"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.”
.
.
.
.
.
.

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.

.
.
.
.
.
.

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.

.
.
.
.
.
.

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?

.
.
.
.
.
.

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

"On Citizenship and Ambassadors" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday March 30 – 4^th Week in Lent
Scripture Readings:  2 Corinthians 5:16-21


Since the middle of January, international diplomacy has been a hot-button issue.  It has led the newscasts, it has been all over social media, it has shaped our shopping habits, it has led to some funny and thought-provoking comedy across the whole comedy spectrum, from political cartoons to stand-up to memes.

We’ve also had some conversations about the international diplomatic situation at our Wednesday morning bible study, as we’ve been reading the provoking words of Jesus from the Sermon on the Mount.  That is a sermon for another Sunday, but what would Jesus, who once said “if anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also, and if anyone wants to sue you and take your shirt, give your coat as well, and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to the one who asks of you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you” – what would this Jesus have to say about the current trade war?

Nationalism and national identity was a thing too, back in the days of Jesus and the Apostle Paul, only then it was talked about in terms of Empire rather than countries.  Don’t worry – I’m not going to stand here and lecture on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire – that would put even the history buffs to sleep.  But the basic strategy of the Roman Empire was to expand their territory, and with each tribe or city that they took over, rather than enslaving the people who lived there, they offered them Roman Citizenship. It’s quite a canny strategy if you think about it, because if you’re “one of us” then you aren’t going to be fighting against us.  And citizenship was passed from parent to child, regardless of where you lived.

It wasn’t completely egalitarian.  Slaves were still slaves and therefore ineligible for citizenship.  Women were able to be citizens, but their citizenship came with different rights than them men – for example, they weren’t allowed to vote or hold public office.  And citizenship came not only with rights but also with responsibilities, and if you didn’t uphold your responsibilities, you could lose your citizenship, even if you still lived in the land under Roman control.

So, turning to the Apostle Paul, the author of 2 Corinthians, a letter he wrote to the very early church in the city of Corinth.  Paul, originally named Saul, was not only a devout Palestinian Jew, a religious leader of his time and place from the Pharisee denomination, but he was also a Roman Citizen.  There’s a story from towards the end of the book of Acts where Paul is arrested, and when he mentions that he is a citizen, his captors panic, as they realize that he is entitled to certain treatment as a citizen.

But two weeks ago, when we read part of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, he made reference to citizenship when he wrote that our citizenship is in heaven.  Even though Roman citizenship was the most valued status in the world he was living in, he wrote that we have an even more precious and valuable status, as citizens in God’s kingdom.  That supersedes any earthly loyalties.

And then today, in another letter from Paul, this time to the Corinthians, he takes it one step further.  We aren’t just citizens of God’s kingdom, but we are ambassadors of God’s kingdom.  We represent God’s presence as we move about in the world.  It’s almost like we are the literal body of Christ, or something!

Just for fun, this week I looked up the job description of an ambassador.  If the government of Canada were to appoint you to be the ambassador to, let’s say, The Republic of Lobestan, you would be responsible for maintaining diplomatic relationships between Canada and the Republic of Lobestan, you would lead political and economic negotiations between the two countries, you would promote cooperation between our two countries, you would safeguard and protect Canada’s interests, and you would ensure the safety of any Canadians living in the Republic of Lobestan.  Google also told me that strong communication, negotiation, and interpersonal skills are essential to the job!

So if we were to take that metaphor of an ambassador to our own calling to be ambassadors of Christ in the world, I think that there is a lot of truth to the job description here.  We are to promote God’s interests here in the world where we are living.  I guess that means that we are to live all of those things that Jesus taught us about – the easier things like feeding hungry people, and the harder things like turning the other cheek, or forgiving people who have done us wrong.  We are to live these values that are often very different to the things that the world values, and if someone happens to ask us why we do these things, well, as ambassadors we then have an opportunity to tell them about the kingdom that we represent – God’s kingdom.

