Tag Archives: grace

A Prodigal Parable

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A wayward son left home at the age of 17 to make it on his own and get out from under the thumb and control of his Dad. His parents heard from him only at Christmas.

In time, after all the inheritance money the boy received from his Grandpa was spent, and he realized how good he had it at home, he called his Mom and asked if it would be alright if he took a train to come home. He promised her he was off drugs and was done with loose living. She was delighted but he wanted her to check with his Dad to make sure he would accept him back.

The train tracks ran right behind his parents’ property. There was a large oak tree near the trestle he had played on as a child. “Mom, if it is okay with Dad for me to come home, ask him to tie a white flag on that tree and as I come by I will know whether or not to get off at the next stop. The boy was hungry for home.

He was also nervous. Would his Dad forgive him? Could he come home? When the train took the last curve before his home, he could not bear to look.

He hurriedly asked his elderly seat partner to look and see if there was a white flag on the oak tree. The son closed his eyes and prayed.

Then he heard the man excitedly say, “Did you say ONE white flag, son? Why, every branch has a white flag attached to it!”

Read Luke 15:1-3,11b-32. Who are you in the story? Who is God? Who finds healing? And how? What do you imagine happens next?

(All my notes indicated was that this story came from a CSS Publication for preachers. If anyone has the exact bibliography, please let me know. Thanks!)

Wisps of Wisdom — on sin & forgiveness

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How does our perspective on sin and forgiveness relate to the following ‘wisps of wisdom’ on the sometimes heavy topics of sin, judgment — and forgiveness?

It’s Lent, after all! Aren’t we supposed to dwell on these matters?

At a round table discussion last weekend with several senior, committed, lifelong Christians, I heard these kinds of statements:

“Confessing sin is about becoming aware again of my need for and my dependence on God.”

“God will not act toward us in judgment because of our sins so much as for all the gifts we refused from the gracious hand of God.”

“Forgiveness of sins is not a reprieve from a judge but an embrace from a lover.”

“It is not Jesus’ suffering and death that saved us but Christ’s love.”

What do you think? I, for one, am grateful and encouraged.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unworthy (and worthy!)

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Remember the “tech bubble” that collapsed thirteen years ago? What about the “housing bubble” of 2007 in the United States, and a second “tech bubble” some see looming now; not to mention housing prices in Canada? Is the bubble going to burst? Again?

But what about another bubble that we may be even more apprehensive to talk about – the decline of “establishment Christianity” North America? One congregation at a time, one closed school, one left-behind building, and even many mega-churches that are shattering like the walls of a bubble.

You may react – that I am being overly negative and it’s really not all that bad so long as we can continue to spin our wheels, try to turn the clock back to 1950 and do things the way they used to be done in the past.

Do we consider the institutional church in 2013 a tree that will stand forever, a house built on solid rock, the very apple of God’s eye?

Jesus told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none.” (Luke 13.6)

In our individual, personal lives, bubbles burst all the time. Are you one of the very people whose bubbles are now bursting? Broken relationships. Ill-health. Financial ruin. Underemployment. Shattered dreams. Tragedy.

Indeed, the human condition is broken. Ever since the Fall, sin has steeped into the very fabric of our earthly existence.

According the Lutheran belief, even our good intentions and actions are tainted and ineffectual. In our weekly liturgy, we confess “that we are captive to sin and cannot free ourselves” (“Evangelical Lutheran Worship”, p.95, emphasis mine). There’s nothing we – by ourselves – can do to make things better. Older liturgies are even more hard-hitting: the “Book of Common Prayer” in the Anglican Church has it: “We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table” (p.83). I am sure Lutherans can point to old prayer and liturgy books that basically suggest we are no better than worms crawling in the mud.

Let’s be careful in how we respond to the question of sin. For one thing, in the Gospel text today (Luke 13:1-9), Jesus rejects the kind of thinking that is easy: focusing on the sins of others as explanation, justification, for the bad things that happen. In response to the Pharisees, Jesus turns the question to them. You must repent for your sins.

In the baptismal liturgy of our church, we renounce the devil and all his empty promises – three times. When we declare together that we “renounce” the devil, we are also renouncing “all the forces that defy God” and “the powers of this world that rebel against God” (EvLW, p.229).

Not only is sin active in our individual lives – but in the world around us: in economic, political, social, religious institutions. Sin is not only individual; it is corporate. Sin is something we can do together in an organization, collectively. Admittedly it’s easier to point to a random, individual act. It’s convenient and easier to explain individual behavior gone bad. It’s much more ambiguous, complex and difficult to see sin as something shared in a group.

What do we, as a church, need to confess?

