As many of you know, I love to paddle in my kayak and/or canoe, mostly recreationally and on flat water. If there is any one factor, in my experience, that affects how I enjoy the paddle, it is wind speed. In fact, normally I would avoid getting out on the water if wind speeds are gusting over 20 km/h.

This past Spring and Summer I have not been able to get out as often as I usually do. My extra course work has kept me busy during any free time I have.

So, during the latter part of my vacation at the end of August when there was correspondingly a break between semesters, I took full advantage and resolved to get out in my kayak as often as possible.

I was hoping for calm winds and sunny skies, of course.

But when Jessica and I arrived at our riverside camp site on the first day of our camping trip, it was sunny but, oh, it was gusting something fierce. I looked out over the bay in the Ottawa River and noticed the slightly cresting whitecaps. Borderline. But, it was my first opportunity to get out on the water all summer long. How could I not?

With hat strapped securely on my head and uncertainty and fear swirling in my gut, I launched my kayak into the choppy waters and headlong into the stiff breeze. Prayers for safety and confession of fear accompanied me on my way into the water. But I was also curious to test my abilities that had lay dormant for a year.

Wind and Spirit are the same word in both Hebrew – the language of the Old/First Testament – and Greek – the original language of the New Testament (Lutherans Connect, 2024). So, what went through my mind as I tumbled into my tiny vessel was that there surely must be something I can learn from being vulnerable to the wind. What could the wind teach me about the Spirit of God?

There are other places in the world where the winds blow constantly and at fierce velocities. Slope Point, on the southernmost tip of New Zealand, is a rocky shoreline made almost inhabitable by high-powered winds, having soared some 3200 kms across the Antarctic Ocean uninterrupted (Lutherans Connect, 2024). The winds are so strong it is possible to become almost airborne when you lean into it and jump.

The wind, of course, can be dangerous for its unpredictability, uncontrollability and its destructive potential. That, too, went through my mind as I struggled to keep my kayak upright and moving in tandem with wave and wind. I wisely decided not to push it and cross the river to the other side that first time out. Rather, I stayed in the relative safety of the bay. I was getting the hang of it by focusing on my paddling and keeping an even and steady stroke going.

In the Gospel reading today (Mark 8:27-38), we witness an identity crisis that those who follow Jesus appear to be having. They can’t seem to understand who Jesus is. At best, they skirt around the edges of truth and express different perceptions: Some say John the Baptist, some say Elijah, others, one of the prophets. Who is this Jesus? Peter says, the Messiah.

However, Peter has become accustomed to thinking the Messiah as a wonder-worker with the power to banish every difficulty and suffering (Shaia, 2021). Peter has come to expect Jesus to be a miracle-working Messiah.

In contrast, Jesus’ response is firm in describing God who embraces the path of great trial, conflict and loss. Disciples of Jesus will, consequently, not minimize, evade or divert from the hard realities of life. Jesus tells Peter, in other words, that if he is only looking for a “super-parental divine rescuer” (Shaia, 2021, p. 158), then he has not yet understood the nature of his faith.

God is certainly capable of rescuing us. But God will not always rescue us. Because God has faith in us. God gave us resources and gifts to use and employ. God allows us to use our abilities and capacities including our supports and others for help so we will mature and grow in faith.

Peter is just one example from the bible. There are many others. Read the stories of David from the books of Samuel in the First Testament. David had been chosen as a child already. Yet God did not intervene every time in his life to keep him from making mistakes or taking the occasional wrong turn. God did not rescue him, because God wanted him to mature.

Part of the maturity process, apart from learning from past mistakes, is realizing with joy and thanksgiving the resources, capacities and gifts we have that may have gone unrecognized when the proverbial waters of our lives were once calm and still.

Up until my kayak experience that windy day on the Ottawa River, I had never had a wave actually wash over the deck of my kayak and into the cockpit. I had assumed that if that ever happened, I would be in serious trouble, at risk of capsizing and swamping the boat.

I was wrong.

On that day a large wave struck the side of my boat. While the surge of river water soaked my pants, my little craft stayed true when I just kept my arms moving and paddling through it – left, right, left, right ….

