Authentic Leadership
Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble
when you’re perfect in every way.
I can’t wait to look in the mirror
cause I get better looking each day.
To know me is to love me
I must be a hell of a man.
Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble
but I’m doing the best that I can.
Today’s gospel reading is about pride and humility, and particularly as it affects folks like me—religious leaders.
Before I go any farther, let me be clear that this reading is not about Jesus condemning the Jews. We have to be very careful about that because passages like this have done a lot of damage over the centuries. People have used it as a basis for anti–Semitism, but it just ain’t so. Jesus was a Jew. In fact, Jesus had much in common with the Pharisees. They were not sworn enemies. They were more like debating partners.
At the very beginning of this reading, Jesus praises the Pharisees as good teachers of the Torah. He urges his followers to “do whatever they teach you and follow it.”
The problem is not with Jews per se. The problem is with religious leaders who teach one thing and do another. If Jesus were alive today, he’d be talking about Anglicans and Presbyterians and Lutherans and Baptists and leaders in the Alliance Church…and so on.
Jesus has four specific problems with certain religious leaders.
First, Jesus condemns leaders who don’t practice what they teach. It’s easy to tell others what to do and not practice it ourselves. But we are all called to love God with all that we are. We are all called to love our neighbours as ourselves. Those who proclaim the gospel are called to live by the same standard of the gospel.
Second, Jesus has no use at all for leaders who turn God’s gospel of love into a burden that no one can bear. This is not what God intended.
For Matthew’s church the essence of faith is found in the Great Commandment: “Love God. Love your neighbour.” That’s it. Jesus later says, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Faith is not meant to be a burden. It’s about finding rest for our souls.
Third, Jesus condemns leaders who are more interested in appearance than in performance. You know the ones I mean—the ones who do everything for show. They want to be noticed.
True leaders, says Jesus, seek to serve God and the people God has entrusted to their care. It’s not about wearing the finest religious jewelry or the nicest albs and stoles. Love God. Love your neighbour.
The fourth problem is that these leaders think they’re better than everyone else. They pull rank. They insist on the best seats in the house. They love to swagger through the marketplace where they can be saluted and greeted with the respect they think they deserve.
“But not you,” Jesus says to the church. “Not you. This is not how it is to be in the church. For you, the greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
This is the heart of what Jesus is talking about. A real leader will seek to serve. Authentic leaders serve alongside others. Followers of Jesus are not preoccupied with rank, or prestige, or fancy display. In the Christian community, all are called to serve, to love God, to love our neighbours.
For Matthew, the church is marked by a deep equality and solidarity. We are brothers and sisters together, equal in the presence of God.
I remember a mother in my first church asking me what I wanted her young son to call me. I said, “Jimmy can call me Yme.” “But,” she stuttered, “but you’re the minister. Jimmy has to treat you with respect!”
And I said, “Just because he calls me Reverend doesn’t mean he respects me.” I went on to say that the thing that binds Jimmy and me together is the fact that we have both been baptized. We are both God’s beloved children. We are part of the same family. Jimmy and I are brothers, and that’s the deepest relationship we have. Do you call a brother Sir? Reverend? Your Grace? No! You call a brother by his first name.
So let me tell you all … Just because I’m a priest doesn’t entitle me to special privilege. Just because I’m a priest doesn’t mean I get the best seat. Just because I’m a priest doesn’t mean I deserve to be treated with any greater respect than anyone else.
We are brothers and sisters together here. Our deepest bond is found in our baptismal identity. Each of us and all of us are called to serve each other—to serve the world—humbly and with passion. Each of us and all of us are called to use our gifts and talents not for our own aggrandizement, but for the healing of the world.
This is one more way in which the church is different from the world. We’ve read the stories about how people abuse their positions of power. Harvey Weinstein and Donald Trump are just the latest examples.
But we’re all tempted by status and prestige. It feels good to be called to the head of the room, to have people defer to you when you’re out and about. I love it when someone stops me at the mall and tells me they loved my column, or when I get invited to some function or other just because I’m a priest.
And there’s nothing wrong with that per se. The problem comes when that becomes our motivation. The problem comes when we hold our position over the heads of other people. My calling to be priest is not so that people will defer to me on Baker St. My calling is to serve you and to serve the parish which has been entrusted to me.
I believe that this is our calling together. We are not here for our own sakes. We are here for the sake of the world.
As our baptismal covenant puts it, we are called to “proclaim by word and example the good news of God in Christ”. To “seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbours as ourselves.” To “strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being.”
Not for us the trappings of power and honour. We follow in the way of Jesus who came to serve the world. We follow in the way of the one who became servant to the world, the one who wrapped a towel around his waist and washed the feet of his followers, the one who reached out in love to heal and proclaim God’s love and point to God’s gracious purposes for the world.
That’s the way for us — not to exalt ourselves, but to rest in God’s grace, to rely on God’s strength, to live with God’s compassion.
So no puffing ourselves up here. No more singing about how hard it is to be humble. Let’s make a new commitment to loving God and loving our neighbour, humbly, seeking to serve the world which God loves with an undying passion.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
November 5, 2017 (22nd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 31)
Matthew 23: 1–12
1 Thessalonians 2: 9–13
Joshua 3: 7–17
Busted Halos
Good morning, all you saints of God!
Yep. That’s who we are. Today we celebrate our deepest identity—we are saints of God.
St. Yme—it has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? And so does St. Deb. St. Clay. St. Sharon. St. Ed. St. Jim. St. Louise. St. June. St. Bill. Turn to the person next to you and let them know they are saints.
Now let’s be clear—we’re not saints because we are such spectacularly good people. We are saints because we belong to a holy, loving, and compassionate God. Our second reading says it well—“See how deeply God loves us—we are called children of God. That’s who we really are.”
Today, we affirm our deepest identity.
We do something else as well today. We remember those saints who were part of our lives, who have died, who live now in glory. We remember Verne Gottinger, Ron McFarland, and Kay Doig. We give thanks for their lives and their hope. They enriched Christ Church; they enriched our lives and everyone who knew them. They are part of the rich fabric of saints in this place.
Today we remember them, and we celebrate our identity. All of us saints! You. Me. All of us.
Yesterday was the feast day of St. Simon and St. Jude. In a commentary on that day, Stephen Reynolds reminds us that the only thing the Bible says about St. Jude is that he was “the other Judas, not Iscariot. For this reason, St Jude is the patron saint of lost causes and hopeless cases.”
Now that seems like a good reminder for us. On All Saints’ Day, we celebrate our identity as saints. That may strike you as a lost cause and a hopeless case. If it were up to us, absolutely, it would be. If it were about our virtue and our goodness, none of us would qualify.
But it’s not up to us. It is God’s doing. We are saints by association. God loves us. God holds us close. God works in us and through us. God’s love embraces us.
It strikes me that Jesus is made known in our world most often in those little deeds which are never recorded, but are known in the eternal remembrance of the heart of God.
As saints of God, we are held in the eternal remembrance of the heart of God.
So let me ask you—do you believe it? Deep in your soul do you believe that God loves you that deeply? Do you revel in your identity as a beloved child of God?
I suspect most of us aren’t quite sure about that. We’ve grown up with a legacy of guilt (Anglicans are so good at guilt, aren’t we?). We think we’re not good enough.
