They say Canadians are peace-loving people. I count myself among many Canadians whose personality style wants to avoid conflict. We would rather ‘go along to get along’ than engage in conflict.

That is why this Gospel text is troubling, to say the least.^[1] It is rife with conflict, and not just in the public arena. Jesus suggests that conflict is a normal part of a faithful life, even within a family. That part, especially, I don’t like.

How do we receive this message which, I would like to presume, promises something healthy, hopeful and positive for the journey of faith?

Jesus says, “What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops.”^[2]

Perhaps there is something that we don’t see amidst all the froth and flotsam of human conflict. Perhaps we may not appreciate it right away— something deeper, a connection between us all that runs true despite the surface turbulence of human interaction.

Maybe amidst the strife, the divisions and disagreements there lies a hidden reality that is very much worth “proclaiming from the housetops.” And we need to tap in on that bond, become aware of it, draw deeply from its power, especially when we disagree.

What is this bond?

When infants are baptized, we say that even though the individual baby cannot express cognition in the way adults do and therefore can’t say with words, “I believe”, it is the prayers of the faithful, the community, that validate the affirmation of faith at baptism. And their faith stands in for the infant. When the baby can’t, the grown-ups will.

During the early stages of the pandemic debate swirled around Eucharistic practice—whether it can be conveyed online or only in person. I was struck by the comment of a faithful pastor now retired, who said that while he individually didn’t attend in person to receive the sacrament, his faith was nonetheless encouraged simply to know that somewhere, in some place, the Holy Communion was happening “where two or three are gathered”. Somewhere, someone was.

Over the last couple of months I’ve helped start up noon hour meditation groups for staff at the Bruyère hospitals here in Ottawa. Last week some of the organizers and chaplains debriefed how it was going so far. During the meeting over zoom much was said about who was not attending. We reflected on the meaning of relationships and community.

And the conversation became more open-ended. One chaplain, a Christian, remarked that while she hadn’t worshiped on Sundays in a local church for a long time, her faith was encouraged nevertheless to know that somewhere, someone, was going to church every Sunday. It was important to her, never mind that she wasn’t attending, that it was happening somewhere.

Those of you who are here in person need to hear this: That knowledge alone has kept her faith going. A faith that is alive.

The prayers continue despite what individuals do or don’t do at any given time. Especially in grief, when God may feel distant; or, dealing with a personal tragedy; or, reeling from an accident or circumstance beyond your control that has disrupted your life– when you don’t feel like or can’t pray … perhaps it’s at those moments you need to know that someone, somewhere, is praying for you.

“This is my prayer to you, at the time you have set, O Lord.”^[3]

The discipline of regular prayers, whether it be every Sunday morning in worship, or any other set pattern that people know, is a gift amidst the turmoil of life. And even if an individual in a unique situation cannot or does not participate in person, their physical absence doesn’t invalidate the prayer. In truth, the prayers of the community can encourage those very people.

In the Psalm for today (69:13), the Psalmist acknowledges “the time set” for prayers. For Christians, as for people of other religions, times set for prayer function as an anchor point in the day, the week, and the year.

When I took a world religion’s class in high school, I recall asking why Muslims prayed at five set times every day? The answer I received inspired me and expanded my understanding of the power of prayer. They followed that regimen of prayer so that people of the Islamic faith would know that prayers were always happening, given the various time zones, around the globe. That awareness can be very encouraging for faith. Even though individually I may not be saying any prayers right now, someone, somewhere, is.

When Luke describes the lifestyle of early Christians in the Acts of the Apostles, the early disciples made “the prayers”^[4] part of each day. He doesn’t imply, “they prayed whenever and whatever.” He refers to “the” prayers–a definite article, and order of prayer implied. They observed common prayers at the times set aside. It was a discipline.

Whether it be Muslims praying five times a day or Christians following the Daily Office, called the “Hours” (for example: matins, vespers, compline, etc.) or meditating twice daily in the morning and in the evening, people of faith in their practice of prayer attest to the unceasing^[5] nature of prayer, collectively. Prayer continues, around the globe at all times. Even if individuals aren’t praying unceasingly, the community is.