Then I thought of the design of my craft, built near Algonquin Park for these very waters – a stable, wide hull with a skeg, like a rudder, which I could deploy in deeper waters to keep my tracking straight when current and wind assailed me. I had my life jacket on. It was all good! And I was having a blast! I had underestimated my capacities and resources.

Following Jesus is as if we were in a tiny boat on a menacing sea in a great storm. The storm overwhelms our senses. Emotionally we feel completely directionless. What shall we do?

We have only two helpful choices: We can perform the one simple task we have – we can row: left, right, left, right … keep going. And not give up.

And we can pray. Our prayer is first one of surrender. We surrender our previous evasion, avoidance, assumptions and denial tactics when we realize they are not particularly helpful nor relevant in the present circumstances.

Our prayer is then one of trust with full awareness and acceptance of the path ahead. We trust that the journey is long and full. To believe the journey is long and full, I mean that amidst the storms we all face there will be a time when the waters will be still again, and the breeze soft and calm.

A few days later, I indeed experienced the glory, peace and brightness of a paddle in the river when the water was as still as glass. I stayed out for hours. And I thanked God.

References:

Lutherans Connect. (2024, September 9). On the threshold. Centre for Spirituality and Media at Martin Luther University College. https://lconthethreshold.blogspot.com

Shaia, A. J. (2021). Heart and mind: The four-gospel journey for radical transformation (3^rd ed). Quadratos.

Imagine you and a friend standing on one side of a tall brick wall. Your friend peers through a tiny, narrow hole and is able to see what’s on the other side. Your friend notices water cascading down like the way water streams off a roof in a downpour.

“It’s raining,” your friend declares with conviction while looking through his very narrow hole.

“Is it really?” you ask, “Is that the truth?” There’s a ladder leaning against the wall nearby, so you climb up to look over the wall. And what you see paints another picture.

A water pipeline runs along the side of a building and has ruptured just in front of, and slightly above, the tiny hole your friend was peering through. Alas, it isn’t raining after all. But you can understand why your friend thought it was.

It’s now up to you to help your friend understand the truth for themself. Will your friend be willing to change their mind and consider another point of view? Will you help them climb the ladder to see for themself? What will you do if your friend continues to insist and persist in believing it is raining on the other side of the wall?

Now, switch roles. Now, you are the one peering through the hole. You are convinced it is raining. What do you say and what do you do when your friend says otherwise?

I’ve just used a metaphor. What is a metaphor? In the context of faith talk, it is something we encounter in our daily lives that lifts up a meaning for us in relation to the story of faith we receive from the Gospel, the bible and what we have learned in the church. We encounter during the course of daily life people, events, experiences and we observe in nature something that reminds us of the faith story.

Using metaphors in faith talk is appropriate. Jesus taught using parables, talking about mustard seeds, fig trees, lost coins and sheep. Abraham and Joseph dreamt. God told Abraham his descendants would number the stars in the sky. In the Gospel today from John 6, Jesus talks about flesh and bread and blood. Of course, we can’t take any of these metaphors literally. They are images that embody meaning for each of us. Metaphors offer us a way to discover fresh perspectives and new learning to renew our faith. So, here is another metaphor ….

Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes (2024) is a post-apocalyptic film, the fourth movie in the Planet of the Apes franchise. All four movies revolve around the character named Caesar, who is an ape.

Early in the days after a virus wiped out most of humanity, Caesar was instrumental in leading the movement to help apes and humans coexist in peace, living together, sharing the land they inhabited.

Of the humans that survived the virus, most had lost the ability to speak and think intelligently. There were exceptions. One of the main characters in this film, May, is able to speak and is very smart.

The virus had another, unexpected effect: It gave apes the ability to speak, matching an intelligence comparable to what humans once had. Apes are now high functioning communicators.

In this latest film it is Caesar’s legacy which is at stake among the apes who now dominate the world. This movie begins with a dramatic scene of the ape clans burning Caesar’s lifeless body on the funeral pyre. Caesar is now dead. And how will his legacy be preserved?