Are we counting on bubbles? Are we riding on the coat tails of previous generations of the faithful? Are we trying to draw closer to God without allowing God closer to us? Do we try to save ourselves through work and possessions? Do we ration our affections, pulling back from a deeply troubled world, staying inside where it is safe, praying when we feel like it, listening as little as possible, singing our songs and not God’s songs, treasuring our kind and not God’s people? (Thank you to Tom Ehrich for this insight and these words – from his blog, “On a Journey – Meditations on God in Daily Life”, Feb 27/2013).

Amidst the doom and gloom there is hope. The passage ends with hope. In the confession there is the realization of God’s mercy. Amidst the urgency to get things done, to do the right thing, to toil in all our striving, we are invited to pause. To stop, for a moment. Why?

Because we are that fig tree. Barren. Failed. Unworthy – or so it would seem (from the world’s perspective). Jesus is the gardener, who sees in us something worthy of grace. Jesus advocates on our behalf, to give us another chance. A holy, second chance. Jesus continues to work at the root of our lives, applying grace upon grace, getting his hands dirty – for us. Jesus will not give up on us.

In this dependence on God for all good things, we have to realize one, very important truth: It is not we who accomplish our growth, our life. All we need to do, is open our hearts, the ground of our being – as roots – to receive the nourishment of God’s grace. All we need to do, is look up to the sunshine, warming our being, inviting us to reach outward.

It is Jesus’ love for us that accomplishes whatever good that may come from our efforts. It is God’s work of love that accomplished our salvation in Jesus. I heard recently a wonderful quote from a teacher of Christian prayer: that God will not judge us according to our sins and failings, but for all the gifts we refused from the gracious hand of God. Our judgment is not based on our sinning – since we all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God (Romans 3:23) – but because we have refused, rejected and turned from the grace and love that God offers us anew, every day. Because God is giving us a second chance. What are we doing about that?

We yearn for more. Polls and studies reveal that people are hungry for God. Maybe it will take a cascade of bursting bubbles for us to see how little fruit we have yielded, how much God desires of us, and how lovingly God will work on our behalf for real life and love for all, not for bubbles.

The Fox and the Hen: Who’s running scared?

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Richard Rohr claims that “If you or the group to which you belong cannot laugh at yourself, then you are in trouble” (p.197, “On the Threshold of Transformation”). No better time to laugh a little than during Lent and especially on Annual General Meeting Day in the church, don’t you think?

So here’s one that will hopefully introduce us suitably to the animal imagery in the Gospel text today. It’s a chicken joke, but it’s not crossing the road!

Q: Why is it that chickens can’t talk? A: Because God doesn’t like fowl language!

The power of the imagery is indeed not in what is said, but what the mother hen in the Gospel text today (Luke 13:31-35) will do – even in the face of fear and adversity. Actions, in the life of faith, always speak louder than words.

The image of Jesus as a mother hen gathering her chicks reminds me of a common experience I see on the water described very well in the words of Canadian writer, humorist and preacher, Ralph Milton; he writes (in ‘Rumors: Sermon Helps for Preachers with a Sense of Humor’):

“I remember the image in Luke 13:34 every spring as I walk with my wife Bev along our creek, and delight in the clutches of fuzzy ducklings feeding along the edge of the water under the steady eye of the mama duck.

Sometimes at dusk we’d see mama duck tucking her babies under her wings where they will be as warm and safe as it is possible for wild ducks to be.

It is heartbreaking sometimes when a single duckling becomes separated from the clutch and goes whistling frantically for mama who is nowhere in sight. And when it spies Bev and me on the pathway, it goes skimming along the water in a desperate attempt to escape.

We always want to re-unite it with its mother. But mostly that’s impossible because we don’t know where mother duck is either. When we’ve been successful, it is by scaring the little bird to run away from us in the direction of the mother.”

Indeed, sometimes fear will motivate us – like the duckling – to run straight into the arms of a loving God.

But not Jesus. Jesus does not run in fear from Herod – the fox. Personified as a predatory fox, Herod is after Jesus. The Pharisees warn Jesus, tell him to “get away”. When you think about it, of all the artwork and creative depictions of Jesus over the centuries, have you ever seen Jesus “running away”? I certainly haven’t.

In the words of blogger Nancy Rockwell: “In Scripture and in art there are images of Jesus doing so many things – praying, walking, knocking on doors, gathering crowds, climbing hills, calling disciples, writing in the sand with his finger, sharing bread, preaching, weeping – but never running.” (in ‘Bite in the Apple’ 2013)

Because that is not what a mother hen does. Even under duress. Even when threatened by a fox. Rockwell continues: “The homely hen, who has lived in the backyards of humans for thousands of years, is selfless in her devotion to her little ones, even more defenseless than she. She has no defenses against the arts and wiles of foxes except her courage and commitment. She will rush to their sharp teeth and long claws, their looming shadow, their fierce bloodlust, throwing herself upon the bodies of her chicks, extending her wings over them, letting herself be devoured in the hope that they may be spared. She does not run from her fears.”

