Christians are caught in a clash between two cultures, two very different ways of seeing things and doing things, two very different sets of values.
And we have a foot in each camp.
On the one hand, we are God’s people. Michael Curry, Presiding Bishop of The Episcopal Church, reminds us again and again that we are part of the Jesus movement.
God’s gospel values are compassion, justice, generosity in giving, grace, and above all, love. The dream of God is a welcoming and inviting community which reaches out to embrace all people within the love of God.
And we are called, we are given a vocation—to love God with all that we are and to love our neighbours as ourselves. Our vocation is to make every decision on the basis of love. Every choice depends on love.
Our lives are patterned according to God’s gospel priorities.
That’s one culture, one world, we live in.
But we also live in another world. Even as we seek to be shaped by the dream of God, we are also deeply shaped and influenced by the world we live in.
Think about it for a moment. We spend an hour a week in worship, and maybe a few minutes or even an hour a day consciously in God’s presence. We spend the rest of our time worrying and thinking and acting and wondering about how we are going to make our way.
We are bombarded on every side by advertisers who work their tails off trying to convince us to make different kinds of choices. Buy this! Get that! It’s the latest, the newest, the best, and it’s going to make our lives even better. It used to be laundry detergent and perfume. Now it’s computers and cars and big ticket items. Our wallets and budgets reflect the subtle pressures of the shopping mall and the constant bombardment of commercials and ads.
In the same way, how we vote is often more determined by the claims and fear–mongering of politicians and by our economic desires than by gospel values.
Or we choose to live in gated neighbourhoods which keep those who are not like us out. We build bigger and stronger walls instead of bridges. The list goes on.
And I think we feel that pressure most keenly at Advent and Christmas. We are caught between two cultures …
In our Christian culture, Advent is a time of waiting. We look for signs of Jesus being born in our lives. We tell a story of God’s love for the poor and the down trodden, a story of vulnerability and hope, a story of love and grace. We tell the story of a moment when the light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.
In the culture all around us, we participate in an orgy of consumerism and partying and over–eating. We had Black Friday … followed almost immediately by Cyber Monday. And the message is that if you don’t join in, you’re going to lose.
We are caught. Sometimes it feels as if we are trapped.
And in the middle of all this, Luke strides into worship and calls out, “Be on guard. Be watchful. Be alert.”
And I think what Luke’s getting at is to encourage us to live in this world, but to be always aware of the values of God’s gospel world. Don’t get sucked in by the values of the world.
See the world through God’s eyes. When we vote … when we set our budget and decide what we’re going to buy … when we walk the streets and notice the people … when we decide whether to give or how much to give … when we choose how we will live in the environment … or how we will treat other people, and especially the marginalized … how we will listen to residential school survivors … how we will welcome members of the LGBTQ community.
Be alert, says Luke, so that you can live by God’s gospel values. Be watchful, so you can live in this world by the values of the dream of God.
Sometimes it may seem that everything is falling apart. Luke reminds us that there are going to be all kinds of signs that things are not going well— “signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”
The translation called The Message puts it this way. “It will seem like all hell has broken loose—sun, moon, stars, earth, sea, in an uproar and everyone all over the world in a panic, the wind knocked out of them by the threat of doom, the powers–that–be quaking.”
When it seems as if all hell has broken loose … “don’t be afraid,” says Jesus. “Stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
Don’t be afraid. Rather, stand tall and confident. Raise your heads. Raise your eyes. Raise your vision, because God is crashing into our world. God is present, and God’s love is eternal and strong.
We begin our church year standing resolutely on the promise that God’s love is eternal. God holds this world, even when it seems to be descending into chaos.
And because we have such a powerful hope, we are bold to act, strong to claim our faith. We resolutely refuse to get sucked in by the advertisers. We seek God’s vision, not the vision of the shopping mall.
Why?
Because I promise you this. The one who is coming is God. Not Santa! There’s no list we need to worry about.
Rather, God stands with arms stretched wide to welcome us home. Jesus walks with us in the chaos that sometimes threatens to overwhelm us.
As we enter this new year in the life of the church, we have a choice to make.
We can choose to live by the empty promises of the world we live in.
Or we can choose to live as the people of God’s dream. We can choose to live as the people of God’s hope. We can choose to live as the people of God’s love.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
December 2, 2018 (1st Sunday of Advent — St Peter’s, Cobourg, ON)
Jeremiah 33: 14–16
1 Thessalonians 3: 9-13
Luke 21: 25–36
Today, on the last Sunday of the church’s year, we celebrate “The Reign of Christ Sunday”. Today we celebrate our deep trust that what began in Jesus will triumph in the life of the world, even if it’s not readily apparent at the moment. Today we mark our profound hope that what began in Jesus will come to be in God’s good time.
When we talk about the Reign of Christ, the most obvious question is, “What kind of reign? What kind of king?”
Barbara Lundblad tells a story about worship in the black church in the Southern states. The minister shouts out: “Who is Jesus?” The choir responds in voices loud and strong: “King of kings and Lord Almighty!” Then, little Miss Huff, in a voice so fragile and soft you can hardly hear, would sing her own answer, “Poor little Mary’s boy.” Back and forth they sang — King of Kings … Poor little Mary’s boy.
This is the black church doing theology. Who is Jesus? ‘King of Kings’ cannot be the answer alone; he’s also ‘poor little Mary’s boy.’
That’s how we do theology. We hold opposites together. We put them beside each other. When we think about the Reign of Christ, we need both King of kings and poor little Mary’s boy. Either alone doesn’t work.
In that kind of way, the church tries to be countercultural. Our culture holds up leaders as powerful people. We may not trust them … but they hold the winning hand in every game. We see it in leaders around the world.
