Sermon: "Decisive Intervention"

sermon: Decisive Intervention

St. Paul=s L=Amoreaux, Christmas Eve, 2007

You may have seen the movie, Bridge Over the River Kwai about Ernest Gordon, a British officer taken captive during WWII in a Japanese prisoner of war camp who, with the other prisoners, was put to work building the Burma-Siam railway. The movie tells of the brutal conditions they endured and their accomplishments in those circumstances. In 1963, Gordon wrote the book ATo End All Wars@ which gives a little fuller account of what happened.

Ernest Gordon should never have survived. With the other soldiers, but contrary to the Geneva Convention due to his standing as an officer, Gordon was put to work on the jungle railway. The railway was intended for a possible attack on India. Because of disease, malnourishment and exhaustion, it is estimated that nearly 400 men died for every mile of railway. Gordon himself succumbed to a combination of worms, malaria and diptheria. He lost the sensation and all use of his legs. Food and water gushed through his nose rather than down his throat. At this low point he asked to be taken to a part of the camp where they were leaving the dying to expire.

Gordon was so weak, he didn=t even have the strength to shoo the flies and bugs which crawled all over him. He mustered just enough strength to write one last letter to his mother and then lay down to die.

Little did Gordon know, however, that something had happened in the camp. The camp he had known had been one of survival of the fittest and every man for himself. Theft had been rampant, officers hoarded what little extra they received, each eyed the other with vulture-like attention.

But something was astir.

In the case of Ernest Gordon, two fellow prisoners came and pleaded with the guards for permission to take him to an elevated hut constructed just for him. There they and others brought extra rations, nursed his wounds and massaged his immobile legs. They sold watches and other valuables for medicine. Slowly, Ernest Gordon regained his strength.

On his feet again, Gordon watched how the transformation in the camp deepened and continued. Soldiers began looking out for each other. When one died, the others now buried him honourably and the place in the ground was marked with a cross. Among them, a range of talent existed and a prison camp university emerged. Gordon taught philosophy, another taught mathematics, another history, Latin, Russian and Sanskrit, and so on. As the philosopher, Gordon also became the impromptu chaplain. And it was a simple question that most wanted addressed. How do I prepare to die? From his studies, from the scraps of his Christian faith that he could recall, and from a clarity and focus which the circumstances demanded, Gordon gave what counsel he could and led, as he was able, services of public worship.

And when liberation finally came, the prisoners did not seek revenge on their captors. Rather, they showed kindness to the ones who had cruelly used them.

Why such a change? What had happened to bring about such a transformation in dreadful circumstances like these?

One day equipment was being counted at the end of work and a shovel was reported missing. AWho has it?@ hollered the guard. No one answered.

AAll die,@ screamed the guard, aiming his rifle at the first man in line. AWait,@ one of the prisoners said. AI took it.@

The prisoner stepped forward. The guard set upon him immediately, beating him to the ground, and continuing long after he had died. His fellows carried the corpse away.

But that night, they counted the shovels again. There had not been a theft. There had been a miscount. Every shovel was in its place.

And for the camp it was, as Gordon recorded, the decisive moment when one soldier had remembered: Agreater love has no one than this, than that he lay down his life for a friend.@

Ernest Gordon says: AThere was hatred, but there was also love. There was death, but there was also life. God had not left us. He was with us, calling us to live the divine life in fellowship.@ (From the account in Rumours of Another World, by Philip Yancey, Zondervan, 2003.)

Tonight we remember the events of Jesus= birth, but as the Gospels are want to do, we are reminded what those events mean. That Jesus Christ was God=s decisive intervention in the world.

There=s a great scene in Lord of the Rings. At the cost of his life, the wizard Gandalf stands between his friends and a terrible beast. AYou shall go no further@, he declares to the beast, planting his staff in the path and preventing the beast from advancing further. In Jesus Christ, God planted his staff into the earth, declaring that the forces of hatred, inhumanity and selfishness will not prevail and for those who follow Jesus Christ through the struggle of this life - Athere is death, but there is life. There is hatred, but there is love.@

Before us this evening is a challenge - not unlike the one posed by Moses to the people as they entered the new land. Before you is the way of life and the way of death. Which will you choose? Choose life.

How?

I=ve always liked the simple summary that John Stott makes. We answer the challenge by inviting Jesus Christ into our lives, making him our Saviour and Lord.

What does it mean to make him our Saviour? It is to acknowledge that we are creatures dependent on our Creator. It means to turn away from that which we know to be based on selfish grasping and ambition and turn toward Jesus Christ. It means, as Christians, that we seek the nourishment of the Bible and the Sacraments, and will offer lives lived for the glory of God in return.

What does it mean to make him our Lord - to make him the supreme authority who directs our lives? It means to answer the call of Jesus - follow me. >Let the disciple be like the master,= as the Gospel puts it. It means conforming our lives to the likeness of Jesus Christ. Conforming our minds through Christian study and preparation. Conforming our strength for use as Christian servants. Conforming our souls to make them fit for their reunion with God. And conforming our hearts so that they will bear the fruit of Christ=s spirit - love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Gal. 5.22).

In this world of struggle and tears, God has acted decisively in Jesus Christ. Tonight, let us offer our lives to God and join the life-affirming purposes of Jesus Christ. I urge you to choose life and to give your life to him.

A friend has sent me a beautiful and new Christmas song by Michael Card. It=s final verses are:

Above his dark obscurity,

The light of God has shone

And through the meekness of the lamb

God’s strength would be made known


The just and gentle promised one

Would triumph o’er the fall

And conquer by his own defeat

And win by losing all

It concludes with this phrase, the motto of the Moravian church:

Vicit Agnus noster, eum sequamur - AOur Lamb has conquered; Him let us follow.@

Sermon: "Descendants", Matthew 3.1-12

Advent II, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, December 9, 2007

The word ‘brood’ has an overtone in English that I don't think exists in the Greek word which 'brood' is used to translate.

In our lesson today about the people coming to be baptized by John, it says that one group received a tongue-lashing instead.

“Seeing the Pharisees and Sadducees, John said: ‘you brood of vipers.”

There’s no question about the second word ‘viper’. It means a snake that spits poison.

But on its own, brood simply means descendants. We are all brood. We have all descended from parents and grandparents. And in this Gospel, it is a word on which a spot-light shines.

The opening verse of Matthew reads, ‘An account of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.’ The words for ‘genealogy’ and ‘brood’ come from the same root. And the sixteen verses which follow are the remarkable list of Jesus’ ancestors.

‘Boaz by his mother Rahab.’ Do you remember Rahab? To put it politely, she was a woman of ill-repute. But at the risk of her own life, she protected Joshua and his spies who led the children of Israel into the promised land.

At first, not a likely candidate, but a woman of ill-repute is on the list of Jesus’ ancestors.

It lists ‘Obed by his mother Ruth.’

You know Ruth. A foreigner. Widowed and alone with a mother-in-law who is also widowed. But when the older widow tries to protect the younger one from the grief she had already experienced by leaving home for a foreign land, Ruth replied, ‘Where you go, I will go. Where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people. Your God shall be my God.’

A devoted and dedicated foreigner is on the list of Jesus’ ancestors.

‘Solomon by his mother, the wife of Uriah.’

Now this is interesting. Solomon’s father is David. His mother is Bathsheba but her name is left out. Why? So that the name of her first and murdered husband can be included. Uriah, another foreigner, but the loyal and dedicated captain of an Israelite army who is callously sent to his death by King David who has committed adultery with Bathsheba. Unjustly killed by the King, forgotten by all and left to the ash heap, so it would seem. But the Bible says, he was not forgotten by the Lord. The Bible says, the murder of an innocent and loyal man did not go unanswered, and even the greatest king of Israel must give an account of himself before the Lord.

