The Clothes Make the Man (or Woman)

August 4, 2019 — Leave a comment

Colossians 3:1-11

When I was a boy in Sunday School, there was a song that we would often sing.  It goes like this:

            Oh, be careful little eyes what you see;
            Oh, be careful little eyes what you see;
            For the Father up above is looking down in love,
            So be careful little eyes what you see.

Maybe you’ve heard it.  The other verses go on to warn little ears to be careful what they hear, little hands to be careful what they do, little feet to be careful where they go, little minds to be careful what they think, and little hearts to be careful who they trust.

It’s a simple song, but in spite of it’s childlike simplicity, it shares much in common with what we read in the scriptures today. 

In Colossians, we are told that we are a new creation, remade as those baptized into the death and resurrection of Christ, and, St. Paul goes on to teach us, as those who now share in the life of Christ, we are to put off the thoughts and actions that define our world full of pain, grief, and shame. It’s a list of vices that isn’t news to any of us: sexual immorality, lust, evil desires, greed, anger, rage, slander, filthy language, lying to get ahead, and creating divisions amongst ourselves.

To borrow the extended image used by St. Paul, these are things that worldly people carry around with them, wearing these thoughts and actions as a garment, as clothes as they walk about.  And, to some extent, whether we like it or not, the old saying holds true: the clothes make the man.  Our identity is shaped by the image that we project to our friends and neighbours, and that image then shapes our attitudes, our thoughts, and our actions.  It’s like the kid who knows she has the coolest clothes, and allows that to become who she is, and shape how she treats other people.

Today’s lesson tells us to strip off that worldly clothes; to strip off that impurity, greed, anger, those lies and divisions, and instead to clothe ourselves with thoughts and actions that imitate Christ.

The implication, of course, being that we aren’t stuck in those sins as though they define us.  As comfortable as we get in well-worn clothes, and as much as wearing that favourite old shirt becomes a habit, if we choose, we can change them, and put on the garments of righteousness given to us at baptism.

Now this list, sexual immorality, greed, anger, filthy language, there are no surprises there, this is nothing new.  These are all things that, at some point, our parents, other family members, our clergy, and our teachers taught us, even if, in some cases, they didn’t practice what they preached.

A stumbling block

Yet, it’s this same list that becomes a stumbling block for so many who have left the church.  We’ve all heard it, I’d say especially from men who have wandered away from the church: “The church is full of hypocrites.  He’s selfish, she’s a gossip.  That one’s as greedy as you can imagine, and if that other one has a drink, you’d never believe the words that come out of their mouth.  Christians?  If that’s a Christian, I want nothing to do with it.”

All of us, as children, were taught to keep away from these worldly desires; all of us, one way or another, were warned to be careful of what we see, do, or say with our little eyes, hands, and mouths, often with the stern message that “God is watching”.

Many of us, for better or worse, were taught that purity – right actions, proper gratitude, good manners – would buy us favour with God.  Many of us were taught that it’s as though God was keeping a tally, like an eternal, heavenly “swear jar”, where we have to throw in a quarter for every curse word that crosses our lips, or do a good deed to make up for our failings.

And, if that’s the case, then those outside the church are right – the church is full of hypocrites.

Because the truth is, once we strip away the glossy exterior, every man, woman, and child alive continues to struggle with impurity and greed, with anger and rage, with filthy language, dishonesty, gossip, and divisions.

The reason for purity.

Oh, be careful little eyes what you see.

The problem, though, with that Sunday School song is that it has the message backwards.

So many, both inside and outside the church, think that the Gospel message is that we are to do good, live the best life you can live, and earn heaven as the reward.  So many think that living a “Christian life”, living a pure and righteous life buys us eternal life.

But that’s to have the message bottom up.

Yes, and it’s so important that the scriptures tell us in multiple places, we’re to avoid immorality and adultery, impurity, and greed.  Yes, we’re to avoid divisions and lewd speech and drunkenness.  Yes, we’re to refrain from anger and dishonesty.

But we don’t do that to earn our place in the church or in the family of God.  And, our place in the family of God doesn’t depend on some heavenly tally, whereby any one of us could pat ourselves on the back and say, “wow, aren’t I a good Christian”.

No.  We do our best to live in imitation of Christ because all of us – no matter what we’ve done, or whether our struggles are invisible or open for all to see – all of us have been invited to take off our worn-out earthly clothes and instead clothe ourselves with the grace of Christ.

I don’t try to live a pure life to earn heaven.  It’s the opposite.  Because Jesus loves me, I will live my life in a way that honours him. 

And if our neighbour’s struggles are more public than our own, we reach out to them in love, knowing that it’s only by the grace of God that we haven’t found ourselves in their situation in this broken and messy world.

Indeed, the Church – our church – is not called to be a museum for saints.  The church is a hospital for sinners, a home for the beloved children of God who have accepted the invitation into God’s family.

Yes, be careful little eyes what you see; and be careful little ears what you hear. 

But remember, it’s our Lord himself who says that it isn’t what goes into a person that makes them unclean; it’s what comes out of a person that makes us unclean.

It’s our Lord himself who raises the bar, saying that even just looking at another person with lust in your heart is to commit adultery.

And by the same token, if we pat ourselves on the back for our clean living, what have we done but allow pride to puff us up, allowing us to see ourselves as better than a brother or sister struggling with sex or drugs or drink or gossip or gambling.