This is the God we worship today, on the day we review the ‘business’ of the church. We worship a God who is fearless, on account of a great, sacrificial love. “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:18). God’s love in Jesus, Christ’s protective grace and fierce loyalty, these are unmatched in all of creation. Incredible, especially when Jesus rebukes Jerusalem for its misguided ways – and then still (and again!) offers his unconditional love.

Above all, let us remember who is the God of this church. Not a fox, out to get us, out to scare us. But a God who wraps loving arms to hold us up, and be our strength, no matter what.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

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I’ve come to realize that Lent is good for me. And do you know why? Lent is a season for confession. So here’s one of mine: Lent is not exactly my favorite season of the church year.

But that’s precisely why it’s good for me. Because I initially react negatively to it, perhaps there’s something there to which I need to pay attention. It’s the same as saying, the only way for you to overcome some fear, is not to avoid it but to face it. And go there.

I suppose there is some consolation in believing that if we’re never challenged in our faith, if it never means we struggle with it, if it’s always supposed to be sugar-sweet and easy, if the real bad stuff happens out there with other evil people and never within me – well, in all honesty and truth – red flags should be going up all over the place.

Indeed, the kind of sins and temptations are very personal to you and to me. And subtle. And easily missed.

How is Jesus tempted? You’ll notice the temptations are not bad in and of themselves, really (Luke 4:1-13). The devil doesn’t tempt Jesus to commit murder or genocide, or destroy the lives of good people by duping them into some ponzi scheme, or sell drugs, or do some awful, despicable, unconscionable thing we see continually in our media. At the same time, they are not of the trite, superficial variety we hear about in our so-called Lenten disciplines: the devil is not tempting Jesus with chocolate.

The man has been fasting for forty days. Surely a loaf of bread is okay? Even the most rigid of diets and fasts include some basic, regular consumption.

Then, the world. We know the corruption and evil surrounding the rule of Herod in Jesus’ day and age. A change in government would be a good thing, especially one ruled by Jesus, eh? You would think.

And finally, the temple. What with the priests, Pharisees, Levites and religious leaders of the day missing God’s point so often and corrupting the spiritual and worship life of people by their control and manipulative designs – Jesus taking over by displaying the power of God in the temple would go a long way in cleansing the place, turning it around. Wouldn’t you say? Jesus in charge! Yeah! Good idea!

The temptations address the person. And Jesus is the Son of God, not something contested by the devil, you’ll notice. The temptations are meant merely to distract Jesus, throw him off course.

The temptations are essentially given to undermine Jesus’ trust in God the Father. The temptations don’t deal with who Jesus is so much as what kind of Jesus will emerge from the desert: one that acts on his own timeline, or one that waits and obeys the timing and guidance of God the Father.

Because remember, Jesus does make bread to feed the hungry; Jesus does engage the political realm preaching the coming of God’s kingdom on earth; Jesus does let go and hang on the cross trusting the angels and presence of God the Father right to the end. In the end, Jesus does in essence what the devil tempted him in the desert. But with one huge difference: not according to anyone else’s strength and timeline other than God’s.

Game, set and match to Jesus!

I think we can say the same for ourselves: What is truly dangerous temptation for us has more to do with whatever may distract us from God’s purpose for our lives. Careful discernment is required here. It may not be obvious. In fact, it may first present itself as a good thing in and of itself: Some common sense notions we live by day to day. But are they part of God’s purposes? Is it the right time? Humility is also required in this journey.

We are not Jesus. So much in the popular Christian culture today suggests that we should be like Jesus. “What Would Jesus Do? WWJD” – do you wear the bracelet? Yes, Martin Luther said we are “little christs”. But emphasis on little, please.

Because Luther was very clear to say: We cannot presume to be like Jesus in his moral perfection. Because we aren’t! When we try to be like Jesus we lean on our own strength. When we try to be like Jesus we may easily end up believing we must earn God’s favor by our good works. This is not the Gospel. We are missing the point.

Being faithful Christians we will fail in our efforts, in our striving. Then, when we do fail – what do we do, what happens, what do we believe?

Are we unworthy of God’s love and favor? Will be burn in hell for our mistakes? Will God punish us? Will we give up? Will we say, “This is not for me?” and turn our back on church? Will we despair and continue knocking ourselves down in self-rejection? I think we are familiar with this line of reasoning – and where that spirit of obsessive, fatalistic guilt takes us. And that’s not a good place. Because I don’t think that reasoning leads to a vital, energetic and committed ministry to feed the poor and proclaim the Lord’s favor shouting from the rooftops – “Christ is Lord!”