Uriah is on the list of Jesus’ ancestors.

And finally, the list includes ‘Josiah the father of Jechoniah at the time of the deportation to Babylon.’

This is a bit more complex to follow. But it takes us back to the great promise God made with Abraham, to whom He promised descendants and a family line that would last forever. To whom He promised a people who God would raise up in order to show his love to all the world. A promise, years later, God would extend through the kings of Israel and the throne of David (2 Sa 7:16).

It is a promise that God will keep through even the greatest of obstacles: physical frailty, human wickedness, national degradation, and then horrific division and conquest.

But at the moment when all seems lost, as history’s iron fist slams down hardest upon the people, at a time 600 years before Christ when the nation is conquered and brought to its knees, a little note is added at the end of the book of kings - the life of Jechoniah was spared and he was taken into Babylon.

Just a little note, but its meaning is this - God is keeping his promise! The line of descendants will continue. And in the list of ancestors which Jesus Christ the Messiah completes and fulfills, the name of Jechoniah appears as a testimony to God’s faithfulness when history offers no hope.

It is a magnificent portrait.

God lifts up the simple, sinful and humble in order to demonstrate his love.

God watches over those unjustly treated and vindicates them before the princes and kings of the earth.

God keeps his promises.

And through Jesus Christ the Messiah, son of David and Abraham, God will redeem the world.

And by starting there, with that great line of ancestors from whom the Messiah descends, we can feel the awful force of John the Baptist’s fierce words against the leaders of his time.

You who are meant to be a great light in the world have become a miserly flicker in a corner.

You who are meant to be a blessing to the nations have turned away from all but your own and left the widows and the weak to fend for themselves.

You who are children of the covenant with Abraham have become a brood of vipers!

And here’s what I understand to be the challenge of this passage for us. If we will let him, God will make us, as we are intended to be, His own.

We may see ourselves weak and frail, but God will raise us up and make us his own.

We may see ourselves on the wrong side of history, but God has His own plans for the world and will join us to them.

We may think of ourselves as weak and useless in a foreign land, but God invites us to work for that distant country, better for all.

Out of love unimaginable, Jesus Christ picks up the sinners and gives them love that will not fail, friendship that will not betray, hope that will not fade. Out of love for the world, the Baptist challenges us to straighten our lives and join God’s great and loving mission for the world.

And it is where, I think, we begin. To contemplate the marvel, wonder and beauty of what God intends. For when we see something truly beautiful, and when the hope it inspires shines within us, it will take us a very long ways.

Kathy Barnes told me a great story. Years ago one of her students was a royal terror. Hope for him among any who knew him was slim. Until one weekend, the class took a trip to a country camp. On that afternoon, her little terror came up to her and anxiously and urgently said, “Mrs. Barnes, come with me, quickly.”

Mrs. Barnes immediately thought, “Oh, oh. What classmate lies injured on the ground? What barn now burns in towering flames? What phlanx of police now encircles us outside?”

But out the door she went, following her little scholar forward to a point where he instructed, “Get down on your hands and knees. Don’t say anything, and follow me.”

So, even more uncertain than before, Mrs. Barnes got down on her hands and knees, not knowing why or to where she was crawling, and followed her little friend through the bushes. Until, at the edge of a clearing, they looked up and through to where stood a beautiful herd of wild deer. Sleek, magnificent animals. A breathtaking sight, the little city boy had never seen or experienced in all his life. And for twenty minutes, on their tummies, he and his teacher watched in silent wonder and regard.

Kathy said, “From that moment on, I had his number. I knew that there was more to him than terror and disorder.”

And so, it turns out, did he.

Years later, he found out where she was and came back to see her. It had not been an easy life. He had been in and out of trouble with the law. But he wanted to tell her that he had started straightening things out.

“I haven’t always done the right thing,” he said, “but I realize that what you were telling me was right, and the advice you gave me was good.”

“I’ve done better. I’ve finished high school. And I’m going to do something with my life.”

Kathy discovered later that his mother and siblings were mistakenly and brutally attacked at their home by a deranged neighbour. But when her little scholar heard the news, now a young and independent man, he returned immediately, gathered up the whole lot of them, and moved them into his own home where he knew they would be safe.

To whom do you wish to belong? On whose ancestral list would you like your name to appear? A miserly, poisonous one? Or the lineage of our Saviour and Lord? A motley list, to some eyes: rich and poor, strong and weak, charming and stubborn. But redeemed and being redeemed and being pushed forward to become more and more a light in a dark world.

As St. Paul exhorted the Ephesians:
I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power. (Eph 1:17-19)

This Advent season, gaze on the beauty of what God intends. Consider the beauty of our life, the shards of glory in the world, and the mercy which surrounds us. Contemplate the Saviour who has come to redeem and restore it all. Straighten your life so that you can serve him wholeheartedly. And prepare yourself for the coming of the Lord.

Sermon: Staying Awake, Matthew 24.36-44

Advent I, St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, December 2, 2007

When I was a boy, a pair of new, leather goalie pads kicked off the beginning of Advent. The glossy picture of those hockey pads in the sports section of the Eaton’s Christmas Catalogue, on the pages just after a very large toy section, battled for with my two sisters on the living room floor in our farm house in the third week of September, was what kicked it off. We didn’t call it Advent. We didn’t give it a formal name. We just knew that there was a season to prepare for Christmas. And it started in the third week of September.

Partly because that’s when the Eaton’s Christmas Catalogue arrived. Partly because the crisp winter weather we’re tasting this weekend, could be enjoyed as early as September on our farm in Saskatchewan. Partly because some of the things we did at Christmas had to start early - Christmas letters overseas, treats from Toronto which took a month to order and receive. And partly because the combination of a stark, darkening prairie landscape combined with Christmas promises was intoxicating. It grabbed us by the heart and tightened its grip for three months.

While I know that memories have tumbled into each other, I remember a familiar ascent to Christmas Day - the first snow covering the prairie with a blanket you could see for miles; the first freeze that turned outdoor ponds into hockey rinks; the first Christmas pageant practice and parts we began to memorize; distant magical parades we watched on television early on a Saturday morning; and one great 60 mile trip to the city of Regina in our rickety little Ford Fairlane, where we rode the only escalator in the province with as much excitement as might ride the space shuttle, and where we wandered the store aisles wide-eyed at shelves stocked full of Christmas treats.

And I can remember the final few days in December of consecutive pageants, parties and preparation. It won’t surprise you, that nothing reminds me more of Christmas than the taste and smell of cherry cough drops. It was the one reprieve I came to expect - knocked out of the ring by a day or two of coughing, flu and fever - but back in it as soon as physically possible.

And so, it may or may not surprise you how I sometimes felt on Christmas Day itself.

One year Christmas landed on a Sunday. That evening, as was our custom, we were in church. At the end, at the back, crying and clutching my mother’s legs, a friend came up to ask what was the matter.

"It wasn’t quite what he expected," she answered.

Wasn’t quite? It wasn’t close! This was a buildup for a moon landing. For a visit from the Queen and all the royal family! For a very large chest of gold.

It wasn’t quite what was expected.

William Willimon, Bishop in the United Methodist Church, has this great line. Our trouble at Christmas is not that we don’t believe God can deliver. People who believe the advertising that meaning in life can be found if you buy a Lexus have the capacity to believe that God can deliver. What’s hard to believe is that what God had to deliver was Jesus Christ. Because what he gives is not always, on first glance, what we want. Our lives put straight. Our relationships put right. Our angry, divided world reordered and shown light.

We have become confused, believing that Christmas is primarily about gifts and cheerful thoughts falling on us all like snowflakes and things fairly far removed from the world we know and the lives we live.

We have neglected what God has given us in Jesus Christ, and we do this by busying ourselves with the decorations rather than the gift.

