In his commentary on St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, Bishop Tom Wright notes three things about why the patriarch Abraham is a model of faith for Christians.
First, Abraham turns from false gods to faith in the one, true God.
Secondly, Abraham rightly gives glory to God rather than glory to those things that are undeserving and which would set him on a course toward corruption and dishonor.
And as a hundred year old man with a ninety-nine year old wife, Abraham accepts the Lord’s promise of fruitfulness and new life trusting that the Lord has power over death.
I repeat. The faith of Abraham gives him purpose. He worships the true God. Not a swamp of false gods, leading a person into false hopes, empty pleasures, hollow promises.
Abraham rightly gives God glory and his faith brings meaning to his life. It is one thing to know that something is true. It’s another thing to let that truth permeate our lives, to find the meaning it gives to our life, and to do so with gratitude and reverence.
And the faith of Abraham gives him hope. He places his trust in the One who has power over death. Where Abraham can only see barrenness and death, Abraham accepts God’s assurance of fruitfulness and new life - and receives the child from whom descendants more numerous than the sands of the sea would descend.
Let me tell you about Fr. Walter Ciszek.
As a young man growing up in the United States, Walter Ciszek dreamed of living in Russia. During his theological training in the States and later in Rome, Ciszek studied Russia and Russian Christianity. And just as WWII began, hHe received his first appointment as a priest in Poland. And even though he hadn’t made it all the way to Russia, Russia came the rest of the way to him. With the invasion of Poland by Germany, Poland was carved up between the Germans and Russians and Walter Ciszek found himself in the Russian section.
But at the invitation of a fellow priest, an opportunity came to go with a coal mining team deep into the heart of mainland Russia. Ciszek jumped to accept and soon he was crowded into a railway boxcar for the long trip. He could barely contain himself, finally to visit the country he had so longed hoped to see; finally to experience life in a communist society about which he had heard such fascinating reports.
But upon arrival, his disappointment was profound.
In the mining camp, Ciszek discovered that the principle of religious freedom in a communist country meant little among people who were steeped in the official atheism. There was little interest and no encouragement.
Causing far greater strain, however, was the invasion of Russia by Germany. From then on, anyone who showed signs of nonconformity was under suspicion and most were arrested. Ciszek’s dream became a nightmare. He was arrested and for four years he was ceaselessly questioned and tortured under the trumped up charge of being a spy.
Ciszek describes this period as one in which his own soul was purged. Suffering and oppressed under communism, Ciszek had no more illusions about human institutions. Living beside hardened criminals, Ciszek had no more illusions human nature. And tormented day and night to produce a false statement, Ciszek’s eventual failure left him no illusions even about himself.
Though it was this final episode which served as a turning point.
After continuous interrogation, harassment and torture, Ciszek finally signed a statement declaring falsely that he was a spy. He went back to his cell in despair. He had lost hope in every one and every thing around him. Now he lost hope even in himself. But at that moment, the lowest in his life, he prayed a simple prayer and, as he put it, turned to God in complete trust, determining from that moment on to live with the single aim of trusting God and following God’s will even in every circumstance of his life.
So he did. Even in prison, he resolved to follow God’s will in every circumstance.
The prison guards were visibly amazed at his transformation. So much so that they misunderstood the change and hatched a plan to send him back to Rome as a Soviet spy. But when it was demanded that Ciszek sign a second agreement to serve as a Russian spy, Ciszek - who had become someone different from the man who had caved in earlier - refused. His captors flew into a rage and sentenced him to fifteen more years of hard labor in a Siberian work camp.
Which brings us to a remarkable episode in his life.
After completing his fifteen year sentence, Fr. Ciszek was released from prison and sent to the city of Norilsk where he could live, but under strict conditions set by the local authorities.
In Norilsk, however, Fr. Ciszek hunted up two other priests who had also been released from prison. They were in a miserable little shack in a squatter’s village on the edge of the city. But in that tiny hut, he was greeted with the joy of three brothers reunited at a seaside resort.
And there, in such humble conditions, after so many years of interruption, Fr. Ciszek resumed his duties as a priest. One occasion stood out among all others.
About a year later, the other two priests were forced out of Norilsk and Fr. Ciszek was left alone to serve the people during Lent and Holy Week. Humble as conditions were, a full schedule of services was arranged. Hundreds of people, at great risk to themselves participated. And for 48 hours straight over Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Eve, Fr. Ciszek went throughout the city of Norilsk, blessing the people and hearing their confessions concluding with the Easter eucharist. And when it was finally over and as he sat to rest, in the background he could hear the last group of courageous Christian people leaving his small cottage, greeting each other in the words of the traditional Easter greeting: Christ is Risen. Christ is risen indeed. For all he had suffered, to serve these brave people through the most solemn season of the Christian year was one of the most thrilling experiences all his life.
The very next day, he was picked up by authorities, given an airline ticket and ordered to get out of the city and never return.
And this is what I find so striking. In prison, he realized his limits as a frail, mortal and sinful man, there to discover the perfect contentment of choosing only to follow the will of God. And while at first angered by his expulsion from Norilsk, as he sat in the plane, uprooted again and on the way to another new home, suddenly, it dawned on him: how was it that he should have experienced the joy of that Holy Week? How was it, in such a dramatic and historic time, that he should be the one to reap what his two predecessors had worked so hard and faithfully to achieve? And in those terrible circumstances, he experienced the peace of perfect trust in God and in the future for which God would provide.
Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek followed the true God who could be trusted through the tumult of war with the Nazis and oppression under the Communists. Following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek found the meaning of life offered in gratitude to the Heavenly Father who alone deserves it, turning his head away from the shrill demands for it from captors who tried to use violence to gain it. And following the risen Lord, Fr. Ciszek experienced the new life that God can bring where only death and hopelessness appear.
Or, as an editorial in yesterday’s National Post put it so eloquently (22 March 2008):
Even when all seems definitively lost, when the stone is rolled into place and the darkness within the tomb is complete, even then hope is not lost. For the day in which the voice is silenced, the day in which the light is darkened, the day in which the faith is sealed underground — all this is but for a day! The day of the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your loyalty to the One true God is turned away by a big bag of money, or a big bag of wind - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
The next time your affections are turned away from the Great Love toward little and hollow loves of fleeting pleasure and false relief - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And the next time the forces of death and decay start heckling in the back of your head, the next time you hear them telling you there is no hope, no future, no use - remember! - the tomb does not have the final word, for in the morning, there is Easter joy.
And in the footsteps of the One who leads into the truth, who offers us the meaning and satisfaction in life for which we are made, who offers us hope beyond the grave, St. Paul’s words are the right ones:
I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Sermons & Notes
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Parts in the Sweet Song of Grace - Sermon - Lent 1, February 10, 2008 - Fr. Dean
As a child, growing up on the farm in Saskatchewan, the water we drank did not come from the tap. It was good enough for washing and cleaning, but not clean enough to drink. We got our drinking water from an underground spring, drawn from a well. The well was about a hundred yards north of the house, and usually once a day, Mom or Dad or one of us as me and my sisters grew older and stronger, carried an empty water pail to the well, pumped it full from an old iron pump, and carried the clear, fresh water back to the house for the family to drink.
It was a trip made almost every day. So often that there was a dirt path to the well pounded nearly as hard as concrete. Because every day, one, two or three sets of feet pounded over it.