It is simply in trusting Jesus amidst our weakness and imperfection where the Gospel has powerful witness to the world. All we need to do is to accept Jesus is with us, to help us, to guide us. All we need to do, is trust. And not give up on the path.

An ancient proverb is told of a servant whose duty was to draw water from the river at dawn when it was still mostly dark, and carry a bucket-full up a winding, rocky path to the mansion where his master lived. Alas! His bucket had a crack in it. And each time he brought water up the path he lost most of it.

Curiously, the servant noticed his master standing at the door of the mansion watching him every day carry this water up the path, spilling most of it. And yet, the servant was able to see a broad, loving smile on his master’s face. Daily, the servant would drop to his knees when he reached the top.

At his master’s feet the servant would express his remorse at failing to do his job, bringing only half a bucket-full of water each time he climbed the path. The master listened lovingly, invited him inside for breakfast, and encouraged him to try again the next day. Which the servant did, faithfully, for the entire season.

When the river froze over, and the last half-bucket full was brought up the path, and once again the servant expressed his shame, sorrow and regret, the master invited him inside to share in a special feast to mark the end of the season and beginning of a new one. On the table spread with the finest breads, vegetables, cheeses and meats, he found bouquets of flowers of the most wondrous varieties and colors.

The servant gasped at the heavenly sight and asked his master, “From where did you find these beautiful flowers?” “Come, follow me,” the master said, “and see for yourself.” The master led the servant back to the front door just as the sun was rising, illuminating the pathway down to the river. And on both sides of the path the flowers were growing, able to do so because of the water that had daily leaked out from the servant’s cracked bucket.

As we follow the path of our Lenten discipline let’s keep our eyes fixed on our master Jesus. Jesus knows our limitations, our failures, our sins because he walked that path to the Cross and bore all our sins. He knows intimately this rocky, dark path that we tread.

He also sees that nothing is wasted. No effort too small or too great is missed by God’s gracious gaze. Whatever we do, no matter how seemingly insignificant, has eternal implications. And won’t we be surprised when we enter that glorious heavenly feast and see it all!

We made the sign of the cross on our foreheads with ash this past week. Some may think as I once did, “how morbid and negative!”

But the path we tread is not about achieving perfection, but about not giving up. So, continue on the path returning to the Lord day after day this Lenten season, doing what we may. But keeping our vision, our focus, on Jesus even when we fail. And then see what happens.

Hope springs eternal. Surprise!

In here and out there

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When I started opening my fortune cookie this past week I realized how eager I was to find out what treasure lay within. What positive words would jump out at my life this time? Not that I take those words all too seriously. But what often piques my interest, especially in sharing with another person, was a yearning for the positive word to me. Positive + Personal + with others = more fun!

I, for one, yearn for a positive, spiritual experience. I count myself among those who seek an encounter with a living and loving God. And that could come in prayer, a holy reading of Scripture, an uplifting experience of worship.

But I know that only to be the half of it. Because when I look beyond myself and my own longings, I see something bigger, something more than my agendas for self-gratification and my self-absorbed navel-gazing.

And, for me, that starts with an honest encounter with Scripture.

When I first read the Gospel story for Transfiguration Sunday (Luke 9:28-43), I found what seemed to me an unnatural disconnect between the first part when the disciples see a vision of Jesus’ glory on the mountaintop, and second part when Jesus heals a boy from a demonic illness.

On the one hand Jesus’ mountaintop experience conveys a sense of privy religion: an ecstasy reserved for an elite few, a holy albeit exclusive event, a private affair that occurs in an ivory tower place not easily accessed — to which anyone who has climbed mountains can likely attest. Me and sweet Jesus!

On the other hand rebuking an unclean spirit sends Jesus into the dirty streets and crossroads of the harsh realities of common life. There’s an obvious rapid descent that occurs in this passage — a drastic scene change: from a select few disciples in Peter, John and James, and biblical greats in Moses and Elijah … to a great crowd that meets Jesus at the foot of the mountain; from mystical communion, wispy clouds and translucent streams of bursting heavenly light … to the putrid smells of decay and disease in the streets, mauling little boys in uncontrollable seizures and epileptic fits. It’s dramatic!

What is going on here? What are we to understand about the glory of God? What constitutes a ‘holy’ experience? I see at least three clues in the text to help us.

First, both the Gospel writers Luke and Matthew follow up the mountaintop experiences by Jesus healing someone. All three — Matthew (17:14), Mark (9:14) and Luke have Jesus encountering the “crowd” right after the transfiguration. So basically, the Gospels clearly attempt to fuse together the contemplative, mystic, holy with the ordinary, embodied and missional elements of our faith. Again — not either/or, but more both/and.

