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All are called

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Photo by Martin Malina, 5 June 2026 Jirina Sistek’s garden, Ottawa

Do you know why NHL hockey players traditionally let their facial hair grow out during the playoffs?

It is customary to see Stanley Cup finalists not trim nor groom their hair – mustaches and beards – during the so-called “second” season of the NHL. The further a team goes deep into the playoffs, especially now in June, the shaggier their heads and faces look!

It is a symbol of their commitment, they say. The shaggy beards represent a singular, grueling focus. Everything else besides their mission to win is not a priority. Surviving the two-month tournament requires immense physical grit. And the beards act as a badge of honor for that resilience.

Since I finished my practicum a couple of months ago, around the time the NHL playoffs were about to begin, I too, haven’t cut my hair. Mind you, there’s not a lot to begin with atop my head! But this is likely the longest I’ve let my hair grow in quite a while.

But I have started to focus on my new call, and lots of things are changing quickly. I feel the effects of maintaining a gruelling focus on the path ahead. Certain things that were once higher up on the to-do list get relegated to a lower place on the priority list – like a visit to the barber. Because what matters now is just the next step on this journey.

I want to begin and end my sermon with two different prayers from our Lutheran liturgy, framing my words today in the themes important to us at this time of transition in our lives as a church community.

Let us pray:

O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown. Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Augsburg Fortress, 2008, p. 206).

Matthew was called to follow Jesus. Biblical translators have entitled this story as “The Call of Matthew” (Matthew 9:9-13). Indeed, we are called to ventures whose entire path is not yet clear. I don’t think Matthew knew, when he said, “Yes!” to follow Jesus, what exactly he was getting himself into.

The congregation here at Faith is stepping now onto an exciting new path whose ending is still not clear, as far as calling a new pastor – you don’t know who that will be. You will need to trust the process, and each step of the way, before the answer emerges. The focus is the next step.

When Simon, chair of council, spoke last week to you about the congregation needing to complete a mission profile, it struck me that calling a pastor is first about understanding the call of the congregation. When you indicate your priorities in mission, you are tapping on something important in your understanding of faith and church. And your call.

What is at stake in this process is not merely the call of one person, the pastor, and what gifts they might bring. But this experience in its fullness draws to light, and exposes the call of everyone in the congregation, the call of everyone to follow Christ.

At an installation service of a new pastor decades ago at St James Lutheran Church in Renfrew, I heard the then assistant to the bishop, the Rev. Guenter Dahle, preach a dandy sermon. He made it clear that everyone shared responsibility for the ministry of the congregation.

It wasn’t the ministry of the pastor they were called to support. It was the ministry they shared with the pastor. This call process is not about just pastors. Essentially, this is about identifying and celebrating the mission of the whole congregation.

Yes, we are on a journey, a pilgrimage that never ends. An experience that takes us only one proverbial step at a time. Of whose endings we don’t yet see, but just enough to be confident of the next step.

How can we be confident of the next step? Stanley Cup winning teams will admit that their winning ways can be attributed in part to ‘puck-luck’ – those bounces that go in their favour, referee decisions that were fortuitous, injuries are minimal. From that perspective, they say ‘the hockey gods’ were on their side.

Some are quick to add that good teams create their ‘puck-luck’. Even so, to win is not solely the result of hard work, physical stamina and dogged commitment. There is that intangible element that is hard to put your finger on to describe what accounts for a championship run. Some teams just get a good dose of grace at the right time.

Matthew knew he was not a popular and hardly a righteous man. The crowds vilified, as we do today, the ‘tax man’. He was definitely not a model of moral perfection and faithfulness. But Jesus is quick to clarify that he calls not the righteous into God’s family, but sinners. “I desire mercy …” Jesus emphasizes (Matthew 9:13).

You could say that God comes close to us not when we get it right, but especially when we get it wrong. Former bishop of the Episcopalian Church in the U. S., Michael Curry, reflects on the words of a mentor who supported him in his times of transition and possibility:

“We always see through a glass darkly, and that is what faith is about. I will live by the best I can discern today. Tomorrow I may find out I was wrong. [But] Since I do not live by being right, I am not destroyed by being wrong” (Curry, 2020, pp. 166-184).

If we don’t have to be perfect for Jesus to call us to the table of communion, if we don’t have to be morally righteous for us to receive the invitation of grace, mercy and love of God, if we don’t have to get it perfectly right before making a big decision, we can like Matthew say “yes!”, commit to the journey, trust the voice of Jesus calling in our hearts, “get up and follow him” (Matthew 9:9).

I love this quote from John Steinbeck’s book, East of Eden: “And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good.” I believe we can be good people.

Welcoming a new member into Faith, as we do shortly, is an opportunity for us all to ponder the call of Christ in our hearts. We welcome Maeve using words from the affirmation of faith in the liturgy of confirmation. The church, after all, is not just the pastor. The church is the people.

Let us pray:

O God, full of compassion, we commit and commend ourselves to you, in whom we live and move and have our being. Be the goal of our pilgrimage, and our rest by the way. Give us refuge from the turmoil of worldly distractions beneath the shadow of your wings. Let our hearts, so often a sea of restless waves, find peace in you, O God; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Augsburg Fortress, 2008, p. 363)

The Call of Matthew reminds me of a childhood song I first learned during a church service – in a congregation named after Matthew – St Matthew’s Lutheran Church in Conestogo Ontario, near Waterloo in Southern Ontario, the church in which I was confirmed:

The church is not a steeple. The church is not a building. The church is not a resting place. The church is the people. I am the church. You are the church. We are the church together. All who follow Jesus, all around the world. Yes, we’re the church together.

References:

Augsburg Fortress. (2008). Evangelical Lutheran worship: Pastoral care – occasional services, readings, prayers. Augsburg Fortress.

Curry M. B., & Grace, S. (2020). Love is the way: Holding on to hope in troubling times. Avery.