And we have misdirected and given up on those deep longings within us, which can lead us to the treasure that God has intended.

And that is why the church prepares us for Christmas, whether we like it or not, through the much older and solemn season of preparation called Advent. The season starting today, directing us to the treasure for which we’re intended, clearing our eyes so that we can see it, and strengthening our hearts to find it.

Last week, Pope Benedict released his second encyclical or ‘letter’ since becoming Pope. It is entitled "On Hope", and in it he describes three areas in which we nurture Christian hope.

The first area is prayer. And I like this. He writes:

Saint Augustine, in a homily on the First Letter of John, describes very beautifully the intimate relationship between prayer and hope. He defines prayer as an exercise of desire. Man was created for greatness - for God himself; he was created to be filled by God. But his heart is too small for the greatness to which it is destined. It must be stretched. "By delaying [his gift], God strengthens our desire; through desire he enlarges our soul and by expanding it he increases its capacity [for receiving him]". Augustine refers to Saint Paul, who speaks of himself as straining forward to the things that are to come (cf. Phil 3:13). He then uses a very beautiful image to describe this process of enlargement and preparation of the human heart. "Suppose that God wishes to fill you with honey [a symbol of God's tenderness and goodness]; but if you are full of vinegar, where will you put the honey?" The vessel, that is your heart, must first be enlarged and then cleansed, freed from the vinegar and its taste. This requires hard work and is painful, but in this way alone do we become suited to that for which we are destined.

This Advent, I urge you to pray. Join it to the discipline of fasting. For those of you who hear the word ‘prayer’ and think of something soft or silly, may I put it another way. A way that even an army general would take seriously. In these distracting, confused times, I hope you’ll stop, look and listen, with our Lord as your companion.

Secondly, the Pope recommends a purposeful movement toward action and suffering. That is, to serve others, and to serve even when we may suffer because of it. If you decide to serve a child who has been hurt, you may be hurt. If you decide to work for peace in a family dispute, you may be hurt. If you decide to serve a beleaguered young mother or a bewildered new immigrant, you may be hurt. For those reasons, a great many of us choose not to serve at all. But one of the clearest lessons from those queer Gospel passages about rumours of war and living in times of turmoil is that we are not intended to escape them. Accompanied by Jesus Christ, we must prepare to live through them.

And as the Pope says:
We can try to limit suffering, to fight against it, but we cannot eliminate it. It is when we attempt to avoid suffering by withdrawing from anything that might involve hurt, when we try to spare ourselves the effort and pain of pursuing truth, love, and goodness, that we drift into a life of emptiness, in which there may be almost no pain, but the dark sensation of meaninglessness and abandonment is all the greater. It is not by sidestepping or fleeing from suffering that we are healed, but rather by our capacity for accepting it, maturing through it and finding meaning through union with Christ, who suffered with infinite love.

And finally, we prepare for the coming of Christ by recognizing that our lives stand under judgment. They are, as the Gospel emphasizes today, under a watch.

Our lives mean something. And there will come a time when we will stand, naked and uncovered, before the Lord. But stark as that may seem, do you realize how deep the longing is within us to do just that? How many times do you check the mirror? How deeply do you desire to be seen and accepted as you appear.

That is the lesson from the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man has ruined his life: through pride and arrogance, through excessive and harmful luxury, through the neglect and forgetfulness of others, through a deadening of his capacity to love. But now, in hell, the desire and longing to love is an unquenchable thirst (Lk. 16.19-31)

But our destiny is otherwise, and the Christian warnings of judgement have the hope of redemption as their foundation. Our lives are meant for better. Our lives can be lived for more. Our hearts are meant for better treasure than the false and hollow treats glittering in front of us. And Jesus Christ, out of love unimaginable, has given his life for us and to us for that reason.

Our Gospel lesson urges us to ‘stay awake’. Let it be the refrain in our hearts and minds this Advent. In prayer, service, and holy seriousness, let us ask God to clear our eyes in order to see the gift of God in Jesus Christ - and to prepare ourselves for Christmas.

Sermon: Contemplating Time, Luke 21.5-19

St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, November 18, 2007

In his commentary on our lesson from Luke, Fred Craddock makes a lovely little observation. ‘Calculating the end of time,” he says, “is not the same thing as contemplating the fulfilment of time.’

‘Calculating the end of time is not the same thing as contemplating the fulfilment of time.’

You probably get the point right off. Our responsibility is to understand God’s purpose in the world through prayer and contemplation and to conform ourselves to it. But trying to calculate when the world will end has had great appeal to people and can serve as a tremendous distraction.

When I was a teenager in the 1970’s, with the cold war, the threat of nuclear bombs, and fears of oil and gasoline shortages, there were many prophets warning about the end of time. There were some scoundrels who made millions of dollars off of books and movies they produced, such as The Late, Great Planet Earth. They frightened, confused and discouraged a many people.

And yet when faced with a similar question, Jesus answers his disciples by focussing their attention on the fulfilment of time, rather than the mere end of time. He does so in two ways.

First of all, he says, don’t be fooled. Wars and natural disasters is the way the world is. It is not a special sign of the end.

Secondly, however, times of tumult are purposeful for Christians.

They are times in which the Christian can be a witness.

They are times in which Christians can serve confidently, because no mortal or eternal harm will come to them.

And they are times in which, through endurance, the roots of the Gospel can go further into the Christians heart and character.

‘You will gain your soul,’ says Jesus.

In other words, don’t be distracted by trying to calculate the end of time. Rather, let your mind focus on God’s purposes in time, contemplate what God has revealed in Jesus Christ, let that take root and, having done so, serve boldly and faithfully, just like Jesus Christ.

A few years ago, Joseph Ratzinger, the man who is now Pope Benedict XVI, was asked an interesting and related question. Christianity promises God’s redemption. But we’re now at the beginning of the third millenium since the time of Jesus Christ. Given the wait, and given, specifically, the horrors of the 20^th century, has Christianity actually brought with it salvation or has it, instead, been quite fruitless?

And I liked his answer. First of all, he emphasized a point that the journalist questioning him had glanced over. The last century was not just one of pure horror. In fact, there are now more people alive on earth than ever before, and living for a length of time and at a level of comfort never before imagined.

Christianity has contributed to this, as, from Christian principles, it has motivated the development of democracy, of the rule of law, the arts, tremendous structures of health care and education, and of science itself.

But secondly, said the Pope, God’s redemption of the world is related to human freedom - and God will not annul human freedom in order to bring about his final purposes.

Humans are part of God’s plan of redemption. And humans have the freedom to cooperate - or to refuse, letting the world fall into darkness.

I admired the candor of the Pope.

Redemption or disaster - both are possible. And when God revealed himself to the world in the man who would be handed over and crucified on a cross, he took a risk on whether or not humans would cooperate.

I don’t know why God has taken the form he did in Jesus Christ, says the Pope. Who gave up the power and authority of heaven, and who will only succeed where men and women respond to him from the heart.

I don’t know why has revealed himself in this way. A way in which God has held back power available to him.

But I do know what the alternative has been in the world. When people have turned away from God and to their own devices. It is to use power and violence and force people into line. And its way, too often, has been one of unspeakable cruelty and death.

Our challenge, says the Pope, is to confront the remarkable powers placed in human hands and to measure what can be done by what should be done. We must confront our enormous physical ability with moral discernment. And this can only occur where God is a force and strength within.

