"Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

Sunday August 28, 2022

Scripture Reading:  Deuteronomy 34:1-12

 

(Note – this summer, each Sunday we have been the theology of our favourite hymns.  This week’s hymn was “Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah.”  Even though the hymn isn’t referred to in this reflection, when you listen to the words, it is very much a hymn of Moses and the Israelite people and their time in the desert wilderness.)

 

 

So while “We don’t talk about Bruno-no-no-no,” this week I do want to talk about Moses. (Reference to the announcements, and this week's Church Family Movie, Encanto.)

 

A couple of summers ago, instead of looking at our favourite hymns, we spent the summer looking at our favourite stories that we remembered from Sunday School; and that summer, the most popular Sunday School story was Moses in the bullrushes.

 

The Sunday that we looked at that story, we saw how the story of Moses in the bullrushes was actually less about Moses and more about the cunning of the women around him – his mother, his sister, and the two Hebrew midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, who managed to conspire to trick the Pharoah who had said that all baby boys born to the Israelite people were to be killed at birth.  And so Moses survived, but that was just the beginning of his story.  (And when bible study resumes this fall, we are going to be picking up our meandering through the Old Testament with the book of Exodus and the story of Moses, so this morning is just a preview!)

 

Moses was raised in the palace of the Pharoah as his adopted grandson, but after killing an Egyptian slave driver who had been beating one of the Israelite people, he fled out into the desert.  That was where he encountered God in the burning bush, and where God told Moses that he would be the one to set the people free from slavery in Egypt.

 

Moses went to Pharoah and demanded that Pharoah let his people go.  10 plagues visited the Egyptian people before Pharoah agreed to release his slaves – from locusts to hail to the river turning to blood to darkness covering the land, and finally the death of the firstborn children.

 

And then when the Pharoah finally released the Israelite people, they had very little time to flee, taking with them unleavened bread – bread that hadn’t had time to rise.

 

Pharoah regretted his decision almost immediately and sent soldiers after his escaping slaves, but when they got to the shores of the Red Sea, God worked through Moses, and Moses was able to part the waters so that the Israelite people could cross to safety on the other side.

 

And then Moses continued to lead them through the desert wilderness towards the promised land.  The people complained that they were thirsty, and God worked through Moses to make water flow out of a rock.  The people complained that they were hungry, and wouldn’t it have been better if they had been able to stay back there in Egypt where yes, they were slaves, but at least there were cucumbers and bread to eat; and again, God cared for them by making manna, bread of heaven, fall from the sky each night, and quails to descend on their camp so they could have bread and meat.

 

To make sure that they didn’t get lost, God moved in front of the people, looking like a pillar of cloud during the day, and a pillar of fire at night time.

 

And then, in the middle of the desert, they came to Mount Sinai.  Moses climbed to the top of the mountain where he was able to converse directly with God; and there on the mountaintop God gave to Moses the 10 commandments and the rest of the law for how they were to live well with one another and with God when they finally reached the Promised Land.

 

And then most of the rest of the book of Exodus and the book of Leviticus are filled with the law that God gave to Moses.  Then we come to the book of Numbers, which contains some law, but also some stories from the Israelite’s time in the desert.

 

Here we read about Moses sending 12 spies ahead of the rest of the group to scout out the Promised Land.  They went there and found the abundance that God had promised them; but at the same time, they found fortified cities and people living in the land.  They were afraid to invade the land, even though God promised them victory over the people who were living there.  (Which makes this a very problematic story when we look at it through a post-colonial lens – God promising to take the land from the Indigenous inhabitants to give to the colonizers.  I suspect that this is going to be something that we will wrestle with in bible study when we get there.)

 

Anyways, the twelve spies decide to exaggerate their findings when they come back to the people, saying that the inhabitants of the promised land were like giants, and they felt as small as grasshoppers standing next to them.  And so the people were afraid to carry on to this land.  More rebellion against Moses and against God, more complaints about being hungry in the desert.

 

And as a result, the people spent 40 years wandering in the desert, rather than a journey of a couple of months that it might have been otherwise.  My Old Testament professor at AST, Dr. Susan Slater, refers to this time as the “Desert School” – the people had to spend 40 years in the desert learning to trust that God would meet their needs in a place of scarcity, before they could enter the land of abundance.

