"Dancing Like the Northern Lights" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday June 8, 2025 – Pentecost
Scripture Reading:  Acts 2:1-17


The northern lights follow an 11-year cycle, give or take, related to the solar cycle or the sunspot cycle.  There was a peak beginning in 1989 that I remember – both because I remember gathering with my family in front of the picture windows in the house I grew up in, with all the lights turned out, watching the northern lights dance; but also because a huge solar flare that year caused widespread power outages in the middle of March Break.  Two years later, the sunspot activity was reaching its peak – I remember that fall I had a Tuesday night babysitting job, and it seemed like every Tuesday as I headed home down the road, I was accompanied by dancing lights in the sky.

In the early 2000s, there was another peak in the cycle – by then I was living in Thunder Bay, and I have memories of driving home at night, and being able to see the northern lights, even in the city.  In the winter of 2017/2018, after living in Halifax for a couple of years, I moved to northern BC for my internship, and I was excited that I might get to see the northern lights again – unfortunately that year fell at a quiet point in the solar cycle, and I was only able to see them once that winter.

When you see the northern lights dancing, they both feel close enough that you could reach out and touch them, but also far away and remote and massive and awe-inspiring.  You can’t predict what they are going to do next – you can only watch and gasp in amazement as they dance.  They are both very real, as well as mysterious and beyond our ability to control.

Which is why I love the northern lights as an image or a metaphor for the Holy Spirit.  She dances where she chooses. We can’t predict or control where she will go or what she will do next, we can only watch and follow and join the dance.  She is beautiful, and awe-inspiring, and covers all of creation.

But like all metaphors, this one eventually breaks down.  We can’t literally touch the northern lights, but the Holy Spirit is dancing within each of us, and in the space between us.  And while the northern lights might cause us to feel awe, we aren’t transformed or changed by the northern lights, whereas the Holy Spirit is working in each one of us, shaping us and transforming us into who God created us to be.

But I also want to say that just like the northern lights come in cycles, our ability to sense the Spirit’s action ebbs and flows – sometimes in our lives and in our church, we can sense her vibrancy, leading us to new places and to new ministries; but sometimes she feels further away.  But just like I still got to see the northern lights up in BC even during the quietest point in the solar cycle, the Holy Spirit never ever goes away or abandons us.

Today is Pentecost, and we remember the Holy Spirit coming in power to Jesus’s disciples – the lights were dancing brightly that day.  This month is also when we are celebrating the 100th Anniversary of the United Church of Canada and we can look back at our history and see times when the Spirit was dancing brightly among us – maybe in 1936 when we, as a church, ordained the first female minister; maybe in 1988 when the church discerned that sexual orientation should not be a barrier to full participation in the church, including ordination; maybe also in 1988 when our teaching changed so that children were explicitly invited to take communion because we wouldn’t exclude children from the family table anywhere else.  1988 feels like a year when the Spirit was dancing brightly in our church!  But we might also remember times when the Spirit felt more distant – maybe in the years before 1969 when the church was operating Residential Schools; maybe in times and places, including today, when racism has excluded people, even within the church.  But the Holy Spirit is always with the church and will never abandon us.

This month, we can look back not just on the past 100 years of the United Church of Canada, but also the past 2000 years since that first Pentecost.  And we can also look forward – to the next 100 years, or to the next 2000 years.  Where is the Holy Spirit going to lead us next?  What new dance steps is she going to teach her church?  Just like the northern lights will always dance in the sky, so too will the Holy Spirit dance in our hearts, dance in the church, dance in the streets, dance in all of creation.  And may we have eyes to see hear, and ears to hear her, and a heart to join the dance.

 

 

When I went to change the hangings at Long Reach United Church

this week, I discovered that the red Pentecost hangings there look like

the Holy Spirit dove is already dancing among the Northern Lights

"From the Old We Travel to the New" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday May 18 – 5^th Sunday of Easter
Scripture:  John 13:31-35


Last weekend, I had the opportunity to attend Convocation at the Atlantic School of Theology and celebrate with the graduates.  The graduation ceremony is held in a church each year, as there isn’t a space on campus big enough to accommodate it; and because it is a theological school, it always feels like a cross between graduation and a worship service.  Last Saturday, 13 students graduated with their Master of Divinity degree, 6 students graduated with their Master of Arts in Theology and Religion, and 27 students graduated with various diplomas and certificates.  It was a grand celebration, with singing and prayers and moving speeches and a reception in the church hall afterwards.