We choose to take off those worldly habits because we love God, not to earn God’s love.

God is Watching… but that’s not a threat.

We have to remember, too, that God is watching.

But, even there, I fear sometimes we’ve got the message bottom-up.

For the Father up above is looking down… in what?

Too often, “God is watching” has been used as a threat.  But that goes back to that whole mistaken understanding of God as the great tally-keeper of good and evil.

As we heard in the Old Testament, yes, God is always watching.  But he watches as a loving Father; he waits patiently like a parent ready and willing to welcome a child back with open arms, no matter the mess we’re in – ready to take off the dirty, stained clothes we’re wearing and clothe us in his love.

Yes, God is watching, but he’s looking down in love, calling us to put off the ways of the world.  Not because our impurity makes him love us less, but as any loving and patient parent, he wants to spare the wayward child from learning lessons the hard way.

Being a disciple means to be one who is studying a discipline.  The scriptures use the image of a runner training for a race; no athlete who wants to win the race sits around eating donuts when they should be training on the track.

A disciple of Christ is one who is learning, studying, training to be like Christ.  And while no amount of failure can change the fact that he loves us and that he sees our value and our worth, it’s hard to say you’re training for the Olympics if you never go to the gym.  If we’re disciples, if we’re studying the way of God, that means we have to learn to love what he loves and to hate what he hates.  It means we live lives that keep things in perspective, not allowing our desires or pleasure to become the driving force in our lives.

Our Witness in the World

Be careful little eyes what you see?

Yes.  Because, at the end of the day, it’s not just about you.

God’s plan for every church is that it is not just the place where people gather to praise and be fed and to fellowship and to have their wounds healed.  It’s the place from which we, you and me, are sent out to share that healing, that belonging, that love with people who are desperate to hear it, who are desperate to be invited to belong, and to be told that they are loved. 

There are people – even our own neighbours – who are desperate to take off their worn-out, dirty clothes, and to put on the garment of God’s love and forgiveness as they accept their place in his family – this family.

But, for better or worse, in the eyes of the world, the clothes make the man or woman. 

If we’re to do that work God has given us, to be his messengers, his hands and feet in our community, we have to live lives that reflect his forgiveness, that reflect that, every time we mess up, he stands ready to re-clothe us as we commit once more to be his disciple.  

We’re to live lives not to show how pure or righteous we are, but to show how good God is, as we live for him instead of for ourselves.  The worn-out clothes of self-righteousness won’t get us far.  But, by the grace of God, with minds set on things above, clothed in forgiveness, and following the way of Christ, our lives themselves will preach the Gospel to a world that is desperate to hear it.

May God give us grace to live as his disciples.  Amen.

Why do we pray?

July 28, 2019 — Leave a comment

Luke 11:1-13

Ask and you shall receive.  Seek and you shall find.  Knock and the door shall be opened.

Back in my second year of teaching, I had just finished giving the orientation session about chapel life at the theological college.

A brand new student, a man twice my age who was there to study for ordination came up to me while everyone else started walking towards the cafeteria.  He looked at me and said, “just so you know, I’m happy to say the words from the book like everyone else, but I really don’t pray”.

I can only imagine the look on my face.  Here was a man who left a successful career and moved his family to a new state to train for ordained ministry, announcing, on his first day, that he doesn’t pray.

He went on – “I just don’t really believe in the whole idea of prayer”, he said.  “It doesn’t make any sense to me.  If God is really everywhere and knows everything, then why does he need me telling him what’s going on?  And, if God really is good and loving, why does he need me to beg for his goodness?  I just don’t see the need of prayer, so I just don’t do it”, he said. 

It was a pretty troubling first conversation with this new student, but, as I reflected on our lessons today, it raises an important question.  There’s no doubt from scripture that prayer is central to a Christian’s life, but, why is it that we pray?

Why do we pray?

Beginning with the Old Testament, the one true living God is revealed as one who is actively involved in the world around us.  Of course, one of the glories of creation is that God created the complex systems that unfold each new day: the sun rising and setting, the change of seasons, water evaporating and falling back as rain, even the trees that clean the air that we breathe.  He created all that is, but didn’t just ‘set it and forget it’, but is deeply interested in each human person, created in his image.

God, who is infinite and truly beyond our comprehension, desires to be close to us.

And, that’s the first point we need to make about prayer: yes, God knows what we pray long before we ask; yes, God’s understanding of our lives far surpasses our limited knowledge, but God doesn’t use prayer as a news report.  God isn’t waiting for us to come to him with the evening news, as though we’re announcing things he doesn’t know.

Rather, prayer is about relationship. 

And, in any relationship, communication is essential.

Think of any loving parent with a little child, maybe one who is just learning to read.  The child is experiencing new things, learning new things, trying new things, and probably struggling with new things.  Some days the child runs into the room, bursting with excitement to share some new fact about dinosaurs or race cars or horses; sometimes the child stomps into the room, announcing that they now hate their best friend and will never talk to her again. 

The parent, of course, doesn’t need the child to teach them about dinosaurs or horses. 

The loving parent doesn’t even need the child to announce why they’re upset and stomping or sulking; the loving parent already knows something is wrong with their child just from the look on their face.

But, it’s that conversation, it’s that communication, that makes the relationship valuable; that makes it life-giving.

When God the Father says that we are his children, part of the relationship that comes from that invitation is that we would communicate with him, and the way we do that is by prayer.