The Pope used as an example the ecological movement which rightly protests the outer pollution of the world. And yet, many within the movement have treated the inner pollution of the soul as a fundamental right to be protected. I quote:

Instead of making it possible to breathe humanly again, we defend with a totally false conception of freedom everything that man’s arbitrary desire produces. As long as we [defend] the freedom of inner spiritual self-destruction, its outward effects will continue unchanged . . .The eighth chapter of the Letter to the Romans says this very plainly. It says that Adam, that is, the inwardly polluted man, treats creation like a slave, tramples on it, so that creation groans under him, on his account, through him. And we hear today the groaning of creation as no one has ever heard it before. Paul adds that creation waits for the appearance of the sons of God and will breathe freely when men [and women] appear in whom God shines through - and who only then will be able to breathe again themselves. (Salt of the Earth, Joseph Ratzinger, Ignatius, 1996, p. 231)

A few years ago the story of Wladyslaw Szpilman was brought to the screen in the movie entitled “The Pianist”. Szpilman was a talented, young Jewish and Polish pianist and composer. He had written quite a number of popular songs, including children’s songs, and many loved to listen to him. But during WWII, Szpilman’s family were sent to the Warsaw ghetto where Jews were being held, and then gradually shipped away, later as it became clear, to concentration camps where they met their death. Wladyslaw Szpilman, his parents and his brother and sister, all valiantly struggled to hang on, knowing that their day to be shipped out was soon to come, uncertain and unhopeful of what would come next.

But when the day came, and as the Szpilmans were being crammed onto the train,

one of the policemen grabbed Wladyslaw by the collar, yanked him out of the throng and refused to let him through to rejoin his family on the journey to death.

Szpilman continued to avoid death’s clutches, surviving against all odds, often half-starved and usually alone, hidden in obscure corners of bombed, burned or empty buildings, intermittently helped by Polish friends risking their own lives to bring him food or find him shelter: helping a Jew automatically brought a death sentence (www.szpilman.net).

The strangest twist of all in Szpilman’s story came at its end. He was discovered by a German officer. Szpilman proved his profession to him by playing Chopin’s C sharp minor Nocturne on an abandoned piano. From then on, the German officer hid him and brought him food and a blanket for warmth. In the end, Szpilman would survive, passing away in July, 2000. And the officer who protected him - died in a communist ‘prisoner of war’ camp in 1953.

And as the movie portrayed matters, in the midst of the stifling darkness of Nazism, a family, a people, a city - and even a Nazi soldier - rose to the defense of a brilliant artist. In a violent time, it was a singular tribute to the beauty of a life, and the beauty of the music that one life was able to create.

How do we live in tumultuous times? I like the answer of Jesus. It is not to be spent calculating exact days and minutes. It is not to be spent interpreting the latest war and calamity. It is to be spent contemplating the Saviour we have seen. It is to let that life take deep root within us. And it is to share the light and life of Jesus Christ in the world.

Sermon: Where to Begin, 4 November 2007

Text: Ephesian 1.15-23
St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, The Feast of All Saints, November 4, 2007

If you were given great power, where would you start? What would you do?

There was a movie a few years ago entitled Karate Kid. About a kid in high school who moved reluctantly with his mother away from his childhood home to another city, moving into a small and ratty apartment while his mother saved for a better place, entering a school awkwardly at mid-term, with no friends to greet him. He didn’t like any of it. And for the fun of it, bullies picked on the new kid.

Pretty miserable, until one day he met an old Japanese man who chased away some bullies who had surrounded him. “You could use some help,” he says.

No one else was showing any interest, and to his surprise, the old Japanese man knew Karate. “I’ll teach you,” he said. “Come and see.”

So he did. The boy practically bounced to the old man’s home, thrilled at the prospect of lessons in karate. “I’m ready to learn."

“Good,” said the old man. “First lesson.

And picking up a block of wood with sandpaper fastened, the old man moved his hand and arm back and forth precisely, first with one hand, then the next. The boy was asked to imitate.

“No problem,” said the boy, and did just as the old man had done.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

And opening the door to a brand outdoor deck, he pointed and said, “Sand the whole thing, just like I showed you.”

The boy raised his eyebrow and looked at the old man suspiciously. Bending down he began sanding furiously.

“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And so, imitating the same precise motion, the boy spent his free time for the next week, sanding the old man’s deck.

On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands and arms. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”

The boy came back Monday, glad to be done with the sanding, eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a paint brush. “Watch,” he said. And then, very deliberately, very carefully, first with one hand, then the other, the old man stroked the brush up and down. The boy repeated the motion.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

And he opened the door to a beautiful new fence that surrounded his large and spacious backyard. “Paint!” said the old man.

“Oh, now, wait a minute,” said the boy. “Paint!” said the old man, firmly.

Frustrated, the boy began painting, flicking the brush up and down, back and forth.

“No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like I showed you.” And again, the old man repeated the same, careful stroke of the brush and flick of the wrist that he had shown him before. “Like that, and no change.”

So the boy spent the next week painting the fence. On Saturday, as he finished up, the old man watched the boy and the motion of his hands. “Good,” he said. “Come back Monday.”

The boy came back, glad the sanding was done, and the painting, and eager for his first lesson in Karate. The old man picked up a large, soft cloth bundle. “Watch,” he said. And then, the old man demonstrated a deliberate, circular motion, first with one hand, then the next. The boy copied.

“Good,” said the old man. “Follow me.”

The old man took the boy outside to the door of a large shed. Opening the doors, the boy’s mouth fell open and he stared in at a row of beautiful vintage sports cars.

The old man handed the boy the cloth and a large tin. “Wax,” he said.

The boy rolled his eyes, and began pushing the cloth over the hood of the car. “No, no, no,” said the old man. “Like this.” And again, the old man repeated the same, deliberate circular motion. “Like that, and no change.”

So, just like he’d been shown, the boy spent his free time for the next week waxing the old man’s collection of vintage sports cars.

But by Saturday, he was furious. Three weeks wasted doing the old man’s chores. And as he came to inspect, he threw the waxing cloth down on the ground and glared at the old man.
The old man glared back and grabbed his wrist.

“I attack you with a punch from the front - you raise your hand like this,” and instinctively, the boy raised his arm and wrist, just as he done, countless times while painting the fence, and with surprising ease, turned back the punch.

“I come from the side - and you move your arm like this,” he said, and again, the boy fell into the motion effortlessly, repeating what he’d done hundreds of times while sanding the deck.

“And I try to strike with both hands, and you turn me away by doing this,” and as the boy circled his hands, as he’d done waxing the cars, he realized what the old man had taught him, he realized the power in these simple actions and his newly disciplined arms, and a smile of satisfaction covered his face.

“Good,” said the old man. “This is where we begin. And now I will show you more.”

There are two words in our lesson from Ephesians that I’d have you notice: ‘power’ and ‘enlightenment’.

The power of God is a constant theme throughout the Scriptures. But it is power for a purpose.
It is the power God displayed, when he chose Abraham and Sarah, an old and childless couple, and demonstrated his power to give life, and with it, a promise of an eternal line who would bring God’s grace to the world.

It is the power God displayed when he looked down on a beleagured band of slaves, bending back the sea in order to free his people for their mission in the world.

It is the power of God, as St. Paul specifies, to open a grave and empty it, in order that the immeasurable love of God might extend from the furthest depths to the greatest heights.
It’s the power which God has let loose in Jesus Christ. And it is that same power that St. Paul says is let loose in the lives of God’s people.

But where do you start with power like that? It’s an intriguing question. And I like how Bishop Tom Wright answers it.

With power like that, we start with ourselves. We start by dealing with our secret sins and in improving our habits of prayers.

What?

Read through Ephesians. See the great purposes for which the Son of God gave his life. Marvel at the hope being offered for every person, regardless of race, wealth or standing. And then look where it begins.

Scrub up, clean up, and shine up. No more lies. No more filthy thoughts. No more favourite vices tucked away in the corner. You’ve been given Jesus Christ. You wrap his life over your life.
And then, he says, ‘Dear God, I hope you can see it.’