And for all of the students who graduated, it marked a turning point in their lives.  Most of those who graduated with their Master of Divinity will be ordained in the coming weeks in different Regions and Dioceses across the country which makes graduation almost like stage one of the turning point, but for all of the students, no matter which program they were graduating from, the celebration marked a change.  They are no longer students, no longer writing essays, no longer listening to lectures or participating in seminars.  At the end of the ceremony, a commissioning and benediction were offered, just like we end all of our worship services – a sending out into the world with God’s blessing, to do God’s work.  The graduates have been sent from the university into the world, to take all that they have learned and use it to serve God’s mission.

So how does all of this connect with our gathering today?  The passage that _____ read for us from John’s gospel comes from the last day of Jesus’s life.  You might remember how this story goes – “on the night before he died, Jesus and his friends gathered around a table…”  In John’s version of events, there is no bread broken or wine poured out – or, quite likely there was bread broken and wine poured because they were sharing a meal, but John doesn’t attach any significance to the act.  Instead, John shows us Jesus, washing the feet of his disciples, and then telling them that they should serve others by washing their feet.

And John also shows us Jesus teaching his disciples.  Through the second half of chapter 13, then all of chapters 14, 15, 16, and 17, Jesus teaches his disciples – in the section that _____ read for us, Jesus is just getting warmed up!  These chapters include some of the best-known statements of Jesus – things like, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not be afraid”; or “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?”; or “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.”  Scholars like to call this part of the story Jesus’s Farewell Discourse – he is saying goodbye to his beloved friends, his beloved students, and giving them their final instructions.

And so in some ways, this part of the story is almost like the disciple’s graduation ceremony.  They have been in the presence of Jesus, watching what he did, listening to his teaching, learning from him.  But now this period of time is coming to an end.  After tonight, their teacher isn’t going to be with them anymore, at least not in the same way.  The time has come for them to take what they have learned from the Jesus-school and carry it into the world, and start living the way that they have learned.

And the commissioning that Jesus gives to them?  Love.  Love one another as Jesus has loved you.  Throughout the 4 ½ chapters, Jesus comes back to this theme again and again.  Love one another and love the world.  Serve one another and serve the world.  It’s almost as though Jesus knows that this is his last chance to teach his students, and he wants to send them out into the world with love ringing in their ears.

The disciples aren’t going to be left alone.  Their learning isn’t over, even as they are graduating from the Jesus-school, just as last weekend’s graduates will all be life-long learners.  They are going to encounter the risen Christ on the other side of Good Friday; and even in the farewell discourse, Jesus promises them that the Holy Spirit will be with them.  But this final meal together marks a turning point.

And we too, we are descendants of those first disciples.  We are living in the post-graduation world that they are stepping in to.  We aren’t going to have a chance to watch Jesus healing people, or be part of the crowd that receives the miraculous loaves and fish.  We don’t have the chance to put our hands in Jesus’s wounds the way Thomas did, or to feel Jesus’s arms literally wrapped around us.  We don’t have a chance to ask our questions and hear Jesus’s voice answering them… at least not yet.

But, like those first disciples, we have the stories that Jesus told, the teachings that he gave, the miracles he performed – even though we didn’t get to see them first-hand, we have the witness of God’s people that we can turn to any time.

And like those first disciples, we also have the Holy Spirit with us, guiding us, nudging us onward, and transforming us more and more into the image and likeness of Christ.

And like those first disciples in a post-Easter world, in a post-graduation world, we have Jesus’s words of commissioning ringing in our ears:  “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.  By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

I invite you to take a moment to imagine yourself standing on a graduation stage.  If you can remember your own high school or university graduation, you can imagine yourself on to that same stage, or maybe you want to imagine something different.

You are standing there with all of your classmates, all of the other followers of Jesus. Imagine Jesus standing up there and saying to you and to everyone else:  “I love you.  Now go into the world and love everyone you meet in the same way that I love you.”  You all know that the work hasn’t ended – it is only beginning.  Know that the learning hasn’t ended – it is only beginning.