And, this might go without saying, but the frequency of communication is central in any relationship.  If I only spoke to my wife for an hour on Sunday morning, we’d hardly call it a marriage.  The same goes for prayer: we’re taught to pray without ceasing,[1] to present prayers and supplications in every situation,[2] devoting ourselves to prayer.[3]

Prayer is our communication with God.

But, it’s much more than somehow passing information.

In praying, as in conversation with someone we love, we are taught to see the world as God sees it; praying is one of the ways that we are taught to love what God loves, to value what God values, and to drive away those selfish, prideful, or greedy desires that break down our relationships with God and our neighbours.

In today’s Gospel, the disciples asked Jesus to teach them to pray, and Jesus gave them that model prayer for all Christians – the Lord’s Prayer.

That prayer models for us what our concerns ought to be.

How does it start?

Well, most importantly, it starts with a very bold statement: “Our Father”. 

From the get-go, Christian prayer claims our relationship with God, not as a distant or disinterested ruler who must be appeased, but as a loving parent.  And, as we say those words that Jesus taught us, we must allow ourselves to hear God’s response: if he is our Father, than we are his sons and daughters, whom he loves.  And every time we call out to Our Father, he responds to us with open arms.

Then, as our Gospel today shows us, prayer focuses on God, his Kingdom, and his will for us.  Prayer, rightly understood, isn’t about us presenting God with a wish-list of what we want for our lives.  Instead, we start with praise – praise for who God is, and what he is doing in the world.

When we do bring our concerns before God, we do so as those who are learning by the grace of the Holy Spirit to see the world as God sees it.

God, we believe, shares our concern for the world around us.  He is righteous and just, and shares our hurt when people use their freedom to cause injustice or pain to others.  He is merciful and good, and promises to work all things together for good for those who love him, knowing that God’s timeline is much longer than ours, and that God sees the big picture, and the ways that what might appear to be suffering and pain today might actually be a means of grace and training for the work he has called you to do tomorrow.

When we pray for one who is sick, or lonely, or hurting, no, it’s not as though it’s news to God; but, as we communicate in our loving relationship with our Heavenly Father, it’s in interceding for those around us that we come to share the mind of God.  As we mature as Christians and learn to pray not for selfish desires but for those around us and how God can use it, we’re growing into the image of Christ, who gave up his life for the sake of the world.

And when we pray for the sick or lonely or suffering, we do so already knowing and trusting that God is in control; we pray because we, in our humanity, are unable to see God’s plan in that situation, and we pray, as Jesus prayed, that God’s will would be done, and that we would have the grace to trust in him.

That’s why we pray.

What do we pray?

But it’s also important that we learn what to pray.

Here’s where my former student, who would read the beautiful words of the prayer book, but didn’t believe the words of the prayers, really missed the boat.

We heard in the Gospel today: ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find, knock and the door will be opened.

Ask.  Seek. Knock.  These are simple words, simple actions.

And, no matter how much we love the eloquent words of the prayer book – and I certainly do, and I believe it’s a blessing to offer the best of human poetry and art back to God – it’s important that we remember what we are praying.  After all, Jesus himself warned us not to babble on in prayer, thinking that we will be heard for our many words.

What we pray depends on how we pray.  And, as Christians, our access to God as Our Father is through our baptism in Jesus Christ; that’s why Christians pray in Jesus name.

That means, though, that we must pray those things that accord with his will.  It does us no good to attach Jesus’ name to something that our Lord would not bless.

Here’s an example: A young student asked me to pray for him because he hadn’t studied for an exam, and he really needed to do well on the exam to pass the course.  I asked him why he didn’t study, thinking there might have been some family emergency or something; turns out, his buddies were playing an online video game tournament, so he did that instead.

The bible tells us that the prayer of the righteous is effective, and that we are to ask, seek, and knock, but we can’t attach Jesus’ name to things that Jesus wouldn’t approve.

We believe in miracles, not magic.

God can intervene in the most miraculous ways to his praise and glory, but the most humble and pious of prayers won’t bless wasting your study time to play a game with your friends.

Even the most loving of parents, if it’s real love, wouldn’t bail a child out of that situation, as sometimes the most important lessons are learned through the consequences of our actions.  But, even when the answer to our prayer is “no” or “not yet”, even then, when we pray, God grants us the peace that passes all understanding to carry us through even the difficult situations, the peace that takes away our anxiety and worry and allows us to trust in him.[4] 

An Invitation

My friends in Christ,

We are called to pray without ceasing, with prayer being the way we build a loving relationship with the God who loves us so much that he would sacrifice everything to save us.

And, nothing cheers the heart of our Loving Heavenly Father like when we, those whom he loves, desire to be close to him.

Maybe you haven’t been praying much outside this hour on Sunday morning.  Maybe there was a prayer that didn’t seem to be answered that caused you to stop, or maybe you just got out of the habit.

This week, even if only for a moment before you get dressed in the morning, speak to your heavenly father.  Praise him for the new day, and the blessings of this life.  Ask and seek, not selfishly, but ask and seek those things that we can truly ask in Jesus name – for health and safety, for forgiveness, for restored relationships, for opportunities to serve.

For, as the scripture says, everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and if we are joyful in hope, patient in affliction, and faithful in prayer, God hears us.  And even when the answer to our prayer isn’t as we would like it, if we trust him, he grants us the grace to face every day with the peace of Christ.