In her memoir, “Breathing Space: A Spiritual Journey in the South Bronx” (Boston: Beacon Press, 2003, p.269), Heidi Neumark reflects on this passage to tell a powerful story of transfiguration. She describes the transformation of the church she served as pastor for almost twenty years. Aptly named Transfiguration Lutheran Church, the community was struggling, barely surviving, for most of that time. Standing amid poverty and the myriad problems that can accompany such a demon — crime, drug abuse, lack of education and opportunity, lack of hope — Transfiguration Church mostly kept its doors shut tight to the world around it.

The work of Jesus rebuking the unclean spirit was example enough for Neumark. “When Peter and the others came down from the mountain,” she writes, “they found a father and a child gasping for life. But Jesus rebuked the unclean spirit, healed the boy, and gave him back to his father. And they found transfiguration.

And so it is. When the disciples of this Bronx church unlocked the doors of their private shelter and stepped out into the neighbourhood, they did meet the distress of the community convulsed and mauled by poverty, to be sure. But they also discovered transfiguration as a congregation in connection with others.

As much as I long for those holy, exclusive encounters with God, I have to agree with commentators who suggest that the story of the transfiguration of Jesus loses its power if it does not include that moment when Jesus and the disciples come down from the mountain (Lori Brandt Hale, “Feasting on the Word” Year C Volume 1, p.456).

On Meadowlands Drive in Ottawa, we are not situated in the Bronx. Poverty may not readily stare us in the face quite like for the people of Transfiguration Church. And yet, the question may still need to be asked: Who lives outside these doors? Who are we in relationship with this community in West Ottawa? What is the role and function of our space here? Is it only for our own personal edification, our own private encounter with God in some mystical, religious experience?

Or, can those beautiful encounters with God and with one another in this holy place lead us, as a valid and necessary extension of our faith, somewhere else?

Perhaps places reserved for personal intimate communion with God are meant more as a stopping place, a rest station on the interstate of life, where we recharge our batteries. But that the real deal happens out there in the world. The holy, glorious places, serve as turnabouts in our walk on earth — leading us in, but turning us back around after re-fueling to face what we must face out there.

The second clue in our readings today, is the predominant image of “face”; let me explain: In the first reading from Exodus, Moses did not know that after his encounter with God, “the skin of his face shone” (34:29); and the Gospel writer indicates that while Jesus was praying on the mountain, “the appearance of his face changed” (9:29). Then, after Jesus heals the boy with the demon, Jesus “sets his face to go to Jerusalem” (9:51) to complete his mission on earth.

What our face communicates is powerful and influential beyond measure. What do our faces convey to the world out there about the treasure we hold in our hearts? What impression do we give to the public – as Christians, as Lutherans, as members of Faith Church in West Ottawa?

A couple of weeks ago I remember in the middle of my sermon I saw a whole bunch of you burst out in radiant smiles. Your faces were shining! And yet, I hadn’t said anything particularly funny — at least I didn’t think I did. But something else, something I hadn’t noticed, was happening. And it was a holy moment.

A child had been smiling at you. And no words were spoken, even necessary. It was as if you conveyed a sense of the presence of God in your midst with an emotional response to a child’s face. The smiles and glow on all your faces were part of the meaning of God’s felt presence in the worshiping community that day. And it was a gracious, patient, forgiving presence.

It may not often be mentioned by preachers of the Gospel, but did you notice that Jesus at first reacts, rather negatively, to their request for healing the boy. Jesus kind of complains to the people about their lack of faith, insulting them: “You perverse generation!”

I think Jesus realizes that so often people are not getting the reason for his coming to earth. He sees that people really just want something for themselves. They want Jesus to help them, one of their own. Quite understandable. And yet, their self-centered egos get the better of them and is what truly motivates them to come to Jesus. Jesus just shakes his head.

Nevertheless, he still shows them compassion, shows the boy compassion, and heals him. His love and grace trump the people’s misguided motivations and selfish ambitions. Even though they don’t understand that their purpose in life – God’s purpose for them – is for the sake of others, Jesus still exercises divine patience.

How do we face the world outside these doors on a Sunday morning? Do we walk in the way of Jesus? Do people see forgiveness and patience, a radiance that conveys loving acceptance?

Dark coloured hard-wood flooring seems to be the latest thing in model homes. I’ve toured a few of these new homes in Arnprior over the last year. Indeed, the duplex we now rent – a new construction – has this dark hardwood flooring throughout. And yet, as nice and pretty as it looks, it is so unforgiving: every speckle of dust, every bread crumb, stands out. It is unforgiving, unyielding. Other, lighter woods can put up with more dirt, so to speak.

