"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

"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