"The Ghost in the Laundry Room" (definitely not a sermon!)

There is a newly formed Grand Bay Writer’s Group, and one of the things that we do when we gather is pick a writing prompt, then each of us creates something as we sit there that we then share with each other. This week’s prompt was an interesting one:  "A negative energy has attached itself to your laundry room. It’s so bad that you stop going in there for a while, but you know this can only be temporary. So you come up with a plan to find out more about the presence and try to get rid of it. What happens next?" This is what I wrote in 20 minutes this evening, still rough and un-edited.


Each time I pass the door, my heart seems to skip a beat. My stomach drops. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I haven’t dared to open the door since the day before That Day. The silver handle on the gleaming white door seems to taunt me when I think about it. Her words, “See you this evening!” echo in my brain. I don’t know what lurks in the darkness behind that closed door.

My laundry is starting to pile up though. I’ve thought about looking for a laundromat – those still exist, don’t they? I’ve never had to know where to look for one before now.

Her hamper is there, behind the door. I don’t know what is in it. The clothes she wore for her workout the night before? Her favourite dress that she wore on date night? That night feels like yesterday, but also a million years ago. Does the smell of her perfume haunt the air behind that closed door?

“See you this evening!” she called out as she tossed her hamper in the laundry room on her way out to the garage. “Don’t forget, our reservation is at 7.”

I know that I can’t avoid it forever, but the finality of opening that last closed door feels like beyond what I am able to do. All I can do these days is put one foot in front of the other. Get up. Check which shirt is least smelly. Make coffee. Stare out the window.

Sirens scare me now. They remind me of the car that pulled into the driveway That Day, of the ringing doorbell followed by a loud knock, of the words, “We’re sorry to tell you, but…”

I’ve never been one to be scared. I was always the strong one. But my strength seems to have died when she did. When. She. Died. That feels so final.

I look at the door again. Is today going to be the day? Is today going to be the day I open that last door? Today is going to be the day.

I reach my hand out. A spark of static jumps to my hand as it makes contact with the handle. It feels like ice in my hand. I press down and push the door open.

Her smell envelopes me. A hint of the perfume she wore on date night. The smell of her shampoo from that morning. That unique smell that was her, pungent on her gym clothes.

I close my eyes and pretend, just for a moment, that she is about to walk in the door one more time.

I notice her purse lying on the floor – not the one she always took to work with her, but the special-occasion purse. She must have forgotten it that morning. She was probably going to call me mid-afternoon, in a panic, and ask me to bring it to the restaurant when we met. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

Without thinking, I reach over. I pick it up. I reach in to see what might have been forgotten.

I pull out a small square box. I open it. A diamond solitaire lies inside.

"Love Your Enemies?" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday February 23, 2025 (7^th Sunday After Epiphany)
Scripture Reading:  Luke 6:27-38


OK – so I have to confess that this is maybe one of my least favourite teachings of Jesus.  I don’t like it, because it’s HARD.  I can get behind most of what Jesus teaches about love – love one another, as I have loved you; love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength; love your neighbour as yourself.  This is all good, because, after all, what the world needs now is love sweet love.

But in this passage, Jesus pushes me to expand my understanding of who should be included in that circle of love.  Jesus tells me that I am to love not just my friends and the people I like, but I am to love my enemies too.  Jesus tells me that I am to do good to people who hate me.  Jesus tells me that I am to bless people – not only the people who will bless me in return, but I am to bless the people who will return curses for my blessings.  Jesus tells me that I am to pray for people who mistreat me.

The last time we had this reading assigned to us by the lectionary was 3 years ago, February 2022, right in the middle of the Trucker’s Protest in Ottawa, and I said then that this was a hard reading.  With everything going on in the world, I have to say that it is maybe an even harder reading now than it was then.

The thing is, I don’t really want to love my enemies; I don’t want to love the people who hate me; I don’t want to love the people who curse me; I don’t want to love the people who mistreat me, or who mistreat vulnerable people.  I don’t want to do it.

In fact, if I’m being honest, there are people in the world that I kind of wish would just sort of disappear.  I don’t necessarily want harm to come to them, I just think that the world would be a better place if they weren’t in it.  I think of the people who, just a couple of weeks ago, hung swastika flags from overpass bridges in Cincinnati.  I think of the people who are making decisions to drop bombs on hospitals and on playgrounds.  I think of the people who are removing the right to exist from transgender folx south of the border.  I think of politicians who cut foreign aid funding, meaning that vulnerable people are literally going to die.

Jesus tells me that I am to love my enemies, but I’m finding it very hard to love people who are causing such great harm.