I hope we are not like this hardwood flooring to the world out there. I hope our “face” to the world radiates a patient, compassionate and forgiving stance, one that invites a loving response from those we meet.

Jesus’ face may have been determined as he began his journey to Jerusalem after the transfiguration. But it was not a hard set, impatient, unforgiving, angry face. But one that invited an open heart to respond in faith.

The glory of God is realized in the mission, boots-to-the-ground, exercise of compassion to those in need. Then, others out there will see us as we are and whose we are. The glory of God cannot be fully experienced without reflecting the treasure of love we hold in our hearts, for the world to see outside these doors.

Better than anything we can find in a fortune cookie.

Revealing glory: a funeral sermon

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Your keeping vigil with your mother over the past month occurred, primarily, during the season of Epiphany. The season of Epiphany in the church calendar is all about the revelation of Jesus. And the stories that we hear during this season — the baptism of Jesus, the miracle of water to wine, and the magi bringing priceless gifts to the baby Jesus — emphasize the glory of God in the coming of Jesus into the world.

Christians have responded to the revelation of God’s glory by affirming Jesus as the divine Son of God. The season finds its climax in the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop alongside other biblical greats in Moses and Elijah. Here we witness as a foretaste of the coming glory of Easter the epitome of God’s shining glory in the blazing light of Jesus’ holy presence.

It may at first seem incongruous to talk about God’s glory on a day when we grieve the death of one beloved among us. It may at first even appear nonsense to focus on the brilliance, beauty, and blazing light of God’s presence in and around us during the darkest, coldest part of the year. As does wintertime, death may come to us as an example of God’s defeat, not God’s victory.

And yet, I do not hesitate in beginning this funeral sermon by mentioning God’s glory in Jesus. And not only because we still find ourselves in the season after Epiphany. It’s more because of whom we remember this day.

Because, for me, her life with us — even to the end — truly reflected God’s glory. In the sense that her presence conveyed dignity, respect, elegance. You told me how often she upheld values of proper etiquette and dress — especially in church! She wanted to look beautiful. God forbid you wore jeans to church!

Around New Year’s when she was very low I remember coming to the hospital to visit her. I had to wait outside in the hallway for a few minutes as a nurse attended to her. When I was finally called in to her room, I came in just as she was getting help from one of you putting her lipstick on! Even in her severely weakened, vulnerable, state, she still wanted to do what she could, to look beautiful. Glorious!

Epiphany is faith’s response to the dark, cold days of winter. Epiphany is faith’s response to the dark, difficult, painful times of our lives. Not that we deny, brush over, or try to hide that reality.

Only that we affirm, despite the loss and amidst the grief, the small nugget of hope — of beauty — within us all, as she did for herself. Your loved one was especially gifted at pointing out, recognizing and affirming that nugget in us — even when we couldn’t see it ourselves!

She truly had the gift of encouragement. And she used it! Several of you have recalled for me times when after leading a bible study or presenting music or words in worship, she would take the time to make a phone call or write a card to you afterwards. In those simple acts, she thanked you and pointed out the positive — even though you may have felt the opposite about the experience!

Earlier in her life, she exercised her gift of hospitality and invitation to newcomers to the community — inviting them over for supper or tea. Such grace goes a long way to affirm that gift of hope and faith in us so often and easily shrouded by life’s difficulties.

In doing so, your loved one was herself being transformed. Through the course of her life, in exercising her gifts of encouragement, hospitality, generosity and care, she was being transformed into the likeness of Christ’s glory. Indeed, I believe she once described to me her own life as a journey towards God.

There’s an old story (as told by Barbara Schmitz, p.35, “Changed From Glory Into Glory” in The Life of Christ and the Death of a Loved One, CSS Publishing, 1995) about a fellow who fell in love with a young woman. But he was sure that she would not be interested in him because he didn’t think he looked handsome. So with the help of a surgeon he had a special mask designed, a handsome mask that was then placed over his face. With this handsome new look, he easily won over the woman he loved and they were married.

But many years later, she discovered the trick and asked him to remove it. When he peeled off the mask, what was underneath, but a handsome face! For, after all those years, his natural face had slowly taken on the handsome contours of the mask. His face had been transformed into the likeness of the mask.

The Christian life, from baptism to death, is indeed a journey of being changed, transformed, into the likeness of Jesus Christ. And periodically, on this journey, in good times and even through difficult times, we pause to give thanks and celebrate the good, the blessing, the gift, that is there whether we always see it or not.