One spring, my second and younger sister, a little girl at the time, was given some sunflower seeds which she was determined to plant. You know where she planted them. She planted them where we told her they had no chance of growing. She planted them where we told her that work boots, rubber boots, and running shoes would trample them every day. She planted them in ground we told her was too hard and too packed to be of any use. She planted them on the path from the house to the well. And about three weeks later, you know what the rest of us did for the rest of that spring, summer and fall. We walked around her confounded sunflower which grew up strong and tall right in the middle of that rock hard path to the drinking water well.
Bishop Tom Wright says that listening to the New Testament is like listening to the harmony of a song. He uses an interesting example. Have you ever played the game where you hum the melody of a song, and a friend tries to guess the name of the song? Or have you ever tried humming - not the melody - but the bass part, or the tenor’s part, or the alto’s part, and tried to guess the name of the song?
The good news of Jesus Christ is like the melody of the song we sing, but there are several parts that we must hear, before we can hear it fully and understand it well.
For Christians, the melody line is Jesus Christ - his life, teaching, healing, suffering, death and resurrection. And even on its own, it is pretty good music. The sweet song of God’s Son, who lived simply without even a pillow for his head. Who taught the word of the Lord to common people. Who gave sight back to the blind. Who offered friendship and mercy to the used and abused.
It is a pretty sweet song.
But like a great church bell, tolling in the background, this glorious song has ever so much more to offer when we listen to its bass part in the Old Testament.
This is what Bishop Wright emphasizes as we read this passage from Romans, chapter five. But let me tease you now. He ends by reminding us of a surprising part in the middle this song is intended to sound.
This passage describes two imbalances. First, and as it is put in verse 15, grace is not like sin. Sin brings death. There’s no surprise. That’s what sin does.
But grace brings life, and it does so even in those circumstances where death appears to reign.
When a ninety-nine year old man and a hundred year old woman - tired out, worn out and barren - are given the promise of a child through whom the mercy of God will wash over the world - what chance is there?
When a beaten up band of slaves are chased by the best army in Egypt to the edge of a broiling sea - and promised to get through that Red Sea and turned into God’s people out in a desolate wilderness - what chance is there?
When a people are crushed and humiliated and taken from the promised land into exile in a foreign land, with the promise that they will be restored, and God will keep the promises he makes - what chance is there?
And when the Messiah promises to lead his followers to glory, over the trampled path that heads straight to the cross on Golgotha - what chance is there?
But grace brings life. And it brings it where all hope seems lost. It brings it where death reigns.
The grace of God, says Bishop Wright, “is nothing short of new creation, creation not merely out of nothing but out of . . . death itself.” ("Romans", Interpreter’s Bible, 2002, p. 528).
Which is related to the second imbalance Paul describes.
That is, plainly and explicitly, grace does what it does after many trespasses. Adam’s sin, and the human rebellion and strife which followed, has been with us since the beginning of time. But the grace of God, revealed to us uniquely in Jesus Christ, came after many trespasses, after the soil of the human heart had been trampled on and beaten down many times, over countless generations. But just as the hand of God can put dead Lazarus back on his feet, the grace of God in Jesus Christ can put a new heart in our chests.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! (2 Co 5:17)
Hopelessness is a terrible thing. And there are times when we become hopeless. When we have been hurt, betrayed and disappointed. When we have hurt, betrayed and disappointed - and done it more than once - to ourselves, our loved ones, our Creator. And the question sneaks in. What hope is there for me? No doubt there’s hope for the good ones, the strong ones and the brave ones. But what hope is there for me?
But Jesus Christ loved the trampled ones, like the woman who bathed his feet in luxurious oil. Jesus Christ loved the weak ones, like the sick man lowered from the roof by his desperate friends. Jesus Christ loved the crooked ones, like Peter who broke his solemn vow.
This is the grace that enters the scene and does its work after many trespasses. This is the grace that bursts through the hard and trampled terrain of our hearts and of our world.
And finally, let me note for you one unexpected contrast.
In verse 17, Paul describes the reign of sin, the power of death in our world caused by human sinfulness and rebellion. And he begins there in order to point to the new thing that has come into being which outweighs and overpowers sin and death. What do you think that new thing is? What do you think that new power is?
The obvious answer would be the power of God and the reign of Christ. That, we would guess, is what offsets the power and reign of sin. But if you can hear the tolling of the Old Testament, you might guess what Paul actually says. The new thing God has created is the new thing God has been intent on from the time he made a promise to Abraham. ‘I will make you a holy people a nation of priests and you shall be a blessing to all nations.”
As Paul puts it here, how “much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace [reign] in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.” (Ro 5:17) God’s solution is a people.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Pe 2:9)
And that part, says Bishop Wright, is our part in the sweet song of grace. Our part here in the worship of God, joined with brothers and sisters by grace, experiencing God’s peace now, looking forward to God’s peace in all the world, receiving by word and sacrament the nourishment we need and the hope that God offers to break through trampled ground.
Our part in the serious study of the Scriptures and the faith passed down to us. God is renewing the world. God is restoring all creation. And it is in the whole counsel of Scripture that we hear all of the sweet song of grace.
And our part in service with the mighty and surprising power at work in Jesus Christ, which lifted him out of the grave and vindicated him before all the world - the power at our disposal - to serve, to heal, to bring peace and to restore.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who favored a beaten people, who took them from slavery, and in the purifying
wilderness made them to stand erect (Lev. 26.13).
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who reached out - to the woman with the issue of blood, to the lepers outside the city gates, to the dying criminal pleading at his side.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the new creation God is making out of old souls, and trampled hearts and dry bones.
For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— (Eph 5:8)
This is the sweet song of grace:
. . . the melody of Jesus Christ that reached out and touched us;
. . . the bass line of God’s purposes from the time of creation, intent on the redemption of the world through the creation of a redeemed people;
. . . and our part, new creatures by God’s grace, given the strength of Jesus Christ himself to heal, to serve and to restore, and the hopeful song of all creation’s redemption on our lips.
Do you want to sing your part in the sweet song of grace? As we begin our Lenten journey, let us offer our hearts and lives for that very thing. Amen.
It was a trip made almost every day. So often that there was a dirt path to the well pounded nearly as hard as concrete. Because every day, one, two or three sets of feet pounded over it.
One spring, my second and younger sister, a little girl at the time, was given some sunflower seeds which she was determined to plant. You know where she planted them. She planted them where we told her they had no chance of growing. She planted them where we told her that work boots, rubber boots, and running shoes would trample them every day. She planted them in ground we told her was too hard and too packed to be of any use. She planted them on the path from the house to the well. And about three weeks later, you know what the rest of us did for the rest of that spring, summer and fall. We walked around her confounded sunflower which grew up strong and tall right in the middle of that rock hard path to the drinking water well.
Bishop Tom Wright says that listening to the New Testament is like listening to the harmony of a song. He uses an interesting example. Have you ever played the game where you hum the melody of a song, and a friend tries to guess the name of the song? Or have you ever tried humming - not the melody - but the bass part, or the tenor’s part, or the alto’s part, and tried to guess the name of the song?
The good news of Jesus Christ is like the melody of the song we sing, but there are several parts that we must hear, before we can hear it fully and understand it well.
For Christians, the melody line is Jesus Christ - his life, teaching, healing, suffering, death and resurrection. And even on its own, it is pretty good music. The sweet song of God’s Son, who lived simply without even a pillow for his head. Who taught the word of the Lord to common people. Who gave sight back to the blind. Who offered friendship and mercy to the used and abused.
