During my paddle on the Ottawa River last week, I encountered a mink for the first time. Its sleek, oily and—compared to a beaver or otter—rather tiny, narrow body was sunning on a rock, and then scampered into the water to get away from me as I approached. The top of its head bobbed above the water line for a while, keeping an eye on me, before it dove underneath and away from my sight.

I was reminded that during this time of ‘Great Pause—when the engines of a mighty and powerful economy have slowed down causing disruption and anxiety for many—especially the financially vulnerable, the poor and marginalized—the animals of the land and sea have populated areas that have quieted significantly from human activity.

My first-ever encounter with a mink made me think. Have you considered that we humans are one of very few species that can decide not to do something we are capable of doing.^[1]That means, we have the innate capacity to change, like no other creature. We have the capacity to choose one way or another, to grow and stretch ourselves in a direction not governed merely by instinct nor compulsion.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus prays a thanksgiving for having shown his disciples the ways of God. And in so doing he draws a distinction between mere knowledge and wisdom. Knowledge, in our world, is power. But that’s not what Jesus is about. Jesus is about teaching us wisdom. Jesus prays, “You have hidden these things [… the ways of God]… from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants.”^[2]

We are on the way to discovering the difference between having all the facts and information about God—and knowing God. Here is the starting point of wisdom. The wisdom writers and poets of the Hebrew scripture say that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”^[3]

I take that to read that it is receiving a real experience of, and encounter with, God in our daily, simple lives out of which we become wise people. Because this experience of, and encounter with, is not always an easy walk in the park. It isn’t always a euphoric, feel-good, out-of-body experience when we encounter God. In truth, an experience of God is grounded in the struggles of our lives and relationships.

Unfortunately, we often bring too much of ourselves, our egos, our mental fixations and baggage of hurt and past pain into such an encounter. We often get too much of ourselves in the way of God, to block a loving, challenging, healing encounter. That is why Jesus so often in this Gospel mentions the children, the infants, as models for coming to the Lord. The vulnerable. The innocent. Yes, maybe even the naïve—from the point of view of the world. 

Yet, at some point on the journey forward, we need to surrender. When Jesus counsels, “Take my yoke upon you”, and “Come to me you who are heavy laden”, he is saying, “put down your load.”^[4]

Put down all the things that you think make you great. Put down all the striving, the restless agitations of our souls. There’s a time for everything.^[5]And maybe now is the time, even if just for a moment, just to put it all down.

The heart of the story of Jesus in the bible is that a human being fully realized, fully divine, chose not to exercise the power that was his, to circumvent the cross. Jesus chose not to overcome Pilate, and the political and religious powerhouse, with force. Jesus stopped himself, Jesus lay it all down—‘not my will but thy will be done’ he said in his hour of agony.^[6]He trusted his abba. Jesus took up God’s yoke in the assurance of God’s love for him in his time of trial.

Today, in this time of disruption, discomfort and upheaval in our world when it is all too easy to fall into despair, we may wonder why God does not exercise intervening power to make things right. Is God not all-powerful?

The power of God nevertheless is the power of love. God created us as an act of God’s love. The act of creating us in love is therefore a kind of divine self-restraint.^[7]What does that mean? Why would God exercise self-restraint?

Let’s say as a parent we continue to make choices in place of our children as they grow into adulthood; that is, we understandably want to spare them from suffering the consequences of a choice they might have to regret. 

Yet it is a lack of love on our part to do so, since by not permitting them to risk we essentially try to shield ourselves from possible suffering—the pain we will feel each time our children commit themselves to a way different from the one that to us seemed best for them.

Alternatively, when we allow our children to make decisions, and therefore to take risks, we will worry, yes. We suffer the freedom we have given them.

We are God’s children. And God loves us. Therefore, God will suffer with us, as we are given the freedom to act. God sheds tears alongside us when we suffer the consequences of our misdeeds. God rejoices alongside us when we make meaningful steps forward in our lives. Such is the infinite power of love.

And this is the perfect love of God for us, without a trace of self-interest on God’s part. God wants us to be free to build our own lives. And take responsibility for our actions. And exercise a maturity of a creature who can change directions when necessary, who isn’t always a slave to our base impulses, our compulsive reactions.

We, who, can choose to love.

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^[1]Bill McKibben, Falter: Has the Human Game Begun to Play Itself Out? (Wildfire: 2019), 255, 256.