At this funeral service, we give thanks for the life of our loved one who now celebrates at the banquet feast of heaven. At this funeral service, we also share in a holy meal often called the Eucharist. Eucharist means “thanksgiving”. And in our thanksgiving to God for Jesus, we take one more step on that journey of being healed, being changed, being transformed, for the good.

May our lives, as did the one whom we remember today, reflect the glory of God.

In Christ Jesus, our Lord and Savior.

Proclamation and action

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Be the change you want to see. I’ve heard this advice often over the past year. I know I’ve mused about this before. But watching the inauguration of President Barack Obama at the beginning of his second term leads me again to express this desperate need for leaders — for me — to be today: words are not enough.

The president’s effective leadership will be debated for centuries to come, to be sure. But one thing stands out: He will be known for his oration. He can speak. President Obama is a model for any preacher or public speaker. His ability to use words and articulate vision, and bring it from the heart is amazing. His speech writers need to be credited as well!

At the same time, he probably knows that the rubber will hit the road when executive action follows from his words. Proclamation finds its validity in the being and doing of leadership. And then the sparks will fly.

So, who one is and what one does, as a leader, will impress upon the public as much as gifted oration will ever.

Be the change you want to see. Don’t do as I say, do as I do.

I couldn’t help make the connection with the Gospel text (Luke 4:16-22) appointed for the coming Sunday — when Jesus stands up in the synagogue to read from the scroll, the scripture appointed for him to read, from the prophet Isaiah (61). Jesus announces his purpose, his divine mission in the world. Notice the verbs:

“… to proclaim …” appears twice in that short quote from Isaiah. Jesus is called by the Spirit to proclaim release to the captives and the year of the Lord’s favour. Proclamation is part and parcel of, even foundational to, the Chrisitan ministry.

I was raised by two pastors from the Lutheran tradition who taught me that the pastor’s fundamental role was to engage in “proclamation”, in the art of preaching. Homiletics professors in seminary reinforced that mission of the ordained clergy. I’ve always found comfort in that. But why?

Not that comfort is altogether a bad thing. But when the comfort means that I conveniently avoid the other part of the equation, or shy away from it, am I being faithful to that Christian ministry?

Today I notice in younger generations who do not find their heart in the church, they see Christians who talk the talk but don’t walk the talk. I don’t believe they want someone talking to them about what it means to be Christian; they want someone to show them what it means to be Christian. They would, I imagine, be more impressed by Christians and their leaders who behave and act consistently with the proclamation.

For those concerned about effective evangelism, I suspect a church that is led by example more than anything will impress those not normally associated with the church. More so than words, acting in the mission of Jesus towards the poor, the captives, with forgiveness and grace will attract and draw others into that Christian mission and identity.

Not only is Jesus called into a mission of proclamation, the other verbs in that text from Isaiah which he quotes in the Nazarene synagogue at the beginning of his ministry are telling: “…to bring good news…” and “…to let…” These are action words.

What does it mean to bring good news to the poor, and to let the oppressed go free? These compelling verbs bring to life many possibilities in fulfilling, in deed, the proclamation of Jesus Christ in his day, and in our lives together today.

The integrity of Christian Unity

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Nearly two hundred Roman Catholics, Anglicans and United Church members packed the church in east-end Ottawa. It was the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. And these people gathered on a frigid Sunday afternoon in January to celebrate Christian unity.

My heart was warmed, since normally what the world sees and focuses upon is the doctrinal infighting and squabbling among Christians from different denominations. But today those differences were placed in the perspective of the underlying basis of our unity of purpose and mission in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Amen!

Since I was leading part of the prayers and my name and position printed in the order of service I was regarded the token Lutheran in the crowd. Following the service most of the assembly gathered in the parish hall for a festive reception. The energy level was high. People were happy to be together. Small talk and jovial conversation prevailed.

And then, wham!

Who I presumed was a member of the French-Roman-Catholic church approached me with a smile yet determined gate. With coffee in his steady hand, he said in French he wanted to ask me an important question that would demand my full attention. He instructed me to give him three honest and concise reasons why I was NOT Roman Catholic.

My eyes momentarily darted to the heavens for inspiration. Uhhhhh. Okay. Here it goes. From the heart. Concise. I spoke, in English:

1. I was raised in a Lutheran family — born, baptized, confirmed. My upbringing and much of my socialization during my formative years was within the Lutheran church context. That has to be the first, honest answer to his question;

Then I went on the offensive …. 🙂

2. I like the core Lutheran theological orientation originally posited by Martin Luther in the 16th century that we are saved by grace through faith. We are justified by grace alone, faith alone, scripture alone. And not by anything we must do to gain favor with God and with one another. This general approach towards all things church is my theological home, my lens through which I interpret, and my joy in believing and behaving. There isn’t, quite honestly and respectfully, another denomination whose theological emphasis rings quite as true to me as this core Lutheran position. Although I recognize places in other denominations where grace is believed and practiced as such, I choose the Lutheran theological message.