But not the church. Jesus is both King of kings and poor little Mary’s boy. This king rules through vulnerability. This is strength found in weakness. This is the paradox at the heart of our Christian faith.
Today, Jesus of Nazareth has been arrested. He stands in front of the Roman governor of Judea. Pilate asks him, “Are you the king of the Jews?”
Pilate seems confused. This backwoods preacher in front of him in a ragged robe? “You’re a king? You?” Oh come on! Give your head a shake.
Kings are all about power and might, grandeur and ruthlessness. Rome knew how to use power. Power is for keeping people in line!
And they’re saying that this … this nobody … is a king?
But even if it doesn’t make any sense, Pilate has to take it seriously. If Jesus claims to be a king, he will be charged with treason. If Jesus claims to be a king, Rome will kill him as an example to others.
So, are you a king? And Jesus answers, “My kingdom is not from this world.”
Too often, we’ve thought that Jesus was talking about an individualized, otherworldly piety which is divorced from real life. But that’s not what is going on here.
Listen to the whole statement Jesus makes to Pilate. “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”
What Jesus is saying is this: “My kingdom, my way is about living in this world in a different kind of way.” Not by fighting. Not by power. Not by coercion and might and bullying. In other words, Pilate, you and Rome, you are the powers of the world and your way is the way of the world, but my kingdom lives by different rules. Another way of living.
My way is the power of love.
Earthly rulers ask, “What’s in it for me? How can I benefit?”
Love asks, “What’s the greatest good possible? What is good? What is just? What is fair? What is kind? What is compassionate?”
King Jesus rules in the same way he lived.
“Love one another as I have loved you.”
“As you did it to the least of these my sisters and brothers, you did it for me.”
“Do unto others as you would have them do to you.”
“Love God with all that you are and love your neighbours as yourself.”
Jesus’ whole kingdom depends on love. This is how we live in the world as followers of Jesus. We love.
The way of love is a game changer. It has been a game changer in my life. Certainly in our personal lives, love is a game changer.
But not just in our personal lives. Love is a game changer in our social life, in our political life, in our economic life, and in the life of the world.
Imagine what life would be like if politicians the world over were to ask “What’s the greatest good possible?”
Imagine what life could be if our economic policy were designed to benefit the greatest number of people, so that we could wipe out homelessness, hunger, poverty and disease. Imagine an economic policy designed to help the rich … not to get richer, but to help the rich understand that they have been blessed and that they are responsible to use those blessings to help others.
Imagine what life could be if every policy of our governments were designed so that they benefitted the greatest number of people.
Imagine a world where the education and health care systems get all the money they need, and the air force has to hold a bake sale to buy a jet.
Imagine a world where we really cared about the immigrants, the refugees, the poor and marginalized, those addicted to whatever helps make life bearable for them.
Imagine what the church would be like if every choice we made was based in love … love for those who are different … love for those who challenge the status quo … love for those who suggest new ways. Imagine a church which embraces and welcomes fully members of the LGBTQ community … or invites the homeless into our sanctuaries … or Christians working together with Muslims and Jews and Buddhists and atheists to make the world more loving, more compassionate, more grace–full. Imagine a church without walls of any kind, a church with its arms open wide for all of God’s daughters and sons.
Imagine.
King of kings and poor little Mary’s boy.
That kind of love is a game changer in everything.
My kingdom is not from this world.
We worship a different kind of king … and, my friends, that makes us a different kind of people.
But we do more than worship this king.
We follow this king.
We give our loyalty to Jesus. We live as citizens of this reign. We live as people who follow the King of kings and poor little Mary’s boy.
That reign is not here yet. God’s reign is not complete among us. We know that quite well.
But it is surely coming. It comes among us as we listen to God’s voice as people of God’s truth. It comes among us as we declare our loyalty to this vision of wholeness and justice and compassion. It comes among us as we give generously to those who have so much less than we do. It comes among us as we reach out with compassion to help those who have lost hope. It comes among us as we live as God’s people in the world.
It comes because, as Desmond Tutu has said, “Goodness is stronger than evil, Love is stronger than hate. Light is stronger than darkness, life is stronger than death. Victory is ours, victory is ours, through God who loves us.”
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
November 25, 2018 (Last Sunday after Pentecost, The Reign of Christ)
John 18: 33–37
Revelation 1: 4b–8
2 Samuel 23: 1–8
Now here’s a novel proposition to make from the pulpit: Let’s irritate each other!
That’s what the reading from Hebrews urges us to do this morning.
Now some people might say that we already do that … sometimes we irritate the heck out of each other! And I don’t want to hear any comments about that irritatin’ ole’ Yme. But that’s not what I mean. Let me explain.
The letter to the Hebrews is a long sermon by an anonymous preacher. In the sermon she mingles ancient Greek philosophy with quotations from the Old Testament to convince people that Jesus is superior to the Torah, the Law of Moses.
In the first 10 chapters, she goes on at length to affirm that Jesus is the perfect high priest, and his sacrifice is the only perfect and necessary sacrifice. His sacrifice does away with the need of any sacrificial system at all.
And then, at the end of chapter 10, we get the “so what”. What difference does this all make? So what does this mean for how we live?
Through Christ, says the preacher, we have been made a holy people — so we no longer need to be timid when we approach God. We can approach God boldly and with confidence. We can “approach God with genuine hearts in the full assurance of faith (22); with a strong hold on the confession of our hope (23); and be willing to irritate each other to love and do good deeds.”
This preacher uses the same triad of words as Paul: the assurance of faith, the confession of hope, and to engage in acts of love. Here is our call as bold daughters and sons of God—faith, hope and love.
