Monthly Archives: October 2023

Hold the middle, hold the tension

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A Pentecostal minister, an Orthodox priest, an Anglican reverend, a Methodist pastor, a Mennonite leader, a Roman Catholic Cardinal and a Lutheran walked into a … sounds like the beginning of a bad joke. Or a good one!

No joke. They all walked together into an auditorium in front of hundreds of Lutherans at the 13th Assembly of the Lutheran World Federation last month in Krakow Poland. I was there. And I listened carefully as each leader from their respective church reflected on the meaning of grace – a bedrock theme for Lutherans, especially.

Today is Reformation Sunday. Traditionally this day has been celebrated by Lutherans as a victory day for the triumph of Lutheranism, the history of Martin Luther and the reformers, against the abuses of the Roman Catholic Church in 16th century.

In my youth especially this celebration heightened for me the divisions between Christian denominations, especially vis-à-vis the Roman Catholics. We were the winners. We were right. They were wrong. We had the truth. They did not.

In this culture of divisiveness, often leading to violence, the Protestant Reformation unfortunately fanned the flames of hatred even among Christians, to this day. We only have the historical record in Europe to prove that, as well as local Ottawa Valley stories to expose the depth of the division between Protestants and Catholics.[1]

But we’ve come a long way in over five hundred years, including vis-à-vis Roman Catholics. Are there still differences? Yes, to be sure. But theologically, the doctrine of justification by grace is something most Christians agree on today. The Lutheran Church has matured greatly over the centuries—and I would argue for the better. We are no longer a 16th century church.

All the ecumenical guests at the LWF Assembly last month—the Mennonite, Methodist, Anglican, Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Pentecostal—spoke passionately about grace, and God’s relationship with us. What did the General Secretary[2] of the Lutheran World Federation—a PhD scholar herself—say?

She began by citing one of Martin Luther’s famous paradoxes. It is found in On the Freedom of a Christian (1520. Luther wrote, “A Christian is utterly free, lord of all, subject to none. A Christian is utterly dutiful, servant of all, subject to all.” This paradox holds the tension, and joins “lord” and “servant” in one person.

In other words, it’s not just one side of it. It’s not just being “utterly free, lord of all, subject to none” – which is the popular understanding of freedom in this land today, is it not? Freedom in Christ, and in a life of faith, involves holding the tension between “utterly free” on the one hand and “servant of all” on the other. The paradox asks us to consider both/and. And not just slip into an easy either/or fix.

How can we live out this paradox, this tension, in a life of faith today? Recently, Lutheran bishops and leaders made public statements on the war in the Middle East.

In her letter, presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America wrote,

“Dear church, As Lutherans, we are accustomed to holding tension between two truths. Thus the ELCA denounces the egregious acts of Hamas, acts that have led to unspeakable loss of life and hope. At the same time the ELCA denounces the indiscriminate retaliation of Israel against the Palestinian people, both Christian and Muslim.”[3]

A few days ago, our Canadian Lutheran bishops also issued a statement on the Israel-Hamas war. Again, listen to the language of both/and: “We are concerned about the rise in antisemitic and anti-Islamic words and actions in our communities and across the world. We pray that all people of faith may embody peace rather than incite hate. 

They continue, “Please join us in prayer and concern for the region. For those who mourn their dead on both sides of the conflict. For the hostages and their families, afraid for their lives. For those who have been maimed and injured. For those who have lost their homes. For those who have not been able to move to safety. For the opening of a humanitarian corridor into Gaza. For a peaceful solution to this war. That the war may not escalate into neighbouring countries.”[4]

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says, “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”[5] St Paul later taught that “Everyone has sinned.”[6] No one is 100% right in any dispute. And no one is 100% wrong in any dispute. The way forward is learning to hold the tension inside of us, in the world outside of us. And finding a middle ground. Both/And.

Another theme emphasized throughout the LWF Assembly in Poland last month was the Cross of Christ—a central image in Luther’s theology. The cross has two beams, holds the middle between two directions.