^[2]Matthew 11:25

^[3]Psalm 111:10; Proverbs 1:7; 9:10

^[4]Matthew 11:25-30

^[5]Ecclesiastes 3:1

^[6]Luke 22:42

^[7]Hans Jonas, “The Concept of God after Auschwitz” in Steven T. Katz, Shlomo Biderman & Gershon Greenberg, eds., Wrestling with God: Jewish Theological Responses during and after the Holocaust (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007)

That word, ‘reward’, shows up all too often in this short Gospel for my liking. Because, in our world, a reward is something we get in return for our hard work. Right? Relationships are thus formed in transaction. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.

We, therefore, get what we deserve. If we’ve been good, if we’ve followed all the rules, if we have tried so hard in whatever we endeavour, then there is a pay-off. Or, should be. 

And, if we’ve been bad, not only do our sins have natural consequences we must deal with, we try to understand it so that we are punished because of our sins. After all, bad things happen to those who don’t measure up in some way.

It is no wonder, then, that we frame our lives of faith in this language. And this transactional thinking saturates all our relationships, including our understanding of God and our relationship with God.

I like the children’s story about a couple of frogs who are best friends – Roger and Fergie. Roger meets someone else, however, who really impresses: This new friend is Bull, the frog. 

Roger and Bull spend all their time together hanging out. Roger says that he and Bull are now bestfriends. Until one day Roger’s Mom tells him that Fergie showed up earlier looking for Roger.

“Fergie’s not my friend anymore,” Roger states, ignoring his old friend. And runs out to play with Bull again.

One day, Bull meets someone else and falls in love with them. Bull starts spending all hours of the day and night with this new interest, leaving Roger all alone. “I guess Bull isn’t my friend anymore.”

Mom suggests Roger ask Fergie to come over for supper and a sleep over, which Roger does. Roger gulps, “I hope Fergie will want to be my friend.” To Roger’s surprise, Fergie does not hesitate and is so glad to spend time with Roger again.

The two old friends play hide-and-seek until the moon rises. Then, as the two frogs snuggle into the mud, Roger says, “Thanks for coming over tonight. Sorry I was so dumb to waste my time with Bull Frog lately. Still friends?”

“Sure,” says Fergie. “I always knew you were dumb, Roger. That’s why you’re my best friend. Same old Roger.”

“Same old Fergie!” Roger says.^[1]

Jesus is like Fergie. The reward is that Jesus will always take us back, no matter what we have done. And we might have done terrible things that cause us shame and guilt. That’s the kind of friend Jesus is, one who takes us back even after we’ve let him down.

God is a friend who comes to share our joys, our pains, and our tears without expecting anything in return. God does not expect anything from us.

This is a difficult thing for us to accept, especially as we are bombarded by messages that say we must prove ourselves. We are bombarded by messages that say God wants us to perform to a certain level. Meet certain expectations.

But we’ve got that mixed up.

It’s not God wanting us to perform and achieve and accomplish in order to deserve something in return. It’s we who make that stuff up.

What would it be like once we free ourselves from this image of God who expects something from us? What would it be like, once we accept and receive the free gift of God’s love for us and for the world?

It is in the freedom of God’s unconditional, unmerited mercy that paves the way for genuine welcome of others. It is receiving God’s grace that we become authentically in touch with ‘these little ones’ of which Jesus speaks in the Gospel^[2]– the little one within ourselves, the little one in church and in our circles of family and friends, and with those who are stranger to us. 

May we swim in the waters of that grace, and at the end of the day snuggle into God’s warm embrace.

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^[1]Adapted from Nancy Cocks, “Friends of the Lord” in Wild Goose Big Book of Liturgies (Iona Community UK, 2018), p.203-205

^[2]Matthew 10:40-42

Now that we are officially into the summer season, the outdoors beckon with near perfect conditions these days. Indeed, we often experience our connection with God most profoundly in creation – 

With our feet on the earth, breathing the air, hearing the chirping birds and sounds of the forest and feeling the warm sunshine and breeze on our skin. In the peace and surrounded by beauty beyond words, we have a felt sense of God’s presence.

We embrace these moments because we also know this does not last forever.

I offered prayers for the church sitting by the Ottawa River as the season changed to summer. But I have been on those same shores in winter – when the winds howl and freezing temperatures and biting snow burn my skin, chasing me indoors.