To God be the Glory, now and forever more.  Amen.

For Reference: Alan Richardson and John Bowden, eds., The Westminster Dictionary of Christian Theology (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1983), “Prayer, Theology of”.

Geoffrey Wainwright, Doxology: The Praise of God in Worship, Doctrine, and Life (Oxford: OUP, 1980), pp. 37-44

Hymns:
Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven
Seek Ye First the Kingdom of God
My Faith Looks up to Thee
Now Thank we All our God

[1] 1 Thess 5:16

[2] Phil 4:6

[3] Col. 4:2

[4] Phil 4:6-7

The Head of the Body

July 21, 2019 — Leave a comment

Colossians 1:15-28, Luke 10:38-42

Christ is the head of the body; in him all things hold together.

Our lessons today point to Christ as the head of the body, as the cornerstone and foundation on which the Church is built. 

Our reading from Colossians really takes a big-picture, cosmic view: Jesus Christ, the second person of the eternal Trinity, is the one in whom all things were created.  Here St. Paul is speaking of Jesus as the Word of God spoken at creation – that Word that was made flesh and dwelt among us – as the very means by which the Creator called everything visible and invisible into being.

And, it’s worth noting, that St. Paul in this first part of Colossians makes some very big, and very serious claims.

All Things

While it’s one thing to say that Jesus is the head of the Christian Church, the scriptures actually make a claim much bolder than that.  As we proclaim today, he’s not just the head of the Church, but he himself is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning of all things, as the word that echoed through the universe and brought forth everything that is.  That’s what we proclaim when St. Paul says “he is before all things, and in him all things hold together”. 

And that’s a bold claim:

Not all “churchy” things, not all Christian things.  Not even all loving or lovely things.  But, in him, all things hold together.

That’s probably not the kind of deep theology that we spend much of our time thinking about. 

But, when we stop and think about what it is that we believe, there’s great comfort to be found in acknowledging Christ not just as my lord, or as a great teacher of Christianity, but in bowing the head and bending the knee to acknowledge Christ as lord of all creation.

And this bold claim is also a big part of understanding our faith.

One of the deep truths that we often hear repeated, especially in times of trouble, is that, in spite of whatever we’re facing, God works all things together for good for those who serve him.  But, if we stop and think, how could that be if the Lord is only lord of those who choose him, or is only one lord among many?

Those promises that we hold so dear – that the prayers of the righteous are effective, that the Lord will be with us and never forsake us, that the Risen Christ has gone ahead to prepare a place for us to live with him eternally – they only make sense, they only work, if Jesus Christ is not just my saviour or your saviour, but is indeed the Lord of all creation: the way, the truth, and the life for everything that is, the one by whom even that fallen angel, the devil himself, is destined to die, as Christ already conquered hell and the power of the grave, reconciling all things in heaven and on earth to himself in the offering of his sinless blood on the cross.

Of course, this is nothing new; this is the classic faith of the Church that we learned in Confirmation Class.  But, and I think we’ll agree, the world, and our communities have changed much in recent years.

There was a time, not that long ago, when the expectation, for better or worse, was that everyone belonged to a Church; that every child was brought before the congregation and baptized, in many cases, regardless of their parents’ intention to keep the solemn promises that were being made. 

There was also a time, not long ago, when the expectation was that every couple would receive the sacrament of holy matrimony in a consecrated church, regardless of whether or not they were actually inviting God into their relationship, and in some cases, regardless of whether or not they were actually intending to keep the vows made before God and his Church.

Today, by and large, that pressure to affiliate with a church is gone, and as Canadians, we do enjoy freedom to practice the religion of our choosing. 

But, the absolutely crucial point for the Church to remember is that, while it isn’t politically correct, and it certainly won’t make you popular, our steadfast belief is that Christ is Lord of All – Lord of every creature under heaven, and Lord of the living and the dead.  Our message – the message of hope and forgiveness and mercy through the offering of God’s own Son to redeem the world – only works if Jesus is indeed the way, the truth, and the life.

The moment we reduce Jesus to be a holy man and a good teacher, we’ve lost that firm foundation, that cornerstone, that solid rock on which we stand.

The moment we think of Christ as one option among many, we’ve lost the glorious truth of the Gospel – that, from the very foundation of the world, before time itself, the gracious Creator desired us to be in relationship with Him, and knowing that we mortal creatures could never earn immortality, would allow his only Son to take on human flesh, joining divinity and humanity together to break the grip of death, and paving the way for us to share in eternal life. 

That’s either universally true, in which case it is of the utmost importance and worth laying down your life for; or else, if it isn’t, then it is of no importance whatsoever; our great Gospel, the message that there is hope and mercy and forgiveness in Jesus, is a bold message that simply doesn’t work if it’s only half-way true.

Membership in the Body

And, this is where Christ as the “head of the body” really comes in.

Yes, Christ is Lord of all.  He’s Lord of all the living and the dead.

But, there are two ways we go about living into that.

It goes without saying that the head is the part that makes the body effective; if every body part were free to go its own way – think of someone having a seizure – it’s actually quite destructive; or, by the same token, if a body part won’t listen to the head – like a joint seized up with arthritis – then it makes life much more difficult.

It’s the head that makes the movements of the body effective.

And, if we think about it, it’s also the head that takes responsibility for the actions of the body.  If a kid steals some candy on the way out of the store, it’s not like he can stand there and say “well, my hand just did it”.  It doesn’t work that way: the head directs the body.