 

Which brings us to the book of Deuteronomy.  The book of Deuteronomy is set on the banks of the Jordan River as the people are poised to cross over and enter the Promised Land.  They have spent 40 years wandering in the desert wilderness since they have left Egypt.  A generation has passed, and many of the people who left Egypt are no longer alive.  But here they are.

 

Most of the book of Deuteronomy is a second recitation of the law that Moses received from God back in Exodus and Leviticus, with God imploring the people not to forget their lessons learned in the Desert School; not to forget that they depend on God for everything, even when it is less obvious in a land of abundance.  God implores the people to choose good rather than evil once they cross the river to leave the desert behind them.

 

And then we come to chapter 34, the chapter we read today.  This is the final chapter of the book of Deuteronomy.  There, on the banks of the Jordan River, still in the wilderness, Moses dies.  Moses, the greatest prophet of the Israelite people, who led them out of slavery to freedom, who spoke to God on the mountaintop and in the desert, the one who God worked through to part the waters of the sea and make water flow from a rock – Moses dies before the people enter the Promised Land.  I remember listening to Deuteronomy as an audiobook, and my eyes filled with tears when Moses died – after all that he did for the people and for God, he didn’t get to see the fruit of his labour.  The closest he got to seeing the Promised Land was looking across the river at it, from a mountain in the desert wilderness.

 

And I can’t help but ask the question, where’s the justice in that.  Surely Moses should have been allowed to reap some reward for his labour after doing so much.  Why couldn’t he have lived just a little bit longer, to be able to cross that river and place his feet on the soil of the land he had spent his life leading the people towards?

 

The only answer I have to this is that the journey wasn’t about Moses.  He didn’t lead the people out of slavery and across the desert so that he could enter the promised land – he did all of this so that God’s people could enter the promised land.

 

And in the same way, I also think that our own faith journeys, while they are our journey, is not so much about us as individuals but rather is about us collectively.  We journey together as companions on the way, encouraging one another, supporting each other when we are struggling, helping each other to carry burdens, celebrating with one another.  When my faith falters, I know that your faith will help to carry me on.  If I don’t get to see the Promised Land with my own eyes, I know that the small amount that I was able to do will help others to see that Promised Land.  We support each other, we support our neighbours and our communities, but it goes even beyond that.  When we work for Mission & Service or for Avenue B or for Romero House, we are supporting people we will likely never meet. We are part of this interconnected web of creation and God’s love really is for all.

 

We gain much from our journey of faith – we gain peace and hope and love and joy and community and support.  But in the end, just like for Moses, it isn’t about us.  We exist as a church, as a community that follows the way of Jesus, so that we can serve God’s mission by serving God’s people in so many different ways.

 

It’s not about us.

 

And may the Holy Spirit equip us for this work, and guide us on the way.  Amen.

 

 

Image:  “Death of Moses”

Frank Wesley

Used with Permission.

"Jesus, You Have Come to the Lakeshore" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

August 21, 2022

Scripture:  Luke 5:1-11

 

 

Our hymn this week, “Jesus, You Have Come to the Lakeshore” seems to be a hymn that evokes strong memories in us. We sang it not too long ago at Ida’s funeral, and it was chosen for that occasion because of the memory that Dave has of the two of them traveling together in Cuba and hearing it sung, in its original Spanish, in a cathedral there.

 

For me, I carry a powerful memory of singing this song in worship on a patio overlooking the Sea of Galilee.

 

It is a song where the rocking, lilting melody evokes the waves under a boat carrying us away to other seas.

 

It is a song full of images that speak to our heart – Jesus, while smiling, speaking our name with love; Jesus, on the lakeshore, asking us to leave our nets and our boats behind to follow.

 

When we did our hymn survey last spring, this one was the number 2 most chosen hymn, second only to “Here I Am, Lord,” with these two hymns far ahead of the third and fourth place hymns.  I find it interesting that the two most beloved hymns around our pastoral charge are both hymns about being called by God!