The Gospel reading today reminds us that the death Jesus experiences, we too must endure. It doesn’t sound like good news. How can we live our faith, be aware of our life in Christ and follow Jesus according to his will, when we suffer, when we don’t feel well, when the circumstances of our life are far from perfect?

It isn’t easy to confront the truth of what we believe under the surface. It isn’t easy to come to terms with our real motivation for going to church, for associating with others. Is it only when the conditions, the circumstances of our lives are ideal? Is it only when we feel good that we can consider ourselves Christian and meet with others who say they are or aren’t?

In our home, the cleaning normally gets done according to the schedule of house guests. Pre-COVID, we would have friends or family over once every few weeks. And this reality would motivate me to vacuum and wash the floors. We wanted a clean house to entertain our guests.

When no guests at all were coming over the past few months, you can imagine what happened to the condition of our floors. I needed to make a shift within myself to realize that I was no longer going to wash the kitchen floors because we were hosting visitors to our place. But for different, more basic reasons. I needed to find a new motivation, a refreshed understanding from which to do things.

Maybe what some are calling this time of history as “The Great Pause” has given us all a little more time and space to address some deeper motivations around our faith practice. Are we Christian only because we are trying to get ourselves into heaven? Have we strived to impress others in the church, out-do others in our good works, or perform to some high level to prove something? 

All of these motivations may have been operating in our subconscious before we had to isolate. Before we had to pause everything. We may not have been aware of our true intentions until now. And, in all honesty, we might be alarmed and ashamed at what we confront within our hearts. 

The message of the New Testament is that new life can only sprout from death. The death of old patterns of thinking. The death of underlying beliefs and assumptions which may have been helpful at one point in life but don’t really work now anymore. 

Life with God in Christ makes that kind of shift. Life is a great teacher. Old ways will die. Things we have done in the past will never be the same in the future. When we receive and accept this, it is a kind of dying. We have been baptized into the death of Christ. A life in Christ will be a life of dying and rising.^[1]

We need to find a new starting point within us. We need to embrace the new life of Christ emerging from within us, just waiting to be born.

A cartoon circulated on social media recently showing several executives of a large corporation huddled around the board room table. Their CEO stands before them giving a rather sobering analysis of recent sales amid the economic slowdown during COVID-19.

He says, “I’m afraid the news isn’t good. Word has it, the consumers are starting to find out what actually matters.”

What actually matters is that God values us beyond measure. We are more valuable to God than the smallest most insignificant things we see and have. Jesus uses the examples of the smallest sparrows and each, individual strand of hair on our heads to make this point.^[2]We are infinitely more valuable than anything we can produce, more valuable than anything we may taste, touch, feel, smell, and see in this world. That is what actually matters!

The end result of all that Christ Jesus has done, is so that “we too might walk in newness of life.”^[3]Notice, Paul says ‘walk’, not ‘think’ nor ‘believe’. But walk in newness of life. Here we arrive at the crux of it: The necessity of connecting faith with action. They will know we are Christians by our love.

If you feel you are losing your connection to faith these days, maybe God is calling to you examine yourself. Maybe God is calling you to a deeper understanding. Maybe God is calling you to be a blessing for others as you have been blessed in the past by God. Maybe God is calling you to do something.

When we consider ourselves as valuable, beloved creatures of God, when we consider ourselves as people motivated by God’s love for all, when we consider our faults and our dying in light of God’s unconditional loving regard for us, what do we have to lose? But “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.”^[4]

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^[1]Romans 6:3

^[2]Matthew 10:29-31

^[3]Romans 6:4

^[4]Micah 6:8

The government of Ontario announced this week some lifting of restrictions for certain parts of the province, with implications for churches.

While this announcement gives hope especially to those of us yearning to meet again in person and in the building, the announcement can give a false hope that we are now all safe.

We are definitely not. We are not out of the woods yet. Just a couple of days ago the World Health Organization reported the highest number of infections in a single day worldwide since the pandemic broke earlier this year. There are signs and worries even in North America that a second wave or spike can strike this summer. Of course we don’t know for certain and when. 

But we do know that Toronto remains locked down. In the southern States new cases have been alarmingly rising over the past couple of weeks. These are sobering facts we cannot deny.

How do we respond, as a people of God, in faith?

We were treated by a special guest to our house this past week. A baby robin lingered on the back deck after being fed by her mother who kept watch nearby.

We like these images of protective wings. They remind us of the nurturing and comforting presence of God. We may feel privileged with God under the shadow of the Almighty. Chosen and held by a loving God. The image of God bearing us, as God bore the Israelites up out of slavery in Egypt, has found its way into hymns, songs and prayers that have sustained the people of God over the centuries.