But then I remind myself who is speaking here.  Jesus didn’t live in a time and a place where vulnerable and marginalized people where cherished and protected by the government.  In fact, Jesus lived in a time and place that bears a striking number of resemblances to our time and place.  Jesus lived in a backwater nation under the control of the Roman Empire; and not only that, but he was from the region of Galilee which was the back of beyond even within his own country.  All of the power was concentrated in a small number of wealthy people.  Nations were taken over by force.  Taxes were paid to support the military structure that was the Roman Empire, and if you weren’t able to pay, you would be out on the street or imprisoned.  Those of you who are history buffs might be familiar with the concept of “Pax Romana” or the Roman Peace – this was not what we think of as peace which is a space where everyone can flourish; rather this was a peace that was the absence of war, enforced by the threat of military might.  Put one toe out of line, and you’re likely to end up on a cross as an example to others.

This was the context that Jesus was speaking to.  And he wasn’t speaking to the emperor, or to the tech billionaires of his time and place.  He was speaking to a crowd of farmers and fishermen – people who were trying to produce enough food to feed their families for the year, and to pay the taxes and rent that were demanded of them.  He was speaking to people who were one bad harvest away from destitution.  He was speaking to people who would have turned down a side alley in order to avoid encountering a Roman military officer.

I can imagine that Jesus’s teaching wasn’t received any better by his original audience than it is by us.  “What do you mean, we are to love the tax collector who extorts more than needed?  What do you mean, we are to pray for the health and safety of the emperor in Rome?  What do you mean, we are to bless the Roman soldiers who are dragging someone off to be crucified, for the simple crime of questioning if we might be better off without Rome?”

What do you mean, we are to love a government who is sending refugees back to places where they will be killed?  What do you mean, we are to bless the people in the Department of Government Efficiency who are firing tens of thousands of people without cause?  What do you mean, we are to pray for a tech billionaire who is accumulating obscene wealth by eliminating the social security net?  What do you mean, we are to pray for an Emperor-President who wants to expand the empire by military might?  (I’m trying really hard to avoid naming names.  But I’m sure that you would be able to add to this list, on a global scale, on a local scale, or on a personal scale.)

And yet Jesus says that we are to love our enemies.  Jesus says that we are to do good to people who hate us.  Jesus says that we are to bless people who curse us.  Jesus says that we are to pray for people who mistreat us.

And it. Is. Hard.

But then I remind myself who is speaking.  Jesus himself is going to be executed by Empire – nailed to a cross and left there to suffer until his breath is literally squeezed out of him.  And yet, with his dying breath, he forgives and prays for the people who are executing him.  In just a couple of months from now, on Good Friday, Jesus is going to model this radical and difficult teaching he is giving us today.  “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.”

Jesus never said that it was going to be easy, but he is consistent in his message that we are to love radically.  We are to love expansively.  We are to love generously.  We are to love, even when the love isn’t reciprocated.

And not only do I have to remember who was speaking, the people he was speaking to, and the context he was speaking in; but I also have to remember that there is a very good chance that there is someone out there who considers me to be their enemy.  There is a very good chance that I am the person that someone wishes would just disappear from the earth.

Robb McCoy, one of the hosts of my favourite preaching podcast, Pulpit Fiction, re-worded this passage in a way that really hits home.  His version goes:  “Jesus said, it is easy to love the people you like. It is much harder to love the jerks, but I’m telling you to love the jerks. Because there was a time you were a jerk and someone loved you.”  And I think that this is the heart of the Golden Rule found in this passage from Luke:  “Treat people in the same way that you want them to treat you.”  When I mess up, I want people to be able to forgive me; therefore I need to be willing to forgive and love and bless and pray for others when they mess up in big or small ways.

It is hard.  Jesus knew that it was hard.  Jesus himself experienced how hard this is.  But part of the good news is that we don’t have to do it on our own.  We all have the Holy Spirit working within us, empowering us to do the hard things we are called to do.  God calls us to walk this difficult way of unconditional love, and it is God working in us who equips and enables us to walk this difficult way of unconditional love.

And above all, we keep on loving.  We love radically.  We love expansively.  We love generously.  We love, even when the love isn’t reciprocated.  We love, and in doing so, we refuse to let ourselves be dragged into cycles of violence and hatred and revenge.

And may the God whose very essence is love, surround you and allow you so to do.  Amen.