Faith — is a deep trust that God is present in life. We trust deeply that God is active in our world and in our lives. I’ve said it before many times—Faith does not mean believing a set of doctrines. Faith is not a matter of believing the right way or the correct things. Faith always refers to a deep trust that God remains active, that God is at work, that God is present and loving.
Hope — arises out of our faith. We dare to hope because we trust so deeply that God is present and active in life. Our hope arises from the character of God, who continues to be faithful. Our hope is that even when everything else looks dismal, God continues to be active and compassionate and present with us.
Because we have that deep hope, we are able to love. We enter God’s presence as advocates for the sake of the world. We expect God to act to heal the world, and we present ourselves as partners with God in that project of healing and restoration.
That’s why, says the preacher, we are called to provoke one another to act with love, to do good deeds.
I want to focus on this last part. Faith and hope are important, but today let’s think about provoking each other to love.
That word “provoke” is the Greek word paroxysmos (παροξυσμός). It can mean to provoke; it can also mean to irritate. We irritate each other to do good works.
I love that idea. Usually when we think about love, we think about generating good feelings and happiness and contentment. We often talk about love as something without irritation or provocation. Love means being tolerant, and patient, and kind, and comforting. And that’s all true.
But the preacher of Hebrews adds another thought: provoke each other to love; irritate each other to do good deeds; be a community which seeks above all else to be an agent of love and gospel goodness in the world.
Paul reminds us that faith, hope and love abide … and the greatest is love. I think the preacher to the Hebrews would agree. We approach God boldly with faith, with a strong hope, so that we might always be willing to irritate each other to love and do good deeds.
The pinnacle of this sermon in Hebrews comes with that notion of provoking, irritating each other to love. Love becomes our highest priority, as individuals and as a community. Love is so important — that we are willing to make a pest of ourselves to provoke one another to love. we irritate each other. We pester each other. We needle each other. We aggravate each other … to love.
It is, after all, the great commandment — Love God; Love your neighbours.
We need to love … because this is how we become partners with God in healing the world. God needs us to be involved, for God has no hands other than ours.
We need to love … and every action in which we engage finds its basis in that kind of love which expresses our faith and our hope.
Today, the Diocese has invited us to celebrate our participation in Together in Mission. I believe strongly that as a result of this program, we have done some things which make our love more visible:
- We have raised a significant amount of extra money in this parish for ministry, both here and in the Diocese.
- Deb works among us as our Lay Pastoral Associate, bringing the love of the congregation as she visits with those who need that contact. She bears within herself the love of God and the love of this parish as she visits those who are lonely, those who are grieving, those who need some TLC.
- Our website provides opportunities for people to see who we are and how God’s love is made manifest through us. Just last week, I received a note a few weeks ago from someone who stumbled across our website, read through some of the sermons and columns, which spurred her on to check the rest of our site. She learned about us, and got in touch with me about how what we were doing is restoring her faith.
- As we participate in Together in Mission, we have learned also to live out of God’s abundance. We were challenged to give … and we did. And we have learned that when we give, we don’t lose out. In fact, our lives are made richer.
- Together in Mission has allowed our Diocese to reach out to do ministry in more creative and experimental ways.
I want to highlight two things about Together in Mission.
First of all, we are together. As a community of people, we provoke each other to a greater faith, a deeper hope, a more active love. We work together to be God’s people in this place, encouraging, strengthening, provoking, irritating each other to love more actively day in and day out.
Secondly, we are in Mission. This is God’s work, and God invites us to think of our lives as a vocation. And part of that vocation is to irritate one another to live out the gospel.
So I say, let’s continue to irritate each other.
I promise to irritate you.
Not just to tick you off.
To provoke you. To be provocative. To encourage each of us and all of us together to that greater faith, that deeper hope, and that more active love.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
November 18, 2018 (26th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 33)
Hebrews 10: 11–19, 19–25
Mark 13: 1–8
1 Samuel 1: 4–20
Jesus is sitting down outside the Temple, watching the treasury box.
He has just finished criticizing the religious leaders of the day. “Watch out for them. They demand to be respected; they’re always taking the best seats in the house; they expect that people will pay attention to them. Watch out for them.”
It’s not just Jewish religious leaders. There are such in every generation. Watch out for them … the televangelists wearing fancy pinkie rings, living in huge mansions, buying more jets. Watch out for those who love to wear fine robes and chasubles and stoles. Watch out for those who buy $4000 silk suits, claiming they need to appear to be successful to entice others to be part of their church. Watch out for those who build huge churches to satisfy their own ego.”
And now Jesus sits there, watching them make a show of placing their large offerings on the plate.
Along comes a poor widow. You barely even notice her. She’s been so beaten down by life, that she hides in the shadows. She’s mostly bent over by the burdens of life.
And she puts in a couple of copper coins. Hardly anything. You can’t run a Temple on tiny offerings like that.
And Jesus points her out to his disciples, to us, and says, “Look at her. See her. Notice her. She has put in more than anyone else. She gave all she had to live on.”
Really, Jesus? Two pennies? More than anyone else?
Yup.
In God’s economy, we measure differently. “Everyone else,” says Jesus, “the rest of them gave what was left over. But she put in everything she had. Not just one penny … which would have been 50%. She gave both pennies. All she had to live on.” The word in Greek is βίος (bios) … which means life. She gave her life.
Then the preacher gets a–hold of this story and tells us that this widow is a model for us. She gave her all. So should we.
It’s interesting that this reading should land on Remembrance Day this year, as we honour those who did give their all.
But if we are honest with ourselves, and if the preacher is honest in preaching, when we really tell the truth, few, if any of us, are like this widow.
Sure, we gladly offer a part of what we have for God’s mission in the world. But our all? No way! We’ve got bills to pay, mortgages to cover, food to buy, heat and clothing, a retirement to take care of … and toys we want.