… And then I pushed further ….

3. Lutherans, I said, have taken the middle road in liturgical expression, worship style, even theological nuancing — usually somewhere in between the evangelical conservative, charismatic forms on the one side, and the more contemplative, formal Roman Catholics on the other. The rigidity around those divisions, born in the Reformation era, are dissipating over time, thankfully. And yet, I continue encountering faithful Lutherans — even young ones — who identify neither with extreme, cut-and-dry positions denouncing all ritual and mystery, but who will also not forfeit a reliance on scripture and reason altogether — for example, in celebrating the Sacraments. In other words, Lutherans have normally sought a balanced approach. This, I find, is healthy and good. Very Canadian, I might add.

When I finished, silence ensued in the space between us. Then, came the broad smile. He offered his hand and with a firm shake (which felt a lot like a German hand-shake!) he said: “Very well answered. Thank you. Can we talk more about this later?”

I bit my tongue to ask him why he was not Lutheran. Although I realize that in the give-and-take of inter-denominational dialogue the timing of these questions are critical to keeping the door open to continue the conversation. I look forward to that.

Often I hear from church folk that what they fear from Christian unity is a watering down of our own identity. What some people fear in engaging other Christians and spending more time with them is dissolution of what is important to us. What some fear is a loss of integrity.

I believe it’s the opposite. We don’t lose our integrity. We find it.

In encountering other Christians who are different from us we have the opportunity to distinguish — for ourselves, maybe more importantly — what defines us.

Have we forgotten? Have we become so used to, familiar and comfortable with what we do that we’ve beocme stuck in a rut and take it for granted? Have we forgotten what to say when someone asks us, precisely, about our faith?

The church finds itself at a crossroads today. And one of the ways the church will find its way is not to shy away from opportunities to be with other Christians who are different from us. Unfortunately one reaction to the uncertainty in the world today is to barracade ourselves within a fortress mentality — not seeing beyond the comfort of our church walls and practices. This is a tragic trajectory. Let us not follow the path to cocoon in comfort.

But in celebrating our unity, yes it is a challenge. We are drawn out of ourselves for a moment. And this may make us squirm for a while. But should we stay with it, we will find ourselves within that larger Christian family. And find opporunity to share with others from where we’ve come and what’s important to us. In the end we discover and experience our unity — inner and outer — in our diversity.

Be your colour, show your colour, together

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This ‘childrens chat’ can be used in worship during the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Invite children to sit on the floor near the altar with you, the leader. Ask each child reach into a shoe box held above their heads to retrieve one coloured pencil. Include a variety of pencils in the box of various sizes, shapes and colours. Provide one large, blank sheet of paper on the floor in the middle of the group of children. Once each child has chosen a pencil ….

Each of you has chosen a pencil crayon from my box. Are you happy with the colour you got?

Why, or why not?

Okay, but can you still draw something with it?

I think so, since I made sure all the markers, crayons and pencils were sharpened and in good working condition before worship today.

Alright, what I would like you to do is think of something you can draw together as a group, given whatever colours you have. How can you do this?

Well, first you might want to ask your neighbour what colour they have. Then, when you know all the colours in play, you can make up a picture that can include all the colours. The picture can be whatever you want it to be, so long as you get each and every colour you have in your group on the paper as part of that picture.

Any ideas? …

As you are colouring your picture together, I want to remind you that God gave each of us a colour in our lives. This colour is like something very special that each of you has — a talent, a treasure, an ability, something you can like about yourself. This is a very special gift that God gave you and no one else. Do you know what your colour is? — your talent, treasure, ability?
If not, that’s okay. Sometimes it can take a long time before you find that out.

This gift is not something we chose to have, just like you couldn’t choose your favourite colour or pencil from the box. All we have to do is reach into our lives, like you reached into the box, to discover what that colour is. When we’ve done that, God wants us to use it!

Part of being the church together is to know your special talent or gift. But also to discover what other peoples’ talents are. And when you know what everyone has, just imagine the neat things you can do as a group.

That’s what being the church is all about. Jesus wants us to work together, using our talents, to paint a beautiful picture — like you are doing now — using all the gifts of everyone in the church. Not just one person’s talent. But everyone’s, together!

Then we can show the bright and beautiful colours of God’s love to the whole world.

Good job!

Let’s pray: Thank you God for creating me. Thank you for giving me a special gift. Help me to know that gift, and learn the gifts of others. Then, bless us with your love, so together with other people, we can use our gifts to show your love to the world. Amen.

“To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Corinthians 12:7)