Being human and living by faith is neither perfectly consistent—something many of us sitting here likely want—nor is living by faith total chaos—a stance describing much of post-modernism and even atheism.[7] To be a Christian today is to hold the contradictions with God, with Jesus, who held the tension on the cross and thereby showed us the way to new life.

The cross is holding the middle. The cross holds the tension. The world, reality, is neither perfectly consistent nor totally chaotic. We can therefore forgive reality in the world, in humanity, for being what it is. And work for what is right and loving.

There is a cost for holding the contradictions within yourself, to be sure. Things are not always, easily, nor quickly resolved. But the gift, the grace is that nothing is lost. No one is left behind. Nothing is wasted. You belong. They all belong. It all belongs, in the arms of God’s mercy.

In this short Gospel text for Reformation, Jesus says, “continue in my word”. [8]  Other translations—the New King James, among others—have it: “abide in my word”. I like that, too.

“Word” and “Truth”. What are we to make of these loaded statements by Jesus? Elsewhere in John’s Gospel, Jesus says, “I am the truth.”[9] Then, in the first chapter of John’s Gospel—one we will hear in full at Christmas: “The Word became flesh and lived among us … full of grace and truth.”[10] Therefore, as Martin Luther himself emphasized, the “Word” is Jesus. And he is also the “Truth”. Now, read the Gospel for today again substituting “Jesus” wherever the words “truth” and “word” appear.

It’s good to compare translations of the bible. I referred to the New King James Version earlier in comparison to the New Revised Standard Version. Sometimes inspiring insights emerge when you do this. In a recent Indigenous translation of the New Testament, verse 35 is truly illuminating for me: “A slave is not a member of the family and will not always live with the family. But a son of the family always has a home.”[11]

Even when you leave, for whatever reason. Even, on many levels, when life takes you away from home. Even when the journey of faith means going away, far away. You belong.

In Christ, you always have a home. There is always a place for you at the table. No matter your denomination, your religious background, or lack thereof, no matter your starting point—you can always come back and find your home, in Christ Jesus.

[1] In Eganville, Ontario, most Protestants lived on one side of the Bonnechere River and Catholics on the other side. Curiously, and tragically, both Grace Lutheran Church and St James Catholic Church buildings burned down in the 1990s.

[2] The Rev. Dr. Anne Burghardt

[3] Bishop Eaton issues statement on Israel-Hamas war , emphasis mine.

[4] ELCIC bishops issue statement on Israel-Hamas war , emphases mine.

[5] Matthew 9:13

[6] Romans 5:12

[7] Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality (Cincinnati Ohio: St Anthony Messenger Press, 2008), p.204.

[8] John 8:31-36, NRSV

[9] John 14:6

[10] John 1:14

[11] John 8:35, First Nations Version: An Indigenous Translation of the New Testament (Illinois: InterVarsity Press, 2021), p.183

Hold the middle, hold the tension — a sermon for Reformation Sunday 2023 (Rev. Martin Malina)

Church in the trees

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Into relationship (photo by Judith Kierschke, 22 October 2023)

Gathering Song: For the Beauty of the Earth 1                                                                     

  1. For the beauty of the earth, for the beauty of the skies, for the love which from our birth, over and around us lies: Christ our God, to thee we raise, this our sacrifice of praise.
  2. For the beauty of each hour, of the day and of the night, hill and vale and tree and flower, sun and moon and stars of light: Christ, our God, to thee we raise, This our sacrifice of praise.

Welcome & Instruction

As we begin this morning, I welcome you into a moment of silence …. Listen to your breath as you breathe in, And breathe out …. Listen to the wind …. We are connected through the breath of God. Slowly allow yourself to relax into this welcoming place. You belong here with the birches, aspens, pines, spruces, maples, oaks.

When you walk, also listen for the water that nourishes the trees and all that grows in this place. Even though the water is still, it moves mirroring the arteries of blood flowing through your own body.

The trees and the water welcome us because they have not forgotten that we are related, that we come from the same dust and return to the same dust. Take another deep breath of gratitude to acknowledge that our lives are fully dependent on the healthy functioning of these trees, these waters.