The forces of attraction

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On the surface it doesn’t sound like good news. Jesus says, “It’s better that I go away, that I leave you, so that the Spirit can come” (John 16:7). How’s that better?

We know how the story goes. Jesus does leave his grieving disciples – in his death, resurrection and ascension. Through all these great acts of God, things are no longer the same afterwards for the disciples. What changed for them? Well, the Spirit did come, as promised. Did it ever!

From last week’s account of Pentecost, tongues of fire settled on the heads of the disciples. This dramatic spectacle proved the disciples were filled with the Holy Spirit. And the first result of this spiritual outpouring?

It was their surprising ability to speak the languages of other people.

“All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability” (Acts 2:4).

And they do this because before Jesus left his disciples, he gave them these important parting words. He told them to go to “all nations” (Matthew 28:19) with God’s love. He encouraged the disciples to be Christ’s witnesses from Jerusalem “to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

We know the most effective way to learn another language is to be immersed in a culture and society whose dominant language is not your first language. You have to be immersed in the culture of the language you want to learn.

Language, regardless of which one we speak, is about making connection with others. Communication. The purpose of speaking other languages is to build relationships, to open the circle and expand it outwards. With the church, the missional arrow always points outward. Our mission is not ‘to bring people in’ but rather ‘to move out’. It feels like centrifugal force.

To be clear, the mission of the church is not worship on Sunday morning. That’s not what this is about. The purpose of coming to worship is to find the sustenance, strength and nourishment to do the mission of the church. Sunday morning in the church building is a deployment centre, where gifts are learned and resources are gathered to prepare for the mission.

In the end, Pentecost isn’t about the church getting a power upgrade, for its own sake. It’s about God’s Holy Spirit sending us toward people who don’t speak our language. It’s about God’s Holy Spirit breaking open the comfortable circles we build around ourselves. Because, in the Spirit, we are drawn in love toward people unlike us.

When we think of this centrifugal, outward spinning movement, we might first imagine the push factor – the energy of motion at the centre forcing the particles outward. This image is perhaps more in line with how we think about, or fear, doing church mission.

Because learning a new language is not easy. We’ll inevitably make mistakes along the way. Sometimes we won’t even know what we are doing. It’s scary to go outside our comfort zones. We’d rather stay in the confines and security of what we know. Moving out often means curbing our impulse. We may even believe we need to be forced to move out, and perhaps even literally pushed out the door. At least that’s what we tell ourselves.

Science, however, tells us that this notion that we are being pushed or forced out is false. Based on the physics of circular motion, centrifugal force is really a phantom force. Scientists call it “fictitious” (Lucas & Ghose, 2024) because it’s more of a sensation based on our frame of reference, which can change. What we experience in the apparent centrifugal force is, actually, inertia wanting to continue moving in a straight line.

If centrifugal force is not real, what then is the force? What energy do we participate in when going to the ends of the earth in Christ’s name?

Let’s stay with the science.

Besides gravitational force, both electrostatic and magnetic forces attract opposites – either polar, or positive and negative charges (Platt, 2025). Using models based on the opposite forces of attraction as a metaphor for mission, you could say the attraction to what is different, or opposite, is the basis of the agape love demonstrated and taught by Jesus.

We love others not because they are the same as us. We move, in love, towards others who are different. That’s the basis of Jesus’ command “to love your enemy” (Matthew 5:43-48), or loving others as you love yourself (Matthew 22:37-39).

How do we practice this natural, yet opposite, force of attraction? Attraction can be nurtured by the spiritual practice of “beholding” (Frykholm, 2025, pp. 28-30). The command to behold occurs frequently in the bible. Depending on the translation you use, “Behold” or some variation of it appears approximately 1,500 times (Llewellyn, 2022). A lot.

When we practice beholding what is before us – the person we meet, the situation we encounter, the world around us, any circumstance of our lives – our attention is on the experience, without judgement. Like the example from last week when we want to see a wild animal in the bush, beholding involves slowing things down and just noticing who is there and what is happening. Without judgement.

And over time, whatever we behold, we eventually become beholden to. We enter a loving relationship with what we accept without judging the person, the event, the experience. We learn to love it, not resist it. And in doing so, we notice that we are connected. Just like the invisible string of gravity holding the tension between the earth and the moon, the sun and the earth, we are interconnected with the whole creation.

We can behold and hold others, the world and what is. When we practice simply paying attention to what is happening around us without impulsive distractions leading us and dividing us, we experience something incredible.

Contrary to centrifugal force, centripetal force is the real force. Centripetal is the centre-seeking force, a force that keeps acting towards a fixed centre – such as the rotation of the moon around the earth because of the earth’s gravitational force, or the earth rotating around the sun because of the sun’s gravitational force.

Photo by Martin Malina, July 2022, Tofino BC

Christ is at the centre. Christ is the Son at the centre of the universe we inhabit. We move outward from our frame of reference – different it might be from one to another – not because we are unhinged, untethered, unrooted.

We move outward because of the universal attraction to God’s love. The world welcomes us because Jesus waits for us out there. Love is the pull, both to the centre of our lives and outward to where love waits. There is a tension here. We are drawn inward and outward by love. We see Christ in the world, and we follow in faith where the Spirit leads.

You may feel unable to do this. And you wouldn’t be alone. Sometimes we feel we lack the courage and the faith and the belief to love like this.

“It’s better that I go away, that I leave you, so that the Spirit can come,” Jesus said. How is this better?

If Jesus continued to be present and visible on earth – in other words, if he didn’t leave them – the focus of his disciples to this day would be on Christ in one location and at one time. Not a bad thing, actually. But there is better.

Because Jesus left, we discover the Spirit of God no longer bound in space and time but wherever we are, right here, right now, even within, in all and for all.

Like Jesus, the Spirit is another comforter, teacher and guide just like him. But now, the divine presence is available to everyone, everywhere, always. The same Spirit who descended like a dove on Jesus will descend upon us. The same Spirit who filled Jesus will fill all who open their hearts, in love (McLaren, 2014).