I’m especially curious about the whole “engaging in economic negotiations” that are part of an ambassador’s job description.  Most of you have probably heard me say this before, but no human-developed economic system is perfect, and all human-developed economic systems are vulnerable to the imperfections of humans.  And God’s economy?  It is very different than any human economy because it is an economy based on grace and abundance.  Just last week, we heard Isaiah proclaim, “Hear, everyone who thirst, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy, and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!”  So we, as ambassadors of God’s kingdom, living in the world today, might struggle because we know that the economic system we are working in – for us, that tends to be capitalism – is imperfect in so many ways, and we know that God has a better way of doing things.  So, as ambassadors, we are called to engage in and promote our home economy.  Which, in practice, means things like giving away free pie on PIE Day, or putting food in Ida’s cupboard to be available for anyone who needs it to take.  We are promoting God’s way of doing things.

And ambassadors are to protect the security of citizens of their home country in the country they are appointed to.  And this, to me, gets at the heart of Jesus’s commandment to love our neighbours.  Not just the neighbours we like.  Not just the neighbours who look like us and speak like us and pray like us.  All of our neighbours.  And because I take a very broad interpretation of who is a citizen of God’s kingdom – after all, all humans were created in God’s image – then we are called to protect anyone who is threatened or oppressed or in danger or vulnerable.

With that little throw-away phrase, “ambassadors for Christ,” Paul has placed an enormous weight on our shoulders.  But this weight is the weight of discipleship.  We do this because when we choose to follow the way of Jesus, this is the path we are choosing to follow.

But it is also a path of great joy.  No, we don’t get to live in the fancy mansions that most political ambassadors get to live in, and attend glitzy parties in the countries where we’re stationed.  But instead, we get to know that we are part of a new creation.  In our baptism, we were baptized into Christ’s resurrection, and we get to be trailblazers, bringing this new life to the world. It is exciting!  We get to serve alongside each other, bringing a message of love and hope to the world.

And when the weight of global politics tries to pull us down, when we are surrounded by trade wars and tariffs and elbows up and rumblings of takeovers – when all of this tries to pull us down, we can remember that our ultimate citizenship, our ultimate allegiance doesn’t lie in any of these messes that humans make.  Our ultimate citizenship is with God, and God’s kingdom – that kingdom that we pray for every day, “thy kingdom come on earth, as it is in heaven” – this kingdom where our citizenship lies is a place of joy and grace and reconciliation and healing and the overwhelming, unconditional, limitless love of a God whose very nature is love.

And may we always remember, and keep this vision in our hearts as we move about the world.  Amen.

 

 

One of those political cartoons

By Michael de Adder

"Called to be God's Gardeners" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
March 23, 2025, Third Sunday in Lent
Scripture Readings:  Isaiah 55:1-9 and Luke 13:1-9


So – the parable of the fig tree.  Every three years, this story pops up again during the season of Lent, and every three years, I have to wrestle with what Jesus was trying to teach the crowd when he told this story.

On the surface, it sounds like a harsh story.  I confess that I love trees, and it hurts my heart to see a tree cut down, even when I know that the tree is diseased or a danger.  So it makes me sad to think of an otherwise healthy fig tree being cut down simply because it wasn’t producing any figs.  What about the shade that it might offer to a weary traveler?  What about the birds who might make a nest in its branches?  What about the beauty that the fig tree added to the landscape?  Like I said, it hurts my heart to think of that innocent tree being cut down because of one specific thing that it isn’t doing.

But when I think about it, there are so many people in the world who are suffering, who seem to be punished, for something that they have no control over.

I think of people living on small low-lying islands in the Pacific Ocean who are watching rising sea levels eat away at their land, year after year after year. Are they being punished for the simple fact of being born on the land on which they were born?

I think of families living in Zambia where prolonged droughts due to climate change are limiting their ability grow enough food to feed their families for the year.  Are they being punished for being tied to the land where they live, due to global economic forces?

There are so many examples I could think of from this year alone, on our own continent.  Public Service employees in the US being fired without cause simply because they accepted a career in public service.  Transgender folx being denied their full humanity as well as access to life-saving medication, simply because they were born in a body that didn’t match who they know that they are.  Ordinary people in both Canada and the US facing escalating costs of living because our leaders are engaging in a dispute over a literal line in the sand.