We aren’t just meeting in nature; we are entering into relationship with nature. We are already very much part of nature. We are creatures of (not simply in) the natural world.

We are here today to re-member ourselves back where we belong. We are here as an expression of “religion”, which means re (again) and ligio (connection).2

Scriptures about Trees:

“Out of the ground the Lord God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food, the tree of life also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of knowledge of good and evil.” (Genesis 2:9)

“The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like the cedar in Lebanon. They are planted in the courts of our God. In old age they still produce fruit; they are always green and full of sap, showing that the Lord is upright …” (Psalm 92:12-15)

“Sing, O heavens, for the Lord has done it; shout, O depths of the earth; break forth into singing, O mountains, O forest, and every tree in it! …” (Isaiah 44:23)

“On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.” (Revelation 22:2)

Song: All Things Bright and Beautiful3                                                                         

Refrain:           All things bright and beautiful, all creatures great and small. All things wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all.

  1. Each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings, God made their glowing colors, God made their tiny wings.        Refrain
  2. The purple-headed mountains, the river running by, the sunset and the morning that brightens up the sky.                                    Refrain
  3. The cold wind in the winter, the pleasant summer sun, the ripe fruits in the garden, God made them every one.               Refrain
  4. God gave us eyes to see them, and lips that we might tell, how great is God Almighty, who has made all things well.     Refrain

Prayer for the journey:

Forgive our arrogance, Creator God, when we place ourselves at the center of your universe. Forgive us when we forget our place in creation. Renew your creation, O God. Sustain the earth and seas, the trees and all that lives in them. Kindle in us a reverent awe for all creatures great and small, so we may, in your mercy, love your creatures and care for life in all its forms. Amen.

Questions for the journey:

  1. What other stories or poems from the bible mention trees? What message do the trees convey from God? In the teaching of Jesus?
  2. Are the trees singing? What song are they singing – Praise? Lament? What do the trees tell you, today, as you walk in this wetland forest?
  3. Who makes home among the branches of the trees? How do the trees provide for the needs of other living creatures?
  4. What word do you hear in your own life as you pray and walk among the trees today: An invitation to begin a journey of faith? A word that challenges your beliefs? A call to confession? A word of encouragement along life’s journey?
  5. How does the bad weather today represent or reflect the way you sometimes respond to the storms in your life? Do you ‘weather the storm’, embrace it, go into it? To what degree do you seek to avoid and hide from the storms? What is better?

Rules for the path:

  1. You might be walking near someone you do not know. We are meeting friends from another congregation on this walk. If appropriate, introduce your name and remember to look in their eyes.
  2. Respect another’s physical space and need for silence. Our journey of faith is ours to make. We aren’t walking someone else’s path. Other’s may be on a similar journey but walking at their own pace and in their own way. Pay attention to the physical cues others give for what they need on this walk.
  3. Follow the leaders and listen to instructions they give.

Closing Prayer: (Our Father ….) In the words Jesus taught us, and in the many languages of our hearts, let us pray ….

On the Jack Pine Trail, Ottawa (photos by Judith Kierschke, 22 October 2023)
  1. Evangelical Lutheran Worship, Pew Edition (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2006) Hymn #879 ↩︎
  2. Victoria Loorz, Church of the Wild: How Nature Invites Us into the Sacred (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2021), p.206 ↩︎
  3. With One Voice: A Lutheran Resource for Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1995) Hymn #767 ↩︎

Is grace too much?

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A feast of grace (photo by Martin Malina 23 September 2023, Mikołow, Poland)

A couple invited some people to dinner. At the table, the wife turned to their six-year old daughter and said, “Would you like to say the blessing?”

“I wouldn’t know what to say,” the girl replied.

“Just say what you hear Mommy say,”, the wife answered.

The daughter bowed her head and said, “Lord, why on earth did I invite all these people to dinner?”

In Matthew’s version of the Gospel story about the wedding banquet, the invited guests don’t come.[1] Why not? Who wouldn’t want to go to a wedding reception that includes a five-star dining experience? The King even sends out his staff to cajole those invited to show up. But to no avail.