I say, that’s better! Thanks be to God.

References:

Llewellyn, C. (2022, February 23). God says ‘Behold’ 1,500 times in the bible. Here’s what it means. Premier Christianity [Website]. https://www.premierchristianity.com/columnists/god-says-behold-1500-times-in-the-bible-heres-what-it-means/6136.article

Frykholm, A. (2025). Journey to the wild heart. Orbis Books.

Lucas, J., & Ghose, T. (2024, September 4). What are centrifugal and centripetal forces? Live Science [Website]. Future US Inc. https://www.livescience.com/52488-centrifugal-centripetal-forces.html

McLaren, B. D. (2014). We make the road by walking: A year-long quest for spiritual formation, reorientation and activation. Jericho Books.

Platt, P. (2025, June 9). Attraction – GCSE physics definition. SaveMyExams [Website]. https://www.savemyexams.com/glossary/gcse/physics/attraction/

‘Patron’s Corner’: Multifaith Housing Initiative Ottawa

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As a patron of the Multifaith Housing Initiative (MHI) in Ottawa, I was asked to respond to the following question, published in their April 2025 newsletter in the ‘Patron’s Corner’ (https://mailchi.mp/multifaithhousing/april-newsletter).

MHI: “How does your faith community emphasize the value of community and belonging?”

RASPBERRYMAN: The Canadian Lutheran Church happened because of immigration. All Lutherans are immigrants. It’s just a question of what time in history the boats and planes from Europe and beyond arrived in Canada. Because we are an immigrant church, now by and large privileged in the established sense, our call is to embrace diversity in community.

The 16th century reformer Martin Luther’s a-ha moment happened when the words of Paul struck his heart. Scriptures, for example, from Ephesians: “For by grace we have been saved” (2:8) and from Romans: “Grace to you …” (1:7) emboldened Lutherans the world over to emphasize the role of God’s grace in all our relationships. Therefore, human divisions and merit do not define our relationships. Our unity in Christ, who is gracious, does. 

20th century Lutheran pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, while imprisoned by Nazis at the end of the 2nd World War, wrote a book entitled “The Cost of Discipleship”. In it he emphasizes the communal aspect of following Jesus. He criticized what he called ‘cheap grace’ which happens when individuals fail to confess their sins against one another and God’s purposes, when God’s grace is reduced to an individual transaction rather than providing a path to transformation.

What Lutherans value in community is what makes grace transformative in our relationships – forgiveness, mercy, compassion and inclusion. It’s not an easy grace; it’s costly – to change and grow. Beginning in the 16th century and lasting to this day, Lutherans therefore embraced the reforming principle which became a motto for the Reformation church – in Latin, Ecclesia reformata semper reformanda – the reformed church always reforming.

Our immigrant identity in Canada, from a grace-centred approach, means that as we once came to this land centuries ago, so now, too, we are called to welcome and affirm newcomers to Canada in building communities of grace.

When the lights go out: an Epiphany funeral sermon

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It’s sounds strange talking about Marcella in the past tense. All of this happened so quickly. It was such a sudden loss. So unexpected. One moment she is participating and enjoying the holiday with family. And the next, she is gone. 

It’s like when there’s a power outage and the lights go out. We may have some heads up – like at this time of year when the weather network puts up freezing rain, wind or snow warnings. These storms will threaten the hydro lines, and we know we could lose power at any given time. 

But usually when the lights go out, no matter the condition, it still catches us by surprise. We are caught in the shock of it. 

And we are left in the dark. When we are without power even for a relatively short amount of time, that’s usually when we realize all the things we take for granted. These creature comforts we call them, things we appreciate, like – running water if we are on a well, the stove, the fridge, the furnace. Generally, when the lights go out, we think of all those things that normally give us a sense of security and help us survive, especially in the harsh winter time. And how life is now without them.

It’s scary. We find ourselves in unchartered territory. The first thing we will likely do is reach instinctively for any light. Like a candle. Or a flashlight. And appreciate its simple brilliance more. Also, if we share a living space with others, likely the situation will bring us physically closer together as we huddle around the light. And, usually, although it may not initially feel like it, we eventually get through the harrowing ordeal – through the dark night – in one piece and okay.

The sudden death of Marcella feels like the lights going out. And we’re not talking about a house or a subdivision, but a whole city or half the country! Marcella was a bright light in our lives. Her energy, her spunk, her drive. Her light going out affects a universe. It feels like now something huge in our lives is gone. We feel truly in the dark without Marcella. Will it ever be bright again in our lives?

Marcella and David travelled a lot. So, you know that when flying from Ottawa to London or Frankfurt, the journey begins late in the evening. Almost immediately upon departure it is already night time. It is dark. And while most of the six-hour journey transpires in the dark of night, the flight over the Atlantic is heading eastward.

And that means that this journey we are on, dark as it stays for most of it, goes with the expectation—the promise—that we are heading into a new day. After five hours of complete darkness, a thin pinprick of light first lines the horizon ahead. It isn’t too long afterward that the journey is completed in the bright daylight.

You begin a journey these days. And it starts in the darkness of grief. This journey may take some time. It may feel like a very long time. This journey must acknowledge and embrace the darkness in which we walk and the time it takes. Because we can’t get to where we are going without moving through the night. We can’t avoid it. 

But you travel not alone. You are together, as family and friends, somewhere on the flight path. You may use the time you have to be reconciled to your losses and the suffering you bear.

Even though you carry the burden of grief and loss, you are nevertheless heading towards a new day. On this long journey in the dark you wait, as it were, for the sun to shine again. You look for the pale dawn’s light to begin brightening the day again. It may start small – a tiny candle flame, a moment of grace, a pinprick of starlight shining brightly in the dark sky.