“Hands, All Together”
Used with Permission

"Light a Fire, Gather, and Sing" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday February 2, 2025 – Candlemas
Scripture:  Luke 2:22-40


Back on December 21, on the longest night of the year, a group of determined souls braved the darkness of the night, braved the frigid temperatures and howling winds, braved the tail end of the Nor’easter that had blown through that day, and gathered in the parking lot at Long Reach United Church and circled around a bonfire and sang.

Into the shadows of the longest night, we sang about the birth of the Light of the World.  We sang songs about a baby who was born into a time and place of Empire and oppression, yet who would teach a way of unconditional love.  We sang songs about this baby’s mother; who, herself, sang about the powerful being brought down from their thrones, the hungry being filled with good things, and tech billionaires, I mean, the rich being sent away empty handed.  We sang songs about the baby’s father who, fearing for the life of his family, took them and fled for refuge to a foreign land.

Into the shadows of the longest night, we sang about the birth of the Light of the World.  We sang our songs, trusting that the night isn’t going to last for ever and the daylight will return.  We sang our songs, trusting that the cold and snow of winter will eventually give way to the warmth and life of spring.  We sang our songs of hope, trusting that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never overwhelm it.

As I mentioned earlier, today, the beginning of February, is a pivot-time in the seasonal calendar.  We are half-way between that Winter Solstice, and the Spring Equinox when the hours of daylight will equal the hours of night.  This is the time of year when the lengthening of days begins to accelerate, and we will start to notice, almost day-by-day, the increasing light.  We have come through the darkest season that began at the beginning of November, and carried through the Solstice, until now, when we on the other side.  Our ancient Celtic ancestors celebrated Imbolc at this time of year – the returning of the light and the promise of spring.

And in the church calendar, we also celebrate at this time.  As well as Groundhog Day and Imbolc, today also holds three different church festivals.  It is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, when we remember that Jesus was presented at the temple, as his parent’s first-born son.  We remember that his arrival was celebrated by the prophet Anna and by the prophet Simeon.  Today is also the Feast of the Purification of the Virgin.  According to the Jewish Law, 40 days after giving birth, Mary had to undergo purification rituals in order to become ritually pure again – and today is 40 days after Christmas.  And finally, the church also celebrates Candlemas on this day – a day when families would bring their candles to the church to be blessed – the Light of the World blessing the light of the home, in a season when the light is returning to the world.

And when you look at the words that Simeon spoke when he held the infant Jesus, one of the names that he gives to Jesus is “a light for revelation.”  Jesus, the Light of the World, has the power to reveal what was previously hidden.  Jesus is the light by which we can see everything clearly.

If you are anything like me, you are probably sick of hearing about and thinking about and talking about politics; yet if you are like me, that is likely the thing that is top-of-mind for most of us in this present moment.  There is the anxiety and uncertainty over yesterday’s tariff announcement and what that will mean not only for the Canadian economy, but also for our personal cost of living.  There is the grief over all of the stories we are hearing.  There is fear that such regressive politics could make their way north of the border.  To me, sometimes it feels as though we are currently living through that winter solstice, that longest night when it feels as though the light will never return.

But if this is a longest-night moment, then our response should be the same as it was back in December when we braved the cold and snow and wind and darkness, and gathered to kindle a fire against the night and sing.  For the light of that fire proclaimed that the darkness can never win – it only takes a single match to shatter the darkness of the night, and just think of the power if every single follower of the Light of the World carried just a single match of hope.

So we light our fire against the night, and we gather together.  As our United Church of Canada Creed says, “We are not alone.”  We know that we are never alone – not only is God with us, but we are together, as a community, building this fire against the night.

So we light our fire against the night, and we gather together, and we sing.  We sing our songs of resistance.  We sing our songs of hope.  We sing our songs of peace.  We sing our songs of justice.  And as we sing our songs, we invite the world to join in.

And as we light our fire, as we gather together, as we sing, we trust that the Light of the World who was born into the time of the longest night will be a light of revelation for the world.  We trust that the light of Christ will help us to see places of goodness and beauty and love in the world, and once we see these places, we celebrate them.  We trust that the light of Christ will expose the places of oppression and corruption so that the world can see them clearly, and in doing so, end them.

And because we trust in the light of Christ, the Light of the World, the light of revelation, we trust that, even in the longest night, the darkness can never win.

And may the Holy Spirit work in all of us, so that we can be people who sing God’s hope with everything that we say and with everything that we do.  May the Holy Spirit work in all of us, so that we can be people who gather together and uphold one another, even on the longest, coldest night.  And may the Holy Spirit work in all of us, so that we can be people who always kindle fires of hope against the night.  Amen.