It is a pretty sweet song.
But like a great church bell, tolling in the background, this glorious song has ever so much more to offer when we listen to its bass part in the Old Testament.
This is what Bishop Wright emphasizes as we read this passage from Romans, chapter five. But let me tease you now. He ends by reminding us of a surprising part in the middle this song is intended to sound.
This passage describes two imbalances. First, and as it is put in verse 15, grace is not like sin. Sin brings death. There’s no surprise. That’s what sin does.
But grace brings life, and it does so even in those circumstances where death appears to reign.
When a ninety-nine year old man and a hundred year old woman - tired out, worn out and barren - are given the promise of a child through whom the mercy of God will wash over the world - what chance is there?
When a beaten up band of slaves are chased by the best army in Egypt to the edge of a broiling sea - and promised to get through that Red Sea and turned into God’s people out in a desolate wilderness - what chance is there?
When a people are crushed and humiliated and taken from the promised land into exile in a foreign land, with the promise that they will be restored, and God will keep the promises he makes - what chance is there?
And when the Messiah promises to lead his followers to glory, over the trampled path that heads straight to the cross on Golgotha - what chance is there?
But grace brings life. And it brings it where all hope seems lost. It brings it where death reigns.
The grace of God, says Bishop Wright, “is nothing short of new creation, creation not merely out of nothing but out of . . . death itself.” ("Romans", Interpreter’s Bible, 2002, p. 528).
Which is related to the second imbalance Paul describes.
That is, plainly and explicitly, grace does what it does after many trespasses. Adam’s sin, and the human rebellion and strife which followed, has been with us since the beginning of time. But the grace of God, revealed to us uniquely in Jesus Christ, came after many trespasses, after the soil of the human heart had been trampled on and beaten down many times, over countless generations. But just as the hand of God can put dead Lazarus back on his feet, the grace of God in Jesus Christ can put a new heart in our chests.
So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! (2 Co 5:17)
Hopelessness is a terrible thing. And there are times when we become hopeless. When we have been hurt, betrayed and disappointed. When we have hurt, betrayed and disappointed - and done it more than once - to ourselves, our loved ones, our Creator. And the question sneaks in. What hope is there for me? No doubt there’s hope for the good ones, the strong ones and the brave ones. But what hope is there for me?
But Jesus Christ loved the trampled ones, like the woman who bathed his feet in luxurious oil. Jesus Christ loved the weak ones, like the sick man lowered from the roof by his desperate friends. Jesus Christ loved the crooked ones, like Peter who broke his solemn vow.
This is the grace that enters the scene and does its work after many trespasses. This is the grace that bursts through the hard and trampled terrain of our hearts and of our world.
And finally, let me note for you one unexpected contrast.
In verse 17, Paul describes the reign of sin, the power of death in our world caused by human sinfulness and rebellion. And he begins there in order to point to the new thing that has come into being which outweighs and overpowers sin and death. What do you think that new thing is? What do you think that new power is?
The obvious answer would be the power of God and the reign of Christ. That, we would guess, is what offsets the power and reign of sin. But if you can hear the tolling of the Old Testament, you might guess what Paul actually says. The new thing God has created is the new thing God has been intent on from the time he made a promise to Abraham. ‘I will make you a holy people a nation of priests and you shall be a blessing to all nations.”
As Paul puts it here, how “much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace [reign] in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.” (Ro 5:17) God’s solution is a people.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Pe 2:9)
And that part, says Bishop Wright, is our part in the sweet song of grace. Our part here in the worship of God, joined with brothers and sisters by grace, experiencing God’s peace now, looking forward to God’s peace in all the world, receiving by word and sacrament the nourishment we need and the hope that God offers to break through trampled ground.
Our part in the serious study of the Scriptures and the faith passed down to us. God is renewing the world. God is restoring all creation. And it is in the whole counsel of Scripture that we hear all of the sweet song of grace.
And our part in service with the mighty and surprising power at work in Jesus Christ, which lifted him out of the grave and vindicated him before all the world - the power at our disposal - to serve, to heal, to bring peace and to restore.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who favored a beaten people, who took them from slavery, and in the purifying
wilderness made them to stand erect (Lev. 26.13).
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the one who reached out - to the woman with the issue of blood, to the lepers outside the city gates, to the dying criminal pleading at his side.
Do you want to sing your part?
Of the new creation God is making out of old souls, and trampled hearts and dry bones.
For once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— (Eph 5:8)
This is the sweet song of grace:
. . . the melody of Jesus Christ that reached out and touched us;
. . . the bass line of God’s purposes from the time of creation, intent on the redemption of the world through the creation of a redeemed people;
. . . and our part, new creatures by God’s grace, given the strength of Jesus Christ himself to heal, to serve and to restore, and the hopeful song of all creation’s redemption on our lips.
Do you want to sing your part in the sweet song of grace? As we begin our Lenten journey, let us offer our hearts and lives for that very thing. Amen.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Live in Joy - December 30, 2007 - Fr. Dean Mercer
sermon: Live In Joy
St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, December 30, 2007
After my grandfather retired from working in his autobody shop in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, he took up a number of hobbies - picture framing, rock collecting and polishing, and, a little later, the construction of grandfather clocks. Among the many tools that my grandfather had downstairs in his workshop was a little wood lathe.
Well, one time I wanted to make a candlestick. Grandpa and I found a piece of wood, fastened it to the plate of the lathe, and then turned on the motor and began to carve.
At first the piece was rough and of an uneven shape. But gradually, as the sawdust sprayed up and around us, we were able to round off this rough old piece of wood and begin developing the shape we wanted. Once the general shape was reached, different tools, and even files and sandpaper were applied to make it shiny and smooth.
It was exhilarating to watch. First, we carved out a cone at the top to hold the candle, then a long, narrow stem. Then that was widened out at the bottom into a smooth base.
However, when we had almost completed the entire candlestick, I chipped the base. Either I had tried to carve too deeply, or it chipped when we tried to saw it off from the stock of wood.
It was very disappointing. I wanted to try and glue the broken piece back on, or just leave it as it was, because it had taken so long, and so much work. But my grandfather insisted on something else.
He took the candle-stick which I had broken and cut the base right off. Then he found another piece of wood of a completely different kind but with markings which matched the broken piece. He applied glue, clamped the two pieces together and told me to come back in a couple days. When I returned, we fastened the repaired wood to the lathe and began again. The outcome was more spectacular than the original. In fact, the two different pieces came to look as if they were one, with a lovely colour and design.
The tension at Christmas, in light of the great darkness that we experience in the world, begins with the fact that so much of Christmas is achingly beautiful:
. . . the Magi moving solemnly toward Bethlehem under the guidance of a brilliant star;
. . . the deep and majestic rhythm in the background as the history of Israel itself is remembered - a Son of David, promised by the prophets, enroute in and out of Egypt;
. . . and the discovery of a child, before whom, in great joy, the travellers would bow.
In his Christmas address, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams[1], reminded us of the poetry of St. John of the Cross. St. John of the Cross is best known for his description of hard times in discipleship and his description of the 'dark night of the soul'. But he also composed a series of poems on the topic of Christmas joy.
