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.