 

 

Lighting a Fire Against the Night

Photo Credit:  K. Jones

"This Hard and Holy Work" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday January 26, 2024 – 3^rd Sunday After Epiphany
Scripture:  1 Corinthians 12:12-31


I have to confess that the sermon that I prepared this week wasn’t the sermon I had planned to preach back at the beginning of the month when I was charting out this season between Epiphany and the start of Lent.  Back then, the reading was the same – this beautiful reading from 1 Corinthians that talks about how we, as the church are one body, and how different parts of the body are gifted and called to different tasks, and how it takes all of the body working together in order to do the work of Christ in the world.

Back at the beginning of the month, the sermon that I thought that I would be preaching today was going to be an encouraging one – talking about the different gifts that we have been given even within our congregation.  I was going to talk about how we have to work together in order to truly be a church – in the same way that an ear can’t be a fully body on its own, a preacher can’t be a full church on their own, a steward can’t be a full church on their own, a musician can’t be a full church on their own.

The sermon that I was going to preach today was going to include a Disney reference – referencing the movie Encanto, and how all of the members of the Family Madrigal used their different gifts, not for their own sake but for the sake of the world.  I was probably going to include a plug for our upcoming annual meetings, and how we all have an opportunity to share our gifts with our church and with the world.  I might even have sung a line or two of “The toe bone’s connected to the foot bone; the foot bone’s connected to the heel bone” and told a story from my years as a physiotherapist about how an injury to one part of the body can impact parts of the body far away from the original injury.

But then this week happened.  And to quote the meme I saw a couple of times on Facebook, January’s been quite the year.

After this week, that sermon I had planned to preach back at the beginning of the month just didn’t feel right, it wasn’t going to go deep enough, given all of the pain and fear in the world at the moment.  A shortlist:  transgender people in the US have had their full personhood removed from them, and queer folx are terrified that their rights will be taken away next; refugees fleeing war and persecution have had their entry visas to the US removed; environmental protections have been removed, and the US has broken away from the international climate change agreement; guidelines aimed at promoting equity and inclusion in workplaces have been eliminated.  I have colleagues in the US who are now making concrete plans for when they will be arrested for trying to stop authorities from entering their churches because sanctuaries are no longer allowed to be sanctuaries.  And I don’t know about you, but our international border is starting to feel like a pretty flimsy line in the sand between us and all of the chaos.

January has been quite the year.  Any my spirit is starting to feel battered and bruised.

And yet into this chaos, I think that the message of 1 Corinthians still holds.  In fact, I think that the message of 1 Corinthians might be even more urgent than ever.  Because we are the body of Christ.  We have been given the sacred trust of embodying Christ in all of the places that we find ourselves.

Most of you have probably heard the story that Mr. Rogers told about scary times.  He said:  “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”  Which is well-and-good, and offers a measure of comfort, especially to a child.  But I don’t think that it goes far enough.  Because if everyone was busy looking for helpers, then there would be no helpers.  Being part of the Body of Christ means that we are all called to be those helpers, making Christ present in the world.

It is scary. It is much easier to look for the helpers than to be the helper in scary times.

But the good news is that not a single one of us has to do it alone.  But think of the impact that we could have if every single member of the body of Christ was doing the work that they were called to do.  If you look closely in the media, beyond the top headlines, you will see examples of this already springing up all around.  Some of you probably heard part or all of Bishop Mariann Budde’s sermon on Tuesday – she was in a unique place to exercise her gift of proclaiming truth to power with her call to the government to reflect the compassion and mercy of Jesus, and, well, it’s not often that a sermon makes the international news.  The Body of Christ, at work in the world.  I think of my colleague Anna who is willing to face arrest in order to protect the immigrant children who attend the school that her church in Virginia operates.  The Body of Christ, at work in the world.  I think of the cartoonists and comedians who have been using humour as a tool to push back against authoritarianism.  I think about the US National Parks Employees who have gone rogue and created social media accounts independent of the government so that they can continue to speak the truth about environmental protection.

As the Body of Christ, we have each been given different gifts to use not only for the sake of the body but for the sake of the whole world.  And even though you and I may never have the same platform as some of those people I just named, I think that we, as the church, just like Esther in the Old Testament, have been called to use our gifts “for such a time as this.”

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”  A single match is enough to break the total darkness of a room, but it will quickly go out. Just think of the impact of a thousand small lights, or a million small lights.