They make excuses not to come. In our terms, they’re about being married, being busy, having a job or occupation. You can fill in the blanks. These are not bad things, but just “busyness with many things.”[2] Things we can control, direct and of which we can manage outcomes. Things we might prefer, actually, compared to the ambiguous uncertainties in the realm of grace.

Could it be the invited guests know deep down that when they respond to the King’s invitation, they will have to change? Could it be that when we enter the realm of grace, we also enter the realm of risk-taking, vulnerability? Could it be that grace is too much? Too hard?

The Gospel story of the wedding banquet throws all kinds of theological conundrums onto our path. Even when the King shifts gears and invites everybody and anybody, “good and bad”, we encounter an unwelcomed plot twist: One unfortunate guest who accepts the invitation, makes a mistake. He doesn’t put on the appropriate coat for the occasion and suffers the dire consequence.

Can grace, freely given, be too much for us to handle? And, so, it’s easier to say ‘no’.

The marvelous short story, “Babette’s Feast”, was made into an award-winning foreign film. It is set in a tiny village on the coast of Denmark. The people there are good people, but they’re living inside an isolated and lonely town, a sort of “sparse and sour” place.[3]

It’s a little world of laws and pettiness and religious rigor where the main characters—two elderly, spinster daughters of a deceased Lutheran minister—live a pretty Spartan lifestyle. They eat the same food every day, the same bowl of soup and the same codfish. They dutifully share their food with the disadvantaged, carrying on a ministry of their father. In fact, ‘joyless duty’ might be the key theme in their lives.

The movie version depicts a dark and cloudy, not-so-inviting environment. The place is bland, the food is bland, and it’s all in service of some sense of obligation. They’re not bad people. It’s just that you get the sense that deep down there is something important missing. They live a not-so-desirable life, not referring to material things so much as their spirit, their attitude.

Into this village comes Babette, a French woman, a cook, it turns out, who has lost her family in the revolutionary war in France. She runs away from France to save her own life and is sent by a friend to these sisters. She offers to be the sisters’ cook, in return for room and board. For fourteen years she dutifully cooks ale-bread soup and codfish, every day, just as the sisters wish. Because that’s what they like.

Then, Babette wins the lottery, ten thousand francs! After some negotiation, she talks the sisters into allowing her to prepare a fine banquet to celebrate their deceased father’s one hundredth anniversary. First, the sisters ask what kind of food she would serve. Babette replies that she wants to give them a French dinner, the way they eat in France.

They have a major meeting, among the remnants of their father’s Puritanical flock, to see whether they even want a French dinner. There’s also a lot of talk about whether or not they can allow alcohol, and the sisters, to humour their faithful Babette, go along with it. But they resolve to themselves only to fake their enjoyment of it. “It will be as if we did not taste it,” they promise.

Course after course, Babette lays on the table an enormous, beautiful, sumptuous feast. The guests’ eyes just widen, but as they drink a little bit more and more of the wine, they loosen up.

One of the guests, a general, is visiting his aunt, a member of the congregation. The general, who had eaten at the finest tables, knows better than anyone present the quality of the feast that he is experiencing.

The general is a man who has seen the larger world. He has been hurt, has gone through success and failure. He had obtained everything that he had striven for in life at this point. He was admired and envied by everyone. The general was a moral person, a good person, loyal to the king, loyal to his wife and friends. He was a good example to everyone in the village.

But as the conversations open up, he confesses that he was not altogether happy. Something was wrong somewhere. During his stay in the village, he is carefully feeling his mental self all over as one feels a finger to determine the place of a deep-seated, invisible thorn. And still, he had not yet put his proverbial finger on it.

Now, after the sixth course all the guests are starting to forgive one another, for in the years since the pastor’s death they have degraded into petty rivalries. Into the fourth glass of wine, they actually start enjoying it all, laughing and relaxing even into the unsolvable mysteries of life. They take pleasure in the gift of the feast despite all that has troubled them. They learn, finally, to enjoy this banquet that they never thought they could possibly enjoy. It was a world into which no one had ever before invited them.