I actually think that the pattern of the fig tree is one that we see repeated over and over and over again in the world, where people (as well as non-human parts of creation) seem to be punished for something that they didn’t choose.

Swinging back to the story we heard from the Gospel of Luke, if we look at the lead-in to the parable, Jesus is reflecting on a couple of these arbitrary tragedies in his world.  Some ordinary people were in the temple offering their worship to God, when soldiers came in and slaughtered them, so that their blood was mixed with the blood of the sacrifice.  Killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.  And the story of a tower that collapsed, killing 18 people – again, the only thing that they did wrong was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they lost their lives over it.

Arbitrary suffering is not something that is new in the world.

So is there any good news in the parable that Jesus tells, this story of the fig tree?

I think that there is.  The good news that I see in this parable is the fact that the tree is not cut down right away.  Instead, the gardener is given a chance to nurture the tree – to weed the ground around it, to fertilize it, to give it every possible chance to flourish and produce fruit.

If we read the parable and see God as the landowner in the story, then it paints a picture of a harsh and judgemental God – cut down that tree and burn the wood because it isn’t producing any fruit.  But it puts a very different spin on the story if we see God as the gardener.  The gardener sees the tree, and sees its potential, and mourns the fact that it hasn’t been able to live into its potential, and longs for an opportunity to tend and nourish that tree.  It’s a bit like Jesus, over in John’s gospel, saying, “I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

So if there is a glimmer of good news in the parable, does that mean that there is good news for us too?  I wouldn’t be standing up here if I didn’t believe that there is always some good news.

If you relate to the fig tree right now, then the good news is there on the surface.  God weeps at oppression and at suffering, and God is longing for you to flourish.  God is extending to you that invitation from Isaiah (the invitation that the choir sang just a few minutes ago):  “Hear, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy, and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price!”

And for those of us who aren’t acutely suffering right now, I still think that there is good news in this passage, and this is how I see this parable connecting with our Call to the church of Daring Justice.

If we have God, in Jesus, as the gardener, pleading with the forces who want to destroy the tree to give it another chance, and then taking the time to nurture the tree; then we, as the Body of Christ, are called to do the same.  We are called to notice the places in the world that aren’t flourishing, and then we are called to do whatever is in our power to support and enable them to flourish.

Because all of God’s children are precious, and God wants everyone to flourish.  It doesn’t matter where someone was born, or under what circumstance, or into what body, God wants everybody to flourish, and God calls the church, like the gardener in today’s parable, to be agents of this flourishing.

I might even push this one step further, and say that God longs for all of creation to flourish – from humans to fig trees to rivers to trees to squirrels to moose to turkeys.  When we think about flourishing, what daring steps can we take so that not only humans but all of creation can flourish and be the thing that God created them to be?

Is it hard?  Yes.  Is it risky?  Yes.  The call to the church isn’t to do only the easy parts of justice, it is a call to daring justice.  We are called to dare to stand up against the things that we know are wrong.  We are called to speak truth to power.  Even when the primary narrative of the world is “me first,” we are called to remember that we are to love our neighbours as we love ourselves.

And so my hope, as I wrestle with this parable this year, is that you can see yourself in both the fig tree and the gardener.  When you are suffering, know that God is with you, longing for you to flourish.  And also that you are a gardener in God’s garden, called to bring flourishing to creation – both the human and non-human parts of creations.  And know that when you are a gardener in God’s garden, you are the body of Christ, and the Holy Spirit is with you and within you.

And may it be so.  Amen.

 

 

“Fig Tree in Assos”

by Kadir COSKUN on flickr

Used with Permission

"From the Mountain to the Valley" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday March 16, 2025
Scripture Readings:  Philippians 3:17-4:1 and Luke 9:28-36


I have to begin by saying that hearing the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus has me feeling a bit discombobulated today.  We normally would have read this story on the last Sunday before Lent.  It marks a turning point in the story of Jesus’s life – when he comes down from the mountain, his path turns towards Jerusalem, and once in Jerusalem, the events of the last week of his life unfold.  So it makes sense to read this story just before the beginning of Lent, which is our metaphorical journey to Jerusalem and to the cross.