In them, St. John imagines the happiness of the persons of the Trinity bubbling over in the loving desire to extend the joy they experience to others who would know it and respond in kind. If you can imagine the three persons of the Trinity, God is seeking to create a bride for his Son. And so God does so by creating humanity and the world, with all its beauty and variety. And that world waits. Waits for the coming of the groom. Waits to be reunited. And when the groom finally arrives on Christmas, tears pour out.
The Archbishop notices two things.
First, the tears are tears of joy - first and foremost, because God came into the world not to save, but to be united with creatures who love and share his joy. As he puts it:
We are right to think about the seriousness of sin . . . but we see it properly and in perspective only when we have our eyes firmly on the greatness and unchanging purpose of God=s eternal plan for the marriage of heaven and earth.
It is a perspective that is necessary when our own sins or those of a failing and suffering world fill the horizon for us, so that we can hardly believe the situation can be transformed.
For if God's purpose is what it is, and if God has the power and freedom to enter our world and meet us face to face, there is nothing that can destroy that initial divine vision of what the world is for and what we human beings are for.
Nothing changes, however far we fall; if we decide to settle down with our failures and give way to cynicism and despair, that is indeed dreadful ‑ but God remains the same God who has decided that the world should exist so that it may enter into his joy.
Secondly, the variety of the world, its great vistas and its narrow ledges, what St. John of the Cross called the 'composed world of infinite differences', is deliberate. Or, as the Archbishop puts it more simply, God has made this world as it is for us to grow and mature and become more like what God intends. And before all else, this varied world, and the infinitely mysterious people we come upon, should summon from us reverence and thanksgiving.
There is a great scene in the third volume of The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien - and it is almost completely missing from the movie. After all their adventures and the danger they faced, the little hobbits can finally come home. But upon arriving home, their land is still dominated by gangsters who were part of the reason they had originally been sent out on their great mission. But, now, in comparison to all they had just come through, it was relatively easy work to face the bullies and bring the same peace to the shire that was now extending throughout the land.
Returning home, the hobbits are different. They are mature, brave and strong in ways they had never been before.
Why is the world the way it is? To begin with, and simply, that is for God. And we would have to be greater and wiser than God to propose a different one. But what we know in this world of both tears and beauty, is that the pieces and the people are intended to come together. And in that great movement, the world is the place where we become what God intends. As Archbishop Williams puts it:
The whole point of creation is that there should be persons, made up of spirit and body, in God's image and likeness, to use the language of Genesis and of the New Testament, who are capable of intimacy with God ‑ not so that God can gain something but so that these created beings may live in joy.
And Gods way of making sure that this joy is fully available is to join humanity on earth so that human beings may recognise what they are and what they are for.
On this day, as we celebrate the baptism of Nyree, we can think of the challenges and the difficulties and the dangers ahead. But let us begin with - and may we never forget - the beauty of this little child and her life, the shards of glory in our world which surround us all, and God's overflowing joy into which he desires us to enter and share.
[1]www.anglicancommunion.org/acns/news.cfm/2007/12/25/ACNS4357.
St. Paul's L'Amoreaux, December 30, 2007
After my grandfather retired from working in his autobody shop in Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan, he took up a number of hobbies - picture framing, rock collecting and polishing, and, a little later, the construction of grandfather clocks. Among the many tools that my grandfather had downstairs in his workshop was a little wood lathe.
Well, one time I wanted to make a candlestick. Grandpa and I found a piece of wood, fastened it to the plate of the lathe, and then turned on the motor and began to carve.
At first the piece was rough and of an uneven shape. But gradually, as the sawdust sprayed up and around us, we were able to round off this rough old piece of wood and begin developing the shape we wanted. Once the general shape was reached, different tools, and even files and sandpaper were applied to make it shiny and smooth.
It was exhilarating to watch. First, we carved out a cone at the top to hold the candle, then a long, narrow stem. Then that was widened out at the bottom into a smooth base.
However, when we had almost completed the entire candlestick, I chipped the base. Either I had tried to carve too deeply, or it chipped when we tried to saw it off from the stock of wood.
It was very disappointing. I wanted to try and glue the broken piece back on, or just leave it as it was, because it had taken so long, and so much work. But my grandfather insisted on something else.
He took the candle-stick which I had broken and cut the base right off. Then he found another piece of wood of a completely different kind but with markings which matched the broken piece. He applied glue, clamped the two pieces together and told me to come back in a couple days. When I returned, we fastened the repaired wood to the lathe and began again. The outcome was more spectacular than the original. In fact, the two different pieces came to look as if they were one, with a lovely colour and design.
The tension at Christmas, in light of the great darkness that we experience in the world, begins with the fact that so much of Christmas is achingly beautiful:
. . . the Magi moving solemnly toward Bethlehem under the guidance of a brilliant star;
. . . the deep and majestic rhythm in the background as the history of Israel itself is remembered - a Son of David, promised by the prophets, enroute in and out of Egypt;
. . . and the discovery of a child, before whom, in great joy, the travellers would bow.
In his Christmas address, the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams[1], reminded us of the poetry of St. John of the Cross. St. John of the Cross is best known for his description of hard times in discipleship and his description of the 'dark night of the soul'. But he also composed a series of poems on the topic of Christmas joy.
In them, St. John imagines the happiness of the persons of the Trinity bubbling over in the loving desire to extend the joy they experience to others who would know it and respond in kind. If you can imagine the three persons of the Trinity, God is seeking to create a bride for his Son. And so God does so by creating humanity and the world, with all its beauty and variety. And that world waits. Waits for the coming of the groom. Waits to be reunited. And when the groom finally arrives on Christmas, tears pour out.
The Archbishop notices two things.
First, the tears are tears of joy - first and foremost, because God came into the world not to save, but to be united with creatures who love and share his joy. As he puts it:
We are right to think about the seriousness of sin . . . but we see it properly and in perspective only when we have our eyes firmly on the greatness and unchanging purpose of God=s eternal plan for the marriage of heaven and earth.
It is a perspective that is necessary when our own sins or those of a failing and suffering world fill the horizon for us, so that we can hardly believe the situation can be transformed.
For if God's purpose is what it is, and if God has the power and freedom to enter our world and meet us face to face, there is nothing that can destroy that initial divine vision of what the world is for and what we human beings are for.
Nothing changes, however far we fall; if we decide to settle down with our failures and give way to cynicism and despair, that is indeed dreadful ‑ but God remains the same God who has decided that the world should exist so that it may enter into his joy.
Secondly, the variety of the world, its great vistas and its narrow ledges, what St. John of the Cross called the 'composed world of infinite differences', is deliberate. Or, as the Archbishop puts it more simply, God has made this world as it is for us to grow and mature and become more like what God intends. And before all else, this varied world, and the infinitely mysterious people we come upon, should summon from us reverence and thanksgiving.
There is a great scene in the third volume of The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien - and it is almost completely missing from the movie. After all their adventures and the danger they faced, the little hobbits can finally come home. But upon arriving home, their land is still dominated by gangsters who were part of the reason they had originally been sent out on their great mission. But, now, in comparison to all they had just come through, it was relatively easy work to face the bullies and bring the same peace to the shire that was now extending throughout the land.
Returning home, the hobbits are different. They are mature, brave and strong in ways they had never been before.