Give our all? I don’t think so.
Part of the reason is that it’s hard for us to give. It’s not a natural behaviour for us.
The first words out of our mouths when we are infants are “Mama” and “Dada”. The second word we learn is “No!” And the third word we learn is “Mine!”
It takes a lifetime for us to unlearn that word. Some of us hold on to it until the day we die.
As a result, when we give, we don’t give freely. We give with strings attached. Use my money the way I want you to…or else. If I give you a lot of money, put a stone up with my name etched on it for eternity, or name a room after me, or establish a fund in my name. After all, what’s the point of giving my money if it doesn’t keep up appearances or enhance my reputation?
The truth is that we don’t want to be like this poor widow. Who wants to be alone? Dependent? Destitute? Who wants to have to rely on the goodness of others?
And notice as well that Jesus never says we ought to follow in her footsteps. He simply notices her, and invites us to notice her as well …
… and then he helps us learn a truth about ourselves.
I think that’s the point of this story. It tells a truth about ourselves — which is that we’re pretty good at ignoring this widow, ignoring the poor and destitute, ignoring residential school survivors, ignoring alcoholics and drug addicts, ignoring refugees except for the occasional buck or two we give to help a good cause, ignoring all the ways in which we are being called to serve in this world.
Why do we ignore the need?
Because if we see this widow, if we really see all the need around us — well then it might demand this kind of sacrifice. And we don’t wanna …
Wow. That’s harsh.
But sit with it for a bit. Is it true? I know that sometimes for me, it is true. Sometimes I don’t see the need because I’m too tired, too busy, I’ve got too many things to do. I don’t see the need … because I don’t want to. There is a fine line between empathy and pity. Between feeling good about myself and true compassion.
And the second thing this story does, I think, is that it tells a truth about God.
God sees through all of that stuff in our lives and loves us anyway. God sees through our self–preservation, and our apathy and our weariness and our longing for what will build us up, often at the expense of those who need our help the most.
God sees through all of that stuff and loves us anyway, and calls us to a greater love, a greater generosity, a greater engagement with the life of the poor and the marginalized.
We call this story “the widow’s mite”. Maybe it’s really about the widow’s might — as in the widow’s power. She shows us a might greater than self–preservation. She shows us God’s might, God’s power — which is the power of love and loyalty. The power of giving and grace. The power of dependence and dedication.
Giving it our all?
I don’t think so.
But maybe … giving it a little more. Learning to see.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
November 11, 2018 (25th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 32)
Mark 12: 38–44
Ruth 3: 1–5; 4: 13–17
Hebrews 9: 24–28
Today is All Saints’ Sunday. Every year on this day, I tell you that you can call me St. Yme.
It’s true! I am a saint!
And believe it or not, so are all of you!
Just to be clear, we are not saints because we’re such wonderful paragons of moral virtue. We are saints because we belong to a holy, compassionate, and loving God.
In fact, every single character in the Bible is like that. They consistently miss the mark; they regularly screw up; they make mistakes all the time — and we know them as people who are loved by God, deeply cherished as sons and daughters of a God who holds us close in every moment of our lives.
And saints know that. They know their imperfections and flaws. They know how broken they are, and how broken we all are. They know that God’s love surrounds us, not because we’ve got it all right, but because God’s nature is to love without limits. As a mentor of mine puts it, “There is nothing we can do to make God love us any less; there is nothing we can do to make God love us anymore.”
I think Leonard Cohen captures that sense well in these amazing lines: “Ring the bells that still can ring; forget your perfect offering; there is a crack in everything: that’s how the light gets in.”
With all of our cracks, with all of our faults, with all of the mistakes we make, in the midst of all our brokenness — we are saints. Through the cracks in our lives, God’s love comes in. Through those very same cracks in our lives, the love of God shines out into the world.
So good morning, saints of God!
Let me ask all of us saints a question. How is God’s love shining out into the world through the cracks in our lives? How are we living as God’s saints in this world?
The readings from Isaiah and Revelation this morning paint a glorious vision of God’s purposes for life. It’s a new age—death will have been defeated, weeping and crying have been abolished, oppression will have ceased; there will be no more bullying or terrorism or prejudice or any form of pain and sorrow. God will be with God’s people, and all will live within the abundance of God’s grace and compassion and love.
Our gospel reading also talks about the abundant life which is God’s deepest purpose for us. When Jesus raises Lazarus, it is a promise of the fullness of life for all of God’s people. God overcomes death.
But it struck me forcefully this week that even though Jesus knows fully about God’s purpose of life, he weeps when he comes face to face with death. Even though Jesus trusts deeply that every tear will be wiped away in God’s economy, he still stands weeping outside Lazarus’ grave.
I think it struck me so forcefully because we are living in a world of tears. I want to suggest today that as the saints of God, we also stand in our world this morning weeping with all of those who weep in our world.
We are in–between–saints. We live in the hope of what God intends for our world, but that hope is not yet real. We live in an in–between time.
Our world today is full of tears. We weep with the families of the victims and the survivors of the shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue in Pittsburgh. We weep for how deeply rooted prejudice is in our world against anyone who is seen to be somehow different. We weep.
We weep with the survivors of the Indian Residential Schools, who must live with the horrific memory of what was done. We weep with their families and children, for the effects of that horrific system continue today. We weep.
We weep with members of the LGBTQ community who are still being persecuted for being the people who God has created them to be. Last week, Matthew Shepherd was laid to rest — finally laid to rest — in the National Cathedral in Washington DC. Matthew was a student at the University of Wyoming who was beaten, tortured and left to die on the side of the road in 1998. Why? Because he was gay. At the service where Matthew was finally laid to rest, Bishop Gene Robinson said, “Welcome home, Matthew. You are safe now.” The church is, and ought to be, that kind of safe space for all people.