But this year, our fabulous women of the Westfield UCW led worship on the last Sunday before Lent (along with UCW chapters across the country), and so we didn’t get to read this story then.  But good news for me, because I love the story of the Transfiguration, this story is listed as an alternative reading on the second Sunday in Lent, which is today.  So I don’t have to wait until next year to read it!

I want to invite you to imagine yourself into this story.  The mountain in this story isn’t a tall, pointy, snow-capped mountain like the one on the bulletin cover. Jesus, Peter, James, and John wouldn’t have needed ropes and carabiners and technical expertise to climb to the top.  It would have been a fairly accessible climb, up a winding path, far enough away that you could experience true alone-ness up there, but not so far that you faced any dangers.

And so I invite you to imagine a hill like this that you know – maybe one you have climbed before, or one that you have wanted to climb.  I invite you to invite a couple of your close friends to come on the hike with you, people you know, people you trust, people you love, people you consider to be spiritual companions.  You don’t want a whole big crowd with you – just a couple of close friends to share the experience with.

And imagine that Jesus is with you too.  The Jesus of all of the stories – you have seen him calm the seas and walk on water, you have witnessed him heal people with a touch of his hand, and feed a crowd of thousands with just a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish.  The Jesus of all of the teachings that you do your best to follow – teaching you about how to love your neighbour, teaching you about how to love God with your whole being, teaching you about how God’s plan for the world is still unfolding – it hasn’t reached its completeness yet, but it will some day.

Which of the teachings of Jesus speaks most tenderly to your heart?  Which of the miracles makes your heart overflow with joy and wonder?  Is there something that you wish that you could see Jesus do?

As you prepare to set out on your hike with your friends and with Jesus, it’s OK if you can’t see his face clearly.  But even if he stays on the shadowy side of the trail, even if he keeps his back turned to you, you know that he is with you.

As you begin the climb, at first it is easy.  There are so many sights to see!  With each curve on the path, there is something new to look at, a new perspective on the view from the hill.  What are you hearing as you climb?  Are there any birds singing?  Is the wind whistling or laughing in the trees?  Are there any animals, big or small, on the trail with you?  Are there any smells reaching your nose?  If you are climbing in the spring, are there any wildflowers along the way?  If it is summer, is the smell of hot dust reaching your nostrils?  If it is fall, maybe the smell of leaves starting to rot into the soil is filling the air?  If it is winter, maybe a hint of woodsmoke, or the musty smell of melting snow is accompanying you?

Is Jesus sharing any stories with you as you climb?  Is he re-telling one of your favourite parables?  Is he recalling one of the miracles he performed, putting his spin or interpretation on to it?  Is he teaching you about what the kingdom of the one whom he calls Father will be like?

At first the climb was easy, but the longer you climb the more of a drudge it becomes.  It is becoming harder and harder to keep putting one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.

But at last, the path starts to level off, and you have come to the top of the mountain.  You can see all of the land unfolding around you on every side.  How do you feel in this moment?  Has the weariness of the climb fallen away from you, or are you ready to drop to the ground and never get up again?  Do you feel exhilarated with a sense of accomplishment, or is there a twinge of disappointment that this is all there is?

As you stand around, looking at each other, all of a sudden, we come to the moment of transfiguration.  Jesus – the one who trudged up the mountain beside you, the one who shared stories with you as you climbed – Jesus is now radiating an unearthly bright light.  If you couldn’t see him before because he was keeping his face in the shadows, now you can’t see him because it is too bright to look directly at him.

But as you look around, with the hilltop bathed in this bright light, you notice two other people have joined you.  And you don’t know how you know, but somehow you know that they are Moses and Elijah, two of the great prophets of your ancestors.

How do you feel in this moment?  Is it excitement or fear or awe or peace or what, flowing through your veins in this moment?