Why is the world the way it is? To begin with, and simply, that is for God. And we would have to be greater and wiser than God to propose a different one. But what we know in this world of both tears and beauty, is that the pieces and the people are intended to come together. And in that great movement, the world is the place where we become what God intends. As Archbishop Williams puts it:
The whole point of creation is that there should be persons, made up of spirit and body, in God's image and likeness, to use the language of Genesis and of the New Testament, who are capable of intimacy with God ‑ not so that God can gain something but so that these created beings may live in joy.
And Gods way of making sure that this joy is fully available is to join humanity on earth so that human beings may recognise what they are and what they are for.
On this day, as we celebrate the baptism of Nyree, we can think of the challenges and the difficulties and the dangers ahead. But let us begin with - and may we never forget - the beauty of this little child and her life, the shards of glory in our world which surround us all, and God's overflowing joy into which he desires us to enter and share.
[1]www.anglicancommunion.org/acns/news.cfm/2007/12/25/ACNS4357.
Sermon: Transformation, Timing & Triump - by David Puttock, Layreader
February 3, 2008, Last Sunday after Epiphany (Year A), Matthew 17:1-9
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14)
I wonder how many of you ever watched “Sesame Street” – perhaps with your children or your grandchildren. If you did, then you’ll understand me when I announce that today’s homily is brought to you by the letter “T”. Certainly the central theme of today’s Gospel reading is the “T” word - Transfiguration. But I also propose to you three more “T” words that help us to understand today’s message. They are Transformation - Timing - and Triumph.
Let us start with Transformation. The words transformation and transfiguration are closely related. The word translated here as “transfigured” is in the Greek text “metemorphothe” – from which we get the word “metamorphosis”. But, when used elsewhere in the New Testament, the word is usually translated as “transformed”. And I feel the word “transformation” helps us to better understand the message.
But let us start with the Transfiguration of Jesus. It is a totally mysterious and unique event. What is happening here ? How do we comprehend it ?
The narrative is quite straightforward. Jesus goes up on the mountain with three of his disciples, Peter, James and John. Six days before, in a crucial moment of revelation, Peter has declared Jesus to be the Messiah (Matthew 16:16). Now on the mountain top Peter’s declaration is confirmed in that Jesus is glorified as the Messiah by God the Father. His face is suddenly illuminated like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. To the disciples, his form and countenance are transformed from human to divine. This brilliance is not a reflection of his Father’s glory. It is authentically his own. The whiteness of his clothes suggests the robes of the Great High Priest. Then in a spell-binding scene that brings together the major elements of God’s covenant with his people, we glimpse the coming together of the Word (who is Jesus), the Law (which is represented by Moses) and the Prophets (represented by the great prophet, Elijah). Hereupon, Peter speaks some very Peter-like comments. And then a bright cloud overshadows the scene and the voice of God is heard in awesome affirmation of Jesus and his ministry. At this the disciples fall to the ground in fear. Jesus helps them to their feet with words of re-assurance. By then everyone has gone and the event is over.
Whenever we read scripture, we also search for meaning. How does the transfiguration event apply to us in our daily lives ? What is to be our “transfiguration” experience ? Searching for an answer takes us to those other places in the New Testament where the word is used. For example, Paul writes to the Romans (12:2): “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” In other words, pursue a life that is set apart from the ways of the world. This is a life that is focused on worship and prayer, study and service; a life that shows to others an example of Christ-like living. And the more we practise these things, the more we may be able to say with confidence what Paul writes to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:18). “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” So, then, what are we being transformed into ? What are we becoming ? Quite simply, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ. That is our transformation.
Now for the second “T” word – Timing.
The Rev. Bryan Findlayson, a priest in the Anglican Church of Australia, and founder of a useful teaching resource called Pumpkin Cottage Publications, has described the transfiguration as “a momentary taste of future glory in the sea of struggle.” The key word is “momentary”. It is a moment in time.
The timing of the transfiguration is critical for Jesus. It comes at a crucial moment in his ministry. The stunning illumination of his presence and the affirmation of his divinity through the voice of His Father prepare Jesus for the final journey to Jerusalem. Jesus has to go down the mountain and take a difficult road. It will be a road of ups and downs. At first the path will be lined by adoring supporters but they will eventually end up siding with Jesus’s detractors and enemies. It will be a road strewn with palm leaves but the cries of “Hosanna !” will prove to be hollow. Ultimately the road leads up to another hill, to a place called Calvary, to a place of suffering, humiliation and death on the Cross. We will come to that place later.
The timing is important because this experience is intended to equip Jesus with the strength and affirmation and encouragement to go on with his ministry to its conclusion. It is, as it were, God’s seal of approval. In God’s timing the transfiguration experience is necessary and it is precisely at this point in time that it is necessary.
On the other hand, the timing does not work out so well for Peter. He wants to stay on the mountain top. He feels exhilarated to be there with Jesus and Elijah and Moses. He wants to build little huts for them so that they can all live there together happily ever after. But Peter’s timing is all wrong. This is not what God intends. This is not God’s timing. Worse yet he dares to imagine that the Son of God and Moses and Elijah could be confined to ramshackle man-made dwellings. It is not meant to be. No wonder that Peter’s wishful thinking is very abruptly cut short by the voice of God with His booming commandment: “Listen to Him !”.
Poor Peter ! Ultimately he too has to go down the mountain. He still has a very long and hard road to travel. Peter also will suffer many things and eventually die for his faith before he ever tastes this kind of glory again.
So it is with us and our mountain-top experiences. They cannot last for ever. We may try to stop the hands of time in the hope of capturing moments of euphoria. But this is in vain, because time marches on. Eventually we too have to go down the mountain and face the frustrations and squabbling and pettiness of everyday life. Again, to quote Bryan Findlayson,
“We must travel the narrow way in Christ, move through struggle to eternity . . .
The struggle is the struggle of life. It is not the journey of high-minded self-imposed asceticism - rather it is the tedious, frustrating, lonely, questioning, doubting, quietly desperate . . . business of life. This is the journey we undertake to reach glory, a journey shaped by the Word of God and all the time agitated by it. There is no short-cut.”
We have to move on from the “momentary taste of future glory” to that “sea of struggle”.
They say timing is everything. Yes, God’s timing is everything - our timing isn’t.
And so we come to the third “T” word. This is Triumph.
Note that we began this season of Epiphany with the light of a star that reveals the coming of Jesus into this world. On this last Sunday after Epiphany we read about the brilliant light transfiguring the form of Jesus and revealing him as the Son of God. Both are examples of how God breaks into our world through Jesus Christ. These are examples of the triumph of the glory of God.
There is no doubt about it. The whole transfiguration event is simply permeated with an air of triumph. The brilliance of light ! The coming together of the Law and the Prophets with the Word. The authoritative voice of God. What a spectacle ! What majesty ! Shock and awe, we might say today ! All around lies a comforting assurance that God is in control and all is right with the universe. As for the bothersome world below, it seems non-existent ! Yes, for a time, a palpable sense of triumph rules over this mountain top scene.
But there is a different kind of triumph to come. A more sombre triumph won at great cost. For a while my mind wandered to another mountain where Jesus goes with his disciples - to the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. There too he calls out his three favoured disciples, Peter, James and John, to come forward and keep watch with him a while - which they did not do !! Funny, isn’t it, how Peter says nothing about wanting to stay and build huts there !! Well, the contrast between the Mount of Transfiguration and the Mount of Olives is interesting but I missed the most obvious contrast.
So here I acknowledge Bishop Tom Wright, in his commentary “Matthew for Everyone”, who takes this idea a giant step further and delivers a contrast that packs a truly powerful effect. Consider this !