Proximus Caesar is the tyrannical king of the Coastal Ape Colony, a rogue clan of apes that claim to follow the ways and teachings of the late Caesar. Proximus Caesar is the bad guy, who justifies his lust for power by calling on Caesar’s name and words to rally his troops to dominate all other apes and species on the planet. He twists and distorts Caesar’s words, interpreting Caesar in a way that is not true to Caesar and what Caesar originally stood for and valued.

Our main character, a young ape called Noah is on a journey to find his own clan which was attacked and enslaved by Proximus Caesar. On his way he encounters an old ape who was learned in the ways of Caesar and his time. His older friend maintains an interpretation of Caesar that is truer, and insists Noah keep Caesar’s memory in its rightful place.

Eventually both Noah and May are captured by Proximus. An important scene in the movie has Proximus invite his special human guest and Noah to a table for a feast. A private audience with Proximus Caesar appears on the surface a privilege and an honour. That’s the pretence.

But this meal has another sinister purpose, not fundamentally to show hospitality and generosity but to elicit vital information Proximus needs in order to secure the power he craves.

Here is not a table of grace, of communion. Here is not a table celebrating the bond of friendships crossing the boundaries of race and species. Are their tables like this in your life where the pretence of love is overshadowed by unholy intentions?

It seems both our main characters, Noah the ape and May the human girl, are caught in between divided loyalties despite the friendship growing between them. The conflict is heightened around that meal scene, as Proximus tries to drive a wedge of mistrust between them. Proximus entices Noah to be more suspicious of May’s intentions.

Proximus is not altogether wrong, as May relentlessly pursues her secret mission to retrieve a small computer from a fortified facility along the coast into which Proximus tries to gain entrance. May had earlier deceived Noah, pretending she like most other humans couldn’t speak. In the end, she confesses this to Noah and pleads forgiveness. But the damage has been done, and Noah never fully trusts her.

Jesus invites his disciples to another kind of table — the table of wisdom, of communion, of divine love. Jesus tells his disciples that he is the bread in which we find our true sustenance (John 6:55-56) to live out God’s legacy, which is the Gospel of God’s unconditional grace and love in Jesus’ name.

But so many voices compete in the religious landscape. Whose voice is truer? How can we tell? How is Christianity being interpreted?

Right up until almost the end of the movie, we are left wondering if May and Noah, humans and apes, will ever be able to live together in trust and peace. It doesn’t look good by the end of the movie.

Until the very last sequence of scenes. Because the last scenes depict both May and Noah looking up.

Earlier in the movie, Noah had discovered an observatory with a huge telescope still operational aimed at the night sky. After liberating his clan from Proximus’ enslavement, Noah brings his clan back to the telescope. The last scene shows Noah’s face and eyes open wide as he looks up and into the expanse of the heavens above with curiosity, and wonder.

Then we switch to May who is also looking up. But she, now, far away from Noah, is looking at the giant satellite dishes. The computer she found was able to activate them so her tiny group of humans could communicate with other humans around the planet. May is looking up into what is now beyond her capability and efforts thus far. Her mission is over. May is looking up at the forces beyond her control now.

Both May and Noah leave us hopeful at the end. Both, separated by divisions still rife, turn their gaze upward and beyond who and where they are. Their open eyes and looks of wonder leave us hopeful that something bigger than either of them will guide them into a better tomorrow.

Whether or not we are aware, despite all our good intentions and efforts, and in the midst of all that separates Christians, Jews and Muslims, God is there. The Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes is a metaphor for how it is among creatures who share this earth, how we often don’t get along and sometimes get along. But there is always hope and a way forward when all of us look up towards what is bigger and larger than each one of us.

I started with a metaphor which involved a ladder. There’s a famous ladder in the bible as well. I love the scene at the end of Jacob’s encounter with God through the night (Genesis 28, 32). He has dreamed of a ladder reaching to heaven, and he has also struggled while he slept. When Jacob finally awakes and changes his thinking at the dawn of a new day, he discovers who has been with him all along. He says to God, “You were here all the time, and I never knew it!” (Genesis 28:16).