“Babette’s Feast” first describes religion without grace. Of course, Lutherans are supposed to be the very ones who championed grace – but even those pious, Norwegian Lutherans could forget. Just prior to Babette’s feast, their Christianity had been a resented banquet, where as Christians “they were more afraid of the Risen Christ than even the crucified one.”

Grace is always too much.

At the end of Babette’s feast, the general stands up to give a speech. He begins by quoting the Psalms, “Mercy and truth have met, righteousness and bliss have kissed.”[4] Notice that often we would consider mercy and truth as opposites. Righteousness and bliss are supposed to be opposites, too, no?

What the general is getting at is acknowledging something beautiful that happened during the feast—great opposites overcoming their opposition and kissing one another, embracing one another. By love and grace, the world full of contradiction, tension and opposites is made one.

Grace is a free gift from God, yes. Yet, the gift places upon us a choice, a choice to respond and live through that gift. We will not resolve anything, ever. In the end, it is the King in the Gospel story who makes the final judgements.

In the end, it is God’s mercy and God’s truth that come together, in Christ’s love for us all. God invites each of us into a life of grace, abundance and joy. And no matter how we respond—since responding somehow, we will—God will continue to send, won’t stop sending, us invitations to attend a gracious meal, praying us to accept.

[1] Matthew 22:1-14

[2] Richard Rohr, Things Hidden: Scripture as Spirituality (Ohio: St Anthony Messenger Press, 2008), p.175.

[3] Rohr, ibid., p.180-183.

[4] Psalm 85:10 King James Version

Is Grace Too Much? (A sermon for Pentecost 20A by Rev. Martin Malina

Baptismal Thanksgiving

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9You visit the earth and water it abundantly; you make it very plenteous; the river of God is full of water. (Psalm 65)

Last month, there was unprecedented flooding in eastern Libya from cyclone Daniel which roared across the Mediterranean. In Libya alone, thousands are missing and feared dead.

Where in some places the earth is arid and in desperate need of water, so many regions are being inundated with deadly amounts of too much water.

Water is like thanksgiving. It’s not just about one weekend in October to call to mind all those things for which we ought to be thankful for. It’s not even about being thankful only when we feel like it, or when conditions in our lives warrant it, or when we pretend to be.

Psalm 65 comes from a section in this book of the bible that are mostly laments, or prayers of anguish and petition for help in the midst of untold suffering. Nearly a third of all the Psalms are laments. And we sing Psalm 65 in the midst of all these laments.

The challenge before us is to consider thanksgiving in the midst of all that life brings. Our practice of thanksgiving may be a genuine response to the good in our lives, yes. But, as Diana Butler Bass suggests in her book on gratitude, thanksgiving is an ethic.[1] And therefore, must be a discipline. Something we work at despite the circumstances of our lives.

Thanksgiving is about practising gratitude in the moment. So, the practice of thanksgiving is not about some over-arching, theoretical conclusion about one’s life—whether it’s good or bad, or whether things have gone your way, or not. It’s not a one-time public observance as much as it is a quiet, continuous attitude towards life in general.

It’s more about learning to recognize each moment, good and bad, as holding the promise and potential of God’s loving presence. Thanksgiving is about paying attention to the grace of God now. And leaving everything else—thoughts, biases, prejudices, pre-conceived notions—leaving all that behind to embrace what is, without judgement.

There’s nothing better than being submerged in cold water to bring you into the present moment. What is the first thing you recognize when someone emerges out of the water after a surprisingly refreshing and perhaps unexpected dip: Their eyes are wide open. There’s no other place your mind, body, and spirit can be when the impact of water wakes you up to the moment.

Baptism is about water. Our tradition has been these tiny fonts. But Martin Luther—the great reformer of the 16th century—preferred full immersion. That was his bias, and for good reason: The whole body is involved, not just the head. Water brings us into the present moment.

There’s a stone baptismal font on the northwestern shore of Lake Galilee that I visited years ago. It dates to around the 5th century. What I like about this font is that the opening is shaped in a cross. This font is also deep enough for someone to be fully immersed in the water.