 

This week, unlike some of the other weeks this summer, it was pretty easy to match a bible story to the hymn we chose.  And so we heard a story about Jesus, at the shore of the Sea of Galilee (which is really a large freshwater lake rather than a salty sea) – Jesus is at the lakeshore teaching the crowd, and in order to make himself heard, he asks one of the fishermen who is there mending his nets after a long night of fishing – a long night of unsuccessful fishing, I might add – so Jesus asks a fisherman there by the lakeshore to let him climb on board his boat, and to take him a little ways out so that he can use the sloping shore as a sort of natural amphitheatre allowing the crowds to hear his words more easily.

 

I want to pause for a moment, because I wonder how Simon Peter, the fisherman, was feeling in this moment.  He has been working hard all night, but hasn’t managed to catch anything.  There are likely going to be hungry bellies in his family tonight, and then there’s always the threat of eviction hanging over him and his family if he can’t pay the rent.  I wonder if, at this point in time, tired and smelly and grumpy, Peter wouldn’t rather just go home and go to bed.

 

Or maybe Peter has heard of this Jesus – heard of the powerful words he has been speaking – and welcomes the opportunity to have a front row seat to hear what Jesus has to say today.

 

Or maybe.  Maybe Jesus has spoken Peter’s name with a smile on his face and love in his eyes, and Peter can’t do anything other than offer to help.

 

But whatever the circumstances, Peter agrees to help, they push away from shore, and Jesus teaches the crowds from his place in the boat.

 

We don’t have a record of what Jesus said that day, but when he had finished teaching, he turned to Peter and told him to lower his nets down one more time.  Again, I wonder what Peter was thinking in this moment.  “OK Jesus – I’m a fisherman and you’re the carpenter’s son.  I think that I know more than you do about the right time to fish, and right now ain’t it!  But what the heck.  Those were some powerful words you were speaking just a moment ago, so I’ll humour you this time.”

 

And Peter lowers his nets, and brought up so many fish – more than he would need to feed his family and more than he would need to pay the rent – he brought up so many fish that his nets began to tear, and even when he called over a second boat to help, the two boats began to take on water and started to sink.

 

And by the end of the story, Jesus has called Simon Peter and his business partners James and John, to leave their boats and their nets behind to seek a new life of discipleship.  They have been called to fish other oceans and to seek other seas, far from their boats and nets and families and homes.

 

I marvel at the courage that it took for them to do this.  Jesus made no promises to them – “follow me and my God will make you rich and prosperous.”  Jesus didn’t tell them where they were going to stay or what they were going to do.  I wonder what it was that they heard in his words, or what it was that they saw in his face, that made them leave their families and their homes and their livelihoods behind?

 

This is a singular call story.  Peter and James and John are in one place at the beginning of the story, and by the end of the story they have left everything behind in order to follow.

 

But I think that all of us, in our lives, don’t experience a singular call.  I think that God is always calling us to new circumstances and new experiences.  The call to where you are right now wouldn’t have been the right call 15 years ago, and who knows where God is going to call you 15 years from now!  Our life of discipleship is one of continually listening for God’s call, and following to seek other seas.

 

The same is true for us collectively, as the church.  We aren’t a static place where we do things this way because we’ve always done it this way.  Together, we are always listening to where God is calling us to next.  Whenever we are living God’s love in new ways, we are exploring those new seas.  Looking back on the recent history, there was the call to become Two Rivers Pastoral Charge, to share the ministry of the church together with the other churches.  There was the call to expand Youth and Young Family Ministry, recognizing that our children aren’t the future of the church but are part of the present church.  There was the call to support a refugee family as they moved to New Brunswick.  There was the call to become an Affirming Ministry, celebrating the blessedness and equality of all people.

 

And so today, I ponder where God is going to call us next.  What new oceans and seas are we going to be called to explore next?  Where are we going to be called to share God’s love next?

 

These new oceans that we are called to – they don’t necessarily require us to leave our homes and our families behind, the way that Peter, James, and John did.  For whenever we are able to tell someone, “You are loved.  God loves you.  We love you.  You are beautifully created in God’s image.” – then we are expanding the reach of God’s love and exploring new seas.

 

And so I ask again – what other seas are you being called to seek?  And what new seas is our church being called to seek?  Where is God calling us to next?  Where and to whom does God want us to proclaim a message of love and caring?

 

For love really is the bottom line.  We know that we are loved by God; and we are called to love the world.  It’s as simple as that.  Through our words and through our actions – even if we never leave our home – we are called to continually seek other seas.  And may God equip us for the journey!  Amen.