That’s grace.

Around Mother’s Day, this past Spring, Jessica gifted my mom a small sleeve of cosmos seeds. Mom then planted them in the community garden in the backyard of her retirement residence.

Residents there take great pride in the flower garden that each year yields a spectacle of colour and shows off their gardening skills.

Before leaving for our West Coast vacation last month, my mom was delighted to report that the first flowering buds were appearing on her cosmos plants.

Two and a half weeks later, when I returned to observe the progress of the cosmos, I had to blink and pinch myself. Was I looking in the right place in the sprawling garden? Because those cosmos flowers were not where I thought they had been.

My mom then told me the drama that had ensued at the retirement home in the time I was away. Someone in the building had ripped out her cosmos. And they were found discarded in the garden shed atop the compost heap. After my mom reported what happened to the front desk, to staff and her friends there, everyone at the home soon knew of the offence. But no one came forward. Who dun it?

As the Sherlock Holmes investigation went into high gear, my mom’s friends quickly retrieved the limp stems from the garden shed, put them in a bucket of water, and a few days later replanted them in another spot in the garden, and soaked the ground with water.

Hoping against hope, they nevertheless warned my mom the ripped out flowers probably didn’t have a chance as it had been over 24 hours they had lain in the hot shed.

One evening the following week, a resident a few doors down from my mom’s room quietly took. my mom aside after dinner and whispered into her ear that she had seen something from her fifth floor balcony the day of the incident.

The culprit was identified, someone who when gently confronted confessed they thought the cosmos looked too much like a weed; and, besides, it didn’t fit in the otherwise manicured looking part of the garden where the flowers had been originally planted. The deed was quickly forgiven, as miracle of miracles, the transplanted cosmos flowers not only lived but thrived in their new location. What drama! What a miracle!

Despite a mistaken floral identity, despite misguided intentions and conflicting visions for the garden, despite the almost certain prognosis of death for the ripped-out cosmos, grace happened.

The Gospel for today from John (6:35,41-51) presents a far more troubling reality for Christians. This troubling reality is a stain and a blemish on Christian history since the time of Jesus. The Gospel writer John specifically mentions “the Jews” (John 6: 41) as complaining and debating against Jesus. Here we glimpse into what John does a few times in his Gospel: portraying Jews, as a whole, rejecting Jesus.

Perhaps this portrayal was understandable from John’s perspective, if it was a response to the persecution of his community by Jewish neighbours in the latter part of the 1^st century (Oldenburg, 2024) when this Gospel was first written.

But in the centuries since, it has been Christians who have persecuted their Jewish neighbours, in both subtle and violent ways, and often using John’s gospel as an excuse. Particularly after the Holocaust in the last century, today’s reading, like Good Friday’s, cannot be proclaimed without acknowledging how this gospel has been used to justify not only hate crimes against Jews but by extrapolation any race, culture or religion distinct from ours including Arabs, Muslims and Palestinians.

Retribution is a blight on humanity. From disputes in the garden to geo-political conflict, it seems humanity is destined, if anything, to continue the senseless escalations of a tit-for-tat mentality. Can it ever end? Like the ripped-out cosmos, reconciliation and peace really appear hopeless, causes destined to die on the growing pile of dashed dreams and unattainable aspirations.

I sympathize with the prophet Elijah’s impulse to just escape and hide. Jezebel threatens and warns violent retribution against Elijah. In a way you could say Jezebel’s intent is justifiable after Elijah himself killed the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18-19). Elijah therefore gets out of dodge, feeling defeated, vulnerable and depressed. He will give up and disappear into the wilderness. What was the point of his prophetic role anyway if he was just going to be killed at the hand of the enemy?

At his lowest point, ready to die under the broom tree, Elijah experiences grace by the miraculous appearance of life-sustaining bread. Even though he was mistaken to leave his followers and run away from his prophetic duties, Elijah is looked after. Even though he was mistaken, Elijah is nevertheless sustained. Even though his thinking on the matter was flawed, it doesn’t stop God.