This is the purpose of prayer. ‘May your eyes be enlightened,’ are Paul’s words, so that by prayer you can see the hope, the riches and the power that God is presenting you for his purposes in the world.

Have you ever thought, that these are two prayer to which we know, with 100% certainty, what the answer is? All those unanswered prayers, but to these two we know the answers. To the Christian coming to the Lord, asking that God might offer his power so that our hearts might be more like Christ, asking through prayer that our eyes might see more of what Christ saw, the answer, with 100% certainty, is yes.

It may not be easy. Some of us are stubborn.

It may not come instantly. Some of our selfish ways are deeply ingrained. We may need the help of a Christian counsellor or friend.

Things may not be clear to us all at once. We’re used to looking out for ourselves. It takes a while to see others the way Jesus does.

But we know the answer. And we have been offered the means: the power of God to give life, to turn back the floods, to roll back the stone, to conquer death itself. And for those who will ask, this power is offered to us.

And then, as this prayer is made and is being answered, there may be more. It’s always a little more complicated when we pray for others. Their freedom is involved. But with dirt cleaned up, muscles developed, and eyes sharpened, who knows what God might do with a life that’s been offered to him.

Yesterday in the National Post, as, in their own way, they mark the Feast of All Saints, was a feature on Jean Vanier, a Canadian who has founded a world-wide community of homes for those who’ve come into the world with great physical and mental injury. He has a new book and it summarizes his work the message of his life: the love that God offers in Jesus Christ, discovered first and foremost, right under our eyes, among those who are weakest. He sums it up in a sentence: To be human is to share with those who are weak.

One little thing they mentioned, which has always charmed me. He’s been spending the last week in school assemblies, sometimes in front of one and two thousand young people at a time. He doesn’t try to be clever. He doesn’t quote the lyrics of pop songs he’s never heard. He simply tells them of the love of God that begins with the obvious, and then reaches further.

The rooms are packed and the young people listen quietly and respectfully. He’s filled L’Arche homes around the world with bright young people who want more in life than new shoes and shiny cars and their search summons them to serve the weakest ones on earth. Their search brings them to the place where the power of God’s love begins.

If you were given great power, where would you start? We start here, with our own hearts. With our own eyes.

Where will it take us? We may be surprised, but the love of God has the redemption of the world in view.

Sermon: Prayer and the Persistent Widow - Mr. David Puttock, Layreader, St. Paul's L'Amoreaux

October 21, 2007, Pentecost 21 (Year C), Luke 18:1-8

I am a little puzzled that I should be invited to preach on Seniors Recognition Sunday.

Is it a hint that I am getting older? Is this just a coincidence? What is a senior anyway? What are the qualifications?

Last year, to my surprise, I discovered that - in one place at least – I am already a senior. I went to the AMC cinema at Kennedy Commons. At the ticket office I was asked if I was a senior! Was this an insult - or a joke? Well, I took it in good humour. I asked – what is the age for a senior ? 55 and over was the reply. What a surprise !! So young!! Yet I qualified!! And I thought wistfully of the years of seniors discounts that I had missed!! So I immediately claimed the discount and have shamelessly done so ever since. By the way I tried it at Cineplex Odeon at STC. It didn’t work. The policy there is 65 and over. I still have a few years to go before that!

Anyway you know the old saying – and it’s true – you are only as old as you feel!!

When I read today’s Gospel I fell into a trap. Aha, I thought, how fitting for Seniors Recognition Sunday. It’s a story about old people. There’s this widow. She must be old. And the judge – well, judges are generally old too. In fact one of the commentaries I read refers to him as a “crusty old judge”. But – who says the judge is old? Who says the widow is a senior? Nowhere in the gospel does it say that he or she was old. They could have been comparatively young. The widow certainly has the energy of a young person in pursuing her case with the unjust judge.

The story is quite straightforward . . .

The woman in the parable is a widow. Whatever her age, whatever her status, she is a symbol for – and this is typical in Luke’s Gospel – the poor, defenceless, the marginalized in society.

The other character is the judge. He is corrupt and unjust. Jesus points out that this judge neither fears God nor has any respect for people. Not even a deserving widow is going to get a fair hearing from him.

But, this is no ordinary widow. This woman is bold and confrontational and persistent. Even though her chances of success are next to none, she keeps demanding justice for her case saying, "Grant me justice against my opponent."

For a while, the judge refuses. But, finally, he relents, saying, "I have no fear of God. I have no respect for anyone. But I'm going to do what this woman asks, because she keeps bothering me, and I don't want her to wear me out by continually coming" to me and pestering me.

Note that the Greek word translated here as "wear me out" literally means to "strike under the eye" or to "give a black eye." This phrase presents an intriguing picture of a raging granny letting fly at the judge with her purse or shopping bag.

And so the judge gives in – not out of a sense of justice but in order to avoid the black eye. The black eye may not be realistic but it is quite likely that he gives in to avoid the embarrassment of a very public and possibly humiliating scene with the widow. Something that would rob him of his self-importance and make him look rather foolish in the eyes of the public. He may not care for God or man but he certainly cares about his self-image.

And so through her persistence the widow achieves her goal.

The widow is an example of persistence and faithfulness.

The judge is her unlikely saviour.

We can probably see ourselves as the widow with our prayers and petitions to GOD. But don’t imagine that the crooked judge can be compared with GOD ! No, the judge is to be contrasted with GOD – not compared with Him.

And the lesson is this -- if the crooked judge can be persuaded by the lowly widow and show mercy, then how much more will a just GOD, a loving Father, give to his children out of the goodness of his heart?

So is that the message then? Persistence in prayer pays off?

Well not exactly. True, Jesus tells his disciples clearly up front that this parable is about the need to pray always. But he also tells them – and us - not to lose heart.

Because you don’t always get what you want. You don’t always get what you pray for.

This is not just a parable on how to pray. It is not just a parable on persistence in prayer. There is something deeper about this passage.

It points to the profound importance of prayer and how prayer shapes the profound nature our relationship with GOD.

It is a parable about trusting in GOD to provide for the needs of His people.

In this light, the story of the judge and the widow and how she hounds him into cowering submission seems almost like a light-hearted prelude.

The profound importance of prayer

The wonderful unique thing about prayer is this: it is the medium through which we communicate with GOD. It is a miracle in itself that we can talk directly with GOD and not through some designated intermediary. And in this we take our lead from Jesus Christ who encourages us to talk with GOD and call him Our Father.

And recall the words of St Paul who wrote to the (1st) Thessalonians: “Pray continually !”. Prayer is the medium through which we communicate with God in all times and in all circumstances, through all the seasons of our life, especially the ones that are parched and dry.

Because prayer is not always easy.

Prayer can be hard work, because our prayers for the things we feel we most deeply need are often met with long periods of silence from God. The American theologian and author, Dr Fred Craddock, writes that “prayer is hard work because the human experience is often an experience of waiting in the face of delay”.

Prayer is not like a divine vending machine. Put in your faith. Be sure to put in enough. Pull the lever. Get what you want or what you think you need. No, prayer is more like wrestling, like Jacob, who wrestled and struggled with God, through the long night until the break of day.

I feel we can draw inspiration - not so much from those who boast of a triumphant and successful prayer life and claim to have all the answers but from people who have practised hopeful and confident and persistent prayer in the face of great suffering and God's apparent silence. These are the ones who can really inspire us and be our models.

Prayer is the medium through which GOD prepares us for his answer to prayer, for an answer that may not be easy for us to accept. It may not be our will.

We pray. We get an answer to our prayer. Sometimes the answer is “No” or “Not now”. Through prayer, God’s will is revealed to us. And it may be something other than what we asked or imagined.

And as we pray, God also prepares us for the reality that an answer may not come in our life and time here on earth.