But there are still people in our churches who think that gays and lesbians are sinners — as if the rest of us weren’t! We weep.
We weep with the victims of shootings and attacks which are becoming increasingly common—on Danforth Ave. in Toronto; the van attack on Yonge St.; school shootings; the killing of black men on the streets; the increasingly rampant violence all around us. We weep.
We weep with refugees who seek a better life, and who are refused by the rich and the comfortable. We weep with the caravan of migrants coming north from central America, and wait with a sense of dread as to what might happen when they reach the southern border of the USA. We weep.
We weep with those who have died because of natural disasters, some of which have happened because we have been so careless with our environment. We weep with the increasing number of species which have become extinct because of our greed. We weep.
As saints of God, we stand with Jesus outside the graves and we weep.
But we don’t stop there. Then we act. In the words of the Eucharistic prayer we will be using today, we pray, “Your Spirit speaks through Huldah and Micah, through prophets, sages and saints in every age to confront our sin and reveal the vision of your new creation.”
That’s what saints do … we reveal the vision of God’s new creation. We point to the dream of God. We are part of the Jesus movement, and what Jesus did was to overturn all those things that stand between God and the world.
So how will we let the light of God shine through the cracks in our lives? How are we living as saints of God in this in–between–time?
This beat–up world filled with tears is watching, wondering if our faith is genuine, wondering if our faith makes any difference. If not, why should they bother with our faith?
They don’t expect us to be perfect. They know, just as we do, that we are broken. But they do expect to see some evidence that the love of Christ is real. And how can they know unless we let it shine?
Either we believe Jesus Christ is the help and hope of the world or we don’t. Either we believe Jesus is the light of the world or we don’t. Either we believe the light of Christ is within us or we don’t.
Jonathan Sacks, former Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, wrote, “If you cannot recognize the image of God in a person who does not look or think like you, then you have made God into your own image and have begun to worship an idol.”
We don’t worship idols. We worship the God who made heaven and earth, the God who sustains “this fragile earth our island home”. We walk in the way of service with Jesus, who stands at all the graves in this world and weeps, the same Jesus who stands at those same graves and calls life to be born in the midst of death.
So let me close with this: In this in–between–time, welcome to your lives, O in–between–saints of God.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
November 4, 2018 (All Saints’ Sunday)
John 11: 32–44
Revelation 21: 1–6a
Isaiah 25: 6–9
Throughout the Bible, seeing is an important metaphor for faith. We trust God and we learn to see more clearly. The more clearly we learn to see, the more deeply we learn to trust God. It’s one of those wonderful paradoxes of faith, what Buddhists call a koan.
The theme runs through our readings this morning. At the end of the story of Job, he says to God that now he sees. “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.”
In our Psalm we read, “Look on God … and be radiant. Taste and see … how good the Lord is.”
And in our gospel reading from Mark, we read the story of a blind man whose sight is restored. He sees clearly now … and he follows Jesus.
In a sense, the whole story of Mark is about learning to see clearly. Jesus begins his ministry with baptism … and he sees the Spirit of God descend on him. He gathers a group of disciples and teaches them about God’s love. He heals people, so they and the 12 can see God’s love in action.
In the middle section of Mark, we read the story of their journey to Jerusalem. It begins with the healing of a blind man who is brought to Jesus. Leading him outside the village, Jesus spits in his hands and touches the man’s eyes. “What do you see?”
“I can see people, but they look like walking trees.”
Jesus touches the man’s eyes again, and this time the man sees clearly. It’s partly about his sight being healed. Mostly, it’s about his life being oriented correctly. He sees everything clearly.
And we? Do we see clearly?
They travel south to Jerusalem and Jesus asks the 12 what people are saying about him. What do they see in me?
“Some say you are John the Baptist … others, one of the prophets.”
“And what about you? Who do you say I am?”
Peter jumps right in with both feet. “You are the Christ, the Messiah.” Peter sees … but still doesn’t understand. Jesus begins to teach them about what it means to be the Messiah. The Messiah will suffer … be rejected … be killed … and then be raised again. But it sounds like nonsense to them, and Peter pulls Jesus aside. “Surely this can’t be …”
And Jesus rebukes him Peter sharply. “Get behind me, Satan.”
Peter sees … but not clearly.
God’s way in the world is the way of service, and if we want to be part of the Jesus movement, we will see and serve. We will see God’s priorities in the world, and we will set God as our highest priority, followed closely by the neighbour. In such love, such devotion, such service, we follow Jesus. It is a hard way. But it is the way to life.
Immediately after that, we get that mysterious scene on the mountain top. Peter, James and John see Jesus transfigured in glory on the mountain, appearing with Elijah and Moses. Peter is awestruck. He wants to preserve the moment. Let’s build three shrines here Lord. We can stay here and worship.
But you can’t stay up there. You have to come down to where life happens. Peter still doesn’t see clearly. Coming down from the mountain top, they find the other disciples in the middle of a crowd. A man in the crowd has brought his mute son to be healed, but the disciples can’t heal the boy. In Mark’s world, this was thought to be caused by demons … and so Jesus commands the demons to leave. The grateful father professes faith, “I believe. Help my unbelief!”
Jesus and the 12 resume their journey. On the way Jesus teaches them again about suffering and service. But they still don’t get it; they argue about who is the greatest. Jesus takes a child, a nobody, in his arms, and teaches again, “See this child? You are to be like this nobody. You want to be first? Then serve. You want to be great? Then serve.”
And so it goes. All along the way to Jerusalem, Jesus teaches … heals … finds conflict. In all of it, Jesus invites us to see clearly and to follow in this way. Jesus invites us to make a whole–hearted commitment to God’s way in the world. “Can you do this?” he asks again and again. “Can you give yourselves completely to God’s purposes? Are you ready? Will you follow?”