Now imagine that it is your turn to cross the stage to receive your diploma.  Imagine crossing the stage, walking towards Jesus, and he hands you a rolled-up diploma.  Look into his eyes.  What words does he offer to you directly in this moment?  Does he offer you words of encouragement?  Does he give you a specific mission or commissioning?  Does he simply smile his love into your soul?

And as you and your classmates turn to walk off the stage, Jesus’s parting words to you are the same as the words he began with:  Love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you must love one another.

 

 

Listening to inspiring words from this year’s Valedictorian
AST Convocation – May 10, 2025

"Call and Re-Call" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday May 4, 2025 – 3^rd Sunday of Easter
Scripture:  John 21:1-19


Let’s talk a bit about Peter.  If we only remember what he did when Jesus was crucified, he doesn’t come off in the best light.  After all, three times he denied knowing Jesus.  Even though, at the start of Holy Week, Peter had promised to stay with Jesus to the end, to go wherever he would go, when push came to shove and Jesus was arrested and put on trial, there in the courtyard in front of the palace three times Peter denied that he had anything to do with Jesus and his followers.

But this isn’t where Peter’s journey started.  His story didn’t begin with Jesus’s crucifixion and his own denial… and his story didn’t end there either.

Peter’s story began up north in Galilee.  The details of the story of how Peter first met Jesus are different depending on whether you are reading Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John, but because today’s story came to us from the gospel of John, let’s stick with John’s version of events.

If we turn back to chapter 1 of John, we begin with John the Baptist doing his thing out in the wilderness, preparing the way of the Lord and baptizing people as a sign of repentance, as a sign of hearts and lives that had been changed by this message.

Jesus shows up one day, and John the Baptist points at him and proclaims, “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!”  John, like all teachers, had a number of disciples or students, and two of them, after hearing their teacher point out Jesus as the Lamb of God, turned from John and started following Jesus.

When Jesus saw them, he gave them an invitation:  “Come and see.”  They came and they saw and they listened to what Jesus had to say.

Peter still isn’t on the scene yet, but Peter’s brother Andrew was one of the ones who had turned from John to “come and see” what Jesus was all about.  Andrew, obviously excited about what he was seeing and hearing, went and found his brother, Simon Peter, and told him, “We have found the Messiah, the anointed one!”

So Jesus invites Andrew, “come and see”; and Andrew goes and invites his brother, “come and see!”

In John’s version of the story of Jesus, some of the well-known stories about from the other gospels are left out.  We don’t get to hear Peter trying to persuade Jesus to turn away from the way that leads to crucifixion, and we don’t get to hear Jesus condemning Peter in return, “Get behind me Satan!”  In John, we don’t get the story of the Transfiguration, where Peter, James, and John follow Jesus up a mountain and witness him transformed and hear the voice of God; which means that we also don’t get to hear Peter stumbling over his words with excitement, “Lord, it is good to be here! Let’s build some tents to try and stay here!”

But in John, we get to see some of Peter’s faithfulness, even in the early times.  When Jesus’s teachings become controversial, and many of his followers drift away, Jesus asked his inner circle, “do you want to leave me too?” and it is Peter who answers on behalf of the twelve:  “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Peter is the spokesman again on the night before Jesus died, when Jesus kneels down and washes his disciples’ feet, taking on the role of a servant.  Peter protests this act – “Lord, you should never wash my feet!”  Jesus then teaches Peter, and the rest of the disciples, that we need to do both – we need to be able to receive the loving acts of service that others offer, and we must also go into the world to serve others we encounter.

Later in the same meal, Peter proclaims his loyalty to Jesus:  “Lord, I will lay down my life for you.”  And at first, he keeps this promise.  When Jesus is arrested, Peter pulls out a sword and uses it to cut off the ear of the slave of the high priest.  How he smuggled that sword into the garden, we aren’t told; or even why he thought he might need a sword.  But as Jesus is arrested, Peter risks his own arrest standing up for his teacher.

And then John gives us story of Peter’s three-fold denial of Jesus.  Three times, while Jesus is on trial in the palace, people recognize Peter as one of his followers; and three times, to save his own skin, Peter denies knowing Jesus.

On Easter morning, in John’s gospel, Peter is one of the first disciples to arrive at the empty tomb, though he doesn’t get to see Jesus right away – it is Mary Magdalene who first encounters the risen Christ.  But then Peter is presumably with the disciples as they cower behind a locked door and the risen Christ appears, saying, “Peace be with you.”