And so yes, we can rage and mourn about the pain and injustices in the world right now; but then we are called to action – we may not be in a position to do the big, media-grabbing parts of the work, but are called to figure out what we can do, using the gifts that we have been given, in the places that we find ourselves, to truly be the Body of Christ.  To truly be agents of love and mercy.  To truly be united with one another, to be reconciled with one another, so that we can be agents of reconciliation in the world.  To truly reflect God’s presence to the world.

And we can’t ever give up, just because we can’t see the end-point of history from where we are now.  We, individually, will never be able to make the kingdom of God a reality, even by our very best efforts.  But we are not allowed to abandon the work either.  Even though we can only do it imperfectly and incompletely, we can live as if God’s kingdom was already here – making sure that hungry people are fed; making sure that our transgender siblings and neighbours are protected; extending love and community to people who are lonely and afraid; living with respect in creation.  And we trust that some day, in God’s time, this will be the reality in every corner of the universe.

For we have been called, we have been gifted, and we are sent into the world as the Body of Christ to use our gifts for the sake of the world. And may God give us the strength and the courage for this hard and holy work.  Amen.


(The sermon was followed by singing "Many are the Lightbeams")

 

 

Christ Surrounded by the Saints

Chartres Cathedral

Image Credit:  Lawrence OP on flickr

"What Would You Ask of Jesus?" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday January 19, 2025 – 2^nd Sunday After Epiphany
Scripture:  John 2:1-11


Having spent all of the season of Advent immersed in Mary’s story, I probably shouldn’t be surprised that when I read the story of the wedding at Cana this month, Mary’s perspective was the one that I gravitated towards.  And using the same technique that I use when I’m writing my story-telling sermons, I started imagining myself into her story.

Why was she at the wedding?  Cana is less than 10km away from Nazareth where Mary was likely living – closer than our Two Rivers Churches are from each other.  Back in Advent, when I mentioned this story, I imagined that a young woman from Nazareth was marrying a young man from Cana, and so a wedding might have brought the two villages together.  Or maybe one of Mary’s sisters had married into a family in Cana, so she was there attending the wedding of one of her nephews, one of Jesus’s cousins.  That might explain why Jesus and his friends were also at the wedding.  It’s interesting to note that John doesn’t have Jesus and his mother arriving together – he tells us that the mother of Jesus was there at the wedding, and that Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to that wedding.

Imagining myself into Mary’s perspective again, I wonder how Mary knew that the wine supply was exhausted.  If it were a family wedding, she might have been involved in hosting duties, supervising the food and wine, making sure that it was being served on schedule.  And so the wine running out would have been a cause for panic for her.

But another possibility is that she was simply observant.  Maybe, as she was enjoying the party, enjoying the food and music and dancing, as she was watching her friends and neighbours enjoying the party, she noticed a flurry of agitation among the servants.  And so observation combined with curiosity might have led to her asking the question – what’s going on here.

Which brings me to my last question about Mary.  How did she know that Jesus would be able to do something about the wine shortage?  John, our narrator, tells us that this was the first of Jesus’s signs, implying that he hadn’t performed any other signs before this one.  If you flip back to chapter 1, you will find the story of John the Baptist, as well as Jesus calling his first disciples, but you don’t find any stories of miracles.  Unlike the other gospels, John leaves out the story of Jesus’s baptism, so we don’t get to see the Holy Spirit descending like a dove; and we don’t get to hear the voice of the one whom Jesus calls “Father” proclaiming Jesus to be the beloved child.  John also doesn’t give us a birth story for Jesus – no angels, no shepherds or wise men, no heavenly chorus, no extraordinary star, not even any dreams.  This story of the Wedding at Cana is the first time that Jesus’s mother makes an appearance in the story.

And yet, even though all of these things are missing from the story, Jesus’s mother still knows that her son is able to do something so that the family hosting the wedding won’t be shamed for failing to extend the hospitality that was expected of them.

And not only does she know that Jesus can do something, she persists even when Jesus’s first answer is “no.”  Even when Jesus replies, saying, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” – incidentally, this response is just as rude in the original Greek as it is in our English translation – even when Jesus replies, saying, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?” Mary brushes off his rejection.  She goes ahead, assumes that he is going to do something about the wine shortage, and tells the servants to do whatever her boy tells them to do.

How did Mary know?  I don’t have a good answer to this question, beyond letting my imagination take flight, so I will leave that question to your imagination.  How did Mary know that her boy would be able to do something about the impending catastrophe?