God has not given up on him. God’s love and favour are not dependent upon Elijah’s morality, wisdom, or consistency, but upon God’s reliability. God’s grace is not dependent on how many mistakes we make, whether or not we make the right decisions all of the time. Judgement is not God’s first response.

God is faithful. And the life God has given to creation will therefore ultimately find a way. The angels attended to Elijah on his escape path in the wilderness. Just like the angels attended to Jesus when he was tempted in the wilderness (Mark 1:12-14). We are never completely separated from God’s gracious, loving presence no matter how deep and far our wilderness wanderings, no matter how deep and far our grief, our depression, our never-satisfied longings.

We all get stuck in killer cycles – be it retribution, anger, fear, despair, anxiety. God will not be phased by any of it. When Elijah is fed and makes his forty-day journey to the holy Mount Horeb, God meets him there and says, “Why are you here?” (1 Kings 19:8).

Get up and get going! God will be with you and give you what you need for the journey ahead. And God will continue being ever-faithful, ever-gracious, ever-loving.

Reference:

Oldenburg, M. W. (2024). Crafting the sermon; Looking at sunday, august 11 lectionary 19, year B 12th sunday after pentecost. Sundays and Seasons. Augsburg Fortress. https://www.sundaysandseasons.com

I find it bemusing that the crowd in this week’s Gospel reading (John 6:24-35) is still asking for signs. How many do they need? In the first verse of John 6 from last week’s Gospel, “they saw the signs that [Jesus] was doing for the sick.” And then, after the Feeding of the Five Thousand, the Gospel concludes by validating the faith of the crowd: “When the people saw the sign that he had done, they began to say, ‘This is indeed the prophet who is to come into the world’” (v. 14).

The crowd’s appetite for signs, for proof, is insatiable. It’s like we are never satisfied. Nothing is ever good enough. There is always something wrong that needs improvement. You hear this from, ironically, players on winning sports teams never mind losing ones, when they say: “We can always get better.” Yes, but, what do they expect? That they can play a perfect game? Really?

The religious craving for signs feels a little bit like what is defined today as “spiritual materialism”. Spiritual materialism feeds off ‘signs’. It just leaves us wanting for more but with the expectation that we have to earn it by our accomplishments, and by possessing greater truth for ourselves. It’s tied in with the world’s values and that prosperity gospel notion – a way of doing religion in which we are never permitted to be content with imperfection. We can therefore never allow ourselves to be at peace.

If something I perceive is wrong I need to figure it out. I need to be better and work harder. Fix it. I must hone my skills of discernment, so that in the end I can own or discard the proposition based on my own interpretation thereof never mind what someone else thinks. On this path, everything I perceive is bad must be purged and eliminated. I therefore live in a constant state of vigilance, unrest, and discontentment.

You ask: Do we not want a deeper communion with God? And, can we not learn to tell the difference between right and wrong, good and bad? Absolutely, we can.

But Jesus suggests a way of life that does not deny the two are inextricably entwined. The weeds and wheat must grow together (Matthew 13:34-40), according to a teaching of Jesus. If we are going to grow in faith, we need to learn to live with and accept both realities.

Jesus talked about the mustard seed, which is both good and bad. Pliny the Elder, a contemporary of Jesus, wrote that the mustard seed was medicinal, so it did have some value. But Pliny the Elder advised against planting it because it tended to take over the entire garden. It was a weed that could not be stopped (Rohr, 2024).

Sometimes what we need is found only by embracing those difficult times in our lives as doorways to experiencing God in a whole new and wonderful way.

Because what we need is not validated by proof. What we need is not immediately perceived by observation alone. Let me give you an example. Today, many of us observe all that is not well in the world. And, there is definitely evidence that will support that proposition. These days are like nighttime when the world is blanketed by shadow and ash.

Ironically it is only at nighttime when we can see the stars shine brightly. When we look up at night our spirits rise to the brilliance of the pinpricks of light against the night sky. Ironically it only when we engage, accept and not avoid nor deny our doubts, our pain and the difficulties of life, that we discover a grace of God, a gift or a help coming from a place we never expected.