“The time we spend in hopeful and confident prayer, in the face of promises delayed, in the face of long seasons of silence, is the time that transforms us into the vessels that will be able to hold the answer when it finally comes.” (Fred Craddock again).

The profound nature of our relationship with God.

Prayer shapes us and moulds our character. And prayer strengthens our relationship with GOD. Through prayer our relationship with GOD is transformed and enriched so that we are being made ready ultimately to abide in GOD’s presence.

And as we deepen our relationship with GOD, maybe - to pick up the phrase from the parable - maybe we can dare to say that prayer is the medium through which we wear GOD out with our persistence and, if need be, give him a black eye. Through prayer we may boldly remind GOD of His promises to us until the answer comes.

Prayer is the courageous determination to let God be God.

Finally, it may take a long time for prayer to be answered – so don’t give up. There is concern expressed in the final verse that people will lose heart, abandon their persistent supplication and give up their faith. Hence the question at the end of the passage: “And yet when the Son of Man comes – will he find faith on earth ?” The message here is - trust in GOD for He is trustworthy. Trust in the eventual triumph of GOD and his people.

So, will the Son of Man find faith on earth when he comes again? If we continue to pray faithfully – yes he will!!! Emphatically, he will!!

This may be the logical point to end - but I cannot resist sharing with you a modern day equivalent of today’s Gospel story.

Edward Bennett Williams was a high-profile and powerful Washington lawyer, sometime owner of the Washington Redskins and the Baltimore Orioles, advisor to celebrities and politicians alike. One day Mother Teresa had made an appointment with him because she was raising money for an AIDS hospice and Williams was in charge of a charitable foundation that she hoped would help. Before the appointment, Williams said to his partner, Paul Dietrich, “You know, Paul, AIDS is not my favourite disease. I don't really want to make a contribution but I've got this Catholic saint coming to see me and I don't know what to do.” Well, they talked about it and agreed that they would be polite, hear her out, but then say no. So, Mother Teresa arrived. She sat like a little sparrow perched on the other side of the lawyer’s immense mahogany desk. She made her appeal for the hospice and Williams said, “We're touched by your appeal, but no.” Mother Teresa said simply, “Let us pray.” Williams exchanged glances with his partner and they bowed their heads. After the prayer, Mother Teresa made the same pitch, word for word, for the hospice. Again Williams politely said no. Mother Teresa said, “Let us pray.” Williams, exasperated, looked up at the ceiling as if to heaven and finally exclaimed, “All right, all right”, and turning to his partner said, “Paul, get me my cheque book !”

Yes, indeed, another example of the power of persistent prayer!!

As Jesus taught us - we must keep praying. And, in full expectation of his coming again, we must not – we shall not - lose heart. Amen.

Sermon: The List - 2 September 2007

Luke 14:1,7-14
St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, September 2, 2007

In our lesson from Luke 14, Jesus is giving lessons about life in the kingdom of God. In the first lesson, he is giving instructions on how to be a good guest. On the surface, what he said isn't much different from common Jewish table manners. And yet it says that Jesus was telling a parable. Parables, as you know, were used by Jesus to teach about life in the Kingdom of God. And against those who are always trying to calculate some little advantage for themselves and trying to climb to some better position, Jesus says simply, "Those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

And in the second saying in which Jesus is addressing the host of a banquet, you could say, on the one hand, it's a lesson in delayed gratification. Advantages missed now by inviting the poor, lame, and blind will be multiplied later at the resurrection. And if that were the only appeal, then it's actually a stronger appeal to the same basic motive for gain and advantage of those who are calculating in their choice of dinner guests.

But there is a reason to believe that something else far greater is intended. In the lesson Jesus says that if you give a banquet and host these kinds of needy people, you will be blessed. The word "blessed" is important because it is a word ordinarily reserved for the joy of living in the Kingdom of God. It is the word used in the beatitudes - blessed are you poor, hungry, mournful and persecuted (Lk. 6:20-23).

Furthermore, the two lists of those to invite and not to invite are also important.

The first list of those not to invite provides a warning that the people we ordinarily aspire to be like and aspire to be with may not be as reliable as we might first think. Our first impression may be that here's another example of us being asked to give up for the sake of others and to think of others first. In fact, what we may have here is a warning. These people may not be as good to you or for you as you think they might be. If you are pinning your hopes on the shoulders of family, friends, and those of wealth and influence, you may end up disappointed. Jesus issued the warning of which he himself would feel the effects. In chapter 21, verse 16, he says: "You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death."

And the reason for this may not be anything particularly dark or conspiratorial. It may be as simple as the fact that if entering the Kingdom of is your goal, you may not have much in common with those whose goal it is not, sometimes including those to whom you are close.

But the second list, those who are poor, crippled, lame, and blind, is similar to the list of people who, long long ago, the prophet Isaiah promised would be delivered by the coming messiah. They are the people Jesus mentioned that day when he announced his messiahship in the temple. They are the people Jesus mentioned when he sent a message to John the Baptist to confirm that he was the Saviour. "Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard", Jesus said. "The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is preached to the poor" (Lk. 7:22).

This isn't a lesson about table manners. It is a lesson about the fulfilment of prophecy, about the hope of all ages coming to pass. About the prophet Isaiah's vision of paradise: ". . . with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them." (Is. 11:1-9.)

Those of you who read the little travel diary I kept about our trip to Kenya will have read this story already. But during our time in Kenya, I was advised to look out for a short, quiet and unassuming priest by the name of John Njuguna. He won't draw much attention to himself, I was told, but over the course of his ministry he has been a tremendous pastor and has planted nearly 25 churches. Fortunately, he was one of the first people I met when we arrived in Bungoma, and we visited every time we were together.

Our first Sunday there, we were gathered on the grounds of the Wycliffe Centre, and Fr. John was very happy. "What a great day this is," he told me. "Seven years ago," he said while pointing across the field to the northern corner of the property, "I started this church. It was a very bad area, run by thieves. People who came into it, herding cattle, or carrying chickens, or riding on bikes, might enter with something, but left with nothing."

I asked him what he did.

"Well," he said, "the first thing I did was go into their homes. I told them that God loved them. I told them that I was their friend, and now, they were my friends. And I told them that they were welcome to come to my church." And then, very deliberately he said, with a wave of his hand back and forth ‑ "I didn't talk about any bad things" ‑ meaning, he didn't raise the subject of their thievery.

"I kept visiting," he said, "and gradually they started coming to the church. After a while, they began to step forward in order to be baptized. I welcomed them, but I told them, `God loves you, but God needs you to serve him. Therefore, when I baptize you, there are some things you can no longer do.'" "This region has been transformed," he told me with a smile, pointing out in the crowd at least three of the former thieves, one of whom has become a local evangelist.

I don't know how you hear all this, but the tipped-over world that Jesus describes presents a great challenge. It challenges our loyalties. It challenges us with demanding ministry to people in need. But the challenge of this kind of ministry and this kind of living is rewarded many times over with the rich fellowship of humble people and the first taste of the paradise to come - when the miseries, hatreds, jealousies and cruelties of this world will have a place no more. And it is a kind of living rewarded with the joy of sharing in Jesus' redemption of the world.

Our Lord has invited us to his table. And as our gospel lesson teaches, we are all invited, no matter what our circumstance. Whether we be rich or poor, strong or weak, Jew or Gentile. But the invitation is also given with great urgency. A feast is being held, and the host will not tolerate excuses. In fact, he is sending out his servants to invite anyone who will come until every seat at the table is full. But it is the banquet in the upper room that consoles us with the assurance of our Lord that He invites us to His table where we will find His mercy to heal our wounds and grace to face the future. And the invitation he has given to each of us He asks us to share with others.

"But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

Sermon: Isaiah and the Vineyard - 19 August 07

Sermon: The Vineyard

Text: Isaiah 5.1-7

St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, Pentecost 12 (Proper 20), August 19, 2007

There are three things I’d like us to notice in our lesson from Isaiah. And the first may be obvious to you, but did you notice that the speaker changes?