We’re pretty good at beating ourselves up. Most days, we don’t feel like God’s beloved children. Maybe we don’t believe that we should be, could be, or really are. After all, too often we speak and act in ways that don’t reflect God’s love for us and the world. Too often, we fail to live up to our highest ideals.
But it’s not about us. We are God’s saints because God loves us as only an incredibly adoring parent can love. Whatever else we may say about ourselves, God loves us and all of creation with an undying passion. That’s the heart of the gospel: “See how deeply God loves us—we are called children of God. That’s who we really are.”
Yes we are! And today we celebrate our God–given identity.
Not because of what we’ve done, or what we may do. Just because of who we are. Rather, it’s because of who God is. And hear this—God doesn’t love the person we might be; God doesn’t love the person we’ve promised to be; God doesn’t love the person we’re trying to be. God loves us — the real us: warts, scars, and all. It’s an amazing thing to say. But it’s true!
A few years ago, I came across a memoir by Jana Riess called “Flunking Sainthood”. I love the title! She chronicles her attempt to become more saintly. She decides to tackle 12 different spiritual practices over the course of a year, one per month. “Really, how hard could that be?” she asks blithely at the start of her saint–making year.
Well she finds out how hard it can be. She finds to her growing humiliation that she fails, not just at some of the practices, but at every single one. She doesn’t pray as regularly as she thought she would, or fast, or do her spiritual reading, or any other practice.
But she learns that spiritual growth is a process. You can’t master a spiritual practice in thirty days. It takes time and effort. God is at work in our lives, but it is a gentle working through all our experiences. Jana Riess doesn’t master the practices, but she gains some spiritual insights and growth. She might be a failed saint—but she remains a saint.
This is what God is doing in our lives. We may be flunking sainthood, but God keeps working in our lives. We are saints who are growing in grace.
Leonard Cohen says, “Forget your perfect offering, There is a crack in everything, That’s how the light gets in.”
We are not perfect. But the light of God is shining through the cracks in our lives. That works two ways. The cracks in us allow God’s light to shine into our lives. Those same cracks also allow God’s light to shine out of us into the world.
Danish theologian Soren Kierkegaard said a similar thing 200 years ago: “A saint is someone whose life manages to be a cranny through which the infinite peeps.” That’s what I’m talking about. The mystery shines through the cracks in our lives, the cracks in the world.
We are growing in grace. We know that we are not as God would have us be. We are a work in progress. It’s a process. We are growing in grace, and in the midst of our broken saintly lives, God is shining through the cracks in our lives.
We belong to the holy God who dwells among us, who loves us with a deep passion and delight. We live in God’s embrace.
With absolute certainty and confidence, I tell you that you can call me St. Yme. With equal certainty and confidence, I will call you saints. God is at work here. God is at work in my life. God is at work in your lives. God is at work in the life of creation, renewing it, transforming it, making everything new.
In a moment, we will renew our baptismal vows. God’s love washes over us again. And we make a new commitment to living as “crannies through which the infinite peeps.” We become more intentional about letting God’s light shine through the cracks in our broken lives.
Busted halos, maybe, but halos nonetheless.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Yme Woensdregt
October 29, 2017 (All Saints Sunday)
1 John 3: 1–3
Revelation 7: 9–17
Matthew 5: 1–12
What Belongs to God?
I remember a line from the movie Jerry Maguire—“Show me the money!”
That’s essentially what Jesus says to these religious leaders. They are afraid of his popularity, and they want to get rid of him. So they try to trap him with a politically loaded question. “Tell us what you think, Jesus. Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor or not?”
We’re not talking about income tax, or sales tax. This was a head tax, imposed by the Roman overlords on every Jew. It was one more reminder that the land was occupied by a foreign power. The head tax was the equivalent of a day’s wage, and it was especially burdensome for the poor. It was the difference between having supper or going to bed hungry. The poor are always the most oppressed in any system of domination.
The authorities thought they had Jesus on the ropes. This was a lose–lose question. If Jesus answers “No, it’s not lawful,” the Romans would kill him as a threat to their domination. On the other hand, if Jesus answers “Yes”, he will lose his credibility with his followers, most of whom are poor.
But Jesus is aware of their malice, and neatly side–steps the question. “Give me a coin.” Show me the money! Jesus asks them whose image they see on the coin.
Be aware that they are in the temple precincts. The leaders who pride themselves on keeping the law have carried an image of Caesar into the very heart of Jewish faith. Even worse is that the coin is inscribed, “Caesar, son of God, high priest.”
It’s blasphemy to even have this coin. Idolatry. They’ve been caught. The ones who would trap Jesus have been trapped themselves. They’ve carried a coin with Caesar’s image into God’s temple.
I can imagine a small smile crossing Jesus’ lips as he asks them about the image on the coin. They stutter and stammer. “It’s ummm … well, it’s ummmm … well, it’s the emperor.”
“Then give to the emperor what belongs to the emperor, and give to God what belongs to God.” Render unto Caesar … and all that.
Not only has Jesus avoided the trap, he’s turned it back on those who would trap him. They walk away in amazement.
Now some people interpret this conflict story as if Jesus is describing a world which is neatly divided into two parts: over here is the secular realm ruled by Caesar; and over there is the sacred realm ruled by God. In this light, our job as followers of Jesus is to figure out what is sacred and what is secular, and then do our best to keep the two spheres separate. You know, separation of church and state and all that. Some things belong to Caesar and some things belong to God. Just don’t get them confused.
There was a furore recently in London, England about a church known as the Musicians’ Church. It has been taken over by conservatives, and they have decided that the church can no longer be rented out for secular music concerts. They exemplify this kind of interpretation. The church belongs to God. Secular music belongs to the secular realm.
I think they’ve missed the point. Jesus never divided the world in that way. The whole world is permeated with God for him. All of life shows the hand of God. All of life is sacred. The idea to separate the world into sacred and secular spheres would never have occurred to him. As the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins puts it, “The whole world is charged with the grandeur of God.”
This conflict story is another occasion for Jesus to show us that our whole lives are included in God’s divine economy. The question for us is not how to keep the two spheres separate. The question for us is how does our loyalty to God affect the decisions we make in all of our lives? How do we live in this world as people who belong to God?
I imagine Jesus turning that coin over and saying quietly, “Yes, the image stamped on here is clearly the image, the eikoh (eikon) of Caesar. You, on the other hand, are marked with the eikoh of God. You are created in God’s image, and you dare not give to Caesar what belongs to God.”
Here’s the thing. You and I, we are eikohs of God in the world. We are marked with the image of God. From the very beginning, we say, we are created in the image of God. We bear the image of God in our bodies, in our very selves. And Jesus tells us to honour God’s image in the way we live.
The question in this story is not about Caesar. The question is about God. The question is about our relationship with God. The question is about us as eikohs of God.
In our daily dialogue with God, how do we live faithfully in the world? How do the decisions we make reflect our identity as people who belong to God?
How does the way we spend our money reflect God’s passion for justice?
How does who we vote for demonstrate God’s hunger for righteousness?
How does how we spend our time exhibit God’s priorities in the world?
How does our care for creation bear out the conviction that “The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it”? (Psalm 24:1)
How do our chequebooks and wallets and investment accounts witness to our identity as people who belong to God?
It’s not that Caesar is unimportant. Government is necessary; taxes are necessary to support good order in society. Canadians support a social safety net, and we are willing to pay taxes to support universal health care and education and the other benefits. So we render to Caesar.