 

 

 

“Sunrise on the Sea of Galilee”

Photo Credit: steven van on flickr

CC BY 2.0

"Will Your Anchor Hold" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

Sunday August 14, 2022

Scripture:  Romans 8:28-39

 

 

This week I’ve been thinking about anchors.  I’m sure that there are people here who have much more experiences with anchors than I do.  For me, my strongest anchor memory is going fishing with my father at the cottage when I was little.  We would get up early in the morning, which probably meant 5:30, and go out in the small boat with its 8-horsepower motor.  We would usually end up in one of the weedy areas, usually near the shore or near a swamp or near one of the rockpiles in the lake; and when we got there, Dad would drop a small anchor overboard to keep us from drifting away from where he hoped the fish were hanging out.

 

Those early mornings at the cottage, it was usually pretty calm on the lake.  If it was windy or stormy, there’s no way Dad would have taken us out – we would have stayed in our cozy beds instead.

 

And so the images from our hymn this week, “Will your Anchor Hold,” don’t really resonate with me and my experiences of anchors.  I’ve never been out in a boat in a storm where I’ve had to trust in an anchor to keep us from being set adrift.  I’ve never heard the cables straining as the breakers and billows try to tear us away from the rock that we are tied to.

 

Generally speaking, the larger the boat, the heavier the anchor needs to be to hold it in place, but anchors aren’t failproof.  Even the heaviest anchor can let go if a single link in the chain breaks.  And even the newest and best anchor can drag across the ocean floor if the storm is strong enough, and the boat can be blown either out to sea or onto the rocks.

 

And so the question that this song asks us – will your anchor hold? – is a valid one; though it isn’t talking about literal storms but rather metaphorical ones.  The storm of grief.  The storm of fear.  The storm of anger.  The storm of injustice.  The storm of oppression.  Will your anchor hold through these storms, or will you be blown out to sea or onto the rocks?

 

And the refrain promises us that we do have an anchor that keeps our souls steadfast and sure while the billows roll.  We are fastened to the rock which cannot move because we are grounded firm and deep in the Saviour’s love.

 

God’s love is the thing that anchors us through these storms.  This is a hymn about faith, about trust, about knowing that this love will keep us safe and secure no matter what storms come our way.

 

As the apostle Paul wrote to the church in Rome:  “For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation – not a single storm of life – will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  This is the faith that anchors us.

 

It is a very powerful metaphor, this anchor.  We are tethered to God and to God’s love, and there is no storm that can ever break that connection.

 

But as I thought about anchors this week, I started to have some questions.  After all, it was only last Sunday with the hymn, “My Love Colours Outside the Lines” that we talked about stepping out of the safety of the boatand in to the storm, to take the risk of walking on water despite the very real risk of drowning.

 

I had these two beloved hymns, with their seemingly-contradictory messages dancing in my brain this week.  How can I reconcile the call that God gives us to dare to risk for the sake of love, to dare to step out of the boat and in to the storm; with our need to be anchored to a place of safety and security during the storm?

 

The anchor in this hymn is a metaphor, and all metaphors eventually break down.  If you remember back to your English classes, a metaphor is both “like” and “not like.” Think, for example, of the song, “You are My Sunshine” – that whole song is an extended metaphor. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey.”  The beloved being sung to is the singer’s sunshine, bringing light, bringing warmth, bringing joy.  But the metaphor breaks down because the beloved isn’t literally a flaming ball of gas.  Like and not like.

 

My faith is an anchor – it keeps me secure in the storm, it keeps me from being tossed this way and that.  It keeps me tethered to God.  But the metaphor breaks down because my faith isn’t literally made of iron, but also because my faith isn’t static.  I don’t stay in one place in my faith.

 

Our faith is a journey.  I’m not in the same place now as I was 10 years ago, or 20 years ago.  The Holy Spirit has blown me into all sorts of new places, has nudged me to step out from the safety of the boat to walk on water, and has given me opportunities to let my love colour outside the line.

 

And yet at every point along the journey of faith, God is with us.  There is power in that image of an anchor, as long as we don’t let it limit our growth.