We are chosen by God. But we are chosen to take responsibility in our privilege. Being called “a priestly kingdom and holy nation”^[1]is not license to think exclusively of ourselves. We are not God’s pets, singled out for special favors and exempt from suffering and consequences of bad behavior. Being chosen and called by God is not permission to protect a life of comfort, luxury and privilege for ourselves without regard for others.

God does not love just me, and those like me. “Indeed, the whole earth is mine,” says the Lord.^[2]God is always choosing all people on their very different journeys of faith and life. If there is anything we pray we have in common, it is that we can all share in an experience of being loved by  God. And we must care for others so they can too.

This text from Exodus precedes the giving of the Ten Commandments. The second half of the Commandments – the last five or six have to do with loving our neighbor. God’s promise of protection must extend through us and our responsibility to protect others.

The Israelites are parked at the base of Mount Sinai, ready now to receive instruction from God. They say all the right words: “Everything that the Lord has spoken we will do!”^[3]

At least, good on them for that. But it’s not enough to say the right words. Because we know how the story goes for the ancient Israelites. They don’t always take care of the “alien, the orphan and the widow”^[4]History shows the failure of God’s people “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.”^[5]

The Bible doesn’t end with that bold and righteous intention to do everything God has told us. Rather, the Bible ends up being a very long story of humanity’s failure, over and over again, to do God’s will.

That is why when the mother robin kept perch on the fence in our backyard, when she maintained distant yet vigilant watch over her chick, I thanked God. 

Sometimes God may seem distant, and literally in the case of the baby robin, physically distant. In these turbulent times of increased confinement and social upheaval, God may feel to us physically distant.

Yet God’s people will not rest from our responsibilities. In the decisions we make, in how we relate to one another, our behavior, our lifestyles we hold a great responsibility for the other.

And despite our failures to get it right, to do it perfectly, despite the words declared from podiums and over backyard fences, God is never too far away. Never too far away to watch over us and be faithful to us in the wideness of God’s mercy. Because if there is anything that endures throughout the bible’s story besides human brokenness and sin, it is more the never-ending story and promise of God’s grace and love for all the people.

The Psalmist takes God at God’s word. The Psalmist proclaims God’s faithfulness even at the farthest reaches of what is possible, and prays: “If I take the wings of the morning and settle at the farthest limits of the sea” – if I go beyond my comfort zone and let go of private privilege for the sake of the other, if I embrace my limitations – “even there your hand shall lead me and your right hand shall hold me fast.”^[6]

So, what shall we do as a church? If you are rostered in the community of Faith Lutheran Church, you will receive a communication in the next couple of weeks outlining our plan. In the meantime, I would ask you to consider the following affirmations we can make as a church together:

1. We affirm that during this time of pandemic lockdown the church has not been closed. Even though the building has been closed, the work of pastoral care, worship, prayer and other ways supporting the ministry of this congregation and the wider community has continued.
2. We affirm that though this work uses imperfect and limited means, the grace of God sustains it as much as it did pre-COVID and will for all time to come.
3. We affirm that that members of the church experience anxiety, fear, loss and anger during the pandemic. There is a longing for the way things were. This yearning speaks to our humanity held in God’s love; and, speaks to our need to grieve and express our losses.
4. We affirm that as we move forward into an uncertain future, we want to love each other by upholding safe, social practices – even if it entails maintaining physical distancing and sheltering-in-place. In so doing, we consider everyone’s safety not just our own. We protect all people, especially those most vulnerable among us and in the wider community.
5. We affirm our intention and hope that slowly but surely we will come to worship again together in person. Whether this begins in a couple of months and extends over a couple of years, we affirm that all our times are in God’s hands. Re-entering the building will be a process that will at first feel awkward and slow and sometimes rigid, especially at the beginning when we put into practice safe, physical distancing measures.

In closing I would like to pray one of my favourites from the old green book – the Lutheran Book of Worship:

“Lord 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.”^[7]

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^[1]Exodus 19:6

^[2]Exodus 19:5

^[3]Exodus 19:8a

^[4]Deuteronomy 10:18; 24:19; 24:20; 24:21; 25:7; 27:19

^[5]Micah 6:8

^[6]Psalm 139:9

^[7]Lutheran Book of Worship (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Press, 1978), p.137