And, as we can see from the story, her trust in her child was fully justified.  In fact, Jesus’s response to the situation far exceeded anyone’s expectations.  Jesus’s response to the situation likely exceeded anyone’s wildest hopes.  Six stone water jars, holding water used for purification rituals, suddenly held wine instead of water.  And an abundance of wine.  If each stone jar held 20-30 gallons of water, let’s take the average of 25 gallons.  And there were six of them, so 150 gallons of wine.  Or, since I think in metric, 568 litres of wine, give or take depending on the exact size of the water jars.  Or more than 750 bottles of wine, using the modern 750mL wine bottle size.  This is an abundance of wine appearing at a banquet when the wine was about to run out.

And not just ordinary wine, the cheap stuff that would normally be served once the guests are drunk, but this was fine wine, better wine than anyone had ever tasted before.

And with this wine, the hospitality of the hosts could continue, the blanket of fear and anxiety was lifted, and the joy of the celebration could continue.

I love the story of the Wedding at Cana, not because of the wine (though part of me wishes that I could taste a sip of this most excellent wine), but because it is a story of abundance and a story of joy.

In the gospel of John, Jesus’s miraculous acts are never referred to as miracles – instead John names them as signs.  And if you think about what signs are, signs point to things.  If you’re driving into town, you might pass a sign that says “Saint John, next exit” and the purpose of that sign is to point you towards the next exit if you are trying to get to Saint John.

And so by naming Jesus’s miraculous acts as “signs” John is telling us that these acts point us towards something.  Jesus’s miraculous acts, like turning water into wine, are signs of how Jesus presents God to the world.  With this sign, Jesus is pointing us towards a God whose essence, whose core values are joy and abundance.

There are so many theological nuances in this story that I could explore.  It begins with a reference to the third day which, to a reader who knows Jesus’s full story, has us thinking about Easter and resurrection right from the beginning.  The water in the jugs might make us think of the waters of baptism.  The wine might also have us making connections with communion, and the feast that we celebrate as the church.  The fact that it was water that was used for purification rituals might help our brains make the additional leap to think of the communion wine that we share as being purifying in some way.  Even the setting of a wedding can remind us of the teaching that the church is the bride of Christ.  Each one of these theological details and hints in this story could be a sermon on its own; but don’t worry – I’m not going to try and preach all of those sermons this morning.

Instead, the place where I want to end is with those questions of trust and abundance.  Mary trusted that Jesus would answer her plea, and even when his first answer was no, her trust wasn’t shaken and she persisted.

And so the question that I want to ask each of you is:  What would you ask of Jesus, if, like Mary, you trusted that his response would be abundance.  What would we ask of Jesus if we trusted that his response would be abundance?  And then a second follow-up question:  What keeps us from asking?

May God hear our prayers; and then, in the right time and in the right way, answer them.  Amen.

“The Wedding at Cana”
JESUS MAFA
Used with Permission

"Wade in the Water" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday January 12, 2025 – Baptism of Jesus
Scripture:  Isaiah 43:1-7 and Luke 3:15-17, 21-22


I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling these days as if the world is extra topsy-turvy and chaotic and unpredictable, and even fear-inducing.  Between wildfires ripping through urban Los Angeles, earthquakes in Tibet, Canadian, American, international politics in turmoil, a scary inauguration coming up in just over a week south of the border, fact-checking being removed from Social Media, ongoing wars in Palestine and Ukraine, and the everyday ongoing existential dread around climate change, I don’t think that I’m the only one wondering what the heck is going on in the world these days.

 

And into the chaos of the world, how does it feel to hear these words of God, spoken through the prophet Isaiah?

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you.

I have called you by name, you are mine.

When you pass through the waters,

         I will be with you;

and through the rivers,

         they shall not overwhelm you;

when you walk through fire,

         you shall not be burned,

         and the flame shall not consume you.

Do not fear, for I am with you.

 

I can imagine that there are a number of different ways that these words might be heard.  On one hand, they might be comforting.  But maybe not.  If you are literally running for your life through your neighbourhood trying to escape the wildfire flames, carrying your dog because you didn’t have time to look for a leash, hearing that you can walk through the fire and not be burned would probably sound like pretty empty words.  If you are hunkered down in a refugee tent in January weather because your house was bombed by an invading army, the words “Do not fear, for I am with you” would probably sound like an empty promise, words with no real meaning behind them.  If you are living on an island in the Pacific ocean, watching the ocean levels rise year after year, shrinking the available land mass for you and your neighbours, fearful that the next tsunami will wipe out your island completely, I don’t know how much comfort could be found in the words, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.”

 

And with all of the anxiety and dread in the world, how can we truly hear those words that God says again and again and again:  “Do not fear”?