People of faith through the centuries have used this metaphor of the nighttime for how they still kept faith through their suffering. How did they do that? Did they know something we don’t? Or are they aware of a reality that exists beyond evidence of what we observe on the surface?

You see, those very stars that shone so brightly for us during the nighttime, are they gone during the daytime? Have they magically disappeared? Well, no. Those same stars are shining just as brightly in the daytime. We just don’t see them. But they are still there.

The brighter our surroundings, the more difficult it is to see the stars. And yet, during the daytime of our lives, those are the good times we say. During the day when our sun/star is shining brightly everything is going accordingly, to plan. During the day when our sun/star shines, all is well, and everything is just so.

We cherish those memories of the way things were – so right, so beautiful – in the past. When we could see it all. And everything was as it should be forever more. And so, as I said, we grieve today, that it will never be the same again.

It is significant that Jesus provides a way forward, albeit somewhat cryptically, in his response to the crowd seeking a sign. He says, in today’s Gospel, “… you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves” (v. 26).

In other words, you connect with God not because you ‘see signs’ but because you experience something that moves you to act. Manna has a purpose. You connect with God not because you’ve figured it out beforehand in your head, but because you receive God’s grace in the wilderness of your life to move on and do what needs doing.

Remember, when all you had was the simple manna that nevertheless sustained you through that difficult time (Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15). It was during the tough times that God’s presence was made manifest, that God was made real to you in the breaking of the bread. And so it is, today.

At the beginning of my vacation Jessica and I attended a Christian Meditation retreat whose theme was “From anxiety to peace”. Our theme speakers reflected on anxiety not as something to deny or try to get rid of on the journey of faith. Healing doesn’t come by denying the reality of what is, including all our thoughts, feelings and behaviours good and bad.

Rather, we were challenged to consider anxiety as the invitation towards peace, the doorway through which we discover deeper understanding and clarity of thought, teaching us to be ok. The wilderness night times offer a way to experience hope by accepting and seeing with the mind’s eye the small wonders of God’s love made real to us. And therefore we don’t need to let fear be our guide.

What are the stars shining in the night for you? The little things that you might miss in the daytime? Those things we easily take for granted? People and situations we overlook in all our hurry?

God, give us peace. God, give us courage.

Reference:

Rohr, R. (2024, July 30). A gracious weed: The reign of God. Daily Meditations, Center for Action and Contemplation. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/a-gracious-weed/

Today I’d like us to consider the story of the feeding of the five thousand (John 6: 1-21) from the perspective of how our needs are met.

It’s a story that often gets repeated in the lectionary so I am sure you will hear this Gospel story again soon. Sometimes the sermon applies the story to feeding the hungry, literally. That’s an important point.

But today I want to ask the question: How are we fed? For what do we hunger in our lives and how are those needs met? Because the main point of the Gospel is that God feeds the hungry, that God meets our needs in ways that surprise us.

On the one hand, each of us will present unique needs. What you ask for, what you offer to God in prayer will not be the same as what the person sitting next to you this morning would express. We are living different lives, experiencing different things at this point in time. So, in part what we need is unique to everyone. We must own that, individually.

On the other hand, everyone in the feeding of the five thousand shared a common, basic need for food. Everyone has needs. No one is self-sufficient in our common humanity. We are all needy. We all need grace, help, forgiveness, mercy, compassion, support. If there is one thing we share is our unique place in a larger, shared web of relationships on which we depend.

Yes, it’s hard to believe it. It’s a miracle everyone is fed. At first, the disciples don’t believe they have enough resources to feed everyone. They don’t even believe Jesus can feed the crowd. And yet, it happens. Surprise! But, how?

Since the miraculous event happened two thousand years ago, humanity has devised all sorts of ways to meet our needs on earth. History has proven that our lives on earth can be a living hell or heaven, depending on how we choose to treat each other.