What we can’t do by ourselves, someone, somewhere, is. American writer Helen Keller wrote, “Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much.” And that goes for prayer—how we connect with God, with ourselves and with one another.

And I wonder, amidst all the turbulence of life in community, is it this awareness of what unites us, what gives us power from deep within, that releases us to do so much for God. And even though our faithful actions might result in ruffling some feathers? So be it.

I heard the story from the son of the late Art Sugden, who fought in the First World War as part of the 31st Alberta Battalion in the Canadian Corps. Ted told me of his father’s dramatic survival of the battle at Vimy Ridge.^[6]

A bullet from tracer fire took out both his eyes, rendering him blind for the rest of his life.

Eventually Art returned to his hometown Calgary in 1929. He also returned to his favourite hobby: gardening. Though he was physically blind and couldn’t see the beauty of the flowers he tended, he kept on working in his garden. Though I suspect his other senses could enjoy the flowers’ gift, he couldn’t see for himself their blooms. Yet he continued during the Springtime, Summertime and Fall time of the year, caring for the earth and flowers that grew there. He did this work faithfully even though he couldn’t witness with his own eyes the fruit of his labour.

But he kept on, trusting that the flowers he tended would give the world a beautiful gift of vibrant colour and joy. And he was right. Others saw, saw the gift he nurtured and brought to life, saw the beauty that in turn gave the world joy and hope for tomorrow.

Somewhere, someone is.

^[1] Matthew 10:24-39

^[2] Matthew 10:27

^[3] Psalm 69:13

^[4] Acts 2:42

^[5] 1 Thessalonians 5:17

^[6] Edward Sugden, “A tribute to my father” in Esprit de Corps (Volume 16, Issue 10, November 2009), p.36-38.

“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.”[1]

Jesus gives instructions to his followers in today’s Gospel. And each of their names is listed: “Simon, also known as Peter, and his brother Andrew; James son of Zebedee, and his brother John; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus; Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, the one who betrayed him.”[2] We must be careful, here …

Receiving instructions from the Lord can be hazardous to our spirituality when we mistake Jesus’s words to be meant for individuals. When we interpret the message of Christ only through the autonomy and separateness of individuals, we miss so much.

Whenever we read from the bible about sin and salvation especially, we may easily be tempted to make it all about me and Jesus; it’s up to me to make it right, to do the job. We read these sacred texts, admittedly, from our individual point of view.

A month or so ago, the confirmation class planted gladiolus bulbs in the ‘Faith Garden’, as we call it. On that day when the young teenagers put the flower bulbs into the ground and covered it with earth, we prayed, gave thanks for the gift of the earth, and blessed our act.

It also poured rain that day. So, we were pretty hopeful that those bulbs would take and grow.

But until a couple days ago it has not rained a drop. In fact, wildfires across Canada have burned to date an area larger than the entire land mass of Costa Rica. It has been dry, to say the least. If anything in our garden was to grow, let alone survive, someone would have to water it regularly.

I live a 45-minute drive from the church property and when I am in the city I normally don’t think of watering a garden as part of my work schedule. It struck me just recently that those bulbs may not have received a drop of water since the day we planted them.

And I despaired. I was catastrophizing: What a failure! What a poor showing if the confirmation class of kids from Ottawa would see that their flowers, dedicated to their faithful growth, not only didn’t grow but died in the ground.

When I took a walk to the garden the other day, however, I was shocked to see several of the bulbs bursting out of the ground. How did that happen? I learned that over the past month, other members of the church regularly went to the garden to water it.

If it were up to me alone, faith wouldn’t happen. If it were up to us, individually, to make it right, to grow in trust and faith and joy in the Lord, it can’t happen. The truth is we are connected one to each other in the bond of love, grace, and presence of God.

We often approach our life of faith, our daily practice of faith, however that looks like, as a solitary act, something we do by ourselves, alone. From the outside, that’s what one may see: I’m praying. I’m visiting others. I’m donating money. I’m doing this by myself. And it’s on me to make any good from it.