May these moments give you hope and faith that Marcella’s light still shines. It still shines in the warmth, the light, the life and the love of God. Yes, we speak of her today in the past tense. But we can still use the present tense. Her light still shines. And your light will, one day, shine brightly again.

Christmas Eve – the greatest gift for getting it wrong

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For over five centuries, Lutherans have asserted and proclaimed: grace is a gift. Meal time, especially during the holidays, is a great opportunity to experience grace.

Many of us will get together with friends, family, and coworkers for Christmas meals and potlucks. We sit at the same table and eat food that is shared among everyone at table. 

Where’s the grace? (besides the pre-meal prayer)

The grace in that experience, is being together. How often does that happen in today’s world? When family members are separated by vast distances unlike in any other time in human history. When coworkers can suspend their usual activities and work routines to just sit down and eat a meal together. When effort is made to make and/or bring food for all.

The grace is sharing food together despite the conflicts, the dislikes, the divisions and lines drawn between those around the table on account of political opinion, social standing, personality, past hurts.

The grace is found in those moments when, unexpectedly and surprisingly, a kind word is said between combatants, a genuine smile of thanksgiving is offered when ‘gifts’ are exchanged, or tears of forgiveness given and received are expressed.

On the surface, these moments may not change a whole lot, at least not immediately. But repeated often enough – Christmas comes every year – the seed sown deeply in the heart will one day sprout. ‘Mary treasured all these things and pondered them deeply in her heart’,[1]the scripture says. Sometimes, in the face of grace, all we can do is find a moment to appreciate and digest this gift. And let it grow in us. We are, each of us, the innkeeper who will decide whether or not to let Jesus in.

Celtic Thunder, the Irish, male group sings a powerful version of Silent Night that tells the story of Christmas at the Western Front in 1915. German and British soldiers stopped their fighting for a few moments Christmas Eve when one of the German soldiers – a lad of 21 years of age – started singing Silent Night.

Before long, combatants from both sides that had been avowed to killing each other were walking across no-man’s land. For a few moments they left their weapons behind, hugged each other and gave each other gifts of cigarettes and pots of wine.

But alas, the moment of grace passed. And before long they were shooting at each other again. And the 21-year-old soldier who had started the singing, did not make it to the morning.

Grace was given to those boys amidst the battle. In the singing of Silent Night, in the exchange of gifts, in the hugs and laughter, grace was still given.

Grace is a gift not for getting it right, but for getting it wrong.[2]And we human beings, throughout history, can get it awfully wrong. But this does not stop God.

God came into the world not at an ideal time when everyone was getting along. Herod was a paranoid despot about to wreak havoc in the land. In short, there was unrest in Palestine. Beneath the surface of all that might have appeared genteel in the little town of Bethlehem that holy night was broiling a call to arms by discontented zealots against Roman occupation. The military conflict would finally erupt some seventy years after Jesus’ birth with the destruction of Jerusalem.

God chose a particularly dark and disruptive time and place in history to enter in, as a vulnerable little baby boy born to a teenager in a barn for animals. Not a strategy for success, you might think, eh? On earth, nothing was going right.

But the grace of God knows no bounds. The grace of God enters into the thick of it. Not when everyone is getting along. But especially when everyone is getting it wrong.

The message of Christmas, in the end, is one of hope. Because no matter how bad or sad things get, it won’t stop God from prying into our consciences from time to time to tell us that God is never too far away. No matter how bad it gets, God is always with us. Emanuel. God with us.

Once we can accept that God is in all situations – not just the warm fuzzy moments decorated with visions from Hallmark – then everything becomes an occasion where some good can happen. God can and will use even bad situations for good.[3]“This is the day God has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it!”[4]

Our task this Christmas – however you are observing it – is to look for and find the good, the true, and the beautiful in everything, even and most especially the problematic. Because the bad is never strong enough to counteract the good, however small or short-lived. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot and never will overcome it.”[5]

Amen.

[1]Luke 2:19

[2]Richard Rohr, “Accountability Is Sustainability” Twelve-Step Spirituality: Part One (Daily Meditations, www.cac.org) Friday, December 13, 2019

[3]Richard Rohr, “Incarnation – Like Knows Like” Richard Rohr’s Daily Meditation (www.cac.org, Monday, December 23, 2019).

[4]Psalm 118:24

[5]John 1:5,9

Prayer as Silence – Advent sermon series 4

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In this concluding sermon in a series on prayer this Advent, I invite you to consider prayer as silence. In the first, we acknowledged prayer as growth – that there come times in our lives when God invites us into a deeper communion of prayer; and so, a different way of praying. In the second sermon, we considered that the fundamental work of prayer was to listen – listen to the other and listen to God. Last week, we reflected upon an important type of prayer that often is missed especially during times of the year we are called to be happy; the lament makes our relationship with God real and our ultimate joy authentic.

The eagle changes its flying posture depending on the state of the air around it.  When in flight it encounters noisy, turbulent air, the eagle folds its wings straight down and underneath, riding the agitated, unstable winds in as compact a body mass as possible.

But when the air is calm high above the earth, the eagle will spread its massive wingspan to its farthest limits. It will expand its body mass to its fullest potential as it coasts and glides on the silent, peaceful air.

Silence gets a bad rap in the Protestant church especially. Since the Reformation and Enlightenment, we are suspicious of anything that is interior or to do with experience. When we still our minds, we are afraid that we will let the devil in! 

And, we will straight away point to bad silence – like the violence percolating beneath the surface of giving someone ‘the silent treatment’. Or, we rightly condemn the complacent, fearful silence in face of injustice. In both cases, words must be spoken. And better loudly at that!

Yet, there is a silence that is healing, transformational. We find it in nature. We find it in the stillness of predawn dew resting on flowers and blades of grass. We experience it the first night in the bush after driving all day away from the loud, noisy city. 

