Sermonm, Lent 2 (24 feb)

We’re now a full week into Lent. This is not necessarily the most popular time of year. In fact, it’s a season of the church calendar that the majority of people would like to skip over altogether. Why would we want a time to focus on being unpopular, being unliked? Why would we want to spend time considering how Jesus was persecuted and rejected even in his home town, where he should have felt safest?

We want to spend time in the season of Lent simply because it is a season. And seasons are journeys. Just as we might consider our beautiful Manitoba winters – they’re cold and snowy, but we know the variances have meanings too. We knew in November that the daylight would decrease and the temperatures would drop. We knew in January that the arctic winds would blow, that the snow would continue to pile up. And we know that next month the sun will seem brighter, the snow denser, the thermometer will (hopefully!) show less extremes. We know that the land needs a rest from its work in this season of winter. We know that some work will continue underneath this blanket of snow – very soon we’ll see the first of the crocus buds popping through the ground; the bulbs were active all throughout the season, even though we did not witness anything happening.

Lent is a season like winter. It’s unpopular, but it is a journey. And there are things happening beneath the surface that will produce life and light and goodness – but we have to be patient and allow them to grow at their own pace. Dry seasons allow us to celebrate the gift of the rain; wet seasons give us the joy of watching things grow; cool seasons grant us time to harvest what has grown, and cold seasons grant us time to respect a restful reality. Of course, there are negative aspects to all seasons as well, dryness means dust, wetness can be too abundant or provide plenty of breeding grounds for mosquitos, cool seasons remind us of death and decay, and cold – well, as the song says “baby it’s COLD outside!”

Yet we are called to live within the seasons that God has given us. And as Christians we have been given not only the seasons of nature, but also the seasons of the church. And so we’re in a dark, contemplative season now. We’re in an unpopular season where we challenge ourselves to self-reflection and self-sacrifice. It’s no wonder that this is a season that the secular world does not enjoy, that is a world that would prefer to be seasonless, always in positive spaces.

But Lent is a season. And Christians are a seasoned people. We know that to delight in the joy we must truly know the sorrow; to reach the mountain top we must first walk through the valleys.

Walking through these valleys is not an easy thing to do; it takes strength and true hope and firm belief. It takes things that the secular world does not always have, which is why the world tries to avoid it. Walking through the valleys of life takes faith – it takes community – it takes all of us working together to support one another in the Christian life. Walking through the valleys during the season of Lent means facing ridicule from friends, or being misunderstood by family. It is not an easy task; it is not meant to be an easy task. But it is a worthwhile task.

Our common journey this Lenten season becomes worthwhile when our spiritual practices deepen and we strive to establish an even closer relationship with God. It is worthwhile as we are willing to dive deeper into prayer with and for one another. It is worthwhile when we show ourselves and the world around us that our commitment to Christ is not dependent on what is popular or easy, but instead is dependent on what is true and right.

When we journey through this valley, this Lenten season, we are admitting that our lives are incomplete without God’s influence. We are admitting that being liked by the world is less important to us than loving, and being loved by, God. We are celebrating that even though the world may reject us, God has accepted us as his own. We are learning to be children of God no matter where we are, no matter what the world is doing around us.

In our journey through all seasons, we are training to be so spiritually grounded that the change of seasons does not faze us. We are learning to be so present to God and to one another in this season, in every season, so our faith will never be shaken. We are praying that the house that is left to us is a strong one, built on a firm foundation of faith, from where we might all declare in earnest: “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Sermon, Transfiguration (10 feb)

There are moments in our lives that we recognise – either immediately or afterwards – as pivotal. They are seminal. These are moments that we know will change our lives. Whether it’s big or small, we’ve all had those moments. A student failing an exam in mathematics may not seem like a big deal at the time, but it may cause that student to veer away from their dream of working in the maths and sciences, and find their true calling in the humanities.  Small thing, big difference.  And the friends and family of that student will notice differences – easier time doing homework, less stress about assignments, more enthusiasm towards learning.

For another example, the announcement of pregnancy changes everything – in a big way. There will be a re-focus of energy and time and finances on the bouncing bundle of joy. Nothing will ever be the same for the parents, grandparents, extended families: for in one moment where nothing appears to have changed, everything is different. Suddenly the mother-to-be is not just happy, she’s glowing; the father-to-be has started painting the nursery and assembling furniture even before the bump is noticeable, and his colleagues haven’t seen him without a broad goofy grin in weeks.

Things change us. They guide us, direct us, move us in ways we never expected. And when we respond to these things in a prayerful, faithful way, the world will notice. They will notice that we are neither preventing our own movement in life, nor are we trying to forcefully increase its momentum.  We realise that we are being changed, and as people of faith we realise that we are being shaped, molded, into who God has made us to be.

These changes are not easy – this is why they happen gradually. This is why we can tell if it is the right thing, by the support that we receive from loved ones. This I why we know that we are responding to God’s call in our lives, because others will be able to tell. They’ll know, because we have changed. They’ll know, even if we can’t see it ourselves.

One of the best ways that we respond to life is by talking things out with these dear ones. We can share with our beloved when we are overjoyed, or saddened; when we are struggling with issues or when we are simply aware of our blessings. We sometimes use words, we sometimes use actions, but we are always communicating.

