"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