How we get from that moment behind a closed door in Jerusalem to a fishing boat on the Sea of Galilee isn’t clear, but it seems as though Peter and some of the other disciples are at loose ends following the crucifixion and the resurrection.  Jesus is no longer with them.  They have lost their purpose of learning about God’s way of being in the world from the one who showed them that way.  And so they go back to what is familiar – their boats and their nets on the Sea of Galilee.

And all of a sudden, Jesus is there, and there is a miraculous catch of fish, followed by a breakfast meal shared on the beach.  And following the meal, for each time that Peter had denied Jesus, Jesus asks him, “Peter, do you love me?”  Each time, Peter replies, “Yes, I love you. You know that I love you!”  And then each time Jesus replies with a command:  “Feed my sheep.”

The first time Peter met Jesus, Jesus called him with an invitation, “Come and see.”  Peter has spent all of this time seeing, witnessing to God’s Way in the world; and now in his final encounter with Jesus, Jesus calls him slightly differently, not with an invitation but with a commission:  “Go, and tend my people.”  Peter has been changed by all that he has seen, all that he has witnessed, and so his calling changes to suit.

God calls all of us, but like Peter I don’t think that our calling is static.  I think that our calling changes over time depending on where we are at in our life and where we are at in our journey with Jesus.  There are times when we might be called to “come and see” – to listen and learn and observe.  There are times when we might be called to simply rest in God’s presence.  There are times when we might be called to feed God’s sheep – to go out into the world to serve the people we encounter there.  There are times when we might be called to proclaim God’s goodness and to teach God’s ways.  There are times when we might be called to be prophets – that challenging role of pointing out to the world how the world is straying away from God’s vision.

I invite you, this week, to ponder God’s calling in your life.  What is God calling you to in this moment?  Are you called to come and see?  Are you called to rest?  Are you called to go and serve?  Has your calling changed at any time?

God needs all of us listening to our calling; the world needs all of us listening to our calling, and following where we are sent.  And just like for Peter, Jesus will be there with each one of us, accompanying us along the way, and welcoming us home.  Thanks be to God!

 

 

“Breakfast on the Beach”

Peter Koenig

Used with Permission

"Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition!" (An Easter Sermon - I promise!)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday April 20, 2025 – Easter Sunday
Scripture:  Luke 24:1-12


Any Monty Python fans here this morning?  If you aren’t familiar with Monty Python, they were a British comedy troop who used a lot of absurdist as well as physical comedy.  One of their most famous sketches is The Spanish Inquisition.  The set-up is a conversation between two family members, and one of the family members says, “I wasn’t expecting a Spanish Inquisition.”  Cue three men, wearing red clerical robes bursting into the room and one of them loudly proclaims “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”  The same thing happens over again a couple of times, with different details in the set-up, but always resulting in those three members of the Spanish Inquisition bursting into the room, proclaiming, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”

It is absurd.  It is hilarious.  If humour is found in the difference between expectations and reality, nobody expects people to burst into a room proclaiming “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” There are multiple layers of unexpectedness in one short skit!

So what does this have to do with Easter?  On a certain level, everything.  A group of women go to a tomb.  Just two days ago, they bore witness as they watched their teacher and their friend nailed to a cross and left there to die.  They watched his body carried away and laid in a tomb.  They saw a heavy stone rolled across the entrance to the tomb.  They went home, and prepared the spices and ointments that would prepare his body for its final rest; then yesterday, on the Sabbath, they rested.  And now this morning, they take their prepared spices and go to wash and prepare his body.  But when they got there, the stone had been rolled back from the entrance, and there was no body to be found.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.  Nobody expects an empty tomb.

The whole world has been tipped sideways and off-kilter.  They say that the only things that are certain in this world are death and taxes, and now we can’t even trust death any more.

It is a great, absurd cosmic joke.  And from the inside of the joke, those women going to the tomb aren’t able to make any sense of it at all, at least not at first.

It is interesting to notice, in this story, what isn’t present, alongside what is present.  There are no trumpets, no Hallelujahs, no angelic choruses proclaiming “Jesus Christ is Risen Today!”  We don’t even have Jesus present in this moment – his dead body isn’t present, and neither is his resurrected body.