Remember that you have a couple of your friends with you.  Which one of you is the Peter of your group, needing to fill the holy moment with words?  Is it you, or is it one of your friends?  “Oh, but it’s good to be here! Let’s build tents so that we can stay here and preserve this moment!”

And then a cloud descends on the mountaintop, but the brightness is still there, illuminating the fog, so it feels as though you are bathed in the light.  And you hear a voice coming from… somewhere… “This is my son, my chosen one, my beloved one. Listen to him.”

And while these words are still echoing across the hillside, the fog lifts and the brightness fades, and it is an ordinary day on the top of that hill you have climbed.

And in silence, you, your friends, and Jesus, pick up your bags, and start putting one foot in front of the other again, as you make your way down the mountain, and back here to this space.

I don’t know if you have ever had a mountaintop experience (which may or may not have taken place on a literal mountaintop) like the one in today’s story.  I have a couple of stories, but they will keep for another day.  The spiritual mountaintop is a good place to visit – as Peter said, “Lord, it is good for us to be here!” – but I don’t think that it is a place where we could stay.  Even Jesus left the mountainside and the very next story is a story of healing.  The work of the church, the work of the Body of Christ, tends to take place in the valley rather than on the mountaintop.

But there is a song by the Gaither’s – maybe some of you know it – called “God on the Mountain.”  The chorus begins, “For the God on the mountain, is still God in the valley.”  Even when we leave the mountaintop behind, God goes with us still.  Mountaintop experiences can give you a boost or an injection of faith, but never ever doubt that God is with you, even when you are trudging through the valleys of life.

As Paul wrote to the Philippians, “our citizenship is in heaven.”  Even when we get bogged down in concerns of this earth – and you know as well as I do, just how many cares and worries there are in the world these days; I don’t need to list them out for you – even when we get bogged down in the cares and concerns of the world, we can remember the mountaintop, and remember that our citizenship ultimately lies with God.

We aren’t free to ignore the cares and concerns of the world – like I said earlier, the work of the Body of Christ takes place in this world, as we spread the love and the healing and the hope and the joy of Christ.  But we don’t need to let the cares of the world pull us into despair, because we know that God is with us, and we know that God’s kingdom will be the true end of the story.

This week’s Call to the church is “Deep Spirituality” and to me, that is what this is all about.  Knowing that God is with us, drawing our strength from God’s presence, and nurturing our spirits, whether we are on the mountain or in the valley, so that we can keep putting one foot in front of the other, not as a slog, but as a dance of joy!

And may it be so.  Amen.

 

“Cathedral of Christ the Light”

Image used with permission

"If you are a Child of God..." (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge
Sunday March 9, 2025 – First Sunday in Lent
Scripture:  Luke 4:1-13


Welcome to Lent!  We have embarked on a 40-day journey that is going to end at the foot of the cross on Good Friday.  As we travel, we will be lighting our Lenten candles to illuminate our path, and our map for the journey is going to be the calls of the United Church of Canada – we believe that we are called to Deep Spirituality, Bold Discipleship, and Daring Justice.  And today, on our first Sunday of Lent, we pass the signpost of Bold Discipleship.

In the bible, we read about Jesus’s disciples – his followers – the people who made up his inner circle.  They were usually the first ones to hear his teachings. They had front-row seats to witness his miracles.  They were the ones to whom Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow me.”  And they did follow Jesus, all the way to the cross.

But Jesus’s disciples didn’t just live 2000 years ago.  After Jesus died, resurrected, and ascended in to heaven, the disciples continued.  The church of every time and every place has been made up of disciples of Jesus.  People who listen to Jesus’s teachings. People who have witnessed the miracles that love can work over and over and over again.  People who follow the way of Jesus, even when it is risky, carrying their crosses, that symbol of danger and death and destruction.

And I think that is maybe where the boldness comes from in our discipleship.  We aren’t disciples of an easy way, of a safe way, of a way without risks.