“The scene at the Transfiguration offers a strange parallel and contrast with the crucifixion. Here, on the mountain, Jesus is revealed in glory – at Calvary, he is revealed in shame. Here, his clothes are shining white – at Calvary, his clothes are stripped from him and soldiers gamble for them. Here, he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Israel’s greatest heroes, representing the Law and the Prophets – at Calvary, he is flanked by two criminals, representing the depth to which Israel had sunk in rebellion against God. Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene – at Calvary, darkness falls upon the land. Here, Peter blurts out how good it all is – at Calvary, he is nowhere to be seen for he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus. Here, the voice of God Himself affirms his Son with love and joy - at Calvary, it is left to a pagan soldier to declare: ‘Truly, this man was the Son of God !’ ”
Both events - the transfiguration and the crucifixion - are examples of triumph. We have to recognize the glory of God through Jesus Christ in both these events. It is easy to see the triumph in Jesus, illuminated in divine radiance and splendour on the Mount of Transfiguration. It is harder to see the triumph in Jesus, broken and despised on the Cross at Calvary. Yet by his death Jesus bore the full weight of our sins and he triumphed over sin and death itself. On the cross the power of sin is broken. And we are set free !
So to conclude – the triumph of Jesus’s life and death inspires us to seek transformation into his likeness – and all in accordance with God’s plan and timing.
Transformation – Timing – Triumph: these are the three “T” words that help us understand the meaning of the Transfiguration.
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, our Strength and our Redeemer. (Psalm 19:14)
I wonder how many of you ever watched “Sesame Street” – perhaps with your children or your grandchildren. If you did, then you’ll understand me when I announce that today’s homily is brought to you by the letter “T”. Certainly the central theme of today’s Gospel reading is the “T” word - Transfiguration. But I also propose to you three more “T” words that help us to understand today’s message. They are Transformation - Timing - and Triumph.
Let us start with Transformation. The words transformation and transfiguration are closely related. The word translated here as “transfigured” is in the Greek text “metemorphothe” – from which we get the word “metamorphosis”. But, when used elsewhere in the New Testament, the word is usually translated as “transformed”. And I feel the word “transformation” helps us to better understand the message.
But let us start with the Transfiguration of Jesus. It is a totally mysterious and unique event. What is happening here ? How do we comprehend it ?
The narrative is quite straightforward. Jesus goes up on the mountain with three of his disciples, Peter, James and John. Six days before, in a crucial moment of revelation, Peter has declared Jesus to be the Messiah (Matthew 16:16). Now on the mountain top Peter’s declaration is confirmed in that Jesus is glorified as the Messiah by God the Father. His face is suddenly illuminated like the sun. His clothes become dazzling white. To the disciples, his form and countenance are transformed from human to divine. This brilliance is not a reflection of his Father’s glory. It is authentically his own. The whiteness of his clothes suggests the robes of the Great High Priest. Then in a spell-binding scene that brings together the major elements of God’s covenant with his people, we glimpse the coming together of the Word (who is Jesus), the Law (which is represented by Moses) and the Prophets (represented by the great prophet, Elijah). Hereupon, Peter speaks some very Peter-like comments. And then a bright cloud overshadows the scene and the voice of God is heard in awesome affirmation of Jesus and his ministry. At this the disciples fall to the ground in fear. Jesus helps them to their feet with words of re-assurance. By then everyone has gone and the event is over.
Whenever we read scripture, we also search for meaning. How does the transfiguration event apply to us in our daily lives ? What is to be our “transfiguration” experience ? Searching for an answer takes us to those other places in the New Testament where the word is used. For example, Paul writes to the Romans (12:2): “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” In other words, pursue a life that is set apart from the ways of the world. This is a life that is focused on worship and prayer, study and service; a life that shows to others an example of Christ-like living. And the more we practise these things, the more we may be able to say with confidence what Paul writes to the Corinthians (2 Corinthians 3:18). “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever increasing glory, which comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” So, then, what are we being transformed into ? What are we becoming ? Quite simply, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ. That is our transformation.
Now for the second “T” word – Timing.
The Rev. Bryan Findlayson, a priest in the Anglican Church of Australia, and founder of a useful teaching resource called Pumpkin Cottage Publications, has described the transfiguration as “a momentary taste of future glory in the sea of struggle.” The key word is “momentary”. It is a moment in time.
The timing of the transfiguration is critical for Jesus. It comes at a crucial moment in his ministry. The stunning illumination of his presence and the affirmation of his divinity through the voice of His Father prepare Jesus for the final journey to Jerusalem. Jesus has to go down the mountain and take a difficult road. It will be a road of ups and downs. At first the path will be lined by adoring supporters but they will eventually end up siding with Jesus’s detractors and enemies. It will be a road strewn with palm leaves but the cries of “Hosanna !” will prove to be hollow. Ultimately the road leads up to another hill, to a place called Calvary, to a place of suffering, humiliation and death on the Cross. We will come to that place later.
The timing is important because this experience is intended to equip Jesus with the strength and affirmation and encouragement to go on with his ministry to its conclusion. It is, as it were, God’s seal of approval. In God’s timing the transfiguration experience is necessary and it is precisely at this point in time that it is necessary.
On the other hand, the timing does not work out so well for Peter. He wants to stay on the mountain top. He feels exhilarated to be there with Jesus and Elijah and Moses. He wants to build little huts for them so that they can all live there together happily ever after. But Peter’s timing is all wrong. This is not what God intends. This is not God’s timing. Worse yet he dares to imagine that the Son of God and Moses and Elijah could be confined to ramshackle man-made dwellings. It is not meant to be. No wonder that Peter’s wishful thinking is very abruptly cut short by the voice of God with His booming commandment: “Listen to Him !”.
Poor Peter ! Ultimately he too has to go down the mountain. He still has a very long and hard road to travel. Peter also will suffer many things and eventually die for his faith before he ever tastes this kind of glory again.
So it is with us and our mountain-top experiences. They cannot last for ever. We may try to stop the hands of time in the hope of capturing moments of euphoria. But this is in vain, because time marches on. Eventually we too have to go down the mountain and face the frustrations and squabbling and pettiness of everyday life. Again, to quote Bryan Findlayson,
“We must travel the narrow way in Christ, move through struggle to eternity . . .
The struggle is the struggle of life. It is not the journey of high-minded self-imposed asceticism - rather it is the tedious, frustrating, lonely, questioning, doubting, quietly desperate . . . business of life. This is the journey we undertake to reach glory, a journey shaped by the Word of God and all the time agitated by it. There is no short-cut.”
We have to move on from the “momentary taste of future glory” to that “sea of struggle”.
They say timing is everything. Yes, God’s timing is everything - our timing isn’t.
And so we come to the third “T” word. This is Triumph.
Note that we began this season of Epiphany with the light of a star that reveals the coming of Jesus into this world. On this last Sunday after Epiphany we read about the brilliant light transfiguring the form of Jesus and revealing him as the Son of God. Both are examples of how God breaks into our world through Jesus Christ. These are examples of the triumph of the glory of God.
There is no doubt about it. The whole transfiguration event is simply permeated with an air of triumph. The brilliance of light ! The coming together of the Law and the Prophets with the Word. The authoritative voice of God. What a spectacle ! What majesty ! Shock and awe, we might say today ! All around lies a comforting assurance that God is in control and all is right with the universe. As for the bothersome world below, it seems non-existent ! Yes, for a time, a palpable sense of triumph rules over this mountain top scene.