Instead, we have a group of bewildered women who will be the one to bring word of the empty tomb back to the other disciples; and we have two… beings… in dazzling clothes chiding them, saying, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  He is not here, for he is risen!”

The risen Christ isn’t going to appear to Jesus’s disciples until they leave the tombs, until they leave the realms of death and go back into the land of the living.  Their hallelujahs aren’t going to ring from their lips until they start to expect the empty tomb, until they start to trust that death has been defeated.

And so the message of Easter is that maybe we should expect the Spanish Inquisition.  Or, at least, we should expect graves to be empty and death to be defeated and Jesus to be risen from the dead.  Because if this is possible, then it means that the end of the story is never really the end of the story; it means that love is always stronger than death; it means that Good Friday is always followed by Easter; it means that new life and new beginnings are always possible.

Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition; but we all expect the grave to be empty.  And that is the place from which we sing our Hallelujahs.  And that is the place from which we draw our hope.  Amen.

"Three Parades" (Palm Sunday Sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday April 13, 2025 – Palm Sunday
Scripture:  Luke 19:28-40


I have three stories that I want to share with you this morning.

For story number one, I invite you to cast your mind back to January 2017.  You might recall that our neighbours to the south had had a… significant… election two months previously.  There was an air of uncertainty with an undercurrent of fear, especially for anyone who was marginalized.  There was worry that instead of moving towards greater equality for all people, that some rights that had been fought hard for were going to be revoked.

All of this is sounding very familiar in 2025, 8 years later, but let’s stay in the past for now.

My story is not about the election itself, but about the response to that election.  You might recall that in January 2017, women gathered in Washington DC.  They gathered not just from the city itself, not just from the states surrounding Washington, but from all across the country and even some from Canada. They traveled by the busload, by train, by car.  The subways were packed that day as the women gathered.

All of this is sounding very familiar in 2025, 8 years later.  Last weekend, millions of people gathering in thousands of locations, with more gatherings planned for next weekend.  But it will take some time to know the full extent of what is going on in the Resistance right now, so let’s stay in the past.

In 2017, the marchers wore distinctive pink hats with cat ears, made out of fleece, out of felt, knitted, sewn, and crocheted.  And there, in the city that inaugurates presidents, in the city that receives world leaders on a regular basis, there in that city, the women filled the streets.  They gathered to remind the people in power that all people are precious, all people are valued – all people of all genders and gender identities, and not just the men who tend to occupy the seats of power in our world today.

At the Women’s March on Washington, almost half a million people showed up, but the march wasn’t limited to Washington. In cities around the world, women gathered to say “We won’t be forgotten.” It’s estimated that 7 million women marched that day.

They carried a message about women’s rights, about reforming immigration systems, about LGBTQ+ rights, about racial justice, about workers’ rights, about environmental rights.  7 million people gathered that day to speak truth to power, saying:  “We won’t let you oppress us any longer.”

For story number 2, I invite you to think a little bit closer to home, both in terms of time and geography.  Picture a sunny Saturday afternoon in early August in uptown Saint John.  Picture several hundred people gathered for a parade – some with floats, some driving vehicles, some walking.  Rainbows of all sorts are everywhere you turn, because this is the annual Pride Parade.

The route begins at the old Loyalist Burial grounds; it winds around Kings Square and down King Street; then it continues along Water Street until it gets to the Container Village.  Music is playing from different groups and floats; flags are being waved, not just rainbow flags but all of the different pride flags are present.  People are laughing, hugs are being shared, and the crowds that line the street are cheering as we walk past them.  There is so much joy in the air that it almost spills over into tears.

This is a parade that proclaims that love always wins.  Love always wins.  Those of us walking as the church remind the crowds that God is proud of ALL of Their children, that ALL people are created in God’s image.  There is so much joy and so much love in the streets of the city that day.

And yet, despite all of the joy, despite all of the love, there is still an undercurrent that reminds everyone present of why we need to have Pride Parades.  Pride Parades are still necessary because there are people and groups in our world who would try to deny the love that this parade proclaims.  There are people in the world who would try to take away rights from queer and trans folx.  This parade is necessary to make sure that the voice of love will always drown out the voices of hatred and oppression.

And there is always the fear that this might be the year that someone tries to stop the parade using violence.

Yet the parade continues, because love ALWAYS wins.