 

I wonder if there is a different metaphor that we might use here.  Something that conveys the security of an anchor, but that leaves room for growth?  I love that idea of a dynamic tethering to God – our connection to God and to God’s love can never be broken – neither death nor life nor powers nor rulers nor things present nor things to come can ever separate us from God and from God’s love.  That connection can never be broken; and yet it is a dynamic connection – one that allows for movement and for growth, one that we know is still there when we step out into the storm and walk on water.

 

I wonder what metaphor might convey the steadfast security of an anchor with the dynamic faith to walk on water?  I would love to hear your ideas or suggestions!  Maybe something like a mountain climbers carabiner – keeping the climber safe and secure and tethered to their supports, even as they scale a rocky face.  “Will your carabiner hold on the mountain face?”

 

But sometimes a single metaphor isn’t enough – often holding many images together can paint a better picture of what we are trying to describe.  God is the anchor; God is the rock; God is the wind; God is the boat; God is the rudder; God is the sail; God is the compass; God is our companion in the boat.  God is.

 

And our faith is an anchor, tethering us to God, even as God is blowing us to new places.  And nothing can ever break that connection.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

 

 

“Will your anchor hold?”

Image Credit

CC BY 2.0

"My Love Colours Outside the Lines" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

August 7, 2022

Scripture:  Matthew 14:22-33

 

 

Peter, Peter, Peter. What can I say about Peter?!  He was the first disciple that Jesus called, along with his brother Andrew and another set of brothers, James and John – all of them fishermen on the Sea of Galilee.  He was part of Jesus’s inner, inner circle – one of Jesus’s closest friends and disciples.  He made extravagant promises, promising to follow Jesus wherever he might go, even to death itself, but then the very next day he denied three times that he knew Jesus.  Peter was the very first person to name Jesus as the Messiah, the Christ, the Anointed One; but then right away tried to stop Jesus from talking about his death, causing Jesus to utter those famous (or infamous) words to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan.”  Jesus called Peter a rock, and said that upon the foundation of this rock would be built the entire church.  And after Jesus’s death, Peter was, indeed, one of the leaders in the early church, preaching to crowds, healing people, and leading the church through a time of rapid growth and expansion throughout the known world.

 

With all that we are told about Peter, I get the sense that he probably had a pretty big personality.  I get the sense that he was the sort of person who would rush headlong into things without thinking them all the way through, the sort of person with no filter who would blurt out the first thing that popped into his mind.  Do and say first, then think later.  I wouldn’t be surprised if there are at least one or two people here today who can relate to Peter!

 

As an introvert though, I don’t relate to Peter.  I tend to think things through in 50 different ways before doing or saying them.  Overthinking can be my downfall, for all of the missed opportunities.  Add in a dose of social anxiety, and I am usually the last person to rush into things – new things, new experiences, new people can make me nervous.

 

In today’s story, we get to see Peter in all of his Peter-ness.  The disciples are in a boat, part-way across the water, being battered by a storm with wind and with waves; when all of a sudden they see Jesus walking across the surface of the water coming towards them.  They are afraid – is this a ghost?  Surely no mere human would be able to walk on the water.  But Jesus reassures them – “Take heart; have courage; it’s just me; don’t be afraid.”

 

In to the conversation jumps Peter.  He says, “OK Jesus – if it’s really you, tell me to get out of the boat and walk on the water like you.”  Surely this has to be Peter’s impulsiveness at play here!  Surely he hasn’t taken the time to think this through.  Even though he was a fisherman, it is highly unlikely that he knew how to swim, and we are still many centuries away from lifejackets and PFDs.  And in the worldview of that time and place, the water was the place of chaos, of evil, of monsters and demons.  If Peter had thought through what he was saying, would he ever tell Jesus to tell him to get out of the boat in the middle of the lake in the middle of a storm?!

 

But impulsive Peter does just that.  And Jesus calls him out of the boat.  And wouldn’t you know, Peter starts walking across the surface of the water towards Jesus.

 

But as soon as his mind slows down, as soon as he starts to think about it, as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, then he starts to sink.  It’s that moment when a child is learning how to ride a bicycle – the adult has let go of the seat and they are riding on their own, but as soon as they realize they are riding on their own, they panic and fall.

 

Peter begins to sink; he cries out to Jesus to save him; Jesus reaches out his hand, and pulls Peter to safety.  And as he does so, Jesus says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

 

I hear the voice of a parent hear, teaching their child to ride a bicycle – you have to trust yourself, you can do this, you ARE doing this!