We also find silence in the bold action born of convicted hearts, action that happens behind-the-scenes. Not in the spectacular, the sensational. Not in attention-grabbing largess of personality shock-and-awe. But in the quiet, dedicated, barely perceptible giving of those who know themselves and respond to the still, small voice speaking in their hearts.

This is Joseph. He appears, indeed, to be the strong, silent type. But not because he is afraid to say or do anything. But because he has the courage to respond. He begins his risky venture with Mary “after waking from sleep.” Even though he went to bed “considering in his mind” all the problematic aspects of his relationship with Mary, “resolving” to leave her, his course of action changed dramatically after he stopped the busy-ness of his mind, the activity of his consciousness – as good and righteous as it was – and went to sleep. And dreamt.[1]

There is a difference between the absence of noise and silence. Something is already happening in this holy silence. Something we’ve been too busy, too rushed, too loud, too distracted to notice. Where God already is, in between the words, in between the spaces defined by our cerebral, ego-driven impulses and imaginations.

This is good, Lutheran theology! The grace of God already exists in our lives. We don’t have to make it happen. Really, we don’t! God is in the world, already. It is given. God is present. God is waiting for us, in the silence of our hearts. God is waiting, already, in the circumstances and situations of the world. God is always listening to us. 

But are we always listening to God? Are we willing to step into the river of God’s action and Spirit? Will we immerse ourselves into the prayer already flowing in our lives, a prayer flowing into the ocean of God’s presence and love? The late Thomas Keating was known to have said, “Silence is God’s first language; everything else is a poor translation.”[2]

It is in silence where we can be fully and truly who we are. We don’t have to hide anything. We don’t have to meet anyone’s expectations, put on a good impression or please anyone. We can let go and let all that is there come to the surface in the confidence that all of it is held in God’s love – the good, the bad and the ugly. We can stretch to our fullest without judgement. We may be, in truth, letting the devil out, not in.

May we step into the spaciousness of God’s mercy, peace and joy just waiting for us in the silence of God’s ever-present love. May we learn to pray in the gift of silence, especially when we may so desperately need it.

[1]Matthew 1:18-25

[2]Cited in Theresa Blythe, Fifty Ways to Pray: Practices from Many Traditions and Times(Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2006) p.32

Prayer as Lament – Advent sermon series 3

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Traditionally, the Third Sunday of Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday, a command to rejoice! Be joyful!

In all the furtive busy-ness of getting ready for the big day, in all the running around and striving to check off everything on the ‘to do’ list before Christmas, carrying all the pressure and responsibility …

The church says: don’t take yourselves too seriously on this journey. There are times when we need to not just listen up, but lighten up. Gaudete!

Yes, we are on the path of transformation. And this path requires us to be intentional and disciplined. After all, Christmas is coming; there is much to prepare! It was Ignatius of Loyola, a contemporary of Martin Luther in the 16thcentury, who urged the church to “pray as if everything depended on God, and work as if everything depended on us.”[1]

Not bad advice. Except we won’t survive this journey if we don’t also take the foot off the gas pedal from time to time. Can we let things be as they are? Can we accept ourselves and rejoice even at the imperfection of our lives – the cracks in who we are? Or, have we deluded ourselves into thinking that only when everything is perfect, and finished, and just the way it ought to be, then, and only then, can we rejoice?

How can we be authentically joyful, especially when things aren’t the way they are supposed to be in our lives and in the world?

In our ordinary lives as much as in our worship and prayer, we have to make room for lament. Lament? It seems odd to suggest that on Gaudete Sunday of all days – the Sunday during Advent when we are called to rejoice – we offer our laments to God in prayer.

I’d like to suggest this is the path to expressing true joy. Lament as a necessary step on the path to true acceptance, hope and joy. So that our rejoicing isn’t just an extension of our culture’s surface ‘good cheer’ which often only masks deeper needs.

The Psalms, which are the primary prayer book for the ancient Israelites and Jews of Jesus’ day, are filled with laments. We read one together this morning.[2]Even Jesus, after his triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, expressed his disappointment and sorrow over Jerusalem[3]. And then in the garden of Gethsemane the night before he died, Jesus prayed to God if only his cup of suffering could be taken away.[4]Jesus wept for the death of his friend Lazarus[5], and on the cross he cried out, “O God, why have you forsaken me!”[6]quoting a Psalm. Jesus was familiar with, and used often, the prayers of lament on his journey to new life.

Perhaps we are afraid that if we do take the foot off the gas pedal during this season of rush-rush, we might not very much like what comes to the surface. In that moment when we are not driven by our compulsions and distractions, what scary thing might emerge?

This season can be difficult for those, for example, who grieve the loss of loved ones especially when it is the first Christmas celebrated without them. We are supposed to feel happy, but we are burdened by a deep sadness of loss. And all those messages that declare we are to be ‘joyful’ only serve to deepen our sorrow. How, then, can we be joyful?

In the Academy Award winning movie, “Inside Out”, eleven-year-old Riley has moved to San Francisco, leaving behind her life in Minnesota. She and her five core emotions, Fear, Anger, Disgust, Sadness and Joy struggle to cope with her new life.

In the movie, each of these emotions is a separate character in the control room of Riley’s mind. Until the big move, it was always Joy who was in the driver’s seat. Joy determined how Riley processed events and situations in her life. Even if Riley, who loved to play hockey on the family pond, missed a shot on goal, Joy would step in and emphasize the bright, positive side of the situation. Sadness would always stand nearby, trying to be more influential in defining Riley’s experiences. But, until the move to San Francisco, Joy always won out.

When big events in our lives happen – events that are happy or sad – these change us and the way we look upon life. By Joy insisting on dominating, even when Riley experienced significant challenges at school and at home after the move, she became worse and worse, shutting out her parents and isolating herself.

It was only when Joy let Sadness take control, did Riley turn the corner. Riley became better in her new life when no emotion was denied, but given its rightful place given the circumstance. The emotions – especially Joy and Sadness – discovered that both have to take turns in the driver’s seat from time to time. Both/And. Not Either/Or.