But our deepest loyalty is not to Caesar. Our deepest loyalty is to God, the God of life, the God of wholeness, the God of shalom, the God whose grandeur fills the world.
Our deepest loyalty is to the God we love with all our heart, soul, mind and strength. We live out our loyalty to God by loving our neighbours as ourselves.
This, I think, is what it means to be an icon of God. This is what it means to give to God what belongs to God.
I’m also aware that my computer monitor is filled with icons. The purpose of the icon is that once you click on it, it begins to run a program. To reframe Jesus’ reference, the question for us is, “What program begins to run when you click on yourself as an icon of God?”
My whole life belongs to God. One of the offering sentences in the BCP reminds us that, “All things come from you, O God, and of your own have we given you.” That means that I can’t say, “this part belongs to God, and this part doesn’t.” All that I am, all that I have, all that I think, all that I say—in all of it, I am the eikoh of God. My life is not partly sacred and partly secular. It is a whole, and all of it belongs to God.
When Jesus answers these religious leaders, he turns everything upside down. We can’t divide life into that which belongs to God and what which does not. What belongs to God? All of it. We don’t belong to Caesar. We belong — heart and soul, body and mind — to the living God, and we give to God what belongs to God.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 22, 2017 (20th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 29)
Matthew 22: 15–22
Exodus 33: 12–23
1 Thessalonians 1: 1–10
God Repents
What do we imagine when we talk about God? What kind of image do we have in our heads?
We know that God is not some old guy with a long beard up there … somewhere. But I suspect that we still most often think of God as some kind of unchanging, immutable being. As the old hymn has it, “Immortal, invisible, God only wise, in light inaccessible, hid from our eyes” … and so on.
We’ve grown up with an image of a God who knows everything that will happen. God has a plan for our lives, a blueprint if you will. Everything is laid out for us, and our part in this is to conform to God’s will, to do what God has laid out for us.
That kind of image grew up in a world where it was thought that everything was planned, every action was predetermined. In the 18th century, for example, William Paley described the world as being like a watch and God was the watchmaker. God wound the watch up at creation, and it kept on ticking as time went on.
That’s changing. Since Einstein, scientists are now talking about randomness in the fundamental building blocks of the universe. The world is not predetermined, as we used to think.
The same kind of shift is happening in theological circles. In the last century, we’ve begun noticing Biblical accounts which indicate that God also changes, that God is involved in an open dialogue with us, that God responds to our choices. The future isn’t fixed or predetermined. Indeed, the future is open as we engage in our lives as a dialogue with God. We change, and God also changes.
We see it in this story of the Golden Calf.
Partly, this story is about Israel’s idolatry. How soon the people forgot about God. They built an idol and worshipped it as if it were God. It happens so quickly—and it’s a danger for us as well. It’s hard to trust God whom we can’t see. It’s much easier to put our trust in what we can make, what we can see, what we can control.
That’s part of this story. But there’s something more going on here.
Let me set the context. Israel fled from Egypt. Now they are on the long and arduous journey to … somewhere else. God promised them a land of their own, they believed. It’s a difficult journey, and they end up complaining and grumbling.
They reach called Sinai (or Horeb in the Psalm). Moses goes up the mountain there to speak with God, and comes down with the Ten Commandments. Israel affirms its loyalty to God.
Then Moses goes back up the mountain. That’s where we pick up the story today. Moses has been up there a long time, and the people are wondering what’s going on. They demand that Moses’ brother Aaron make a god for them.
“What’s–his–name has been up there forever! Is he going to come back? Make us a god who will lead us, a god we can see, a god who is actually there.”
Aaron does as they demand. He melts down their jewelry and gold and makes a calf. “Here is your god, O Israel, who led you out of Egypt.” The people worshipped, they ate and drank, and it turned into a wild party.
Up on the mountain, God is furious. “Get back down there, Moses,” God says in a fit of anger. “Your people have messed up again. These people you led out of Egypt—they’re stubborn, stiff–necked. I’m done with them. I’ve had it.
“So here’s what we’re going to do, Moses. Let my anger burn fiercely. I’ll destroy them, and then I’ll start over with you. I’ll make you a great nation, and we’ll go from there.”
Moses doesn’t let God get away with that. “No deal, God. They’re not my people. They’re your people. You led them out of Egypt. If you destroy them now, what would the Egyptians say? Think of the hit your reputation would take!”
Moses demands three things of God:
- Turn from your anger. Get over it, God.
- Change your mind. The word here is actually “repent”. Moses calls God to repent, to change God’s heart and mind, to do something different. That’s what it means to repent. It doesn’t mean to feel sorry for something you’ve done wrong. Repentance means to change our minds, to change our hearts, to go in a new direction.
- Remember your promises to these people. This is not worthy of you, God. You promised, O God. You promised Abraham. You promised Isaac. You promised these people. Are you really going to break your promises?
Turn. Repent. Remember. These are not polite requests from Moses. Moses demands this of God. In this story, Moses is the only one who finally tells the truth. Moses speaks truth to God. Moses calls God back to God’s intention for these people. Moses demands that God act in grace and compassion, which is the real heart of God.
And God does. God remembers. God turns from his anger. God repents.
It’s such a simple sentence at the end of the story—“And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.”
This is a much different portrait of God than we’re used to. We haven’t noticed these hints in the past. But we’re beginning to. There are glimpses of this image throughout the Bible. It’s there again and again, and we are beginning to see it.
With this understanding, we know that the future is not cast in stone. The world is not in the hands of an iron fate or an impersonal power. We worship a God who is available to us, who responds to us, who is in dialogue with us. We worship a God who repents.
That’s one of the problems with idols. They don’t change. They are forever cast in stone, or bronze, or gold.
But not God. God gets involved with us in the daily living of our lives. God is involved in a deep relationship with us. God changes as we change.
I describe my faith journey this way. God and I are involved in a dialogue. We talk together, we dance together, we affect each other. God and I are working together on what a faithful life looks like for me. The future is genuinely open. There’s no blueprint for my life. Rather, I live my life out step by step, journeying in partnership with God. With each new step, as I respond to God, so God also responds to me.
The important thing in all of this is that God repents in order to do whatever God needs to do to fill our lives with grace and compassion. God repented on the mountain with Moses, and Israel continued its journey. God changes with me so that I also may discover grace and wholeness and compassion in my own life.
It doesn’t just happen with me as an individual. It happens with us as a community. Our vision of God’s ministry in this place has changed over the years. God inspires us with new visions, and as we catch those visions, God’s heart rejoices. As we miss them, God’s heart weeps, and God changes to try something new.
The good news in all of this is that God’s dream of grace and wholeness for the world may become real. God’s dream is that we all grasp God’s wholeness more fully. God will do whatever God has to do so that God’s love may fill our lives and our world.
God’s steadfast love for the world doesn’t change. What does change in the heart of God is the way in which God will walk with us so that we embrace God’s love fully in our lives as individuals and as a community. God will do whatever God has to do to embrace us and hold us forever.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 15, 2017 (19th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 29)
Exodus 32: 1–14
Matthew 22: 1–14
Philippians 4: 1–9
Giving our Thanks and Praise
Last year, I told you about a friend of mine. Whenever you asked Dave, “How are you?”, he would reply “I am grateful.” It’s a wonderful way to be, and it’s a good thing to be aware of all the blessings in your life.
I also am grateful. I am grateful for life. I am grateful for the people in my life. I am grateful for the goodness that so often catches me by surprise.