For story number 3, you’re going to have to use your sacred imagination a little bit more, because this story takes place before any of us were born.  This story is set in the city of Jerusalem, some 2000 years ago, just before the celebration of Passover.

Jerusalem, like Washington DC, is familiar with parades of power – it is familiar with visiting dignitaries and military leaders.  The people in power of this time and place tend to parade through the streets of Jerusalem, not in limos with darkened windows, but rather on war horses cloaked in the finest cloth and bedecked with jewels.

Now, in the days before one of the major annual festivals, the city streets are crowded with pilgrims from all around the known world, come to celebrate their ancestors’ deliverance from slavery in Egypt, come to celebrate the time when the angel of death passed over their homes, sparing their children, come to celebrate this Passover in the temple which was the very home of God-whose-name-is-Holy.

And yet there is an undercurrent of tension because Jerusalem is not an independent city, and Ancient Israel was not an independent country.  It was part of the Roman Empire, and the emperor in Rome ruled over the land through a series of governors like Pilate and puppet kings like Herod.

The Roman Empire, like every empire, tended to govern through fear – you towed the line because you were afraid to do otherwise.  Treason against Rome was punished by nailing the traitor to a cross and leaving them there to die.

More echoes of 2025?

The city has swelled to 3 or 4 times its usual size as people from every nation have gathered to celebrate the Passover celebration of liberation; and into this city enters a parade.  This one doesn’t have a war horse or jewels.  Instead, the person at the heart of this parade is riding a donkey, a comic sight as he has to hold his legs up so that his feet don’t drag on the ground.  Instead of fancy garments, the people gathered have laid their ordinary cloaks on the ground to pave the path for the one they are celebrating.  Rather than gold and jewels, they are waving branches that they cut off nearby trees.  And instead of trumpets announcing the arrival, the people sing a psalm of praise:
         Hosanna! Save us!

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

The message of this parade is not one that announces a military victory.  This isn’t a parade to celebrate the empire or to honour the emperor.  Instead, this is a parade that honours a person who said “blessed are the meek.”  This is a parade that raises up a person who taught that the most important things that a person should do are to love God with your whole being, and to love your neighbour as yourself.  This is a parade that celebrates a person who offered healing and liberation to anyone who was oppressed.

And as the people dared to cheer on the one who proclaims the topsy-turvy world, the ones with the power try to silence their voices.  “Shush.  You don’t want Rome to catch wind of this kingdom. That kind of treason leads to a cross.”  But the one riding the donkey says, “They have to cry out.  They have to cry out for God’s world of peace and glory.  They have to use their voices to cry out for God’s justice.  And even if these people were silent, the very stones would take up the song.”

All of us who are here today – we have dared to join this parade.  We have dared to add our voices to the shouts of “Hosanna!”  We have chosen to join in the parade that celebrates humility and love and liberation, rather than joining the parade on the other side of town that celebrates power and might.

And the question that I invite you to ponder today is:  Why have you joined this parade?

 

 

 

“Palm Sunday”

by Frank Wesley

Used with Permission

"Last Day of School" (not a sermon)

 (I wrote this short story today at the Grand Bay Writer's Group. This week's prompt was, "I can't tell them why I'm jealous - that would make it worse.")

 

I stepped into the classroom on the last day of school, head held high, clothes and hair perfect, and sat at my desk. The chattering voices enveloped me, sounding like a flock of squawking blue jays. I couldn't bear to make out the individual words, so let them swirl around me and out the door.

I didn't need to pick out individual words. I knew without hearing what they were talking about. A summer trip to Europe. Working as a lifeguard at the community pool. And above all, plans for next year. One was going to an elite university half-way across the country on a full scholarship. Another's parents were sending her the Ivy League route, south of the border. A group of them were going to be together at the university an hour away, and they had already figured out who was going to be roommates with who.

I didn't need to hear the words to know what they were talking about. I didn't need to hear the words to feel the jealousy bubbling up in me, a sour taste in my mouth, a ringing in my ears.

This must sound silly to you. A teacher shouldn't be jealous of her students. I'm supposed to be the adult in the room. But here I am.

They just know me as the odd math teacher. The one who brings cupcakes to class every Friday. The one who turns math exercises into a game.