Christianity did not combine opposites into some kind of favourable blend. Neither does having faith exclude, deny nor avoid one in favour of the other. Rather, our faith holds all dimensions of the human, and all the dimensions of the divine in vibrant and furious tension.[7]Like, the tension of becoming truly joyful when we can also offer our lament. When we can let sadness take the driver’s seat for a bit of that journey especially when it seems it’s supposed to be all about being happy all of the time.

In the Advent study group on prayer, we reviewed the various characteristics of a lament by looking at some Psalms. One characteristic will often escape our notice, maybe because it doesn’t fit our expectations of what lamenting is. You know, we think it’s all tears and gnashing of teeth and breast-beating and woe-is-me kind of stuff.

But a lament is not a lament unless it also carries the one who is praying into a place of confidence and trust in God. Maybe that’s why Jesus lamented so much. Because he was so faithful to Abba. Trusting in God his Father. Besides the obvious grievances and plea for help expressed in the Psalm, did you not also hear and feel joy born out of confidence and trust from the Psalmist’s words this morning?

“Restore us, O God; let your face shine upon us and we shall be saved. You have brought a vine out of Egypt; you cast out the nations and planted it … Turn now, O God of hosts, look down from heaven; behold and tend this vine; preserve what your right hand has planted … Let your hand be upon the one at your right hand, the one you have made so strong for yourself. And so will we never turn away from you; give us life, that we may call upon your name. Restore us, O Lord of hosts; let your face shine upon us, and we shall be saved.”[8]

Prayer as growth. Prayer as Listening. Prayer as Lament. On the road to Christmas.

[1]Cited in Patrick J. Howell, David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds. Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year A Volume 1(Kentucky: WJK Press, 2010), p.65-66.

[2]Psalm 80; see also Psalms 74, 79, 85, 90.

[3]Matthew 22:37; Luke 13:34

[4]Matthew 26:39

[5]John 11:33-35

[6]Matthew 27:46, citing Psalm 22:1

[7]Howell, ibid., p.64

[8]Psalm 80:7-8,14-15,17-19

Prayer as Growth – Advent sermon series 1

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In the movie, “Good Boys”, three young friends explore the meaning of friendship and growth. On the journey towards maturity, Max, Lucas, and Thor discover what it means to be in a healthy relationship that can change over time.

Everything is going fine until each boy begins to pursue individual goals. At the same time, they realize that what one of them wants to do is not necessarily what the others like to do. It looks like they are going their separate ways. And the friendship group appears to dissolve.

When Lucas sits down with his parents in tears, bemoaning the breakup of his friendships, his parents offer some sage advice. They recall an old pet Lucas used to have – a hermit crab. But, when Lucas was much younger he wasn’t told how exactly his hermit crab had left them. His parents, now, tell him the truth:

The hermit crab had to find a new shell, they say. And died on its way to the beach. They explain that a hermit crab eventually outgrows its shell. And must find another shell that is larger into which it can continue to grow. If it doesn’t find a larger shell, it will die one way or another.

Lucas makes the connection that he is growing, and may need to find a larger shell to grow into – a larger social group, new friends, other activities. Leaning on this truth, Lucas is freed from the self-blame for the recent troubles with Max and Thor. It is normal and healthy to go through these growing pains in relationship. As it turns out, the boys learn to find a new way of relating with one another – a way that respects each other’s unique talents and personalities.

Throughout his letter to the Romans, Paul describes a healthy relationship to God.[1]And as we grow in this relationship, we change. And the way we relate to God changes.

In this first part of the series of sermons in Advent on prayer, I would like to underscore this theme: Prayer as growth, in our relationship with God.

There are times in our lives, events and circumstances, that give us this sense that our whole person–our deepest desires, the core of who we are–is actually waking up. At first some experiences may not feel particularly enlivening. Ironically, it is often difficult, challenging times in life that cause this re-birthing within us.

Paul writes in his letter to the Romans: “Wake from sleep, now is the moment! Shed your clothes of darkness and ignorance and be clothed with Christ.”[2]This imperative is a common theme in Paul’s writings; to the Ephesians he writes: “Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead!”[3]

And in our Gospel text today, Matthew records Jesus’ instruction to “Keep awake!” especially at the time when you are in the darkness of not knowing, or in grief, or loss or some kind of suffering. This is the time to wake up, for God is doing a new thing for you.[4]Do you not perceive it? It is time to get up. It is time to slough off the old and make room for the new. It is time “to live into the reality of the new age about to dawn.”[5]

We hear the call at this start of a new church year and the first Sunday in Advent. We hear this call to spiritual renewal as we seek to deepen our lives of faith and wait upon the coming of the Lord into our lives. The call to renewal starts with prayer.

I started by saying there are occasions in our lives that become opportunities—divine invitation, you could say—to try a different way of praying.  Like spokes on a large wagon wheel, there are different ways to pray—intercessory praying, devotional prayer, prayers with lots of words, prayers without using any words, imaginative prayers, body prayers, sacraments, song, music, art.

A variety of prayer forms give us ways of growing and deepening our relationship with God in Christ. Because at the centre of every wheel—even one with several spokes—is the hub, which is Christ. The ever-present, living Lord, moves with us and in us down the road of life.

As we grow older, for many of us, the only real question is: Why doesn’t  God answer my prayers? Because of this conundrum alone, many of us frequently just stop praying and hope for the best. Hopefully on our life’s path, when we meet others we listen to them and discover that no two of us have exactly the same spiritual journey.[6]So, why would we believe there is only one way to pray or only one way of understanding what happens in prayer?

We are each like the hermit crab, seeking to find a larger shell to grow into.

But how can we be encouraged to find a larger shell? How can we even believe that we are growing, that our broken lives so weak and stained by life’s hardships be the place wherein Christ makes his home and through which Jesus’ light shines? How is this even possible?