 

It’s a great story, but I’m not Peter, I’m not in a boat in a storm on the Sea of Galilee, so what might we be able to take away from this story?

 

An easy, and maybe trite answer might be to keep our eyes on Jesus.  Whatever we are doing, we should keep our whole focus on Jesus, because it was only when Peter lost that focus that he began to sink.  Let’s not give Jesus cause to say to us, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”

 

That is an easy take-away from this story, but it doesn't quite sit with me, at least not today, not this week. If I wanted to go a little deeper, I might say that we all need - or at least I need - a little more Peter in us, in me.  After all, Peter is the only one who dared to risk stepping over the gunwales of the boat that day.  Peter is the only one who dared to risk walking on water, and even though he began to sink, the other disciples didn’t even get that far.

 

This is a hard lesson for me to hear.  Like I said, I am an over-thinker who tends to be happiest with routine and same old / same old.  I need have a bit more Peter in me.  I sometimes need to risk stepping out from the safety of the boat into the risky unknown.

 

One thing that I have learned in my life is that the more reluctant, the more hesitant I am about a new experience, the better the payoff will be in terms of joy and friendship.  I’ve had to learn to push myself out of the boat into the unknown.

 

I think of yesterday’s Pride Parade in Saint John.  It would have been a whole lot easier for me to have said, forget it, I’d rather spend my Saturday at home with my cats and a book; but instead, because our group from Two Rivers was willing to step out of the boat and take a risk in proclaiming the expansiveness of God’s love, to take a risk in proclaiming that all people are created in God’s image – because we were willing to take that risk, our afternoon was filled with joy and with love.

 

And I think that love is the bottom line.  We aren’t stepping out of the boat to show off – look at us, look at what we can do.  As a church, we are called to step out of the boat for the sake of love.  We are called to follow Jesus’s voice, to take risks, for the sake of proclaiming a message of love and for the sake of increasing the love in the world.

 

And I know that we are supposed to be exploring the theology of our favourite hymns this summer, and I promise you that I’m getting there.  “My Love Colours Outside the Lines.”  We are called to love in new ways and in new places.  We’re called to walk beyond the boundaries where we’ve never been before – in love.  As the powerful chorus reminds us – “We’ll never walk on water, if we’re not prepared to drown; and we’ll never move the gravestones if we’re not prepared to die.”

 

We have to be prepared to take these risks – to love boldly and expansively in the way that Jesus calls us to love.  And then… then our love will be colouring outside of the lines.  And may it be so.  Amen.

 

 

Saint John Pride Parade – August 6, 2022 - so much joy!

“Created in God’s Image”

"Here I Am, Lord" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

August 31, 2022

Scripture:  1 Samuel 3:1-10

 

Have you ever heard God calling your name in the middle of the night the way that Samuel did?

 

I know that it is possible – I know that there are people who, like Samuel, have a direct call from God, and who are able to answer back, “Here I am, Lord.”  But while I have experienced the overwhelming love of the Divine embracing me, I have never heard with my ears God speaking my name.

 

But just because I have never heard God speaking my name doesn’t mean that God hasn’t called me – God is able to call us in so many more ways than just words.  God is able to call us through planting a thought or a feeling in us that we can’t shake – a thought that we can test by running it past other people to make sure that it truly does come from God.  God is able to call us through the words of other people – maybe someone has tapped you on the shoulder (literally or figuratively) and said to you, I think that you would be a good person to serve in this ministry of the church.  God is able to call us through words that we read, or a song that we hear, or a picture that we see, or through the glory of God’s creation.

 

I think that there are maybe as many different ways for God to call us, as there are people who are called.

 

Today we heard Samuel’s call story.  Samuel was the much longed for, first-born child of Hannah.  Hannah had prayed night and day for a child, and had promised God that when her child was born, she would dedicate this child to God.  And so it was that Samuel was born, and when he was still a young child, Samuel was sent off to live with Eli, the priest, in order to learn how to serve God.

 

Jewish tradition has it that Samuel was 12 years old when God called him in the middle of the night.  Three times, God called out, “Samuel, Samuel!” and three times Samuel thought that it was Eli, the priest calling him.  Three times Samuel went running to Eli, crying out, “Here I am!”  Finally Eli clued in to what was happening, and told Samuel – it isn’t me who is calling to you, it is God.