They have no idea of the jealousy roaring through me on the last day of school. I am jealous of their opportunities. I am jealous of their potential. I am jealous of their youth.

I never had any of this. My parents couldn't afford university for me when i was their age, so I only got through by working two jobs and missing most of my classes and missing all of the parties, cathcing up on schoolwork in the middle of the night and early mornings. I loved math. I love math. But even then, I wished that I could have more.

The decades since have slipped by, teaching math and calculus and algebra and statistics, year in and year out. I never had children to bake cupcakes for, so I made a tradition of bringing them for my students.

And then last week. A doctor's appointment. I don't remember all of the details - I only remember a few of the phrases. "Stage 4."  "Affairs in order."  "Palliative care."

So here I am, this week, the last day of school.  My last day of school. Surrounded by a classroom full of futures and potentials and opportunities.

I can never tell them. I couldn't bear their sympathy; and besides, what could these bright young things understand of death?  Instead, we will say our goodbyes, go our separate ways, and maybe at their 25-year reunion, someone will remember me and wonder.

"Anointed" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday April 6 – 5^th Sunday in Lent
Scriptures:  Isaiah 43:16-21 and John12:1-8


Six days before the Passover celebration, Jesus and his disciples return to the village of Bethany.  It wasn’t too many weeks ago that Jesus had been there, summoned by his friends Mary and Martha, summoned because their brother and Jesus’s friend Lazarus had been sick, on the verge of death; and by the time Jesus arrived in Bethay on that last trip, Lazarus had already died.  On that last visit, Jesus had wept with Mary and Martha for the loss of his friend; but then had ordered the tomb to be opened, despite the stench that would be expected of a 3-day-old body; he prayed to the one whom he called Father; he cried out loudly, commanding Lazarus to come out of the tomb; and then Lazarus stepped forth.

We aren’t told what happened next, but I can only imagine the celebration that would have erupted in that moment.  The brother, the friend, who had died was now alive again.  I can imagine celebration and feasting and tears of mourning turned into tears of gratitude.  I can also imagine maybe just a little bit of fear tinging the celebration.  After all, we can understand death and the finality of death, but what if death is no longer final?  Has the earth’s axis been tipped a little bit off-kilter in that moment?

And now, some weeks later, Jesus and his disciples have returned to Bethany, returned to the house of Mary and Martha, and yes, of Lazarus too, now able to receive guests in his own home.

They throw a feast to welcome Jesus and his followers, a grand celebration.  Not only are they welcoming a friend to their home, but they are also celebrating a brother restored to the family.

Martha is serving the guests, but partway through the meal, Mary enters the room where guests are reclining on cushions around a low table.  Mary is holding a box in her hands, and a silence falls on the room when she enters and falls to her knees at the feet of Jesus.  Into that silence, she opens the box, and the heavy smell of spicy perfume fills the air, tickling everyone’s nostrils.  A pound of precious perfumed oil, a value of a year’s salary, held in Mary’s hands.

In the silence of the room, Mary pours the precious oil over Jesus’s feet, massaging his feet, massaging his lower legs, and then she takes the veil off her hair, loosens her hair from its braid, and she uses her long loose hair to wipe away the excess oil.  All the time, she is saying, over and over again, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” tears of gratitude mingled with her words.

The silence is broken by Judas, complaining that the money spent on the oil could have been better used elsewhere.  Jesus rebukes Judas.  “You are free to do what you want with your own money. There will always be poor people around you to share your money with.  Are you able to be as generous as Mary is?  Mary has chosen to use this oil as a gift of gratitude.”
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Six days before the Passover celebration, Jesus and his disciples return to the village of Bethany.  It wasn’t too many weeks ago that Jesus had been there, summoned by his friends Mary and Martha, summoned because their brother and Jesus’s friend Lazarus had been sick, on the verge of death; and on that visit Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead.

Now, some weeks later, Jesus and his disciples are back, attending a celebration feast at the home of Mary, Martha, and yes, Lazarus.  Martha is serving the guests, and Lazarus is hosting, and Mary… Mary, part-way through the meal, enters the room where the guests are reclining at the low table, carrying a box.

As silence falls on the room, she opens the box she is carrying, and the heavy smell of spicy perfume fills the air, tickling everyone’s nostrils.  A pound of precious perfumed oil, a value of a year’s salary, held in Mary’s hands.  This is perfume fit for the palace of a king, not a village home on the outskirts of Jerusalem.