But Jesus addresses his disciples as a group. It’s the second person, plural, that is implied: “You”. And, Paul writes to churches, not to individual members of that church. Whether he is writing to the Thessalonians, the Galatians, the Ephesians, Corinthians or Romans, Paul addresses the community as a whole. And he writes in his letter to the Corinthians that we are the “Body of Christ”[3] with many parts serving a larger purpose.

It is the body that is the focus, and all that we do is for the “common good”.[4] Collectively we take responsibility for our faith.

Notice in the Epistle reading for today from Romans, Paul doesn’t use one singular pronoun. All the pronouns are plural: “us”, “we”, “our”.[5] We are in it together.

The gift of God’s grace and the love of God poured into our hearts is much greater than all our sins combined. The gift of God’s grace places us all on a level playing field. There are no superheroes – some better than others – in the land of God’s love, mercy and grace for all people. We are truly in it together.

For six years in a row, including the pandemic years, Finland has ranked No. 1 as the happiest country in the world.[6] There’s a beautiful concept expressed in the Finnish language. Talkoot is an old Finnish word that doesn’t have a one-word equivalent in English. Talkoot basically means: “working together to do something that one would not be able to do alone.”[7]

In agricultural times when someone had a big project at their farm, such as building a barn roof, they’d hold a talkoot. Here in Canada we’ve perhaps witnessed the Old Order Mennonites do a similar thing with a ‘barn-raising’. Neighbours gather voluntarily and put in a day’s work to help, then celebrate with a festive meal.

This kind of culture extends to why, for example, Finnish people often feel positive about their civic duties and helping the wider society by sacrificing their private comforts and desires of the moment. “They see it as essential for the good of the whole.”[8] Our faith is not about ‘what’s in it for me’ culture but rather, ‘how can I be part of the solution for the greater good’?

Paul uses the image of ‘pouring’[9] to describe how much we have to give. Not a trickle. Not a drop. When we’re in it together, we experience I believe the depth of grace. Just like the Faith garden receives an abundance of water from members who water it regularly and an abundance of rain, like it did just a few days ago when it poured, the grace and love of God has been poured into our hearts. Therein lies a deep reservoir of grace and love for the good of all.

[1] Matthew 9:37-38

[2] Matthew 10:2-4

[3] 1 Corinthians 12

[4] 1 Corinthians 12:7

[5] Romans 5:1-8

[6] http://worldhappiness.report

[7] From the world’s happiest country

[8] Ibid.

[9] Romans 5:5

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”^[1]

Let’s say the word “sacrifice” here represents our good efforts to help others. Let’s say “sacrifice” reflects our giving money for good causes, offering ourselves in service even when it is inconvenient or uncomfortable for us. Let’s say “sacrifice” shows our discipline to pray and worship. By placing mercy and sacrifice in contrast, does Jesus exclude sacrifice from a life of faith?

If sacrifice means self-sacrifice in the sense of constant self-abnegation or denying your needs altogether in the helping relationship, then I would say, yes. Doing too much good can sometimes just reflect our compulsiveness. We end up satisfying more our needs than effectively meeting others’ needs and thus enable dysfunction in the relationship more than anything. Sacrificing can burn you out. God doesn’t want that.

But is there something redemptive about ‘taking one for the team’? And in what situations?

I think about emergency room staff and first responders—doctors, paramedics, and nurses—who will see all manner of people coming through their ward. They will be performing life-saving surgeries, procedures, and therapies in intense, stressful situations.

But they’ll be doing all this not for their family members, not for friends and people they know, not for those who belong to their social circle. No.

Most people served by the health care system are unknown, completely unknown, to the caregivers. Health care providers spend their days helping complete strangers, some of them undeserving we might say. Still, they show mercy.

Edith Cavell was a nurse during the First World War in the last century.^[2]

By late 1914, Brussels was occupied by the Germans. The nursing school there became a Red Cross hospital, treating casualties from both sides, as well as continuing to treat civilians. Initially, Edith was asked to help two wounded British soldiers trapped behind German lines. She treated the men in her hospital and then arranged to have them smuggled out of Belgium into the neutral Netherlands.