I heard this week the story of someone recently walking through the woods. Without yet any snow on the ground to brighten things here in Ottawa, the landscape is shrouded in browns and darkish colours. Blah. While walking the forest path, she stopped at large, oak tree which still held its leaves.

But the leaves weren’t full and vibrant with life as you would see in late Spring. They were curled at the edges, no longer pulsing with life-sustaining chlorophyll. Like crumpled, dried paper, these leaves hung there, lifeless and dead. Just waiting for the inevitable drop to the ground.

In that instant, the clouds high above suddenly broke. And streams of sunlight immediately penetrated the darkened woods and shone upon these listless leaves. In that moment of brilliance the leaves were clothed in the light. They were animated in the sunshine and restored to an incredible vision of renewed life. They absorbed and reflected the light. Their previously deadened state was transformed.

In the darkness of predawn, it is indeed hard to believe there is anything but the night. But arise, awake! The light is coming. And when the son comes as it does every morning, we are transformed and renewed in the light. And our lives reflect again God’s grace and love.

[1]Patrick J. Howell in David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year A Volume 1(Kentucky: WJK Press, 2010) p.18.

[2]Romans 13:11-14; ibid., p.16.

[3]Ephesians 5:14.

[4]Matthew 24:42; Isaiah 43:19.

[5]Howell, ibid., p.14.

[6]Ray Leonardini, Finding God Within: Contemplative Prayer for Prisoners (New York: Lantern Books, 2018), p.1,41.

“¡Presente!”

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Each of the four blessings is matched with a corresponding ‘woe’[1] First, Jesus says that blessed are they who are poor, who are hungry, who weep now and whom people hate. But, unlike Matthew’s version of the beatitudes[2], Luke doesn’t stop there. Luke doesn’t let us off easily.

Lest we become too enamoured with spiritualizing virtues or escape into some pie-in-the-sky notion of faith, Luke’s version of Jesus’ sermon only sets us up for being gobsmacked upside the head. In a stunning reversal to each blessing Jesus brings a ‘woe’—to those who are rich, who are full, who laugh now and about whom people speak well.

But wait—a secure financial future, a full stomach, a light heart, and a good reputation – aren’t these all values we want and seek? Aren’t these the things around which we structure our lives to obtain? Don’t these describe to a ‘t’ our five-year, ten-year and twenty-five-year goals?

A surface reading of this scripture can leave us picking sides. Am I on the ‘blessing’ side or the ‘woe’ side of the equation. Either / Or. Will we dare go deeper?

And, at the deeper currents of our awareness — when we are honest with ourselves — don’t we already know? Don’t we already know the truth of it—that, at best, wealth, a full stomach, a light heart and a good reputation are mixed blessings? They come at a great cost to health and relational well-being. They are temporary, fleeting. They can come and they can go.

Contrary to popular belief, rather than being evidence of God’s favour, prosperity can actually endanger our relationship with God, as was the case with the rich fool and Zacchaeus—both characters unique to Luke’s Gospel.[3]

What is common to both characters? Both came to Jesus rich men with full stomachs and their reputations intact. When they came to Jesus, both the rich fool and Zacchaeus were perfectly able to take care of themselves, to say the least.

The common trait they share as prosperous men of first century Palestine, is their self-sufficiency. This state is what separates them from God. And has them trapped. they are self-sufficient.

Elsewhere in Luke’s Gospel, we read that those who lay up treasures for themselves are not—and cannot be—rich toward God[4]because when we can take perfectly good care of ourselves, it is altogether too easy for us not to trust God. So, what jeopardizes the wealthy Christian’s relationship with God is the subtle temptation to think that we can go it alone and take care of ourselves.[5]

This underlying belief applies not only to our personal lives—and what we decide to do with our wealth, our investments, our properties our material blessing— but, also to the way we do church.

Will we be a community that lives only unto ourselves, or for the sake of others? Meeting the challenges of church today, how do we move forward? What decisions will we make with the resources we have? Will we abide by the code of self-sufficiency and go it alone? Or, will we seek out effective partners, neighbours and others on the journey of faith? Will we say God is only here inside thesewalls alone? Or, will we seek God’s work out there in the world?

What with all the competing values and programs for success beating down the doors of our hearts and minds, to follow the Christ of the cross is not easy. It’s not a technique or strategy that we can simply employ. In light of the beatitudes from Luke, the way of Christ cannot be an add-on. It cannot work that way, as another activity to add to the schedule of our already busy lives.

It comes to us as a complete package. It’s a call to transformation – a whole-life make-over. I understand the hesitation. Because life in the fast lane has its perks. Maybe we don’t want to give them up. Not easily, anyway. Seeking after self-sufficiency is too much of a lucrative deal for our egos.

Therefore the message of the Gospel can really be a downer! After all, how can we ever live faithfully when immersed in our world and its values?

But, perhaps, the message of All Saints provides an antidote to the despair and the grief. And give us hope for the journey. After all, the Gospel is not just about how to get into heaven after you die, but actually more about how to live in the kingdom of heaven on earth before you die. Not just the saints of heaven. But the saints on earth.

I want to close with a brief reflection on the meaning of a couple of words. First, ‘blessing’. “Blessed” is sometimes translated as “Happy”. I prefer the translation of the first word in the Psalms[6]which incidentally is also often translated to “Happy are they …”:

The Hebrew word here is ‘ashar, which means, literally, “to find the right road.” So, in offering the beatitudes, Jesus is saying: “You are on the right road when you are poor, when you hunger, when you weep, when you let go, when you don’t hold it all to yourself.” I prefer this translation because it implies a direction rather than a moral state. It acknowledges a journey of becoming. And any path of growth and transformation will include honest struggling and striving and letting go.

It is human to struggle with these things. On one hand, we do need to learn early in life how to take care of ourselves. Learning vital skills around self-care are important. Along the journey of maturity and growth, however, we must also learn how to balance this skill towards attention to others.