And from the beginning of the human race, our merciful, loving, and patient God has revealed himself to every people, language, and nation: first in the covenant of Creation, where, as scripture says, nature itself proclaims the goodness of the Creator; then in the law given to Moses, finally in the offering of Jesus Christ to reconcile God and humankind.

And in that, every person ever living has been given the choice: to live as though they’re the head of the body, as though they’re the lord and master of their own life; or to accept God as the head, and live according to his direction.

And as with human bodies, the head of the spiritual body both directs the actions of its members, and also takes responsibility for the actions of its members.

When we choose to live as though we’re in charge of our own lives, sure, it may appear as greater freedom: we can live as we want, spend our money on what we want, choose to love or hate our neighbour, choose to hold grudges, choose to seek revenge or hold on to past hurts, or gossip or steal or cheat.

But, if we live as lord of our own lives – a choice we’re free to make – then, when we stand before the throne of God above, we, as the head of our own body, will be held to account for our actions.

And, to be fair, that’s the standard operating procedure for many world religions: you have to do your very best, because they believe something will judge you based on the good you’ve done.

But, our Christian faith is very different.  Because, when we say, “Yes, I am a member of the body of Christ by baptism, with Christ as the head of the Church”, we’re saying “Yes, I agree to do all in my power to live by the example set by Jesus”.

But, we’re also saying, that Christ, the Risen Son of God, is our advocate; that we allow him to stand in our place before the throne, where he stands as our great high priest, pleading mercy on our behalf.

When we acknowledge Christ as head of the body, it means that, while we mourn our sin and strive to live rightly, when we look up, we see Christ offering himself for us, bearing our sins and our failings for us, so that we are counted free.

We proclaim, “no, I’m not the lord of my life”, and in doing so, accept the greatest freedom that comes from knowing that you don’t have to earn your reward, you just have to accept it, as it’s been freely given.

A Decision to Make

When you were baptized, either you or your parents and godparents proclaimed on your behalf your belief in the holy Catholic Church in the Apostles’ Creed.  That same church, which in our catechism is described as the body of Christ, and stands for all time and for all people living and dead, yesterday, today and forever.

The question now is whether you’ve chosen to live as a member of that body, with Christ at the head, or whether you’ve chosen to try your best and depend on your own strength.

Or, to put it in the words of today’s Gospel, are you living as Martha, rushing around, distracted, trying to do the right thing, when Jesus is calling you to be like Mary, who sat at his feet and listened to his Word.

The good news – the great news – is that it’s never too late.  While we can never do enough to pay off the wrong we do to others and our disobedience to God, Christ, the solid rock on which we stand, is ready to lift the burden of trying to please God and others, and to give us the grace to stand firm in his risen life.

He is ready to stand before God in your place, and take the responsibility for you, out of his great love. 

That’s what it means to say that you’re a part of the Body of Christ, with Christ as the head.

To him be the glory now and forevermore.  Amen.

The Good Samaritan

July 15, 2019 — Leave a comment

Luke 10:25-37

Today we hear once again what is perhaps the most familiar and most recognizable parable of Christianity: The Parable of the Good Samaritan. 

It’s in this great parable that Jesus summarizes the entirety of the law: Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself.  It’s in this parable that we learn the importance of serving others and seeing every person as our neighbor, regardless of who they are.

It’s a familiar parable, and we’ve all heard it preached many times; but sometimes, it’s that same familiarity that causes us to over-simplify the message; sometimes, familiarity with a passage keeps us from hearing all that it has to say.

Today I want us to hear the parable of the Good Samaritan, but hear it, and perhaps even put ourselves in the perspective not of the Samaritan who saves the day, but put yourself in the shoes of the man in the ditch.

Many of us will know a little about the tensions between Jews and Samaritans at the time of Jesus.  This was a time, as we’ve sadly seen at other points in our history, when race and class meant everything.  In many respects, a person’s value to society was not in what they did with their life, what they accomplished, but was measured by their lineage, their language, and even how they dressed.

This was a time when Israel had been conquered by Rome, when, from the South and the East, Arab and Syriac herdsmen were taking over the best pastureland, and on the west, Phoenician fisherman had claimed the ports along the sea.  The great Jewish Nation, a proud people living in a Promised Land, had become land-locked, and even in their own land, they were subject to outside rule and heavy taxes from Rome.

To make matters worse, the Samaritans, to the North, are ethnically and historically descended from Abraham and Isaac – they’re Hebrew people, descendants of the 12 Tribes of Israel, sons and daughters of the same Covenant that God made with Moses; they’re essentially cousins to the first-century Jews, but they’ve become bitter enemies, caught up in a centuries-old boundary dispute.

When the Jews at Jerusalem were attacked by the Babylonians and Solomon’s great temple was destroyed, the Samaritans to the North built their own temple in their homeland, and worshipped God there. 

Then after several generations, when Jews were able to rebuild the temple, the Samaritans, who had been worshipping for years with their own priests in their own temple, said “no thank you, we’re the one’s who are worshipping God properly; sure, you’ve got a shiny new temple, but ours was here first.  There’s no way we’re giving up our priests and our temple in our homeland.”

And this began generations of hatred and fighting between Jews and Samaritans, even though they were related, they were members of the same family, surrounded by enemies on every side.

And this was age when appearances meant everything. 