Even in the midst of very difficult times, I remain grateful. I have friends who lift me up. I have a church community which prays for me. I trust a God who keeps my life whole and good and joyous.
I am grateful.
But there is something else which completes what it means to be grateful. That’s the gift of giving. Gratitude leads to giving. And not just giving, but giving generously. I would go so far as to say that gratitude is not complete if you’re not giving.
I am grateful. I give. Generously. They belong together. They are part of one another. Just like the name of this weekend—Thanks. And Giving.
Let me tell you about a couple of folks—Baptist Bob and Anglican Angie.
Baptist Bob graduated from college and was looking forward to a good career. He grew up in the church, and he learned very early to give. His parents taught him. His pastor preached and taught about it. When he left college, even though he wasn’t making much money, Baptist Bob was tithing. He gave 10% of every dollar he earned to the church. Giving made him feel great.
When he graduated, he asked his pastor to pray with him to find a good job. He promised God that he would continue tithing.
Baptist Bob found a good job, and over the years he rose in the company, his salary increased and he became very comfortable. He bought a larger house in a toney neighbourhood for himself and his family. Life was good. He was earning $500,000 a year, and he was able to buy all the things they needed … and all the things they wanted.
But Baptist Bob began to notice that it was harder and harder to tithe. There were all kinds of demands on his time and his money. He had more obligations; it was hard to meet them all.
So he went to his pastor and told him the story. He asked his pastor to pray with him about this. They knelt in the middle of the pastor’s office, and the pastor prayed, “Dear God, please help Bob lose his job. Amen.”
Baptist Bob was astounded. “What was that all about?” His pastor said, “When you had less money, you didn’t have any trouble tithing. Now you’re rich and you can’t seem to give as generously. To help your soul, I asked God to help you.”
Then there’s Anglican Angie. Like Baptist Bob, she graduated from university and found a good career. She also goes to church regularly. She loves to sing and meet her friends at church. She loves the liturgy, and finds that the time she spends in worship every week refreshes her spirit and encourages her. It helps her be aware of all the blessings in her life.
But no one ever talked to Angie about giving. She knows she should give something … but what? How much should she give? She has never heard her priest talk about it, certainly not in a sermon. Anglicans just don’t do that kind of thing.
She went to see him once, to talk about giving. He only responded, “Gee, they never taught me about that in seminary. I don’t know!” She walked away, as confused as ever. She still didn’t know about giving.
Luckily for Anglican Angie, there was a new priest in her parish. He used to be a Presbyterian, but now he has seen the light. Apparently, he’s quite comfortable talking about money and giving. Even better, he just went to a Conference where they all talked about giving and stewardship.
They talked about this reading from 2 Corinthians. God loves a cheerful giver? What the heck does that mean? What’s a cheerful giver? Giving cheerfully? Gimme a break!
See here’s the thing about giving—it’s something we have to learn to do. It doesn’t come naturally to us. The first words out of our mouths when we are infants is “Mama” and “Dada”. The second word we learn is “No!” And the next word we learn is … “Mine”. Think back to your own kids. “Mine.” My toy! My seat! We learn very early to claim stuff as ours.
And that impulse doesn’t end as we grow up. We have to learn to give, and if we don’t learn it, we will never experience what it means to become a cheerful giver.
And honestly, there is such a thing. Luckily for Anglican Angie, her new priest has learned to be a cheerful giver. He has learned to give, and to give generously. Every Sunday, as the offering comes up to the altar, he puts his own envelope into the plate. He offers a prayer of gratitude for all God’s gifts, a prayer of gratitude for being able to give so generously.
He’s also learned some stuff about the Bible. The Bible mentions love 538 times; prayer shows up 529 times; faith and believing, about 414 times; joy, about 210 times. These are all pretty important things.
But do you know what’s mentioned most in the Bible? Money, wealth, and poverty. Over 2000 times. Four times as often as love and prayer; five times as often as faith. In fact, if you look at the gospels, Jesus talks about money and wealth almost 20% of the time.
It’s quite astonishing, isn’t it? Jesus talks about money more than any single other subject.
As I said earlier, giving is a learned behaviour. It doesn’t come naturally. What’s natural is to think, “Mine!” I worked hard for what I have … so I should get to enjoy it all.
Yes we do work hard for it. But if we keep it for ourselves, we will miss out on the joy of giving. I have learned that joy.
You will hear people say, “Give until it hurts!” What I want to tell you is, “Give until it feels good. Give until it feels great!”
It does. There is great joy in giving. In my first parish, I was talking about proportional giving—which simply means to give a percentage of our income. In that way, everyone is giving at the same level. After worship, a friend came up to me and said, “I’d like to talk to you about that sermon.”
I thought, “Uh oh. Now I’ve done it.” We met Tuesday. Frans said, “I teach Sunday School with others, and I’m an elder, and I work to help the church, right?” I said, “Yes you do. Thank you.” Then he said, “When you were preaching, I was figuring out what percentage of my income I give to the church. It’s just over 2%. That’s not enough. My church, my faith in God, is more important than that. Teach me to grow in my giving.”
It took my breath away. We set up a schedule so he could grow from 2% to 10% within two years. It only took him 9 months to reach 10%. He kept growing from there. The last time I talked to him, he was at 17% — and he was loving it!
Thanks. Giving.
I am grateful. I give with joy. I give generously. For me, I give 10% of my income to the church, and another bunch of money to other groups. My tax return last year showed that I gave 12% of my income. What a thrill!
I think the reason Jesus talked so much about money is that most of us are ‘in’ our money somewhere. It “represents our gifts and our work, the grace we have received and the effort we have added to the grace. Money is a storage device for grace, time, and energy. Money is personal. It goes into the world as an expression somehow of who we are. It discloses what we believe about ourselves.” (Michael Thompson)
What do we believe about ourselves? The way we use our money shows it.
So let me encourage you. Don’t give until it hurts. Give until it feels great.
I am grateful.
I give, generously.
Giving our thanks and praise.
Thanks. Giving.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
October 8, 2017, Thanksgiving Sunday
Deuteronomy 8: 7–18
2 Corinthians 9: 6–15
Luke 17: 11–19
The following sermon was preached by our Lay Pastoral Associate, Deb Saffin.
Ever look at a bunch of readings and wonder how they fit together? I sure did as I put things together for today. In Exodus we have folks wandering the wilderness hungry, tired and frustrated.
In the Psalm we have people who have forgotten what God has done for them and in Philippians we are told to be humble and have the spirit/mind of Jesus and then we get to the Gospel only to hear yet another parable of two sons. At least that’s what is there at first glance. Gotta wonder who put them together and why.
Well, I see follow through as one of the primary themes in these readings. Follow through along with a little teaching on authority; and we all know authority is powerless without follow through.
Reading Philippians alongside Exodus and Matthew, we reflect on the relationship between our patterns of thinking and patterns of living and that’s a lot of what I’ll focus on today.
Moses followed through with his promise to lead the people out of bondage into freedom even though he found it hard. With so many challenges and so much bickering many of us would have given up even though we’d promised God we’d do the job. Moses didn’t want centre stage from the very start but still continually sought God’s voice and comforted the people — he hung in there. He followed through with the authority and gifts given him by God.