 

But then I go back and read this passage from Isaiah, and I remember that these words of God were not spoken to the Ancient Israelites when everything was sunshine and roses and rainbows and unicorns.  I remember that these words came to the prophet Isaiah in a time of exile – a time when their homes and cities, and even the temple in Jerusalem, the literal home of God, all of these had been destroyed by an invading army, and the people had been carried away to a foreign land, carried away to Babylon, and there they sat on the banks of the river and wept.  These words from Isaiah are being spoken into a time and a place that was maybe even more chaotic and fearful than our own time and place, and being spoken to a people even more traumatized than we and our neighbours are.  Into all of this, God speaks, and God says, “Don’t be afraid.”

 

And to our ancient ancestors, God was faithful to their promises.  It didn’t happen quickly.  The exile lasted for 70 years, so the majority of people who had been carried into exile didn’t live to see the time when their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren were able to return from exile in Babylon.  The people who witnessed the destruction of the temple didn’t get to witness the re-building of the temple in a re-built Jerusalem.  But God was faithful to their promises, and the time came when God accompanied their people back through the wilderness in order to return to the land.

 

Even though God’s timeline is rarely the same as our timeline or the timeline that we want, God is always faithful to their promises.  No matter what fears or worries or burdens you are carrying right now – either global concerns, or worries closer to home, you can rest assured that God is with you, that God loves you, and that pain and fear and suffering is never the end of the story.

 

Today is also the day that we remember the time when Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River, and I want to end this reflection with a guided mediation.  Wherever you are (here in the church or at home and joining us online), I invite you to sit comfortably.  Sometimes when you are doing a meditation, it is helpful to make sure that both of your feet are on the floor, and your hands are resting on your lap, but really, however you are comfortable is fine.  If you want to lie down on the floor, go for it!  If you are comfortable closing your eyes, I invite you to close your eyes now; but if you aren’t comfortable closing your eyes, that is OK too.

 

I invite you to imagine that you are standing beside the river – standing beside your favourite river, a familiar river.  It isn’t a January river though – it is an August river, with water just the right temperature to be both comfortable and refreshing.  It is a warm sunny day, with just a bit of a breeze that you can feel gently brushing your skin.

 

Are you carrying any worries with you?  Feel free to acknowledge these worries or your fears.  The river is going to be washing away these worries, but in order to do that, you need to bring them to the surface of your awareness.  Name your worries to yourself.  Name those things that you are afraid of.  Don’t give them power over you, by pretending that they don’t exist.

 

As you stand there by the river, what do you hear?  Are there waves lapping against the shore?  Do you hear any birdcalls, either nearby or far away?

 

Are there any smells that catch your attention?  Maybe one of the neighbours is grilling something on this beautiful summer day?  Or maybe it is the green smell of the August waters?

 

Someone is already out there in the river, standing waist-deep in the water. It is someone that you know well, someone that you love, someone that you trust.  Who is it, standing out there in the water?

 

They are beckoning to you to come out and join them in the water. Kick off your sandals, and if the river bed is rocky, feel free to put on some water shoes.

 

And now I invite you to start wading out into the river.  At first the water is only lapping around your ankles.  Keep going until it is up to your knees.  How does the water feel against your legs?  Keep wading out a bit deeper until the water comes up to your waist and you are standing next to your person.

 

Make sure that you are facing each other.  You’re going to be going under the water, so hold on to each other’s forearms so that you can support each other.  Take a deep breath, and then slowly go under the surface of the water together.

 

How does it feel to have the water embracing your whole body?  If you feel any moments of panic, plant your feet firmly on the river bottom, and feel the support from your friend as you hold each other’s arms.  And there, under the water of the river, feel the water carrying away those worries, those fears, those anxieties that you named to yourself earlier.  Let them drift away on the current.  The cleansing water is making you new, renewing your heart and refreshing your spirit.

 

Now, make sure that your feet are on the bottom of the river, and you and your companion help each other come up out of the water.  Take a deep breath of re-birth.  Feel the air rushing into your lungs.

 

And now hear a voice in the air around you, a voice filled with love, saying, “You are my child.  You are my beloved one.  In you, I take delight.”

 

Rest in that love.  Rest in that feeling of newness.  Slowly let the sights and smells and sounds of the river come back to you.

 

And when you are ready, I invite you to open your eyes again and return to this time and place.

 

And may this love and this rebirth stay with you, and linger in your heart, and bring continual refreshment to your spirit.  Amen.