Samaritans had their own accent, such that a Samaritan walking into a Jewish market or town square would be instantly recognized as soon as he opened his mouth.  At the same time, the educated Jews – the priests, the lawyers, the doctors – spoke what they called a “pure form” of Ancient Hebrew, a language they, in their expensive colored robes, could speak to each other while the farmers or peasants in their undyed linen, wool, or fur robes couldn’t understand.   And then those involved in government, wearing their Roman purple, spoke Latin, the official language of the empire, and the sign of foreign rule.

Appearances meant everything.  It was a society built so that you could see from one’s clothing whether or not they were your neighbor, whether or not they were in your social class.  It was built so that the second someone opened their mouth, you knew instantly from their accent and language whether or not they were your equal.

And here, on our way on the 7-mile journey from Jerusalem to Jericho, we find ourselves robbed, beaten, stripped off, and left to die in a ditch.

Lying in the ditch.

This is a well-travelled road; it’s a road that you travel every year on your way to the festivals in Jerusalem.  But this time the road isn’t busy, and you find yourself as one of those poor victims that you’ve heard about many times.

But, beat up, broken, half-dead in a ditch, you know someone will save you.  You’re a good Jew, a good member of your community, and people pass by here every day; someone will save you.

An hour passes by, and your bruised broken body is lying there, baking under the hot Mediterranean sun.  You’re dehydrated.  You’re too exhausted to call out for help.

In the distance, you hear the slow clatter of hooves on the road; it must be someone wealthy, it must be someone educated, who knows the law, who knows that it is sinful for a Jew to leave a Jewish body exposed to the elements.  As the sound of the donkey draws closer, you open one eye, the other one swollen shut.  “Oh, good” you say, “it’s one of my people”.  You can tell from the colored cloak that it’s priest, coming back from his two weeks on duty at the temple.

You do your best to call out, but all you can manage is a weak groan as you see the priest draw closer.

Now, the priest, sitting on his donkey, notices the half-dead body.  He knows, in fact, he has taught others, that every Jew has a duty to care for another Jew at the point of death. 

The problem, though is that you in the ditch are naked, and you’re too dehydrated and in shock to speak.  Sure, the priest could help you.  But you’re not wearing any clothes, so the priest can’t tell what tribe or social class you belong to; you’re too weak to speak, so he can’t even figure out if you’re Jewish. 

You are one of his people, so his duty is to help you.  But, he can’t be sure.  What if you’re a poor Arab shepherd or construction worker?  What a scandal that would be for a wealthy leader of the community to bring a half-dead Arab home. 

What if you’re a Roman, guilty of oppressing the priest’s own people; if he brought you home, he’d be accused of helping the oppressors, of being on the wrong side. 

You groan again from the ditch.  This is one of your people, this is someone you trusted.  But he can’t risk it.  So he passes to the other side and goes on by.

Now a few minutes later, the Levite, a respectable leader in the congregation, a teacher of the law, comes by.  He’s also on his way back from his two weeks on duty in the temple.  You know this man; you’re friends with his father, you’ve eaten at his table.  You tell yourself, “we’re practically family.  I would lay down my life for his father, surely he’ll stop to help me”. 

But, after the beating you received, your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.  This young Levite is going places; he’s an up-and-comer in the community, and his reputation would be on the line if he brought a lesser person into his home; it would be the talk of the town. 

You do your best to cry out; you know this man, you know that he would be a hero if he saved you, but it’s no use.  Because, in this state, the outward signs that you always depended on are worthless; who you are, what you do, what you wear and how you speak mean nothing when you’re lying naked, silent in a ditch.

Another hour goes by, and you start to pass out. 

You hear hooves again, and as you come in and out of consciousness, you catch some strange words.  This is a stranger.  This is one of those people, one of those who don’t belong here.  You see his foreign clothes, you smell the foreign food off his skin.

You think to yourself, “keep going, you thief.  You’re probably related to the ones who beat me up and robbed me in the first place.”  You’d call names and spit at him, if only you had the strength to open your mouth.

But then it happens.  He stops.  He comes over.  He looks down as you close your eye, afraid of what this stranger might do, figuring, even hoping, that he’ll finish you off.

And this stranger, this foreigner, this man who is insulted and laughed at wherever he goes; this man who lives in fear of what others might do to him on a long empty road, he stops, he opens his bag.  He rips an old shirt into bandages and wraps the gashes on your body.  He pours in ointment.  He lifts up your head, and opens his canteen.

You clench your lips shut; you’ve never drank from a Samaritan’s cup.  But you’re too weak to refuse.  He picks you up, and places you across the back of his donkey as you finally shut your eyes.

He gets close to the Jewish town.  The kids outside town can tell right away that he’s a foreigner, they start laughing and hurling insults even though he can’t understand them.  They don’t realize that it’s your beaten body, their own relative, on the donkey.

People in the market stop and stare as this lesser person heads to the inn with a beaten and bruised person in tow.  Did he do it?  Did the Samaritan beat this man?  You’re naked, covered only in bandages, so maybe it’s another lesser person, his slave. 

Then, at the guesthouse, as you’re finally resting away from the burning heat of the hot sun, this person whom you hate, this person who is hated by everyone, hands over his paycheque and mutters with a think accent, “take care of him”.  And if it costs more, I will pay.

Will I be his neighbour?

When we think about being a neighbour, one of the questions we must ask is this: are there those to whom I will only be a neighbour if I’m the one giving something to them?