For the Philippians, “selfish ambition” was perhaps more natural than humility – much different than Moses. They were encouraged to follow through with what they knew was right and stick with a right way of living and were praised for their efforts. In both the Exodus and Philippians cases, certain patterns of thinking yielded certain patterns of living. But as Jesus’ parable points out, affirmative responses alone are not praiseworthy as much as a life pattern that embodies them. Follow through, right?
In the Gospel parable at the end of the reading we see two brothers asked by their father to help out with the days work. One says, No and then relents and the other says yes and then doesn’t follow through. Let’s think about this parable for a minute.
It’s painful to have someone you trust tell you they are going to do something for you and then they don’t. Many of us can tell story after story about people who have let them down by making a promise and then not following through. Like the second son in today’s parable. My mom used to say, “a promise made is a debt unpaid and you have to pay your debts either now or later.” We expect family and friends to keep their word and to come through for us when we have a pressing need, but sometimes they don’t and we are hurt. When a friend disappoints us we are not too terribly upset but we do lose a bit of trust. However, it’s even harder when someone we think has power doesn’t follow through.
At the same time, we must acknowledge there are times when we, ourselves, have made promises and then not kept them. Sometimes we’ve given a half–hearted ‘yes’ to someone just to get them off our back or because everyone else did; even though we have no intention of following through. So whether we’ve been on the giving or receiving end of broken promises we need the challenge of the Gospel we hear today. And this is where I saw authority as part of our own commitment to follow through. So let’s add that element to our discussion and then we’ll get back to follow through.
The church leaders of Jesus day think they have all authority and power over the people because of their title and, most often, they follow through by quoting the rules of the law and commandments to back them up or imposing a penance on the people — that’s why the money changers and vendors in the temple square were doing so well.
Jesus, however, doesn’t talk about his authority he exhibits it with healing, withering a fig tree, and claiming the temple space back showing that he follows through with the authority he has been given over nature, people and institutions too, no matter what others think.
We’re not at all surprised to hear the temple leaders asking Jesus about this display of authority. He was exhibiting enormous power and the crowds were enthralled, not to mention his courage in confronting the institutions.
The church leaders were the recognized authority and therefore they had to ask Jesus just who the heck he thought he was. Look at their years of experience, their lineage and their education (equivalent to a master’s or doctorate today) and here was this man of low standing, without much education, and no title, throwing his weight around, and the crowds were eating it up, encouraging him and asking for more. He had a following.
Jesus was practicing what he preached and was following through with the authority that had been given him by God by doing what He knew was right.
Needless to say, the religious leaders were not happy. After all, they had a good thing going, and Jesus was ruining it.
As a side note, Jesus shows he is smarter than they are and has no intention of getting caught up in some abstract or conceptual debate about the nature of his authority in order to show who has the most power or authority to make things happen. Instead, he decides to ask them a question that causes them to struggle as they reflect on the true nature of authority itself. “I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer then I will tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven or was it of human origin?”
The church leaders know they are hooped no matter how they answer because one answer leaves them open to appearing disobedient to God and the other would lose the respect of the crowd. They answer: “We don’t know.” which was probably very true.
So much for their spiritual authority, so much for their ability to follow through on what they preached or to know the will of God— one little question from Jesus renders them speechless and defenceless. And in that moment, the religious leaders were unmasked for who they truly were. They claimed authority, power and privilege but their chief concern was to protect their standing in society and their reputations. They didn’t give an answer because they didn’t want to lose what they had. They couldn’t follow through with what they believed. So where’s their authority now?
I think that causes us all to question where authority comes from. Can authority be given to us by human power or by education? I ask… who is the boss of you? Who tells you how to act? Who are we letting down when we don’t follow through?
That represents our usual way of understanding authority … who’s the boss — who’s the rule enforcer, who will give us trouble? But I don’t think that’s the real question — maybe we should ask — is it human power or heavenly power. I’d rather follow someone with heavenly power than human power. Is THAT the authority we see in today’s gospel? Is the authority we see here different than human authority?
The chief priests chose to exchange the God-given authority to do right for human power to maintain status. Sometimes we do too and that’s what’s happening in so much of our world today.
In the absence of true authority there will always be power struggles. Good grief look at the gridlock in the world of politics – yikes, let’s not go there.
Instead, think about the people who hold authority for you; the people you care what they think. Usually they are not concerned about themselves, they don’t dominate or try to control you – they aren’t pushing their own agenda but encouraging you to grow. They inspire you and call forth from you faith, hope and trust; expanding your world, opening new possibilities and bringing forth life and gifts in yourself that you never really knew were there. That sounds an awful lot like Jesus and it’s very different than those who exercise or impose human authority. It’s the will to do what’s right, to live like the Philippians in today’s readings.
I think sometimes we refuse to recognize, claim or exercise the authority within us to do what is right or step out in faith and it halts our follow through. We’re waiting for a burning bush or a voice echoing from heaven to tell us what to do to give us the confidence to do it. What Paul tells us is that we find God’s will when we come with humility and allow God to work in us and through us. That’s what he’s reminding the Philippians of in this reading.
There are people in this parish who have no leadership position, title or theological credentials and yet they have great authority and they follow through. You can see it in their compassion and gentleness. I hear it in the way they pray and I feel it in their love — they too show me the way to the live out Gods will in my life. That’s what authorities do — it’s not about them — it doesn’t come from them. All authority originates in God and is manifest in us.
That leads me back to the follow through of the sons in the parable. Both sons are wrong, both sons have dishonoured their father and have not honoured the authority figure in their lives. BUT the first son has follow through — that authority growing within that said, “put your Ipad down and go help your Dad.” In Verse 29 it says ‘but later he changed his mind and went… a more literal translation of the Greek would be “later he changed what he cared about and went.”
And that is the idea here — when he changed what he cared about he followed through and chose to care about the honour of his father. A kind of follow through the chief priests couldn’t make. I think it’s important to note the father in this story didn’t impose authority over his sons – he asked them to help and moved on but didn’t make them go. He gave them the authority and freedom to think things through and choose for themselves.
Like the first son in the parable, I’ll bet most of us can name times when we’ve felt that pull to do something we didn’t want to – something maybe we’d said we’d do but didn’t feel like doing or maybe something we’ve said no to but now feel ‘a real change of what you care about’ and then we’ve gone and done it!
Follow through is important and the drive to do that is found in the authority of God-given gifts given us each and every day.
Amen
Have You Got Enough?
Have you got enough?
Think about that for a moment.
Have you got enough?
There are lots of voices all around us telling us we don’t have enough. Get more, they whisper. Buy more, they shout. You might need it, you never know. Keep what you’ve got. Hold on to all your stuff.
Get a new car every year. Upgrade your computer, even if it’s working just fine. Get the iPhone X—it only costs $1000 US, but look at all the features. Even if you never use those features, you can still say you’ve got them.
Have you got enough?
We live in a consumerist society which tells us we can never have enough. We need more stuff. The one with the most toys at the end wins. If you’re feeling down, do some retail therapy. Get down to the mall—after all, there are only 92 shopping days left until Christmas!
Buy that lottery ticket—this is the big one, I can feel it. If only …. If only I had a little more in my retirement account. If only … if only … if only. Words of regret for today. Words of fear for tomorrow.
Instead of reveling in the abundance of our lives, we begin to think that we are living with scarcity. We will never have enough. We need more. We can’t make it. We’ll never get to enjoy life.
And so you work harder. You try to get more. You do whatever you can to grab a larger piece of the pie.
Have you got enough?