The story of the Long Spoons, attributed to Rabbi Haim, is told by a teacher, James Overholser (2022). He writes,

“A few years ago, I took two old brooms and sawed off the bristle ends so they could be replaced with two large serving spoons. I brought the long spoons to class, and held one firmly in each hand as I told this story:

“A man is soon to die, but he is given an opportunity to tour the afterlife before his death. During the first stop on the tour, he enters a large dining room and sees many people seated around the table. In the middle of a large round table is a huge pot of delicious hot stew.

“However, the people seated around the table have spoons attached to the end of a long stick permanently attached to their hands. They can aim their spoon for the pot of stew, but because of the long spoon, they cannot bend it toward their mouth. Instead, the stew falls into their lap, causing painful burns. They are sad, angry, frustrated, and starving.

“The man requests an end to the tour, so they leave and go on to the other destination for afterlife. They enter a second large dining room and see many people seated around the table. There is a large pot of stew at the center of the table, and the people all have long spoons permanently attached to their hands.

“However, they are all chatting, smiling, and eating a delicious meal. But they are taking the time to feed each other. [After scooping their spoon into the stew, each of them feeds someone sitting across the table from them using their long spoons]” (p. 74-75).

In teaching this class, Overholser instructs that once each day for a week, students initiate some act that is not simply focused on their own plans, struggles, or interests. But they are to engage in some act that is kind, thoughtful or helpful for another person. In addition, Overholser suggests that it is good if they do not know the person. It is better if they do not like the person. And it is best if the act of kindness is done in an anonymous manner.

How are our needs met, indeed? How are the needs of others around us met?

Five thousand people is not literally five thousand. Other Gospel stories vary the number. Precisely how many, therefore, is not the point. The point is there were a lot of people on that mountainside. And not everyone knew everyone else. Most of them were strangers to each other, or at best, acquaintances besides family members or neighbours who came along.

It’s noteworthy that the act of faith in the story came not from the disciples or appointed few who followed Jesus but from a nameless, anonymous child who alone was willing to share what little they had.

Maybe the child’s generous act caught on.

The miracle of the feeding – I’ve said this before – is not that everyone was fed. Jesus can do anything. He is God, after all. No, in the end could the miracle be that some were willing to share their food to meet the needs of others?

A life of faith, a life of living in the Spirit, is a life lived in relationship, in community. A life of faith is expressed by people doing good things together to feed the need.

We meet our needs in opening ourselves to others. This action accurately describes Christian faith. Richard Rohr summarizes it well. He writes, “We don’t truly comprehend any spiritual thing until we give it away. Spiritual gifts increase only by ‘using’ them” (Rohr, 2024).

When that happens, Jesus is present to us. God becomes visible and recognized not in private pursuits, even religious ones, doing it by ourselves for ourselves. But rather in acts of grace, mercy and generosity.

What are the places in your life where there is room for you to practice feeding the need of another soul? And just as important a question: Who else is sitting at the table next to you who can share both in the giving and in the receiving?

References:

Overholser, J. C. (2022). Respecting the ideas and ideals proposed by Alfred Adler: A personal and professional journey. The Journal of Individual Psychology, 78

Rohr, R. (2024, July 26). Not for ourselves alone. Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation. https://cac.org/daily-meditations/not-for-ourselves-alone/

The Gospel doesn’t describe the healing that happens in an individual, one-on-one therapy session between counsellor and client. The Gospel doesn’t describe healing in the context of some individual pilgrimage to a far-off, remote location to find the answer. It doesn’t happen in private. Not in the Gospel, anyway.

Healing, in the Gospel, is a profoundly social experience. In the Gospel text for today (Mark 5:21-43), Jesus finds himself in the middle of a crowd pressing in from all sides. Both the bleeding woman and dying daughter are surrounded by crowds of people with Jesus in the middle of it all. They are touching him, bumping into him.

As I sat down to watch one of the home games of the Stanley Cup Finals from Edmonton, I was impressed by the tradition there of singing the Canadian national anthem. For a couple of reasons.

The traditional way is for someone, usually with a pedigree for singing – a celebrity musician – to stand alone on the ice with the spotlight on them. It’s really a performance, and they are the only one singing the anthem.