Am I willing to be generous, to be hospitable, to be loving to people?  And, am I willing to allow them to be generous, hospitable, and loving to me, knowing that the way that they show generosity, or hospitality, or love, might be very different than what I’m used to.

In our pride, we so often think of neighbourliness, or the so-called Golden Rule as working only one way.  But truly being a neighbor, means that we are in relationships that work both ways. 

If we do to others as we would have them do to us, that means that we have to be ready and willing to receive from others, to learn from others, to walk with others, in the same way that we hope to be able to meet their needs or teach them. 

When we visit the care home, we don’t go just to bring them something; we go to receive with open hearts what they offer us, to learn what it means to trust in God when strength fails, to experience joy in the little pleasures of life.  The same has to be true no matter what we do: when we serve the poor, when we offer Bible Camp or messy church to the unchurched kids in our town, being a neighbor as Christ commands means that we stand ready to receive what they offer us, even if their way of thanking us seems foreign, or not as we would do.

Because, as the Good Samaritan tells us, all the earthly things that we trust in, all the ways that we build an identity and a place in our communities, what we wear, the way we speak, our positions, the friends we keep, they all pass away. 

And, sooner or later, every single one of us will find ourselves with everything stripped away, helpless, at the mercy of God, with Christ alone as our only hope, as we learn to receive freely from him what we can never earn or deserve for ourselves: healing, hope, and the forgiveness of sins.

To God be the Glory.  Amen.

Accepting God’s Healing

July 7, 2019 — Leave a comment

2 Kings 5:1-14
Galatians 6:7-16
Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

“Go, wash in the Jordan seven times, and you will be healed”.

“Go out into all the world, cure the sick and say “the Kingdom of God has come near”.

“O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me.”

“Go in peace, your faith has made you well”.

Healing is a major theme in the scriptures and in our lessons today.  From the earliest writings of the Old Testament, we see that God is the source of health and wellness.  The prophets, as we heard today in the story of Naaman who was healed of his leprosy, were ministers of God’s healing power under the Old Covenant.

In sending Jesus Christ, the power of God became all the more evident as a full three-quarters of the Gospel record is various accounts of Our Lord’s healing power over body and soul: he heals by touch, he heals by speaking a word of power – “get up and walk”, and he even heals the hemorrhaging woman who merely touches the hem of his cloak as he passes by. 

Healing is a major theme in the scriptures, and, a topic with a great diversity of opinion in the Church today.

On the one extreme, we’ve all seen those enormously wealthy TV pastors who want us to believe that God instantly and miraculously heals the body of every person that they touch.  (Though, I must say, I’m not sure how our Lord’s words in today’s Gospel fit with all of that – you know, his strict instruction to go and heal the sick, but carry no purse or bag or fancy shoes or private jet, and not making a big fuss or meeting people in the town square to make a name for yourself).

On the other extreme, for the more reserved among us, we may find ourselves thinking of God as a last resort, a last ditch effort only after everything else has failed.  We try to help ourselves, we enlist the help of doctors and travel to find the best care available, at some point we’ll ask the Church to pray, and only after we’ve exhausted all available options, perhaps you’ll hear people say “well, it’s in God’s hands now” (as though it wasn’t in his hands all along!).

Healing is a difficult subject, not least because it is a personal subject.  All of us, at some point, have known someone sick and in need of a miracle, perhaps for whom that miracle never came. 

And in light of that, it’s important for us to think about healing.

The first claim that we make as Christians is that God is the source of all healing, not just the miracles that break the mold.

Healing, of course, comes in three forms.  Natural healing – our body’s wonderful ability to fix itself when we get a cut, or to use white blood cells to fight off a cold – is itself a gift from God.  Everything “natural” is because, as we proclaim, it is God who created heaven and earth, all things visible and invisible.

Medical healing, the healing that comes through the sciences, is also a gift from God. The wisdom and the ability to study the laws of nature and produce effective cures and treatments is itself part of God’s plan in making us share in his creative image; while the world in which we live is fallen, corrupted by sin, and subject to death and decay, it was God’s will from the beginning that we would study and subdue the earth, that we could reap the benefits of medicine, hopefully leaving the earth better than we found it for each generation that comes after.

And then God is the source of that third kind of healing, miraculous healing, those healings that, by definition, defy the laws of the natural world, and for which science and medicine have no answer: the fast-growing tumor that turns on itself and shrinks; the stroke victim who awakes from a coma with no detectable damage.  These miracles, this form of healing, is the rarest of the ways that God heals, and, we believe and scripture tells us that, when these miracles happen, it’s rarely – if ever – for the direct benefit of the person who was healed; rather, as Jesus says in multiple places, these things have been done that the world might see and believe; miracles are done for the glory of God.

The Source of Healing

As we think about healing, it’s absolutely essential that we remember that God is the source of all healing powers, and even your body’s ability to heal a cut or fight off the sniffles is God’s gift as we are fearfully and wonderfully made.

And there’s a big lesson in that for all of us.  If God is the source of all healing, that means that we are not.

In the Old Testament lesson today, we had Naaman, the commander of the army, who was in need of healing for a serious skin condition.

To anyone on the outside, Naaman was someone with everything he could ever need.  He lived in a great house, with great pasture lands and huge flocks, he had servants to do his bidding, and a great army at his command.  By all accounts, he was a powerful man, someone who could get what he wanted.