 

And so the fourth time he heard his name being called, Samuel stayed in his room and said to God, “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

 

This story of Samuel’s call is only the beginning of his story.  Samuel would go on to be a leader of the people, as well as a king-maker, anointing Saul as the first king of Israel and Judah, while warning the people that they didn’t want a king with absolute power, and there should be some checks and balances in place to make sure that God was above even the king.

 

All of us are called in different ways, and all of us are called to different tasks.  Not all of us are called to be prophets and king-makers the way Samuel was called… thank goodness!  But God needs all of us, each with our own individual calling, each with our own little piece of God’s overall work, so that the whole work of loving the world can be done.

 

This week’s hymn, “Here I Am, Lord,” was written in 1979 when Dan Schutte was asked to compose, on very short notice, a song for the ordination service of a deacon.  It can be a divisive song – some people really don’t like it, while others find it deeply meaningful – but this spring when I did the favourite hymn survey here at Two Rivers, it came out on top as the clear number one favourite around our churches!

 

It is a hymn with an interesting structure.  In each of the three verses, we are singing from God’s perspective – that is one of the things that makes some people very uncomfortable singing this hymn, for who are we, as mere human beings, to sing for God?  But then each time the chorus comes in, we are singing our human response to God.  It is almost a call-and-response structure – God is calling us in the verses, and we respond in the chorus.

 

The words in the verses, the promises of God – they are beautiful to read.  God promises to hear us; God promises to shine a light into all of the shadows of our lives; God promises to be with us in our pain, helping us to carry our pain and sorrows; God promises to feed all people; God promises healing.

 

And God is able to do this because each one of us answers “Here I Am” when God calls us.  God calls each of us to do a small part of God’s overall work; and with each one of us doing our small part, all of the promises that God makes to us can be fulfilled.

 

We are all called.  We are all called to be part of the body of Christ – the literal hands and feet of Christ – and then we share in the work of Christ – the work of reflecting light into the shadows; the work of accompanying others through their pain and sorrows; the work of feeding the world; the work of healing.

 

When we hear God calling our name, in whatever way God calls you, and when we say, “Here I Am, Lord,” then we join Samuel, and all of the other people God has called across time and across distance, to be the hands and feet of God in our world.

 

And so the question I leave you to ponder this week is – what part of the work is God calling you to?  Where have you heard God’s voice calling in the night or in the daytime?  And where in God’s world are you being sent to serve?

 

And may the Holy Spirit open the ears of your heart to hear your call, accompany you, and equip you for this work always!  Amen.

 

 

“The Call to Samuel” – Frank Wesley

Image Used with Permission

"How Great Thou Art" (sermon)

Two Rivers Pastoral Charge

Sunday July 24, 2022

Scripture:  Psalm 104:1-33

 

 

Have you ever had a moment when you have been overwhelmed by the greatness, the goodness, the vastness of God’s creation?  In my own life, I call these “Oh, wow” moments.

 

I think of a time on a canoe trip when I was sitting at the edge of the water in the late afternoon, watching the sunshine dance on the waves, listening to the wind singing in the pine needles, looking for minnows, crayfish, or larger fish swimming in the shallows.  I felt like I was part of this great big web of creation.  My friend, who was further away from the shore called down and asked if I was reading, and I replied, no, I’m simply being.

 

Another time I was skiing out in BC, and I paused as I was about to drop into a bowl.  I had a panoramic view of the mountains all around me – snow and rock – and I felt so miniscule, like a tiny insect about to make my way across a snowy expanse.

 

21 years ago, I had the opportunity to visit Egypt and Palestine; and in the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt, some of us climbed up Mount Sinai, the rocky mountain in the desert where Moses went to chat with God.  We climbed up to watch the sunset, which was spectacular, but when you watch the sun set from the top of the mountain, that means that you are climbing down the mountain in the dark.  There in the middle of the desert with no light pollution, I have never seen so many stars as I did that night.  It was hard to keep myself from walking off the edge of the path, as I kept tilting my head to look upwards.  If the sunset was spectacular, the walk down the mountain was awe-inspiring, and that is the part of the day that left the deepest impression on me.