And as if the siren voices in our society aren’t enough, there are a bunch of sleazy religious hucksters telling us that God wants us to be rich. They try to tell us that the gospel is that God wants us to be successful, to have lots of money, to be rich. If you’re not, it’s because your attitude needs adjusting. Just think right, and the cash will roll right in! God wants it for you, so reach out and grab it!
Folks like Joel Osteen, Paula White, TD Jakes and the oh–so–appropriately named Creflo Dollar (I couldn’t make this up!) preach a gospel of greed and money–grubbing, and claim that this is God’s purpose for us.
And people lap it up. Of course! Why not? Greed is so much more attractive than service and giving. It wins hands down every day.
By their standards, Jesus was a complete and utter failure.
They need to have Exodus 16 tattooed on their foreheads.
Israel has finally escaped slavery in Egypt. Now they have to learn how to live as a community of God’s people.
They’re in the wilderness. They’ve been set free, but they haven’t yet reached the promised land. The wilderness is that place of already–but–not–quite–yet. It’s an in–between time and place, a threshold. You’re on the verge of something new. Everything is up in the air. You’ve left what is past, but you haven’t quite reached the new you which awaits you in the future. Scholars call this a “liminal moment”.
We all have such moments. I had that kind of threshold experience 31 years ago. I hadn’t been feeling well for a few months, so I finally went to the doctor. He checked me out and did some bloodwork. Two hours later, he called me and told me to check into the hospital immediately. I was seriously ill with diabetes.
In a flash, my life changed and I was afraid. I didn’t know what the future would bring. Everything was up in the air. I entered the wilderness, and I began a journey towards a new future.
It doesn’t need to be a bad experience. Pregnancy is also such a liminal moment. Your world is about to change in all kinds of wonderful ways, and you’re not quite sure how. Everything is up in the air.
Israel is in the wilderness. They are afraid, and they begin to complain. “Why did you bring us out here to die of hunger? We should have stayed in Egypt, where we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread.”
The complaint is ludicrous. They never sat by the fleshpots. They never ate their fill of bread. They were slaves! They were in danger of being killed by the king of Egypt. Nothing about their life in Egypt should have made them look back with regret …
… but freedom is hard.
God hears their complaint. “I am going to rain bread from the sky for you; each day the people will go out and gather enough for that day.”
There’s the rub. For greedy people, “enough for that day” is never enough. “No,” shout the preachers of the prosperity gospel, “God wants you to be rich. God doesn’t want you only to have enough for the day. If you really trust God, God will rain down enough for many days, for many years, enough for you to satisfy your every greedy whim.”
These sleazy hucksters are wrong. True, the gospel promises that God will provide. But the promise is that God provides enough for our needs. God won’t provide for our wants. God invites us to share with each other so that each of us has enough for the day.
In the wilderness, a fine flaky substance falls to the ground. The people ask, “What is it?” This is the only joke in the story. They call the stuff “manna,” which in Hebrew means, “What is it?”
Of course, some didn’t listen. They went out and gathered more, hoping to hoard it. It turned wormy and foul.
On the sixth day, the people were told to gather two days’ worth of manna. That’s because the seventh day is the sabbath, a day to stop. Stop working. Stop producing. Stop consuming. Sabbath is a day to stop our endless rush towards always getting more.
And again, some of the people just didn’t listen. The greedy among them rush out on the seventh day to gather manna … but there wasn’t any.
And God is furious. “How long will you refuse to keep my commandments and instructions?” How long will you keep trying to do things your way? How long will it take you to learn to trust? How long will it take before you understand that my purposes for you are for your good? How long?”
On the surface, this story is about God feeding the grumbling Israelites. At its depth, it’s a mythic story about greed, about wanting more, about thinking we never have enough.
In God’s economy, we all have what we need. That’s what that strange parable in Matthew 20 is about as well. Every worker in the vineyard received a day’s pay. Each one of them received what they needed to live that day, no matter how long they had worked.
Capitalism would fall apart with that understanding. But capitalism is not God’s economy, despite what all those preachers of the prosperity gospel say. In God’s reign, each of us has enough. Each of us receives what we need. Each of us receives what Jesus calls “our daily bread”.
We pray it every week. Give us our daily bread. It’s a prayer of trust in God.
I know, I know. I also have my RRSP, and some funds in the stock market. I have extra food in my cupboards and fridge, more than I need.
But I have also learned to share. Greed is marked not so much by what we have, but by whether we refuse to share with others. Greed is marked by how tightly we hold our stuff. Greed is marked by never being satisfied with all the rich blessings in our lives, and always wanting more.
Here’s a horrifying fact: in Canada, 2% of Canadians have more money, more housing, more food, more cars, more planes, more wealth than 90% of the poorest Canadians. And that gap is growing larger every year. And they won’t share.
Greed has become part of the North American economy. We need to learn a new story. We need the story of “our daily bread” so that we might live in God’s world as generous and giving people.
This is God’s world.
Have you got enough?
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
September 24, 2017 (16th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 25)
Exodus 16: 2–15
Matthew 20: 1–16
Philippians 1:21–30
The Myth by Which we Live
There are many ways to approach this text from Exodus. Last week, we read the beginning of this story; today, it’s near the end. It is a foundational story for Israel. It’s as important for Jews as the crucifixion and resurrection are for Christians.
Let me set the context.
This story is a transition in the life of Israel as God’s people. Centuries after the fact, Israel remembers what God has done for them. It begins with the story of the Passover.
Now, Israel has finally escaped the slavery of Egypt. They have shaken the dust of slavery off their feet, and they are marching towards freedom. But Egypt’s king has changed his mind. He gathers his army, his chariots, his war horses, and he pursues these escaping slaves.
Israel finds itself now on the west bank of the Sea of Reeds (which is a better translation than “Red Sea”). In front of them, an impassable body of water. Behind them, Pharaoh’s army.
As we consider this story, there are a number of choices to be made.
Choice #1.
We could focus on this story as Israel’s resurrection story. Israel moves from death to life. Death on one shore of the sea to life on the other shore.
On the west bank of the Sea of Reeds, Israel is a group of escaped slaves. The king of Egypt is bearing down on them in his war chariots, determined to wipe them out. They complain to Moses: “Why have you led us out here to die? It would have been better to stay in Egypt, even if we were slaves.”
In an act of ferocious trust in God, they cross through the sea on dry ground. Pharaoh tries to pursue them, and the water comes rushing back in to drown the Egyptian army. Israel watches and sings the song of triumph we read as our canticle this morning.
And now, here they are on the east side, the people of Yahweh.
That’s the reason early Christians used this story as an archetype of baptism. We move through the waters from death to life.
A story of resurrection. The people have moved from death to life.
Choice #2.
We could focus on God’s power over the forces of nature and highlight the movement of sea. Most of us might remember the scene in Cecil B DeMille’s movie, The Ten Commandments. Towering walls of water stand firm as the Israelites pass through, and come crashing down over the Egyptian army.
Approaching the story this way, we would begin with creation itself. The Spirit of God hovered over the waters. We would continue with Jesus calming the storm on the Sea of Galilee. The story would culminate in the Book of Revelation, with its promise that “the sea was no more”. In this reading, the sea is an archetype of chaos. God’s victory over the sea is God’s victory over the forces of chaos.