The baptized would have to sit down in one of the four sections and make the confession of faith before being submerged in the water. The font was in a church right beside seven springs whose water flows strongly, gushing to the surface.[2]

Baptism is one of the two sacraments in the Lutheran Church. The other one is the Holy Communion whose Greek word, “Eucharist”, means the “Great Thanksgiving”. Both sacraments are thanksgivings. We engage God and reality with hearts trained in thanksgiving, facing whatever direction our life has taken us.

The four directions of Indigenous spirituality support this wholistic approach to our work of thanksgiving. For example, in the smudging / sweetgrass ceremony, you pray turning to face all the compass directions: east, south, west, north. And facing each direction one offers a prayer of thanksgiving[3]:

When you face east, you are thankful for all good things that come from the east, typically the gift of the sun and its light and warmth that keeps life going.

When you face south, you give thanks for times of healing and restoration in your life, signified by the warm winds which blow from the south.

When you face west, you give thanks for our ancestors, those who have gone before us, those who have passed beyond the horizon into eternal life; we are all headed west towards the setting sun of our own life.

And finally, when we face north, we give thanks for the gift of wisdom because the north wind is always angry; hard things come from the north, and therefore we are encouraged in the path of discernment and wisdom.

Thanksgiving underlies all the directions of our lives, not just one or the other.

In a life of thanksgiving, we embrace all experiences. We meet all challenges with grace. We are present to each moment, realizing it is all grace. That is thanksgiving. It is a giving it up, a releasing of the heart into the ocean of love and life that holds us all.

American Indigenous theologian Randy Woodley expresses it best. He describes the sacred power of giving oneself over to nature. I can relate, when I’ve gone camping and slept in a tent on the ground, sleeping by the waterside or a river running over rapids nearby:

“Sleeping in the bosom of nature is not the same as sleeping in the safety of one’s own home. Not at all. As you lay your body down to become one with the Earth, reality shifts. In that state, you can sense that God, Creator, is listening to the intentions of your heart. Whatever the mysterious power is behind creation, it softens one’s mind. Great Mystery unscrews the tight lids of the jars of certainty that you hold too tightly, too fiercely. You realize, sometimes even trembling, that something greater than yourself is meeting you.

“There, in the restful unknown world between sleep and wakefulness, you give yourself to those elements, to Spirit, in the kind of vulnerability a newborn to the world must experience.

“As I dozed off into the realm of sacred beauty next to that stream, I listened to how the water responded to each rock, to every branch protruding from the creek bank, and to the swirl of every curve as it “meandered past me and into some other creature’s nap. With each contact, the water had a particular note and registry of sound.

Over the rocks, around the curve, and down the path of its sacred water journey. Sacred sleep. Sacred water. Sacred life.”[4]

It’s okay if you don’t feel thankful this weekend, for whatever reasons and burdens you carry with you. It’s okay, because while you don’t feel it now, you will someday. Religion is never a one-time, one-off, experience. It is something that grows, organically, in your heart through the good and the bad. And there will be times when the gift emerges with joy.

For Thanksgiving is a process, an attitude and a practice. It is a river that continues to flow deep within giving life and love.

[1] Diana Butler Bass, Grateful: The Transformative Power of Giving Thanks (New York: Harper One, 2018)

[2] In a Byzantine church at the Seven Springs of Tabgha. On the four directions in a Christian context, read Alexander John Shaia, Heart and Mind: The Four-Gospel Journey for Radical Transformation, Third Edition (New Mexico: Quadratos, 2021), p.183: “This form of the cross … was the shape that was venerated during the years these gospels were composed and it served–with rare exception–as the shape of the baptistry into the seventh century.”

[3] Raymond Aldred & Matthew Anderson, Our Home and Treaty Land: Walking our Creation Story (Kelowna BC: Wood Lake Publishing, 2022), p.28-29.

[4] Randy Woodley, Becoming Rooted: One Hundred Days of Reconnecting with Sacred Earth (Minneapolis: Broadleaf Books, 2022), p.16.

Baptismal thanksgiving — a sermon for Thanksgiving Day Canada by Rev. Martin Malina