And one of our communications is with our most beloved, with our Lord. When we talk to God, we are sharing the outcome of these little moments. We are recognising that our lives are always changing, whether we think we want them to or not. When we talk to God, we’re opening up to someone who knows us better than we know ourselves – and it changes us.

When we spend time in prayer, it has an impact on how we view the world. We pray for the world, and we then experience the world not as something broken that is easy to be ignored, but as something to be cherished. And our actions reflect that emotional connection.

When we pray for one another, we put aside our differences and arguments and instead focus on the best that they have to offer to the world. We put their health and well-being and safety ahead of our other concerns. As a result, our actions begin to demonstrate this ultimate care even moreso than before.

As we pray for ourselves, we become aware of many of the gifts and blessings, as well as the aches and pains. We are conscious of the requests that we are making, and may amend them as we are still in prayer. As we become more self-aware, our behaviour will reflect our attention to ourselves and who we want to be.

And so we are changed. We act just a tiny bit differently – we treat others the way we would want to be treated, we think twice about our words to make sure they won’t be heard negatively, we make choices that will help build up just structures and authorities instead of just complaining about what exists now.

We are changed. And the world will see it. We may not glow like Moses did, we may not need a veil to interact with other people. But they will see that we have a certain glow about us as the joy of the Lord shines through. They will recognise a light in our eyes that radiates from our having spent time with God. They will see us transfigured, in small but meaningful ways. And we never know – perhaps that light, that prayerful glow, will be one of those pivotal moments in someone else’s life that helps them to enter into a personal relationship with God. Who knows what miracles God will work through us – because we have been open to them – because we were willing to be changed by prayer.

Sermon, Epiphany +4

“When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child”

       We’ve all heard St. Paul’s words before. This is a well-known passage from Corinthians, causing us to recognise the joys, and limitations, of children.

       We love children, don’t we? Their energy. Their enthusiasm. Their imagination. Their energy. We love what they represent: purity. Innocence. Simple joys. Untapped potential and promise.

       That being said, sometimes kids can drive us a little nuts. They can’t sit still, they forget the simplest of tasks, they say the darnedest things, they ask the strangest (sometimes inappropriate) questions. There’s the litany of Why? Why? Why?

       And we’re called to love them for that. We’re called to love them for speaking like a child, thinking like a child, reasoning like a child. It’s a tough task, and God bless all of you who are parents or in a care-giving role with these beautiful children.

       Let’s go back to the positives though, shall we? Kids are determined, They’re loyal. They’re focused – how many times do we have to ask them to put away the toys for bedtime? They are creative (they *will* find a way to get that cookie off the counter!). They believe – strongly.

       So now I challenge us to consider how St. Paul continues his discussion in his letter to the Corinthians:

“when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.”

       In some ways, this is a good thing. As adults, we have a better understanding of what is appropriate when we speak, how we think, how we reason. We develop social skills and attain knowledge that bring us out of the childish world. We see the benefit of not having all the cookies we want, we enjoy the rest of a good nights’ sleep (seriously, friends, why oh WHY did we fight naptime when we were kids?!). We comprehend that limitations are there for our own good, that the world does not revolve around us, that there is a time to question and a time to integrate answers into our lives.

       And yet, we sometimes overcomplicate things. We lose our ability to see the beauty in the world around us. We lose the enthusiasm and trust of childhood. Moreover, we can put down children for their childish ways, seeing them as faults to be outgrown.

       However, we’re called to remember the potential and innocence of our younger days and to integrate that into our adult lives. Imagine if we, as adults, demonstrated child-LIKE ways when we engaged the world? Not childish – no temper tantrums, please – but pulling out all those great realities of youth and making them part of our spiritual practices now?

       Imagine if we were loyal to one another, whether or not we agreed with one another’s actions? Children will stand by their best friend no matter what – we can learn from them.

       Imagine if we questioned structural norms, trying our best to understand if these systems were truly serving the purpose they set out to. And, if they were not, imagine having the determination to call for change? Children will declare if something is not fair, and will often be inspired and courageous enough to demand change – we can learn from them.

       Imagine if we were focused enough on Jesus to not be distracted by crowds or things or events, if we were to put being an active worshiping community at a higher priority than, for example, a football game? Imagine if the crowds in today’s Gospel had been more focused on Christ’s message than on the manic mob mentality – they would not have tried to run him out of town; the very fact that he slipped past them shows that their attention was on being popular and being part of the crowd. Children will keep their focus on what is important in their lives – we can learn from them.

       I believe we’re being called to remember our child-LIKE ways – all of those good things we recall from our younger days, those positive realities our young friends remind us of: the strength of faith, the loyalty, the determination, the focus. We’re challenged to learn the difference between childISH ways and child-LIKE actions; to put the emphasis on the purity of the emotion and strength of faith. We’re called to realise that sometimes life doesn’t have to be as complicated as we make it, that sometimes the simplest solutions are the best ones, that the “Speak to me like I’m 4” moments can be a way to bring out an uncomplicated truth.

       We’re called to celebrate the basic faith that lives deep within us. We’re called to love – simply, whole-heartedly, just as a child would. We’re called to remember that God will use us as we are - even as children. As Jeremiah reminds us – even as children God guides us, directs us, accompanies us, and delivers us. Even as children, we are God’s – known, consecrated, and anointed. Especially as children, we are God’s.  The scripture promises us this child-like acceptance and love. Let’s embrace it, celebrating that “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”