Given all the weather catastrophes our poor, fragile world is dealing with right now, that’s a theme worth exploring. We are facing a threat in our world. Scientists call it climate change. I’m not a scientist, but I can read, and what reputable scientists are saying should give us pause. The planet is warming; the ice is melting; ocean temperatures are on the rise; plants and animals are moving from their traditional habitats because they can’t live there anymore. That’s what the scientists are saying.
A group of Christians in Cranbrook met last week in Rotary Park to pray for rain. Now I’ve got nothing against prayer. It’s a good thing. But these same people also deny climate change, and they are praying for God to rescue us from these wildfires in the same way as God rescued the Israelites at the seashore.
But honestly, God’s promise is not that God will forever save us from ourselves and our stupidity. Rather, God promises to stand with us in the midst of fire and hurricane, in the midst of joy and sorrow, in the midst of gladness and mourning. God will always entice us to move in the direction of unity and wholeness and reconciliation with one another and with all of creation.
The God we worship will not stop us from beating the world up. But the God we worship will forever hold before us the possibility that we do not need to continue our headlong rush to disaster. In subtle and not so subtle ways, God will prompt us to walk in a different way, to move in a different direction, to love more fully, to live more simply, to give more generously, to be reconciled more completely.
I believe that as we heed the warnings about climate change, we are in the process of being saved by God. God is working on us at this very moment to turn us toward the healing of the planet.
Choice #3.
We could focus on the violence in this story. I did that last week in the story of the Passover. Today, Pharaoh’s whole army is drowned in the sea along with the horses, because “God hardened Pharaoh’s heart”. Last week, I suggested that God doesn’t kill some so that others might be free. God doesn’t engage in wholesale slaughter. God doesn’t take sides in this way.
Quite the reverse. In God’s economy, all are welcome. God’s love is for all people, not just for some.
I said all of that last week, so I won’t go any further with it.
Choice #4.
Each of these choices is a sermon in itself, and so far, you’ve heard 3 sermons. Not bad for 10 minutes, eh? Here comes sermon #4.
This story of the crossing of the sea is a myth.
Now we have to be careful with that word, “myth”. People use it these days as a synonym for a falsehood. A myth is something that has no basis in fact. But that’s not what myth means.
Karen Armstrong reminds us that a myth is a “story about an event that—in some sense—may have happened once, but which also happens all the time.” A particular myth may or may not be factual, but it reveals a deep truth about humans. A myth is a true story larger than life which deals with themes that are larger than life.
For example, the creation stories in the Bible are myths. The world wasn’t really made in 6 days and a day of rest. The universe evolved over the course of 14 billion years, and it continues to evolve. But the creation myth says something profoundly true about God’s commitment to the world.
In the same way, this Exodus story is a myth in which God recreates God’s people. One of the truths in this story is that raw and naked power, such as that exercised by the Pharaoh, only leads to death. God’s way is the way of life and hope and renewal.
Reading the story this way helps us understand that the death of the Egyptian soldiers is not a punishment from God, but rather a natural consequence of being caught up in the way of death. This is what happens to people who rely on the sword. They will die the same way. Jesus said the same thing: “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”
To put it in a more contemporary idiom, “What goes around comes around.”
This is a story about a victory at sea. But the victory is won not by arms, not by power, not by coercion. The victory is won through trust in God.
In some ways, to read this story as a myth is a more difficult reading. Remember Karen Armstrong—a myth may have happened once, and it happens all the time.
It’s hard to trust God when the sea is in front of us and the army is bearing down on us from behind. It’s tough to trust in the power of love when the power of hate seems so close. It’s difficult to trust in God when the forces of chaos threaten to overwhelm us. It’s challenging to hold on to the power of life when death is all around us.
The life of faith can be demanding — and yet, that’s the story of the gospel. That’s the story of life. That’s the story of God. That’s the myth by which we live.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
September 17, 2017 (15th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 24)
Exodus 14: 19–31 & 15: 1–11
Romans 14: 1–12
Matthew 18: 21–35
I Am with All y’All
We’ve been tracing those wonderful stories in Genesis about our ancestors in faith, stories about Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and his wives and songs. This story in Exodus 12 is the culmination of those early stories. It is one of the most important stories in the whole Old Testament. For Jews, it has the same kind of importance and meaning as the story of the Last Supper or the story of crucifixion and resurrection has for Christians. This is a central part of their identity as God’s people.
For faithful Jews, the festival of the Passover celebrates their liberation from slavery in Egypt. This is when Israel left Egypt, journeyed through the wilderness, and moved into the land they believe was promised to them by God.
Even today, some 3500 years later, faithful Jews gather every year to celebrate this festival of deliverance and liberation. They don’t celebrate in the synagogue or in the Temple, but at home. The extended family gathers around the table, and the celebration begins as the youngest child asks, “Why is tonight different from any other night? Why do we eat unleavened bread, with our clothes on? What does this mean? Why do we do this?”
That’s the prompt to start telling the story. “We were slaves in Egypt, and God delivered us from that slavery. The Lord led us out of Egypt into the promised land. The Lord struck the Egyptians and passed over our houses, sparing us.”
Every year, they tell the story in the present tense. This didn’t just happen to our ancestors. This was for us. God is delivering us from slavery. God is setting us free. What happened in the past becomes real in the present for us.
There is a deep truth in these stories of faith. Our ancestors told these stories as a way of discerning the presence of God in life. We tell these stories, hoping to find ways to tell our own stories and seek God’s presence among us. As God was present then, God remains with us now.
Exodus is a story about liberation. God’s people are set free. Egypt was a cruel place, led by a despot who was desperate to get rid of the Hebrews. He enslaved them. He tried to kill off all the baby boys because of his paranoia, and it was only because of the courageous faithfulness of two midwives Shiphrah and Puah that his plan failed.
Then God reached out to Moses to lead the people out of that hellhole called Egypt. Moses was one of those Hebrew baby boys whom the king wanted to kill. Instead, he was raised by the king’s daughter. Moses was raised as an Egyptian; he lived in court with all the privileges of Egyptian royalty.
When he finally learned that he was a Hebrew, he had an encounter with God. God gave him a vocation, and Moses tried everything he could to weasel out of it. I don’t speak so good. I stutter and stammer. I can’t do this. Who am I? Who are you? What if the people don’t believe me?
Finally, Moses was overwhelmed by God’s awesome love. He had no choice but to do what he was intended to do.
“Let my people go,” said Moses. “Set my people free.”
Pharaoh, the king of Egypt, refused. The story says that God hardened his heart. I’ll come back to that in a moment.
The confrontation ends with a series of 10 plagues in Egypt. The story is told like a cosmic battle between God and the Egyptian king. The plagues are like weapons of war between competing gods. The story ends with a horrifying final plague in which the eldest child of every Egyptian is killed, from the highest to the lowest.
This story is actually told twice. In this telling, it is God who kills every firstborn child. A later author tells it slightly differently—not God, but an angel of death was responsible for killing the Egyptian children.
There are some theological landmines in this story. Do we believe that God chooses to harden the hearts of some people so that it results in this kind of pre–ordained slaughter?
I don’t.
At the beginning of these sermons about these stories in Genesis and Exodus, I said that it was important to remember that these stories don’t describe what God did, or what God said, or what God thought. These stories are what Israel thinks God did, or God said, or God thought.
For Israel, being set free was God’s victory over the gods of the Egyptians. They had been oppressed, and it’s easy to understand why they would rejoice in this freedom. It’s easy to understand why they delighted in the deaths of the Egyptians. It was retribution, pure and simple.