The second word is ‘presence’. This word doesn’t appear in the biblical texts for today, but it is implied in our ritual of All Saints. In Spanish, you hear the word said aloud: “¡Presente!”—which literally means “here” or “present”. There is a long tradition in Latin American movements for justice of invoking the memory of those who have lost their lives in the struggle.

At political gatherings their names were read out loud, one after another, not unlike we read the names of the saints earlier. After each name the crowd says together: “¡Presente!” as if to say: “You are not gone, you are here with us. You are not forgotten, and we continue the struggle in your name.”

It is human to struggle in the mission of God on earth. But we are not alone. Not only are the saints of heaven among us in spirit and in love, God is with us each step of the way. On the journey of life …

“Blessed are you who are poor – because you are not alone!”

“Blessed are you who hunger – because you are not alone!”

“Blessed are you who weep – because you are not alone!”

“Blessed are you who are despised – because you are not alone!”

“¡Presente!” “¡Presente!” “¡Presente!”

 

[1]Luke 6:20-31

[2]Matthew 5:1-12

[3]Luke 12:16-21; 19:1-10; E. Elizabeth Johnson in David L. Bartlett & Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word; Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary Year C Volume 4 (Kentucky: WJK Press, 2010), p.239-241.

[4]Luke 12:21

[5]E. Elizabeth Johnson, ibid., p.241

[6]Psalm 1:1

The God who forgets

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The prophet Jeremiah describes a remarkable characteristic of God. He says God will “remember no more”[1]Israel’s sins. In other words, God forgets things. Now, I’m not sure we are accustomed to perceiving God in this way. In fact, I would wager many of us will be unsettled, even disturbed, by this notion.

If God is God Almighty, all-knowing, all-everything – then how is it God will intentionally forget something about us? It’s hard to believe that God is telling the truth, here. In fact, I’m not sure we would get excited by believing in a God who isn’t all-powerful and all-knowing.

The other night was a good sports night for me. On the same night Toronto FC won their do-or-die game against New York to advance to the Eastern Conference Final in Major League Soccer. The same night, the Ottawa Senators won their second hockey game of the year! Winning is not easy for that team these days, so that win was huge. It’s a good feeling to win!

It’s invigorating and stimulating to compete, especially when you win. Indeed, we live in a world of winners and losers. And all the hype on the fields of play mirrors the values with which we live day to day.

To be better than the other. To be more beautiful than the other. To be more skilled, have more luck, be more privileged than the other. And life becomes this rat-race to establish yourself ‘over and against’ the other – to beat out your biggest competition for a position on the team, to nail that audition and get that role in the play instead of someone else.

Often climbing to the top means climbing over someone else. It’s the zero-sum game of life. We say, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, where it’s survival of the fittest. Whether or not we like it, we take it as normative even defensible. We shrug our shoulders and say, “that’s the way it is.”

God, however, does not compete. This is the remarkable thing about the biblical witness of God in light of the Gospel. God does not fight for space in this world. God does not need it. There is this self-withdrawing feel to God’s presence. Here, we would affirm the central paradox in Christianity: In God’s absence we find God’s presence; or, in death there is life.

God will remember their sins no more. Because if God was to remember their sins, God would still be in the game. The game of tit-for-tat, the game of revenge, retribution and punishment for sin. The game of reward for good works. The game of earning and deserving God’s favour.

But no. There is a new game in town. And it’s not really a game anymore – at least not one with winners and losers. It’s a new covenant and a new promise from God. Where everyone and everything in creation is a winner.

God will make us all winners. How? Almighty God will release a grip on the tug-of-war rope. God will let go of the imposing forces of the battle ground. God will forget. God will not compete for space in our lives. God will not compete for space in this world. God will forgive. God will ease our anxiety about all the harsh lines in our world.

The dividing walls between people, nations and teams will no longer carry weight. In God’s giving-up, they become largely irrelevant. The dividing walls in our hearts collapse into the total-immersion love of God. These dividing walls dissolve in the self-giving of a God who ‘emptied himself’ of all pretense to glory. And, taking the form of absolute humility – ‘being born in human likeness’ and ‘obedient’ even to the point of ‘death on a cross’[2]– God gives us abundant life.

In this vision, austerity is not the path because nothing is scarce. Self-denial is no longer needed. We don’t operate in a transactional reality where God is concerned. Because God is in all of life – even in the places we thought God could not be. There is so much to see. There is so much abundance everywhere!

Therefore God is in the glories of physical and mental achievement just as much as God is in the depression and defeat of Alzheimer’s disease. God is in the accomplishment and success of youthful enterprise as much as God is in the tears of failure. God in the beauty of creation as much as in the ugly storms. God is in the cyberworld of Tik Tok and Snap Chat as much as God is in the dusty pages of books long left on a shelf. God is in the nicest neighbourhoods and ivory towers as much as in the ghettos of poverty.

In the world of faith, too! God is among the Roman Catholics as much as God is among the Lutherans. God is among the Muslims and the Hindus as much as God is among Jews and Christians. Lutherans have a prayer schedule where we pray for a different Anglican congregation in the area every Sunday. Did you know that on their prayer list, today – Reformation Sunday—Anglican parishes in Ottawa are praying for Lutherans?

Will we see God everywhere in our lives? Will we rejoice and be glad because God is the God of the Cross and Empty Tomb? Will we seek to work towards a world in which all people can see the face of God in each other?

Today is Reformation Sunday. In the Lutheran tradition a big deal. One of the hallmark sayings of Reformation is that we are a church ‘ecclesia reformata, semper reformanda’ – the church reformed, always reforming. We have seen how, since 1517 when Luther nailed those 95 arguments for reform on the Wittenberg Church door, the church has changed over five hundred years. Always reforming, always growing, always deepening in the love of God for all people.

Let’s continue in that tradition. Let’s continue in God’s word!

 

[1]Jeremiah 31:34

[2]Philippians 2:5-11