Do we see?
In the midst of this, people were bringing their children to be blessed. The disciples tried to shush the kids away, but Jesus welcomes them. In such vulnerable ones do we see God’s love at work.
On the way, a rich young man kneels before Jesus. “What do I have to do to inherit eternal life?”
“You know the commandments,” Jesus replies. “Keep them.” And the young man cries out, “I’ve done that.”
“One more thing,” says Jesus. “Sell your stuff, give the money to the poor, and come, follow.”
And the man would not. He could not. It was too much to ask.
“How hard it is for the rich to enter into God’s reign,” says Jesus. The rich can’t see clearly because they are blinded by their wealth, their own success, their self–sufficiency.
And now, as they continue their journey to Jerusalem, to suffering, to death, they walk in the way of the cross. On the way, James and John sidle up to Jesus. “Pssst Master. Could you do us a favour?”
“What do you want me to do for you?” asks Jesus.
“When you enter the kingdom, could you give us the highest places, the seats of honour?”
Again, Jesus teaches them about suffering and rejection, about service and the first being last, about the rules of the road in the dream of God. “You want to be a somebody? Get to the back of the line. You want honour? Become a servant. You want prestige? Give yourself away for God’s gospel purposes in the world.”
Today they’re in Jericho, about 20 kilometres north of Jerusalem, they city where Jesus will be executed. Sitting beside the road, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus hears them. “Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me.”
Did you notice how there’s a story of the healing of a blind man at both ends of the larger story? Bart is the second blind man, and he calls out, longing for healing. “Yo, Jesus.”
They try to shush him, just like they tried to shush the kids earlier in the story. But Bart won’t give up. He yells even more loudly until he finally catches Jesus’ attention. “Call him over.”
“It’s your lucky day, beggar. He wants to see you.” So Bart throws off his coat, leaps to his feet and comes to Jesus.
Just an interesting thing here. Bart does what the rich man couldn’t do. For a beggar, his cloak was everything he owned. It’s how he collected what people gave him. It’s how he kept warm. And if he throws it aside, you can bet someone else will pick it up. Bart threw his cloak aside, he came to Jesus, and he follows.
“What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks. We’ve heard that question before. James and John asked for positions of power and honour.
But not Bart. He knows better. “Teacher, I want to see.”
“Go. Your faith has saved you. You are made whole.” And immediately Bart follows Jesus. Unlike the rich young ruler, Bart leaves his possessions and follows. Unlike James and John, Bart follows rather than longing for seats of honour and power.
Although he was blind, Bart sees clearly. He knows Jesus for who he is. He sees clearly … and he trusts … and he follows.
Do we see?
In the very next verse, Jesus enters Jerusalem. It’s the final, tumultuous week of his life. Jesus is executed in that hectic week which teeters between faith and doubt.
This whole gospel invites us over and over again to see clearly, to trust, to know that God is among us in the least, the vulnerable, the marginalized. When we see, the gospel invites us to come. To follow.
See. Come. Follow.
As we do so, as we walk this way, as we serve, as we grow in faithful living, we will know the fullness of life which God intends for us.
Step by step … and we see once more that the way of Jesus, although it often seems so alien in this culture, truly is the way of life and joy, the way of peace and blessing.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 28, 2018 (23rd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 30)
Mark 10: 46–52
Job 42: 1–6, 10–17
Hebrews 7: 23–28
As many of you know, I was at Clergy Conference most of this past week in Sorrento. We get together every year to re–connect with colleagues, and to spend some time thinking and talking together.
As I usually do, I wrote a draft of my sermon during the week before. The sermon focused on the gospel reading. Jesus invites us to be great … but redefines greatness as being a servant. I suggested in that sermon that this is the heart of what it means to be Christian people … to serve each other, to serve our families and loved ones certainly, but also to serve the world and the poor and marginalized people among us, all of it as a way of serving God in all that we do.
I was going to say that being Christian is not about what we believe; it’s not about which doctrines are right and which are wrong; it’s not about making sure you toe the line.
Being Christian is about trusting the God with whom we are in relationship, the One who strengthens and sustains us through everything that life throws at us.
Being Christian is to participate with God in our own healing and in the healing of the world. Being with God means that our lives will be changed. We will be transformed … from thinking mostly about ourselves to thinking mostly about God and others.
It was quite a wonderful sermon. Brilliant, even. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
But, as John Lennon sang, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. On Tuesday, I got a phone call that Shelley Lepage had died suddenly, and unexpectedly. I connected with her family by phone, and did what I could from a distance, but it was hard.
Then on Wednesday night and early Thursday morning I heard that Jim Roberts had gone missing in the bush. Suddenly, the week of reflection became a week of trauma.
So I rewrote the sermon to address that trauma. I think partly, I wrote this sermon to help me deal with the pain I have felt.
Trauma is part of all our lives. We’ve all experienced loss and sorrow. It comes in so many ways —a loved one dies, or we experience a loss, or we get a medical diagnosis which throws our lives into turmoil, or we have an accident, or a natural disaster happens, or we hear about abuse.
What do we do when we face that kind of trauma? I want to take my lead from Job.
Job is the story of a righteous man who lives faithfully, and, in an instant, loses everything—his wealth, his family, and even his health. Three friends come to sit with Job, to commiserate with him. That’s good. But they end up saying that he must have done something terrible in order to be punished so severely.
That was the official theology of the day—blessings are a sign of God’s favour; if you experience loss and sorrow, you must have done something to tick God off.
But Job insists that he is righteous and faithful. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. God is in the wrong. God is breaking God’s promise.