 

 

An August River
(The Wolastoq – much beloved in this part of the world)
Photo Credit: K. Jones

"Curious Wisdom-Seekers" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday January 5, 2025 – Celebration of Epiphany
Scripture – Matthew 2:1-12


Today, we read the familiar story of the magi who traveled afar, following a star, to meet the young child whom they named “King.”  I will say though, that at our “Asking the Big Questions” gathering back in December – the night when we tackled the question of “Why bother with Christmas?” – we discovered that this story maybe isn’t as familiar as people think that it is.  I rather suspect that people are more familiar with the story from either Christmas pageants, or nativity sets, or from the song, “We Three Kings” than they are from Matthew’s account of it.

 

For example, did you notice, as _______ was reading the story, that the number of magi isn’t listed?  All that it says is that wise men, or magi from the East came to Jerusalem.  Tradition has assumed that there were three of them, likely because they present three different gifts, and some traditions have even given the three of them names, but all that Matthew tells us is that they were plural – more than one.  There might have been two of them, or there might have been 200 of them.  We really don’t know.

 

There also aren’t any camels mentioned in the story.  How the magi travelled from their unnamed home in the East we don’t know.

 

And finally, who were these wise ones?  They are not named as kings, despite what the song says, though they acknowledge Jesus as a king.  They did have access to expensive gifts though – gold, frankincense, and myrrh were all precious and valuable items to be giving away.

 

Instead, they are named as magi, which is a direct transliteration from the Greek word used in the original version of Matthew’s gospel.  It’s not a word that we use commonly in English, magi, but it has a couple of close relatives.  Magic.  Magician.  Magical.  Mage (if you are a fan of fantasy games and literature).  But outside of this story, we don’t normally talk about magi in everyday conversation.

 

Were they magicians or sorcerers?  Were they astrologers, studying the movement of the stars to try and determine the effect of the stars on our human lives.  That makes sense, given that they noticed a new star appearing in the sky when nobody else did.

 

I like to think of them as seekers – spiritual seekers – wisdom seekers.  They were curious, they were attuned to the signs, and most importantly, they were willing to put the rubber to the road – well, not literally, because even though we don’t know how they travelled to Jerusalem and on to Bethlehem, it is highly unlikely that it was by motorized vehicle – but they were willing to leave their home, wherever that was, and travel to a foreign land to see more.  They arrived, bearing gifts in expectation of encountering a king, and left, having, perhaps, encountered just a little bit more.

 

I love how Matthew includes their story within the larger story of Jesus, and right here at the very beginning of the story.  Right from the very beginning, Jesus is accessible to everyone, to the whole world.  Everyone who seeks Jesus, finds him.

 

What would the world be like, if everyone could be like those magi, those wise ones, those wisdom-seekers?  What would the world be like if everyone could set aside their certainty and convictions, and be curious instead?  What would the world be like if everyone was both willing and able to follow their curiosity right through to the end?

 

I truly believe that those magi have so much to teach the world, especially the world today as we become more and more entrenched in us-versus-them thinking and ideology, as we become more and more isolated in our silos (in real life and also online) where we only associate with people who think like us.

 

Those wise ones didn’t study the heavens, spot a new star, and say to themselves, “Well, a new star. Let’s record it on our star chart and then return to our watching for the next one to appear.”  Instead, they packed their bags, gathered up their entourage, and set out from their homes to follow where the star led them.

 

When they got to the place where the star stopped, they didn’t say to each other, “Look, another child just like any other child.”  Instead, they somehow recognized that there was something different about this child – something worthy of their worship and their extravagant gifts.

 

And then, when the time came for them to turn around and return home, we’re told that they were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and rather than brushing the dream off as the result of a bad bit of mutton the night before, they paid attention to the dream, they allowed their journey to be re-shaped as a result of that dream, and they returned home by a different path.

 

And so, I think that my wish for all of us, as we embark on a new year together, is that we all might be more like these magi.  That we all might be spiritual seekers or wisdom seekers.  That we might be curious about the world, and open to having our path through life changed by what we encounter and by what we experience.

 

And most of all, that we might be open enough that we can recognize Christ even in the most unexpected circumstances.  And then, once we have recognized Christ – whether that be in the face of someone we encounter, in the actions that we witness, in a piece of art of music, in a sunset or a moonrise – once we have recognized that we are in the presence of Christ, that we might open our hearts and our lives and pour out our worship.

 

Because I honestly think that the world would be a better place if we could all be curious wisdom-seekers, recognizing the presence of God wherever we go, and opening ourselves up to be changed by the encounter.  The world would be a better place, and our lives would be more richly lived, and so that is my wish for all of us on this threshold of a new year.

 

And may it be so.  Amen.

 

 

“Rising Star, Milky Way”

John Fowler

Used with Permission