But there is a different kind of triumph to come. A more sombre triumph won at great cost. For a while my mind wandered to another mountain where Jesus goes with his disciples - to the Mount of Olives and the Garden of Gethsemane. There too he calls out his three favoured disciples, Peter, James and John, to come forward and keep watch with him a while - which they did not do !! Funny, isn’t it, how Peter says nothing about wanting to stay and build huts there !! Well, the contrast between the Mount of Transfiguration and the Mount of Olives is interesting but I missed the most obvious contrast.
So here I acknowledge Bishop Tom Wright, in his commentary “Matthew for Everyone”, who takes this idea a giant step further and delivers a contrast that packs a truly powerful effect. Consider this !
“The scene at the Transfiguration offers a strange parallel and contrast with the crucifixion. Here, on the mountain, Jesus is revealed in glory – at Calvary, he is revealed in shame. Here, his clothes are shining white – at Calvary, his clothes are stripped from him and soldiers gamble for them. Here, he is flanked by Moses and Elijah, two of Israel’s greatest heroes, representing the Law and the Prophets – at Calvary, he is flanked by two criminals, representing the depth to which Israel had sunk in rebellion against God. Here, a bright cloud overshadows the scene – at Calvary, darkness falls upon the land. Here, Peter blurts out how good it all is – at Calvary, he is nowhere to be seen for he is hiding in shame after denying he even knows Jesus. Here, the voice of God Himself affirms his Son with love and joy - at Calvary, it is left to a pagan soldier to declare: ‘Truly, this man was the Son of God !’ ”
Both events - the transfiguration and the crucifixion - are examples of triumph. We have to recognize the glory of God through Jesus Christ in both these events. It is easy to see the triumph in Jesus, illuminated in divine radiance and splendour on the Mount of Transfiguration. It is harder to see the triumph in Jesus, broken and despised on the Cross at Calvary. Yet by his death Jesus bore the full weight of our sins and he triumphed over sin and death itself. On the cross the power of sin is broken. And we are set free !
So to conclude – the triumph of Jesus’s life and death inspires us to seek transformation into his likeness – and all in accordance with God’s plan and timing.
Transformation – Timing – Triumph: these are the three “T” words that help us understand the meaning of the Transfiguration.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Sermon: 'Beloved Son'
Matthew 3:13-17
Baptism of the Lord, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 13, 2008
A little over a year ago, near Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania, Charles Roberts carried his guns and rage into a one-room Amish schoolhouse. Determined to even a score with God, Roberts quickly made good on his commitment. As police surrounded the building, he opened fire on ten young female hostages, killing five of them.
The contrast between Roberts’s actions and the peaceful rural landscape made the Nickel Mines school shooting a dramatic story, but even more so was the Amish community's response: forgiveness, extended to the killer’s family within hours.
Horrified strangers worldwide sent over $4 million to the Amish settlement for a people who have no insurance. But the people used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.
Coverage of their acts of forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of unspeakable horror and grief quickly overwhelmed coverage of the murders. Suddenly people were asking profound questions about a culture known more for its rejection of cars, television and other trappings of
modern life than for its ideals.
Miroslav Volf, director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture at Yale Divinity School, believes the events occurred at a crucial cultural moment. "It came at a time when, rightly or wrongly, religion was in the news but not in a way that was flattering . . . [but in ] the midst of all this ... you suddenly have this prominent case where it is shown in a very different, positive light."
The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to console the wife and three young daughters of Mr. Roberts and to the home of his parents to say they held no grudges. Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts' burial and offered condolences to his widow. One report indicated that more than half of those in attendance at the burial were Amish.
There are two aspects of our gospel lesson that I’d like you to notice. The Bible says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”
The first thing is the mention that Jesus “went up out of the water”, and a reference, in the singular, to Jesus alone seeing the Spirit descend like a dove. We suppose from this that Jesus had taken a step or two away from John the Baptist and others who may have been there and that it was also Jesus, alone, who heard the voice which said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”
It appears that Jesus alone saw and heard the heavenly vision. In the rest of Matthew’s gospel, there is uncertainty and confusion about the identity of Jesus. Later, even John the Baptist has his doubts.
Following his baptism, the Gospel of Matthew describes a life of continuous conflict for Jesus. Conflict with his disciples who can’t seem to understand the implications of what he is saying. And conflict with the authorities who understand enough of the implications for their lives that they want him killed.
The ministry of Jesus often put him in a lonely spot, with all around him staring at him in confusion, doubt or hatred. In a small way, the preparation for that begins at the baptism itself.
But here’s the second thing to notice.
It is likely that the voice from heaven is calling to mind other similar passages from scripture.
A passage from Genesis, when God said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son,” and offer him as a sacrifice.
The promise from Psalm 2 about the king God would send his people, descended from the great king David: ‘You are my Son; today I have become your Father’” (Ps. 2:7).
But here is a third and key passage, and one I’d like you to notice. It is a passage from Isaiah 42: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight” (Is. 42:1). This comes from one of four songs in Isaiah describing a servant who will save through his suffering. Israel trusted God and his promises to Abraham. Israel expected a king. Israel expected a servant. But no one expected a king who would serve by giving his life! (Mt. 12.18-21).
As one scholar (Jack Kingsbury) has put it, together, these several passages combine in Matthew 3:17 to form a solemn affirmation in which God declares that Jesus is his unique and only Son. That Jesus is the Messiah and King from the line of David. And, surprisingly and dramatically, that this Messiah will reign on the road of the suffering servant foreseen by Isaiah.
As followers of this king, God has not called us to charm people into the kingdom through the glory of earthly kings and queens. Instead, we have been called to the patient, persistent, persevering ministry in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. Ministering to the poor and needy. Healing the sick. Comforting the discouraged. Offering God’s forgiveness and mercy. And building the kingdom of God among all people and in all nations of the earth.
I know in your various capacities as professionals at work, parents at home, students in school and university, there are times when you wonder what it all means. When you wonder what difference can my simple life make in this fix that I find myself? When you feel the loneliness of the Christian mission under the sad clouds of this world’s hatred and violence.
But Jesus’ words are true. We are not alone. We have Jesus before us and the company of his followers, together with whom we walk and serve.
And the glory we saw and the voice we heard at our baptism was not our eyes playing tricks. It was trustworthy and true. And in the footsteps of Jesus, we have been called to carry on the kingdom work of Christ on earth.
Over the holiday I read an interview with Bishop Tom Wright, a noted biblical scholar and one of the pre-eminent bishops in the Anglican Church. He was asked, what difference does the cross and Christ’s self-sacrificing life make.
“The cross,” he said, “is not just an example to be followed; it is an achievement to be worked out, put into practice. But it is an example nonetheless, because it is . . . the model for what God now wants to do by his Spirit in the world, through his people. It is the start of the process of redemption, in which suffering and martyrdom are the paradoxical means by which victory is won.
So where does forgiveness fit in, he was asked.
“Some people believe,” he said, “that when it comes to forgiveness, you just draw a line and forget it even though it’s tough and messy. But this is too simple . . . Whether we are dealing with international relations or one-on-one personal relations, evil must be named and confronted. There must be no sliding around it, no attempt—whether for the sake of an easy life or in search of a quick fix—to present it as if it wasn’t so bad after all. Only when that has been done, when both the evil and the evil doer have been identified as what and who they are—can there be the second move towards . . . the one who has deeply hurt and wounded us or me.