But for those Edmonton games, with nearly 20,000 fans surrounding him, Opera singer, Robert Clark, stayed in the stands, in the middle of the crowd, pressing close in.

Then not even halfway through singing the anthem, he stopped, turned the microphone out, and let the crowd finish singing the Canadian anthem. It was spine tingling to hear the national anthem sung with gusto not by the performer but by the whole crowd.

Their singing together wasn’t a refined performance ever rehearsed. It was in the moment, and for me inspirational, not so much what they were singing but that they were singing it together – 20,000 voices strong.

It is for me a wonderful picture of what the church is about. Jesus hands it over to us. The healing and the growth involve each of us, pressed together, in community.

A whole new slate of leaders of the Eastern Synod of our church were elected last week. Many new Synod council members were elected. New officers were elected – Treasurer Fred Mertz, and Secretary Chris Hulan. A new vice chair – the first ever from Atlantic Canada, Sara Whynot – was elected. And a new bishop – the first ever female bishop in the Eastern Synod, Carla Blakley – was elected. The turnover was significant, offering, in her words, “the promise of a new tomorrow”.

And yet, the church at this time, seeks healing and wholeness in a season of budget restrictions. Benevolence giving – that is, income received to the Synod from congregations – has been on a steady decline since 1992. Over recent years Synod budgets have relied more on investment income to fund its mission goals, four of them, which are: 1. Providing support to the Synodical community; 2. Developing capable leaders; 3. Connecting to the wider church through effective partnerships; and, 4. Living as a healthy Synod.

Amidst these goals, and in this time, how do we embrace the promise of a new tomorrow? In his last sermon to the Synod as bishop on the closing day of the Assembly, Rev. Michael Pryse talked about our baptism.

“Think of baptism,” Bishop Pryse said, “… as a garment. Only it’s kind of like the sweaters that your mother would buy for you when you were a kid. Remember … arms down to the knees? She always bought them a few sizes too big so that you “had room to grow into them.” Baptism is kind of like that. Galatians talks about baptism as “putting on Christ.” But baptism is a garment that we’re always growing into…always in the process of filling out.

“Luther called baptism a ‘once and for all event which takes your whole life to complete.’ I really like that! Baptism happens but once, but it is a beginning point in a never-ending process of renewal. We’re always growing into it … always in the process of reclaiming its promises and benefits. Baptism gives us an identity … but it also gives us a purpose and a task that we carry with us throughout our earthly lives.”

At the Synod Assembly last week, we were all together, in person, for the first time since a couple of years before the pandemic – so it’s been six years. During worship, at the banquet, in sessions, around committee tables we were pressed in close, closer than I was used to, shoulder to shoulder. We were building community, realizing how it felt to be together again in a bigger way.

“You have often heard it said that the church is like a family,” Bishop Michael went on to say. “And certainly, the most important thing a family does for us is to tell us who we are. The family gives us identity … gives us place … gives us, hopefully, a true sense of self.

“That is one of the church family’s essential tasks…to tell us who we are…to nurture and sustain the baptized in their God-given identity. That’s part of what we do every week in our worship services. “Rise and go, your sins are forgiven.” The body of Christ given for you.” “Go in peace, serve the Lord.” We’re practising the virtues of the kingdom. We’re affirming and building up our essential and fundamental identity as baptized children of God…an identity that we’re always growing into…always experiencing in a fuller way.”

For many Canada Day is also about reaffirming our national identity. It is a collective identity that is growing in rich diversity, multi-cultural beauty as well as a growing awareness of our troubled history and acceptance of the challenges that face a growing population. The church has a place in all of this, to model and bear witness to the virtues of the kingdom, our fundamental baptismal identity in Christ.

And even though that identity may sometimes feel like it’s too big for us – too challenging, too scary – we will grow into the promise. After all, growing into Christ is a lifelong journey of growth.

And as we grow we will sing! We will sing our identity out loud. We will sing it out, imperfectly and unpolished, but with the whole people of God together sounding out God’s love for all. Sounding out that each person has dignity and has been created by God out of love. Sounding out the call to care for one another, and to work towards peace and justice for all. So, in the coming season, let us sing!