 

Earlier this week, in my mid-week e-mail message, I shared one of my favourite Calvin and Hobbes cartoons.  In the first panel, Calvin is looking up at the night sky, with the vastness of stars that are there.  In the second panel, he screams, “I’m significant!”  In the third panel, he is again gazing up at the stars.  And in the fourth panel, he whispers, “screamed the dust speck.”

 

Our hymn this week is “How Great Thou Art” and it is another hymn with a story!  I didn’t know that this hymn started its life as a Swedish poem that was then set to a Swedish folk song.  Carl Boberg was walking home one evening when he had one of those experiences that I call “Oh, wow” moments.  He was walking home from church one evening, listening to the church bells, when a sudden and violent storm overtook him – thunder and lighting and wind.  The storm left as quickly as it had arrived, a rainbow appeared, the water in the bay was like a mirror, a thrush began to sing, and the church bells were still tolling off in the distance.

 

In awe of what God could do and what God had created, he wrote a 9-verse poem praising and glorifying God.

 

When the song was later translated into English, our first two verses capture the language and the spirit of that original poem – awe and praise.  The third and fourth verses were added on by the translator, Stuart Hine, as teaching verses when he was working as a missionary.  But for today, I want to focus on the first two verses of the hymn.

 

I chose to pair this hymn with Psalm 104 this week, because they are both songs of praise – praising God as the creator and source of all, praising God for how God moves and works in creation, praising God for God’s care of creation.

 

If you are of a certain generation, you may know this song best as the Billy Graham hymn, since the evangelist Billy Graham usually included it in his gatherings.  The reason why he liked this hymn is because it glorifies God – it turns our eyes away from ourselves and towards God.  He called it a God-honouring song.

 

I might expand on this to say that not only does the song turn our eyes towards God, but the glory of God’s creation can also turn our eyes towards God – the subject of the song, even without the song to remind us, turns us towards God.  That sense of awe and wonder that are evoked by the water or by the wind or by the mountains or by the stars – this awe points us towards God, for what kind of a majestic God could create all of this?!

 

It is almost like all of creation is a great artistic masterpiece; and if we know to look for it, we can see the artist’s signature all over it.  Or to put it less poetically, the Holy Spirit, the part of God who is living and moving and working in creation, is present in every molecule, every atom, every sub-atomic particle of creation; and the Holy Spirit working in us allows us to recognize the Holy Spirit’s presence within the rest of creation.

 

We don’t worship creation itself – creation points us back to the Creator.  But then the Creator and Source of all that is calls us to care for and tend creation, to be good stewards of creation.  And so when we care for God’s creation, our care for creation becomes one way that we can worship or honour God, the Creator.

 

We aren’t the centre of creation, the centre of the universe.  Instead, we are a part of an intricate web of creation, a community of creation – all of us created by God.  Other parts of creation help us to see God more clearly; and when we live with respect in other parts of creation, when we care for the things that God has created, then we are living as God wants us to live.  Every choice that we make that keeps the air and the rivers and the ground clean is an act of worship.  Every action that we take that allows the trees and the rocks and the fish to exist and thrive as God created them to is an act of worship.  Every decision that we make that allows creation to be and exist in harmony is an act of worship.

 

I started with a Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, so let me end with a different one.  This time, Calvin the child and Hobbes the tiger are outside together at night, looking up at the stars.  Calvin says, “If people sat outside and looked at the stars each night, I’ll bet they’d live a lot differently.”  Hobbes asks, “How so.”  Calvin replies, “Well, when you look into infinity, you realize that there are more important things than what people do all day.”

 

The punch line in the final panel has Hobbes observing wryly, “We spent our day looking under rocks in the creek,” and Calvin retorting, “I mean other people.”  I know that this was intended to be funny, contrasting the big questions of the universe with the trivialness, the banality of looking under rocks in the creek; but really, when it comes right down to it, what could be more important than gazing on the awesome wonder of God, whether you find the awesome wonder of God in the stars and the galaxies, or whether you find the awesome wonder of God underneath the rocks in the creek.

 

And when we notice the divine presence, our souls will sing out, “How great thou art, God of all Creation!”

 

 

Photo Credit:  LauraMarie Piotrowicz

She captioned this picture “Kate just being”