“If I have named the evil, and done my best to offer genuine forgiveness and reconciliation, then I am free to love the person even if they don’t want to respond.”
He was asked to offer an example and he mentioned the Amish of Nickle Mine.
“The point of following Jesus,” says Bishop Wright, “isn’t simply so that we can be sure of going to a better place than this after we die.”
Our future beyond death is enormously important, but the nature of the Christian hope is such that it plays back into the present life. We’re called, here and now, to be instruments of God’s new creation, the world-put-to-rights, which has already been launched in Jesus and of which Jesus’ followers are supposed to be not simply beneficiaries but also agents.
“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Matthew 3:16-17).
This is our king. Let us follow him today and in the days ahead. Amen.
Baptism of the Lord, St. Paul’s L’Amoreaux, January 13, 2008
A little over a year ago, near Nickle Mines, Pennsylvania, Charles Roberts carried his guns and rage into a one-room Amish schoolhouse. Determined to even a score with God, Roberts quickly made good on his commitment. As police surrounded the building, he opened fire on ten young female hostages, killing five of them.
The contrast between Roberts’s actions and the peaceful rural landscape made the Nickel Mines school shooting a dramatic story, but even more so was the Amish community's response: forgiveness, extended to the killer’s family within hours.
Horrified strangers worldwide sent over $4 million to the Amish settlement for a people who have no insurance. But the people used the gifts for more than medical bills. They gave shares to local emergency services that came to their aid and, in a move that caught the world’s imagination, to the widow and children of the man who murdered their daughters.
Coverage of their acts of forgiveness and reconciliation in the face of unspeakable horror and grief quickly overwhelmed coverage of the murders. Suddenly people were asking profound questions about a culture known more for its rejection of cars, television and other trappings of
modern life than for its ideals.
Miroslav Volf, director of the Yale Center for Faith and Culture at Yale Divinity School, believes the events occurred at a crucial cultural moment. "It came at a time when, rightly or wrongly, religion was in the news but not in a way that was flattering . . . [but in ] the midst of all this ... you suddenly have this prominent case where it is shown in a very different, positive light."
The evening of the shootings, Amish elders went to console the wife and three young daughters of Mr. Roberts and to the home of his parents to say they held no grudges. Later on, dozens of Amish, including some whose children he had murdered, attended Mr. Roberts' burial and offered condolences to his widow. One report indicated that more than half of those in attendance at the burial were Amish.
There are two aspects of our gospel lesson that I’d like you to notice. The Bible says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and lighting on him.”
The first thing is the mention that Jesus “went up out of the water”, and a reference, in the singular, to Jesus alone seeing the Spirit descend like a dove. We suppose from this that Jesus had taken a step or two away from John the Baptist and others who may have been there and that it was also Jesus, alone, who heard the voice which said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”
It appears that Jesus alone saw and heard the heavenly vision. In the rest of Matthew’s gospel, there is uncertainty and confusion about the identity of Jesus. Later, even John the Baptist has his doubts.
Following his baptism, the Gospel of Matthew describes a life of continuous conflict for Jesus. Conflict with his disciples who can’t seem to understand the implications of what he is saying. And conflict with the authorities who understand enough of the implications for their lives that they want him killed.
The ministry of Jesus often put him in a lonely spot, with all around him staring at him in confusion, doubt or hatred. In a small way, the preparation for that begins at the baptism itself.
But here’s the second thing to notice.
It is likely that the voice from heaven is calling to mind other similar passages from scripture.
A passage from Genesis, when God said to Abraham, “Take your son, your only son,” and offer him as a sacrifice.
The promise from Psalm 2 about the king God would send his people, descended from the great king David: ‘You are my Son; today I have become your Father’” (Ps. 2:7).
But here is a third and key passage, and one I’d like you to notice. It is a passage from Isaiah 42: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight” (Is. 42:1). This comes from one of four songs in Isaiah describing a servant who will save through his suffering. Israel trusted God and his promises to Abraham. Israel expected a king. Israel expected a servant. But no one expected a king who would serve by giving his life! (Mt. 12.18-21).
As one scholar (Jack Kingsbury) has put it, together, these several passages combine in Matthew 3:17 to form a solemn affirmation in which God declares that Jesus is his unique and only Son. That Jesus is the Messiah and King from the line of David. And, surprisingly and dramatically, that this Messiah will reign on the road of the suffering servant foreseen by Isaiah.
As followers of this king, God has not called us to charm people into the kingdom through the glory of earthly kings and queens. Instead, we have been called to the patient, persistent, persevering ministry in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. Ministering to the poor and needy. Healing the sick. Comforting the discouraged. Offering God’s forgiveness and mercy. And building the kingdom of God among all people and in all nations of the earth.
I know in your various capacities as professionals at work, parents at home, students in school and university, there are times when you wonder what it all means. When you wonder what difference can my simple life make in this fix that I find myself? When you feel the loneliness of the Christian mission under the sad clouds of this world’s hatred and violence.
But Jesus’ words are true. We are not alone. We have Jesus before us and the company of his followers, together with whom we walk and serve.
And the glory we saw and the voice we heard at our baptism was not our eyes playing tricks. It was trustworthy and true. And in the footsteps of Jesus, we have been called to carry on the kingdom work of Christ on earth.
Over the holiday I read an interview with Bishop Tom Wright, a noted biblical scholar and one of the pre-eminent bishops in the Anglican Church. He was asked, what difference does the cross and Christ’s self-sacrificing life make.
“The cross,” he said, “is not just an example to be followed; it is an achievement to be worked out, put into practice. But it is an example nonetheless, because it is . . . the model for what God now wants to do by his Spirit in the world, through his people. It is the start of the process of redemption, in which suffering and martyrdom are the paradoxical means by which victory is won.
So where does forgiveness fit in, he was asked.
“Some people believe,” he said, “that when it comes to forgiveness, you just draw a line and forget it even though it’s tough and messy. But this is too simple . . . Whether we are dealing with international relations or one-on-one personal relations, evil must be named and confronted. There must be no sliding around it, no attempt—whether for the sake of an easy life or in search of a quick fix—to present it as if it wasn’t so bad after all. Only when that has been done, when both the evil and the evil doer have been identified as what and who they are—can there be the second move towards . . . the one who has deeply hurt and wounded us or me.
“If I have named the evil, and done my best to offer genuine forgiveness and reconciliation, then I am free to love the person even if they don’t want to respond.”
He was asked to offer an example and he mentioned the Amish of Nickle Mine.
“The point of following Jesus,” says Bishop Wright, “isn’t simply so that we can be sure of going to a better place than this after we die.”
Our future beyond death is enormously important, but the nature of the Christian hope is such that it plays back into the present life. We’re called, here and now, to be instruments of God’s new creation, the world-put-to-rights, which has already been launched in Jesus and of which Jesus’ followers are supposed to be not simply beneficiaries but also agents.
“And a voice from heaven said, ‘This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased’ (Matthew 3:16-17).
This is our king. Let us follow him today and in the days ahead. Amen.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Sermon: "Decisive Intervention"
sermon: Decisive Intervention
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
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
Vicit Agnus noster, eum sequamur - AOur Lamb has conquered; Him let us follow.@
Sunday, December 9, 2007
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.
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.
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