So Job calls God to account. We read it last week. He accuses God of breaking the promise: “O that I knew where I might find God, that I might come even to God’s dwelling! I would lay my case before him, and fill my mouth with arguments.”
And then Job laments, powerfully and deeply. He wails in anguish.
And it all sounds a little strange to us, because we don’t lament well in our society. “Everything’s fine,” we say … until of course, it isn’t.
Today’s reading comes near the end of Job’s story. For the first time, God speaks. God begins by telling the three friends to get lost. They were wrong. The traditional way of thinking is wrong. It is an astounding claim for the author of Job to make, but that’s why Job was written. Life isn’t quite so neat and tidy. Blessing and curse are not signs of God’s blessing or God’s anger. Life happens, and sometimes it’s tough and ugly. But somewhere in the middle of it all, God is. God is.
Then God speaks to Job: “Let me question you, Job, and you will answer me. Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Who measured the foundation of the earth? Can you command the morning, and can you walk in the sea? Did you father the rain and snow?” it goes on in this vein for 2 long chapters.
There are 2 ways we can read this.
First of all, we can read it as if God is criticizing Job, “Just who the heck do you think you are? You’re getting a little big for your britches, boy. It’s time to dial it back a little.” That’s a possibility.
There is another way of reading it, which I much prefer. God reassures Job that the One who created the universe continues to be present even when life is so tough. “I didn’t just make the universe and skedaddle. I’m still here, even when you can’t see me. I am here.”
That’s the power of love which sustains us in faith and trust. The life of faith is not about what we believe. It’s about Whom we trust!
We’ve all had trauma in our lives. As I look out, I see people whom I love who have been hurt by life … by death … by sorrow and tragedy. I look in the mirror and I see someone who has been hurt by life and death.
I also see people whom I love who have hurt others, intentionally or not. I look in the mirror and see someone who has hurt others.
And in the midst of all of this, I have come to trust deeply that the God who created heaven and earth holds us. I trust deeply that God is the One I can trust with life and death. I trust deeply that God gives us life and purpose and meaning.
In the midst of the trauma of this week, that’s what sustains me. God is.
And it’s not just God and me. It’s God, working through the community of all those who trust God this deeply. It’s God working through us.
As I left the Clergy Conference, I was weeping, uncertain of what was happening and what might come. I can tell you that the whole clergy community in this Diocese has been praying for Jim, for me, for us.
As I drove home, wondering about what was happening, my mind shifted to the worst case. What would happen if…? Why would Jim…? Why did Shelley die so young…? This is not right. This is wrong in so many ways.
And I didn’t hear a voice come out of the speakers in my car to tell me everything would be all right. In fact, I had to live with my fear throughout that long drive. I had to process my grief. I had to hold my broken heart gently as I wept.
Last week, Oscar Romero was named a saint. He was the Archbishop in El Salvador in the late 1970’s, who was assassinated while he was saying mass. After being made archbishop, Romero became an ardent advocate for the poor, which often meant going against the establishment of the church in central America.
He was part of a movement called liberation theology, which took root in the poor campesino communities of central and south America. One of the foundational understandings of liberation theology is that “God has a preferential option for the poor”—which means that God is most likely to be found in the lives of the poor and marginalized, and not so much among the rich and powerful.
What I want to say today is that God has a preferential option for the hurting … that God has a preferential option for the wounded … that God has a preferential option for the broken … that God has a preferential option for the traumatized … that God has a preferential option for those who mourn.
In the midst of the trauma we experienced, God’s heart was also breaking this week.
And the God whose heart was breaking, holds us and is in the process of mending our broken hearts.
God is indeed faithful. And we have once more seen God’s faithfulness as families and communities come together to lament … to grieve … to ask questions … to hold each other … and then to come together in the presence of God to eat and drink even as we laugh and weep.
This is life. This is abundant life … that God holds us through it all, that we can trust the One who holds us in trauma.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 21, 2018 (22nd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 29)
Job 38: 1–7
Mark 10: 35–45
Hebrews 5: 1–10
There are at least a couple of good sermons in today’s readings.
Job and our Psalm this morning remind us once again of the power of lament. Life is sometimes very hard, and the appropriate response of faith is to lament. That’s not the approach taken by our world. Our world says, “Suck it up, get over it, and get on with life.” But not the life of faith. In the life of faith, we lament.
Job takes God by the scruff of the neck, as it were, and demands why God isn’t present when life is so tough. The Psalm continues that theme.
It shocks us a little bit … because we’re not used to talking to God that way. I remember my mother telling me that going to church was like going to see the Queen … and you don’t scream in anguish at the Queen when your life is tough.
But the life of faith takes God seriously enough to demand that God keep the promises and be present with us. Sometimes that means lashing out at God in rage and despair.
And that’s what Job does, and that’s what the Psalm does, and that’s what Jesus does by quoting this Psalm on the cross —“My God, why have you abandoned me?” A rough paraphrase is to ask, “Where in the blankety blank are you when life is so difficult?”
That’s a good sermon.
But there’s an equally good sermon in our gospel reading this morning. Once again, Jesus talks about wealth and money. It’s an important word for us to hear, because even the poorest among us is in the top 12% of the world’s income. My salary puts me in the top 6% of people in the world.
That puts a whole new spin on these words from Jesus about wealth. We have to remember that Jesus was a poor peasant, living with and speaking to other poor peasants. He knew what it was to be at the bottom of the pecking order.
And now, as Jesus and the 12 are journeying to Jerusalem, a rich man comes up to him with a question. “What do I have to do to get eternal life?”
It’s a great question! A preacher’s dream. This man seems hungry to know how he can deepen his relationship with God.
So Jesus responds, “You know the commandments … don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t defraud others, honour your parents.”