Eventually, Edith became part of a network of people who sheltered Allied soldiers and Belgians eligible for military service, arranging their escape. Over the course of the year, she helped around 200 British, French and Belgian soldiers, sheltering them in the hospital and arranging for guides to take them to the border. On August 5, 1915, she was arrested for this activity and placed in solitary confinement.

Edith was tried and court-martialed along with 34 other people involved in or connected to the network. She was found guilty and sentenced to death. On October 12, 1915, nurse Edith was shot by a firing squad.

Edith Cavell’s undying service and sacrifice bled from a heart of love for the stranger, and all for a higher good. Her giving did not focus on sin or punishment. She didn’t discriminate nor judge others, whether they were the good guys or bad guys, whether they were deserving of her help or not. Her love reflected the heart of God, first and foremost, in leading with mercy and grace.

Why does God show mercy? With God, mercy is often expressed by forgiveness. So why does God forgive us? We know the act of forgiveness itself doesn’t take away the sin and its consequences. We know from experience that forgiveness doesn’t nullify or eliminate offensive actions. So, why does God continue to forgive us, and others?

Because “every time God forgives … God is showing a preference …for sustaining relationship over being right, distant, superior, and separate.”^[3] God’s love for you and for me is about God’s absolute ability to keep a relationship going with everyone and everything.

For Jesus, it’s about maintaining the relationship. Jesus didn’t just tolerate, or put up with, sinners and keep them at arms’ length. He ate with them. And that’s what drew the ire of the Pharisees.

Not only was Jesus breaking the rules by eating with sinners, but his action also exposed the Pharisee’s desire, deep within, to separate themselves, cut themselves off from people they didn’t like. Jesus exposed the Pharisees false claims to righteousness, a false righteousness which only justified their hate.

In the past I’ve mentioned to you a children’s story entitled “Six-Dinner Sid”^[4] about a cat named Sid. He was the cat that ate six dinners a day in six different, neighbourhood homes on Aristotle Street. But there’s more to the adventures of Sid the cat.

You see, for the longest time he was able to get away with it because the people on Aristotle Street didn’t know each other, didn’t talk to each other actually. They had no clue what Sid was up to. Each household believed the cat they fed was theirs, and theirs alone.

All Sid had to do was work hard remembering which name he would go by in each house, and the six different ways to behave at each. But his luck soon ran out. His scheme worked perfectly until Sid got a nasty cough.

The next thing he knew, he was taken to the vet not once, but six times, by six different families. By the sixth time the vet realized she was meeting the same cat with the same cough but coming with six different people and responding to six different names. Sid was found out and expelled from Aristotle Street. Sid’s owners said he had no business eating so many dinners.

Sid went to another street, called Pythagoras Place. And, like before, he started going to six different homes on this street. But on Pythagoras Place, the neighbours talked to each other all the time. So, right from the start, everyone knew about Sid’s six dinners.

By the end of the story, the six neighbours that provided the meals for Sid didn’t mind feeding him, didn’t mind that he was getting six meals a day, and didn’t mind giving grace upon grace to Sid. They all loved Sid, who was by nature a six-dinner-a-day cat.

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice” means the starting point must always be mercy and love. Not judgement and rejection. Start with love in relationship.

It’s the heart of love that also loves the self, and sometimes puts down limits and recognizes healthy boundaries. In all the good we do, all our disciplines, all our offerings, the service we give, we must start with love. It’s the heart of love that generates the authentic and truly helpful sacrifice. It’s the heart of love that reaches out to the neighbour and grows relationships defined by grace and mercy for the other.

[1] Matthew 9:9-13. In verse 13 Jesus quotes Hosea 6:6: “For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt-offerings.”

[2] Imperial War Museum write-up on Edith Cavell ; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aar8_iLtIcA

[3] Richard Rohr, “One Stream of Love” Evil is a Social Reality (Daily Meditations, www.cac.org, 19 May 2023).

[4] Inga Moore, Six-Dinner Sid (New York: Simon & Schuster, Aladdin Paperbacks, 1991). See my post “A Timely Meal” from www.raspberryman.ca posted on July 22, 2021.