The lesson begins with Isaiah speaking on behalf of the Lord, like a friend paying tribute to another friend who goes unappreciated for the beautiful vineyard he has built.

But then, at the third verse, in this relatively short passage, the speaker changes - from the friend to the master, from Isaiah to the Lord.

“And now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah,” says the Lord, “judge between me and my vineyard. What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done?” (Is 5:3-4)

I don’t know how many of you read, then saw the movie of J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. About a year after the first movie, I received a DVD of it as a gift and eagerly watched it again at home. There was one scene, though, where watching at home was nothing like being in the theatre.

A little hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, has been custodian for a terrible ring. Because of its terrific power, it corrupts everyone who holds it and must be taken to the Mount of Doom and destroyed. A great wizard named Gandalf knows all this and is trying to transfer the ring from the hobbit Bilbo to his young nephew Frodo who will begin carrying it to its place of destruction. The wizard is very powerful, but kind and gentle among the hobbits. So kind, that they often forget his great power. And so on the fateful day when Gandalf the wizard requests that Bilbo the Hobbit hand over the ring, Bilbo, already a little corrupted by the ring, rudely refuses and accuses Gandalf of wanting it for himself.

At the accusation - and an effect that is terrifying in the theatre (and a bit lame on a small TV at home) - Gandalf the wizard grows to the size of a giant, fire and smoke surround him, and a great, deep voice comes from within him, ordering Bilbo to stop playing games about this dangerous ring, and stop treating him like a greedy con artist.

Little Bilbo hands over the ring.

That came to mind here. It is as if the Lord interrupts Isaiah in order to challenge the people directly: ‘Who do you think you’re dealing with?’

And then the Lord says, “I have delivered you into a land of plenty, and like the master of a vineyard, I have tilled the soil, cleared the rocks and built a watchtower within it for your safety and protection.

“But you have not trusted my oversight, you have spoiled the vineyard, and you have made the whole thing stink with your sinfulness and quarreling.”

Which is the second thing I’d have you notice.

On the one hand, it is a small thing, a word, but repeated twice in this passage. In the accusation that the Lord make against Israel, the Lord says, “I expected [the vineyard] to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes,” literally, ‘grapes that stink’, ‘grapes with a stench’.

Again, a small thing, but a sharp contrast between what the vineyard was intended for and what it has become: ‘a yard full of grapes that stink’.

On an afternoon before Halloween a few years ago, John Oakley, who was then with CFRB radio. thought it would be fun to get people to call in and tell about their experiences getting rid of the ‘smell of death’. What he was thinking of are those times when a little mouse dies behind a cupboard, or a bird in the rafter of a garage. I’m not sure he was expecting what he got.

Because right away an autobody mechanic phoned in. “From time to time,” he said, “it happens to us. We get cars that have been involved in fatal accidents. There is a terrible stench that’s left behind.”

“Here’s how we get rid of it. We remove the seats, the dashboard, and every piece of plastic, rubber, leather, fabric or wood that we can find. We then take a sandblaster and destroy every sliver of paint - the smell will seep into the paint. And we sell the little that’s left for parts.

“That’s how we get rid of the smell.”

Here in Isaiah this is a powerful accusation, because of how great the contrast is between something that’s sweet and something that’s become rotten. This vineyard has become the complete opposite of what was intended.

It is intended to be a place of justice.

It is intended to be a place of fairness, generosity and mercy.

It is intended to be a place of harmony.

It is intended to be a place set aside for glory and praise of God.

And it is intended that the influence of this place should spread. It is intended that this nation should be a light to all nations. It is intended that around this holy hill, all nations should gather.

But instead of justice, there is injustice.

Instead of fairness, cheating.

Instead of harmony, quarrelling and division.

Instead of the praise, the mistrust and defiance of God.

Instead of a vineyard, it’s a yard full of grapes that stink.

Now here’s the third thing, and again, by this point, you’ve probably noticed it, too. The comparison between the people and a vineyard made here in Isaiah is a comparison Jesus makes many times. But what we sometimes miss is that the comparison is made for the same reason.

In other words, what God was doing and building in Israel, God continues to pursue in Israel and now in the church, the new Israel of those who’ve been ‘grafted in’ through faith in Jesus Christ. Jesus deliberately used the same comparison that the prophets before him used. And the warning, the judgement - and the hope - that the prophet issues to Israel then is the warning, judgement, and hope that the prophet issues to the church today.

In some ways, I think it’s obvious.

We are to be righteous people.

We are to be just people.

We are to live in harmony, and to work hard when conflict arises.

We are always to remember the widow, the poor and the foreigner among us.

And the influence of being and becoming that kind of people is intended for the sake of the world.

Whenever we act unrighteously, unjustly, selfishly and in a pinched and provincial fashion, we become like grapes that stink.

But there’s another point that requires a bird’s eye view of Isaiah in order to see. One of the fascinating aspects of this prophet is the way in which he understands the nations. On the one hand, Isaiah describes the nation of Israel divided and fighting among itself. He also describes the neighbouring nations as instruments of God’s judgement who he will use to punish Israel. But against our tendency to cut and run whenever we see troubles, even though they see what’s coming, the prophets of Israel stay among the people in their time of punishment, knowing that the discipline of the Lord is the first step toward redemption.

The final destiny of God’s people is not injustice and dissension. The final destiny of the nations is not as a blunt instrument of judgement.

The final destiny of Israel is its redemption.

The final destiny for the nations is their redemption.

In similar fashion, Jesus warned the people of his day. And He too stayed among them, bearing on his shoulders the weight of this great clash between what God’s people are intended to become and what they have degenerated into. Jesus stayed among them even though it meant the road to Golgotha where he would be tried falsely and crucified unjustly.

But the final destiny for Israel is its redemption.

The final destiny for the world is its salvation.

This is a solemn lesson. We probably know too well all the different ways when we’ve looked for a vineyard and discovered grapes that stink. But are we prepared to receive the Lord’s correction? Have we the faith to lift our heads and contemplate that which God intends us to become? In this generation of dissension, quarreling and division, and hard as it is to accept, we also betray those plans not only when we contradict the way that God has commanded us to live, but whenever we flee the conflicts created when the old and the new life clash - conflicts in our homes, among our family and friends, in our parishes, in our world.

One old Bible commentator says (K. F. Keil):

[The book of Isaiah is about] a test sent from God for Judah and the house of David, in which it was their duty to decide in favour of faith and confidence simply in the omnipotence and the grace of the Lord; instead of which, they placed their confidence in the earthly worldly power of Assyria, and, as a punishment, were given over to . . . heathen nations, in order that, being purified by severe judgments, they might be led through deep sufferings to the glory of their divine calling.” (Quoted, Seitz, p. 7)

God’s plans are not for us as mere individuals. God’s plans are for a holy people, a nation of priests, raised up for the sake of the world. And this is the shining hope on the other side of the prophet’s message of judgement.

I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind . . . I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight . . . no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress . . . they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit . . . The wolf and the lamb shall feed together . . . They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord. (Is 65:17-25).

Sermon: The Call of Jeremiah, 26 August 07

Sermon: The Call of Jeremiah

Text: Jeremiah 1.4-10

St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, Pentecost 13 (Proper 21), August 26, 2007

Our Old Testament lesson this morning is the gripping account of the Lord’s call of Jeremiah the prophet. And a couple of introductory words.

First, it is a mark of the way we do things in the Anglican Church that we read lessons like this in the first place. Because the schedule of readings we follow, called a lectionary, requires us to read not just our favourite lessons, but the hard ones, too.