A gasp rises, as Mary falls to the floor and pours this precious oil over the feet of Jesus.  Oil this expensive should be reserved for anointing a king.  It has been almost 600 years since there was a true king over Israel or Judah – the current kings like Herod are only puppets of the Roman Empire.  The kings of ancient times were anointed by the royal prophets at the time of their coronation with oil like this, and here a whole pound of it is being poured over the feet of Jesus.  Yet it isn’t a royal prophet doing the pouring – it is just Mary, our friend and neighbour.  What kind of topsy turvy kingdom is Jesus being anointed for, where the precious oil of kingship is poured over his feet by a woman in a small village?

The next day, Jesus and his friends are going to leave the home of Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, and travel the short distance to Jerusalem. When they get there, Jesus is going to ride into the royal city like a king, but he is going to be riding a donkey rather than a war horse.

Six days later, Jesus is going to be crowned and raised up on a throne, but the crown that he will wear is made of thorns, not of gold and jewels; and the throne that he sits on will be a cross.

The king of a topsy-turvy kingdom indeed; one where the last shall be first and the first shall be last, and Mary offers the oil of anointing.

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Six days before the Passover celebration, Jesus and his disciples return to the village of Bethany.  It wasn’t too many weeks ago that Jesus had been there, summoned by his friends Mary and Martha, summoned because their brother and Jesus’s friend Lazarus had been sick, on the verge of death; and on that visit Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead.

Now, some weeks later, Jesus and his disciples are back, attending a celebration feast, and partway through the feast, Mary enters the room carrying a box filled with expensive perfumed oil, made of pure nard – oil that, in the original Greek is “myron,” the same word that is the origin for myrrh.  Is there any world in which Mary’s anointing oil is the same myrrh that was presented to Jesus at his birth?

The oil clings to Jesus’s body, and six days later, as he is dying, nailed to the cross, the smell of Mary’s extravagant gift reaches his nose, and the reminder of the love that surrounds him fills his lungs and comforts him in his dying breaths.

Eight days from now, the women will visit his tomb, carrying myrrh and other spices to prepare his body for the grave.  The grave will be empty, there will be no body for them to prepare, but that is OK, as today, Mary has already prepared his body for the tomb.

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Six days before the Passover celebration, Jesus and his disciples return to the village of Bethany.  It wasn’t too many weeks ago that Jesus had been there, summoned by his friends Mary and Martha, summoned because their brother and Jesus’s friend Lazarus had been sick, on the verge of death; and on that visit Jesus had raised Lazarus from the dead.

Part-way through the feast, this feast that celebrates new life and restoration and friendship, Mary enters the room, carrying a box of expensive, precious perfumed oil, the value of which would cost a full year’s salary.  Oil that was imported from a far-off land.

Silence fills the room as she falls to her feet.  The air that had been filled with conversation is now filled with the heavy, spicy scent of the oil.  All of the guests watch, mesmerized, as she pours out this extravagant gift over the feet of Jesus; and as they watch, she removes the veil from her hair, loosens it from its braid, and tenderly, vulnerably, uses her hair to wipe the feet of her Lord.

What does Mary know about Jesus in this moment?  He is her dear friend, but he also raised her brother from the dead.  He said to Mary and Martha, at that time, “I am the resurrection and the life; everyone who believes in me will not die but have eternal life.”

Does Mary know, as she pours out her oil on the feet of Jesus, that she is holding the feet of the one who brings new life, not only to her brother but to the whole world?  Does Mary know that that she is anointing Jesus, not only for his death, but also for his resurrection?  Does Mary know that, in that moment, she is holding the feet of the I AM who created the heavens and the earth, she is holding the feet of the I AM who led the people to freedom, that she is holding the feet of the I AM who is always doing a new thing in the world?

Does Mary know that her oil is not only an outpouring of gratitude, is not only the anointing oil of a king, is not only preparing Jesus’s body for the tomb, but is also an act of worship, offering her best to her Lord and her God?

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Six days before the Passover celebration, Jesus and his disciples return to the village of Bethany.  Six days before his death; eight days before his resurrection, Mary kneels down, and offers the very best of who she is to Jesus.

 

 

“Anointed”

Lauren Wright Pittman

Used with Permission