But, in spite of all this earthly power and wealth, in spite of all the people and lands that he controlled, his own health was the thing that remained outside of his control. 

He went to see the prophet, and what did he bring?

Did he go, humbly seeing the assistance of the Lord’s servant?  No, he went with 1100 pounds of silver and 150 pounds of gold coins, together with 10 new suits of clothes to buy his healing.

He set out, believing that these great worldly gifts would buy the Lord’s favor.  And what happens?

Well, the prophet doesn’t even come out to greet this great celebrity of a man.  He doesn’t accept his gifts.  He simply sends a young servant who says, go wash in the river seven times and you’ll be healed.

The point, in all of that, is that we are not the source of our own healing.  We don’t buy it.  We can’t earn it.

No matter how great we are, no matter how respected we are, no matter how powerful or wealthy, none of that earthly power can add even one day to our lives apart from the grace of God.

And, while I’d suggest that we aren’t as proud as Naaman, we’re guilty of the same sort of over-reaching self-reliance when we forget God in our own sickness. 

When we put our trust in medicine and doctors, but leave God as our last resort, we’re really doing the same thing as Naaman, who trusted in silver and gold.  We’re saying, well, I live in a great country with access to medical care and a pharmacy down the road, I’ll trust in that to make me better.

When really, we’re called to acknowledge that God is the source of all healing.  That God made the body, God made the immune system, God made the laws of science and nature, and it’s God who numbers our days and who is lord of the living and the dead.  We can trust our doctors because God is the source of all healing.

When we don’t get what we seek

And then, sometimes, we pray for healing, and it doesn’t come.

Perhaps we pray fervently, we gather the church around in prayer, trusting only in God, but the illness doesn’t go away.

This is difficult, it’s heartbreaking; it causes some people to question what they believe.

And, in times like these, it’s important for us to remember the deep truth that we are not just souls wrapped up in a fleshly tent.  Our body, our mind, our spirit are not separate entities, but God created each of us as a body, with a mind, animated by our spirit, all perfectly united to make up a person.

And healing, true healing, is a matter not just of the body, but for the whole person.

Modern medicine has come to this realization, a realization that the Church has preached since time immemorial: that it’s not enough just to treat the body.

If we patch up someone’s body, but don’t heal the illness of their mind and the sickness of the soul, sure we might extend their life, but we haven’t improved the quality of their life.

By the same token, doctors now realize that some illnesses aren’t caused by bacteria or viruses, but are physical illnesses caused by depression, anxiety, or stress.

When the Church asks God for healing, we have to realize that there is always more to this life than meets the eye.  We see the physical.  But, St. Paul tells us, we see and know only in part, only a dim reflection of reality. 

God sees us as we really are – body, mind, spirit, united – and, God sees us as we shall be, eternally.

For all of us, the guarantee is that this body, at some point, will breathe its last; and then, by faith we believe, at the last day those who are in Christ will receive renewed bodies, bodies in which the scars of this corrupted world are removed, in which want, and hunger, and pain are no more. 

And, while we can’t yet see on the other side of the thin veil between life and death, we firmly trust that God, who sees the end game and knows the heart, does what is truly best for us.

And, as scripture tells us, sometimes that means that the regular course of the rules of nature, cells growing and dying, bodies wearing out, are opportunities for the mind and spirit to grow into the image of God.  Or, as the Bible says, “suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope that will not put us to shame.”

Trust: not a last resort

Jesus didn’t say “follow me and your life will be easy”.  Jesus didn’t say “call on me when you’ve exhausted the other options, and I’ll swoop in to save you”.

Jesus didn’t say “follow me and the rules of nature will on longer apply.”

He says “take up your cross and follow me”.  He says, “unless you give up your life, you will lose it”.

And, He says “I am the light of the world”.  Believing in him doesn’t pluck you out of the world with its sickness and death, but he does say “you’ll never walk in darkness”.  The Lord says “Fear not, for I am with you.  I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my hand”.  He will never leave you nor forsake you, he is with you always, even to the end of the age, healing not just the body, but healing the brokenhearted and binding up their wounds.

Our Lord is the source of all healing, healing that we cannot buy or earn, but which is a gift to God’s glory and our benefit.  He is the one who numbered the hairs of your head, who knows your heart and sees you not just as you really are, but as you shall be, and he says “I’m preparing a place for you.”

And, if he’s preparing a place for us, then, as he works through the changes and chances of this life, as he takes the realities of this natural life and the consequences of our actions and the actions of others and works all things together for good for those who serve him, then that means he’s also working through our illness, preparing us for that place.

Our job is to trust in God first, for he is the source of all good gifts.  Our job is to trust that Jesus is Lord, and that he will direct our path, and that he is preparing us to live with him in glory.  And our job is to trust that with him all things are possible, not just the healing of this mortal body, but the things that matter eternally – even the forgiveness of sins and our eternal life.

To God be the glory.  Amen.

Farewell Recital & Hymn Festival

May 26, 2019 — Leave a comment

I had the rare privilege of planning my own going-away party for the Nashotah House community on Tuesday night (…if you know me at all, you know that was a great gift in and of itself!).

I’m so thankful for these 8 years and the many kind words this week, but the secret I didn’t tell anyone was that their gift to me were these incredible recordings of the church joyfully shouting the world’s best hymns with me at the organ and a great brass quartet at my side. Have a listen. What a gift!