It is such a strange thing to be a disciple.  We are choosing a way that runs contrary to so much of what the world teaches.  In many ways, it would be so much easier to just abandon this way and go the way of the world, moving through life without kicking up a fuss, without the commandment to love God with our whole hearts and to love our neighbours as ourselves.  And yet you and I – we have chosen to be here.  We have chosen this way of discipleship.  It is 2025, and I doubt if any of us are here because society tells us that we have to be in church on a Sunday morning, the way it might have happened back in the 1950s or 1960s – instead each one of us has chosen to be here this morning.  We have chosen this path of discipleship.

Jesus, too, was tempted to stray from the path he was on.  There, in the desert, he was offered all authority, all power, all glory, if only he would turn his face away from God to worship another.  We may not have the devil, Satan, the Tempter standing in front of us, but isn’t this the same thing?  Turn away from the way of worshipping God, and then we will be free to give our ultimate devotion, our ultimate worship to making money, to pursuing fame, to focus on our appearance, our gym bod, our lifestyle.

And yet.  And yet every day we wake up, and once again we choose to put following the Way of Jesus first.  Even when this way is hard, we still choose to follow.  And it is hard.  Just two weeks ago, I was talking about how we aren’t just to love our friends, we are to love our enemies too, and pray for those who hate and mistreat us.  It is incredibly hard to turn the other cheek, to give of ourselves in a way that leaves us with less than we might want, to forgive and let go of the wrongs that have been done to us.  It is a hard way that we choose, and an often uncomfortable way.  And yet you and I – we have chosen to be here – again and again we choose this way of discipleship.

Jesus, too, didn’t follow an easy way.  For forty days in the desert, he had nothing to eat or drink, and the tempter said to him, “Go on – turn those stones into loaves of bed. You know you can do it.”  And yet Jesus doesn’t succumb to the temptation to take the easy way out.  He remembers that there is something more important than comfort.  He remembers that we don’t live by bread alone, but by God’s word and by God’s presence.  We may not be fasting in the desert like Jesus was, but still we are surrounded by things that want to draw our attention away from God.  We are surrounded by social media, we are surrounded by the 24-hour news cycle, we are surrounded by the entertainment industry and are bombarded with advertising every time we turn around.

And yet.  And yet every day we wake up, and once again we choose to put following the Way of Jesus first.  Even when we are tempted to despair, we still chose to follow.  Even when we want God to prove their presence to us and are confronted with silence, still we choose to pick up our cross and follow Jesus.

Jesus, who himself was also tempted to test God’s presence, knows that it isn’t easy.  It would be so comforting if God could just send an angel to catch us when we feel like we are falling, a literal angel to carry us through the tough times that we face.  And yet even when Jesus chose not to test God’s presence, Jesus knew that God was with him.  And we too, can trust that God is with us, surrounding us with their presence even when our senses can’t perceive it.

I think that maybe one of the toughest temptations that Jesus faced there in the desert wilderness was the temptation to doubt his identity.  If you are the Son of God, turn this stone into bread.  If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from this high tower.  I sometimes think that the biggest miracle of this story is that Jesus remains confident in his identity as the Son of God.  He didn’t require external validation – he just knew.

And maybe that is the grounding of our own discipleship.  We are grounded in our identity as beloved children of God, and this grounding allows us to choose, again and again, the difficult path that Jesus lays out before us.  And because we are grounded in our identity as beloved children of God, then we really can’t choose any other way.  And just as the Holy Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness and accompanied him through all of his temptations, the Holy Spirit is with us too, on our discipleship journey, giving us strength and giving us courage and reminding us whenever we need reminding that we are precious and beloved children of God.

Yes, discipleship can be scary, but when we are grounded in God then it is the only way we can follow.  Like those first disciples, we too can listen to the teachings of Jesus – all of that teaching about loving God and loving your neighbour, all of your neighbours.  Like those first disciples, we too can be part of the miracles that love can work in the world.  And like those first disciples, we too can take up our cross to follow Jesus, knowing that the Holy Spirit is in front of us, guiding us, beside us, accompanying us, and within us, transforming us, every step of the way.

Thanks be to God!  Amen.

 

 

If you are a child of God…

“Christ in the Wilderness”

Used with Permission

"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