The man answers, “I do that! From my youth, I’ve kept them.” Can’t you just see him beam with pride?
It seems a little boastful—but notice that when the man says it, Jesus looks at him…and loves him.
It seems as if this man really does want to know God. He wants to be part of the Jesus movement. He wants to live out his deep trust in God and to deepen his relationship with God. He wants to know how.
That’s when Jesus says the hard thing, the really tough word. Here’s a good sermon for us.
“You lack one thing: sell your stuff, and give the money to the poor, and then you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.”
And the man, whose face beamed with pride just a moment before — now his heart becomes heavy, and his face falls. He leaves, grieving. We find out now that he is rich; he has a lot of stuff.
The irony for the man is that although he is rich, he lacks one thing. That surprises us — we would think that he lacks nothing. He has everything he could possibly need. And if he doesn’t have it, he can order it on amazon and get it in a couple of days. He could even afford Amazon Prime, with next day delivery.
But Jesus sees more deeply. You lack one thing.
There’s a better translation—“You are lacking in one thing.” The rich man doesn’t lack a thing. What he lacks is a way of being.
That’s the difference between a noun and a verb … and this is a verb.
Jesus tells him and us, “It’s not your stuff that makes you rich. What makes us rich is our relationships — with God, with ourselves, with our family and friends certainly, and also with the poor who are at the margins of society, the lonely and anxious, the addicted and abused.
Notice the verbs around this central saying. What Jesus does with this rich man is what the rich man is lacking.
Jesus looked at him. Jesus loved him. And then, following the hard word, Jesus invites the man to come. And follow.
And these actions of looking and loving, of coming and following, they are actions which are all directed towards the other.
Just as Jesus looked at the man and really saw him for who he was and the emptiness he was trying to fill, so we are invited to see all the other people in our lives and connect with them.
And when we see other people in this way, then we also reach out to them in love.
And this is what the rich man was lacking. Life is not defined by what we have. Life is measured in how we connect with others. Life is rich when, in our prosperity, we notice the people in our midst, the people in need, the people whose lives have been damaged. What the rich man was lacking was connection to others, because he thought that by his wealth he could do it all for himself and all by himself.
That’s the danger of wealth … we begin to think we are self–sufficient. We begin to think we don’t need anyone. We begin to think we are self–made men and women. We lose any sense of connection as we stay boarded up in our own isolation.
We see it all around us in the world. The wealthier you are, the more you can isolate and insulate yourself from others. You can afford a car with doors which shut out the noise of the world and black tinted windows so you don’t have to see. You can live in gated communities, in houses with security systems to keep you safe. You can avoid the mess out there, and take vacations in the perfect world of Disneyland.
And that’s the heart of what Jesus is saying. It’s not that wealth is inherently bad. Rather, Jesus insists that wealth without seeing the other, without loving the other, without coming and following and making that kind of connection leads to narcissism and fear. It leads to the kind of apprehension where the most important part of our lives becomes trying to ensure our self–preservation.
If you are wealthy, says Jesus, don’t use your wealth to isolate yourself. Don’t use your wealth to insulate yourself. Use your wealth to make connection with others.
You lack one thing.
What about us? What do we lack?
The rich man walked away sadly, because he couldn’t hear the truth Jesus spoke. The rich man walked away sadly, because he couldn’t do the truth Jesus spoke.
What do we lack?
The gospel of Jesus is supposed to change us. It will change our priorities. It will change the way we look at things. It will change the longings of our hearts. It will change the way we think about life. It will change the hopes we have for the future. It will change they way we live. It will change … us.
If it doesn’t, then we too will walk away sadly.
The gospel changes us … to reach out and make connection … to reach out and reconcile … to reach out and live in the truth that we are all God’s precious people … to reach out and work together with all kinds of others to heal the world.
The gospel changes us. The word is transformation. We don’t conform with what others in this world say. We are transformed by the love of God which we know in Jesus, so that our lives become cross–shaped as we take up the invitation of Jesus to come and follow and walk in the way of Jesus.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 14, 2018 (21st Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 28)
Mark 10: 17–31
Job 23: 1–9, 16–17
Hebrews 4: 12–16
Some families have a custom at Thanksgiving that when they gather around the dinner table, they invite each person to say what they’re grateful for. It’s a way of naming the blessings in our lives and bringing them to mind. It makes thanksgiving more specific.
I want to do something similar today. Instead of “Ask Yme”, today will be “Yme Asks”.
A few weeks ago, a small group of people met to talk about how we’re doing here at Christ Church. This idea came out of that conversation. So, I want to think together with you about our life at Christ Church.
Let’s talk about three questions today.
- What do you love about Christ Church?
- What are we doing well?
- Where could we improve … and how?
I’ve included those questions in your bulletin this morning. If you have some thoughts you’d like to write down, please do so and make sure I get it.
We’ve identified lots to be grateful about in our life together. With you, I believe God has blessed us with much in our life together. I also believe … as we’ve identified together … that we can always be more faithful in how we live out our relationship with God and with each other.
Talking together is a good way to identify all those things.
The interesting thing is that the day after that small group met, our Primate Fred Hiltz initiated a process called “The Heartbeat of the Church”. He is encouraging small groups of 4 or 5 to gather for conversation about the church. His three questions are a little different, but they get at the same thing:
- describe a time when our church made your heart glad;
- describe a time when our church made your heart ache; and
- describe a time when our church gave you hope.
Those are also good questions for our lives as we think about thanksgiving — a time when your heart was glad; a time when your heart ached; a time when you felt hope.
May this thanksgiving be a time of reflection and deep gladness for us all as we remember all the blessings God has given us.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 7, 2018 (Thanksgiving Sunday)
Matthew 6: 25–33
Joel 2: 21–27
1 Timothy 2: 1–7