I had a funny experience while teaching about the liturgy in Kenya and teaching about the difference between those things that are of primary and secondary importance. Those who plan the liturgy need to keep this in mind. They don’t want the service to go on and on. Neither do they want the essentials to be overlooked.

While teaching, one of the young clergy put up his hand and said, “We have that problem in our church. The services go on too long. Lots of singing, long testimonies and announcements. So we solved it. We don’t read the Bible anymore.”

He was reminded by me that the lessons are considered essential. He was warned by his principal, who was helping to translate, not to let it happen again.

I always like it when guilt and innocence mix. Like the proud young owner of a new porsche who can’t help correcting the traffic cop who stopped him. “No, you’re wrong,” complains the speeder. “I was going at least twice that fast!”

We need the whole counsel of Scripture in order that our lives might be shaped according to God’s purposes and will. But these are tough ones to consider.

Secondly, I want to say again what I said last week about Isaiah. It is easy to forget that the Old Testament record about Israel continues to serve as an example for us as modern Christians. And it serves as a warning when we read about the people descending into division and disloyalty to God. And the point is simple. The same temptations which faced Israel face the church. We must be on guard against destructive conflict and disloyalty to God.

But here’s a point that I’ve only begun to understand in the last few years. Much is made in Isaiah, and also here in Jeremiah, about a remnant from whom God would rebuild his people (Is. 11.1). But do you realize that the prophets never identify who the remnant is? Only God knows. And it is left to the prophets and the people to wait and see how God will raise up those who’ve been faithful. It is left to the people to obey the Lord and remain faithful throughout.

This is the same point made in Jesus’ parable of the wheat and the weeds (Mt. 13.24ff.). It is left to the Lord to sort out the faithful from the unfaithful.

For that reason, a humble priest and his wife like Zechariah and Elizabeth, an unsuspecting but righteous couple like Joseph and Mary, and a tottering and prayerful couple like Simeon and Anna are the perfect examples and the ones to whom the Messiah, Jesus Christ the Lord, would first appear.

To our great harm, Christians have been too eager - far too eager - to declare who is, and who is not faithful, and to take it upon themselves to separate themselves from those thought to be unfaithful.

I mention this second point because I do not want to ignore the elephant pounding around in the room. This is a generation in which the Christian churches in general, and the Anglican Church in particular, are quarrelling and breaking up. This is not just an Anglican problem. At last count, there are 40,000 Christian denominations, and I’m told a new one created once every 2 or 3 days. But it most certainly is an Anglican problem, and we face difficult days ahead.

Conflict is unavoidable and we discover God and God’s purposes through a great struggle in a dangerous world. But the large difference I see, when comparing Israel to the church, is that Israel and its prophets knew that God’s intention was for them as a people, and they came to realize that there are times when they all must bear the confusion and disarray brought upon them by unfaithfulness and the tumult of the times.

That is the example of Jeremiah. One of his most famous speeches was just as the Babylonians were about to attack. All around him, his own people believed there was nothing to worry about. All around him, hundreds of prophets who also claimed the inspired word of the Lord, declared that all was well. Life could go on as it was.

But Jeremiah thundered in reply: “Peace, peace, where there is no peace.”

Did they thank him for his insight? They threw him into a well.

Did they praise him for his courage and independence? They wanted to kill him.

Did it draw him closer to the Lord? He accused the Lord of violating him.

But did Jeremiah give up, lose faith, or abandon his people?

No! And the most eloquent tribute to this great prophet is the fact that immediately after his most violent complaints about the people and toward God, the next day we see him back at it, warning the people, guiding the people, pointing the people back to the life for which they were intended, holding out hope to the people that God does not forget his promises. God will rebuild.

Generations later, it became clear that Jeremiah had spoken for the Lord, and he was the one around whose counsel the people could rebuild.

Christians, on the other hand, and modern Christians in particular, have been notoriously guilty of concluding that God’s purposes is for them, individually, and notoriously unconcerned when the conflict leads to division, and further division - and further division - to the tune of another new denomination every 2 or 3 days.

How does this rise from our lesson in Jeremiah?

Briefly, two things from verse five.

First, in a backhanded fashion we are warned of the cost. The lesson begins with the haunting description of the prophet’s call and of the Lord’s choice of him from even before the time of his birth.

“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you.” (Je 1:5) It is a beautiful description, of God’s knowledge and commissioning of Jeremiah, but it carried with it a tremendous cost, as the call of God always does.

We can be quite sentimental about the call of the Lord. But if the Lord calls, hang on to your hat.

It is similar to the description that the psalmist uses of himself in Psalm 71, and the psalmist finds himself surrounded by enemies ready to pounce.

And yet, his conclusion is not one of despair, but of dependence upon God and hope in the faithfulness of God.

O my God, make haste to help me! . . . But I will hope continually, and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all day long (Ps 71:11-15).

And as one commentator puts it, instinctively the psalmist realizes that suffering is not wasted if that agony is part of God’s redemptive work in the world.

Why is the call of the Lord so costly? Because the saving plans of the Lord are so great!

The second thing, also from verse 5, is the purpose for which Jeremiah is being raised up:

“I appointed you a prophet to the nations . . . to break down, and to build up.” (Je 1:5)

As mentioned last week, one of the fascinating aspects of the prophets is the way in which they understand the nations. Both Jeremiah and Isaiah describe the nation of Israel as divided and fighting among itself. And they describe the neighbouring nations as instruments of God’s judgement who God will use to punish Israel. But this is not the ultimate purpose - for Israel or the nations. Israel is not abandoned to division and ruin. The nations are not meant to be only cudgels of punishment.

The final destiny of God’s chosen is to be a holy people, a nation of priests, a light to the nations. The final destiny for the nations is their redemption and salvation. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son . . .”

Which is why the calling of Jeremiah, and our calling as God’s ambassadors in the world, is never easy. We are being drawn into God’s redemptive purposes for the world. Purposes which we only understand in part. Purposes which involve a great struggle, like labour pains, St. Paul says. Purposes that extend beyond our sight-lines and into the generations that will follow us.

I’ve mentioned before the process going on right now for the beautification of Mother Theresa, and that, to the surprise of many, the investigation has revealed that for most of Mother Teresa’s active ministry in the streets of Calcutta and among the world’s poorest of poor, she herself was experiencing profound spiritual darkness. Incidentally, this was splashed on the front page of the National Post (August 25, 2007) just yesterday.

But rather than despair, she turned her own feelings of abandonment into even greater dependence on God and her feelings of purposelessness into sharply focussed acts of service among the poorest of the poor.

There was no outward sign of it. Mother Theresa radiated joy and love. And few can imagine her doing what she did with that kind of inner struggle occurring. Where did she find the strength and inspiration to carry on?

But I was interested in what the reporter noticed.

This discovery came as no surprise to the investigators because it is a common characteristic of saintly people. And yet, fittingly, Mother Theresa’s struggles are the sources of deepest suffering in our time - meaninglessness and abandonment!

But rather than give in to her feelings of meaninglessness and abandonment, she became even more focussed in service and abandoned herself more fully to God.

In fact, as the darkness deepened within her, light seem to radiate from her even more brightly among those she lived and served. People who met her were always struck by her smile and a palpable feeling of love and radiance. Little did they know that her smile was an act of the will which she offered as a simple expression of her faith in Jesus Christ.

How does a person come to give their life for the poorest of the poor?

How does a person carry on in the dark night of the soul?

Jeremiah offers us a clue.

They do so under the conviction that God is faithful, and the suffering which comes to God’s people is meaningful as it is part of God’s plan of salvation.

They do so under the conviction that God’s purposes are for the world. We are called for that purpose. We are privileged to join in service.

But I will hope continually, and will praise you yet more and more. My mouth will tell of your righteous acts, of your deeds of salvation all day long (Ps 71:11-15).