It’s easy to demonize those who are different than you. We see it around us all the time. Strangers, those who are different, those who stand out—they are all victims of this tendency. Even Christians and churches demonize others, those who think differently, those who believe differently.
God forgive us.
We cannot do that.
Paul reminds us that the law is summed up in this word: “Love your neighbour as yourself.”
I want to go even further. Our whole lives are summed up in this word.
Part of our Vision Statement is that we “follow Jesus compassionately and faithfully. All are welcome!” Our whole lives, our whole mission, our whole ministry, everything we do in this place, is summed up in this word: “Love your neighbour as yourself.”
Jesus teaches the same thing in Matthew 18. Some people treat this instruction as a set of rules. I think it’s more about relationships than it is about rules. Do whatever you can to build relationships, to make them stronger, to make them more healthy. Do your utmost to regain a lost relationship. Reach out. Speak to each other face to face. Forgive. Not just 7 times, but over and over and over again.
I think Israel was wrong in the way it told this story of the Exodus. They demonized those who had brutalized them.
But God didn’t kill the Egyptians. Just as God didn’t kill the victims of Hurricane Harvey or Irma. Just as God isn’t complicit in any act of brutalization.
We follow Jesus, faithfully. And Jesus did not strike back at those who killed him. What Jesus did was to ask God to forgive them. What Jesus did was to reach out in compassion to a thief crucified alongside him.
And every week we tell that story. We tell the story of one who died, of one who rose again, of one who stands in solidarity and compassion with anyone in the world who is suffering.
We also gather around a table every week and tell the story of one who says to us, “This is my body. It is given for you.”
We tell the story of one who goes on to say to us, “Give yourselves for the sake of the world.
We tell the story of one who embraces us with wide open arms, and then invites us to embrace each other.
We tell the story of one who holds us close and whispers that in every part of our lives, in fire and hurricane, in life and death, in sadness and joy, in turmoil and in calm, “I am with you.” Not just with those who think like me, or act like me, or believe like me. I am with you all. All y’all.
I am with you.
Thanks be to God.
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
September 10, 2017 (14th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 23)
Exodus 12: 1–14
Romans 13: 8–14
Matthew 18: 15–20
Our Part in the Story
Over the last couple of months, we’ve been telling the stories of our ancestors in the faith—great–great–great–great–great grandpa Abe and grandma Sarah, their kids Isaac and Rebekah, then the twins Jacob and Esau, and finally Jacob’s wives and kids. These were family stories for Israel, and they told the stories as if God were also a character in each story.
They probably told the story differently each time. That’s what happens with family stories. We do the same thing—we’ll tell a story, and each time we tell it, we put a slightly different spin on it, depending on the context in which we tell it.
It all begins with Abraham and Sarah being promised they’d have a baby when they were way too old to have kids, and how they laughed and named their son Yitschak, Laughter.
Then crazy old Abe was tested by God; he actually thought he was supposed to kill Isaac to satisfy God. I think he failed the test. Children are not meant to be sacrificed, not even in the name of religion.
There aren’t many stories about Isaac and Rebekah, so we went on to stories about their children Jacob and his older twin Esau.
We ended with the rags–to–riches story of Joseph. Exodus picks up the story with God’s people on the verge of slavery. It begins with a chilling line: “A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.”
The new king is afraid. There are way too many of these Israelites. They could be a threat to us. So the king decided to make slaves of them. Unfortunately for him, the more they were oppressed, the more the Hebrews multiplied and spread. The Egyptians worked them harder and harder, but the Hebrews just kept having babies.
So the king comes up with a new plan. “Check the sex of the Hebrew baby,” he orders the midwives. “If it’s a boy, kill him. If it’s a girl, let her live.”
It’s a horrifying plan. The courageous midwives refuse. They defy the king. As a result, this story names these two women—which is highly unusual. They are Shiphrah and Puah. Notice that the king isn’t named.
Despite the king’s orders, Hebrew babies keep being born, and so the king calls them again. “Why do you defy me?”
“It’s not our fault, O mighty king. These Hebrew women aren’t like Egyptian women. They are chayyot—more vigorous, more lively. There is a surging power for life in these Hebrew women. The baby is born before we can even get there and we can’t do anything about it.”
Faithful people learn to tell some really creative lives in the midst of evil. God is powerfully present in this story. God motivates these midwives. God wants to birth a people, and God’s mothering purposes will prevail.
Shiphrah and Puah defied the king because they loved God. They aligned themselves with God’s will for life. It’s not heroism. It’s an act of faith. They tweaked the king’s nose, and remained faithful to God.
As a result, Moses is born and allowed to live. He ends up actually being raised by the king’s daughter, who finds him in the river. God has the last laugh, and it’s because of these two wonderful women, Shiphrah and Puah. They truly are midwives of hope.
Now, I want to pause a moment. We tell these stories to discern signs of God’s presence in the lives of God’s people.
I want to pause today, because today we’re doing something significant, something really important in the life of Christ Church. We are adding another chapter in the story of God’s people in this place. We are adding our own voices to this story we’ve been thinking about together.
In 1997, Christ Church told parts of our story in a booklet called A Century in God’s Light. These are wonderful stories of men and women and children who tried to be faithful to God’s ministry in this place. (There are still some copies available; feel free to take one.)
We began our life together in 1898. We were the first church built in Cranbrook, under the care of the congregation in Fort Steele. Over the years, priests came and went, and the congregation began to grow. From the very beginning, we understood that we are here to serve Cranbrook and the region in the name of God.
A Century in God’s Light tells the story of our first 100 years, often in the words of the people who were here. Some of them, like the folks in Genesis, were real characters. I know that, because some of those characters are still here!
A common theme which runs through our story is the vitality and joy people have discovered at Christ Church. That part of our story continues today. This is a place of welcome, vitality, joy and compassion.
Twenty years ago, our vision was that “Christ Church would be a growing, active congregation operating from an efficient, well–equipped facility.” So we expanded the church and added the hall to serve the wider community.
Three years ago, we began working on a new vision for Christ Church, in conjunction with the Diocesan stewardship campaign called Together in Mission. We began to dream about the ministry God has given to us. We dreamed of an expanded and enhanced ministry. Part of our dream was to add some staff —
—and so today, we commission Deb Saffin. We are building on our history, enhancing and enlarging our ministry as we seek to reach out in new ways to meet the needs of Christ Church and the needs of this parish of Cranbrook. We are reaching out, together in mission and ministry, to serve with vitality, vibrancy and joy.
We also have a new vision statement to guide us into God’s future: “Christ Church Anglican, a progressive, inclusive and vibrant community, follows Jesus compassionately and faithfully. All are welcome!”
Progressive. Vibrant. Compassionate. Faithful. Welcoming.
We seek to live out the gospel, and we add our own chapters to this story which began with great–great–great–great–great grandpa Abe and grandma Sarah. We tell the stories of our faith, and we see God at work with us, and through us, and within us, and among us.
And the wonder of it all … we get to work with God.
So today, for the ministry of Christ Church, thanks be to God.
Today, for the vocation which Deb Saffin has discerned, thanks be to God.
Today, for the life and work of all of us in this parish of Cranbrook, thanks be to God.
Today, for the life of God made manifest in us …
Thanks be to God!
Rev. Dr. Yme Woensdregt
August 27, 2017 (12th Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 21)
Exodus 1: 8 – 2:10
Romans 12: 1–8
Matthew 16: 13–20