What Wondrous Love Is This? Reflections for the 5th Sunday in Lent

 

https://stushieart.com/tag/john-121-8-art 

RCL Lent 5C [1]

6 April 2025

 

Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

            In the summer of 1976 I accompanied a group of high-school students as a chaperone during their travels in Germany.  Germany was a divided country in 1976, the western two-thirds part of NATO, the eastern one-third part of the Soviet bloc.  Tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union coloured life in both Germanies and had an impact on any travellers.  These tensions were most keenly felt in the divided city of Berlin, located right in the middle of East Germany, but a city that officially was governed by the United Kingdom, France, the United States and the Soviet Union.

 

            So it was with some anxiety that we travelled to Berlin that summer.  There were only two highways that tour buses from West Germany were allowed to use and no bus could stop until it reached Berlin.  There were military checkpoints all along the route as well as barbed wire and other barriers.  Everywhere we went in the city, we were aware that we were surrounded by the armed forces of four nations – not counting the armed forces of the two Germanies.

 

            While we were in the western zone, one of our students lost his travel wallet with all his money, his ID, his airplane tickets and, most importantly, his US passport.  On the black market a US passport was worth about US $500 those days – more than US $2800 in today’s dollars.  Without his passport this young man was trapped in the city.

 

            We called the US consulate and the local police station.  We retraced our steps from that day’s ramblings through the city.  We even made arrangements for me to stay with the boy in the event the consulate could not provide him with the right documents before the rest of the group needed to leave Berlin.  To say that we were worried would be an understatement.

 

            But then, in the early evening, came a telephone call from the local police station.  A local resident had found the wallet and had brought it to the police station.  When we went to pick it up, everything was there – money, ID, plane tickets and passport – and a note.  “If you find that there anything missing,” the note read, “please call me at this number and I shall replace it.”

 

            It was late evening and we were leaving early in the morning, so we left a quickly scribbled note of thanks with the police who agreed to pass it along to the gentleman.  We never met him, but fifty years later I remember the effect of his kindness and his trusting generosity.  We were, I admit, scared of being in Berlin.  The day before we had been followed by an obvious East German security agent while we were visiting the eastern sector of the city.  The presence of so many soldiers and barriers had spooked the kids and the chaperones.  But this man, whose name I cannot know remember, changed everything for us.

 

            What he had done was what any honest, law-abiding citizen would do.  But he went the further mile by offering to recompense our young student should anything be missing.  An ordinary act of decency became so much more.  I remember it.  I hope that the young man – who would now be in his sixties – remembers it as well.

 

            Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem where he will face opposition, betrayal, trial and torture, then execution.  How much of this he knows has been debated by theologians for two thousand years, but he knew that he was, as the police sometimes say, ‘a person of interest’ to the authorities.  So what does he do?  He stops outside the city to spend an evening with his friends, Mary, Martha and Lazarus.  In their midst he knows that he can expect the hospitality friends share with friends, the respect disciples show their teacher.  Despite the tensions and the risks he is facing, what Jesus expects of this household is not extraordinary.

 

            Then out of the blue Mary does something that is extraordinary.  Mary takes a jar of expensive perfumed ointment and anoints Jesus’ feet.

 

            Everyone who was present at this dinner knew that trouble was about to erupt.  The religious and the political authorities were fully aware of Jesus’ activities and the threat that he was posing to the status quo.  Here he was, for example, in the home of a man whom he had recently raised from the dead.  But even in a moment such as this, there is room for unexpected generosity.  There is a place for the aroma of fine perfume to penetrate and to sweeten the atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

 

            What Mary does is what every disciple of Jesus will have the opportunity to do.  We all will have opportunities to do what Mother Teresa called ‘something beautiful for God’.  These opportunities will present themselves when we least expect them.  They will call us to take a risk rather than keep our heads low and out of trouble.  These opportunities may come in full view of a crowd such as Mary’s or they may come in the privacy of a note slipped into the lost but now found wallet of a young man in a besieged city.  But these opportunities will and do come.

 

            In a week’s time we will enter in our yearly journey with Jesus from the palms of Palm Sunday through the cross of Good Friday to the empty tomb of Easter.  I have been known to call Holy Week as ‘the week that makes the whole year holy’.  Over the course of the week we remember God’s extravagant generosity to us and to all of humanity past, present and future.  We remember that God gives God’s very self for us, so that we might know the height, the depth and the breadth of God’s love for us and for all whom God has made and cherishes.

 

            God has made us for a life of eucharistia, the free and unconditional offering of our selves, our souls and our beings through our time, our talents and our treasures.  We respond in gratitude for all that God has bestowed freely upon us.  We are called to go beyond the ordinary into the extraordinary.

 

            That German gentleman need only to have dropped off the wallet, but he went one step further in his offer to make all things right for a young stranger he did not know.  Mary would have surprised the dinner guests by washing Jesus’ feet with water, the job of the lowest household servant, but she goes even further using the expensive jar of ointment.  What opportunities will God present to us to go beyond the expected by doing something beautiful and unexpected?

 

            There is an old hymn from the religious revival that came upon the southern United States in the decades between 1790 and 1820.  It’s a hymn that I love that reminds of God’s almost unimaginable generosity.  Sometimes I sing it to myself to stir up my will to do what Mary did and what so many saints, known and unknown, have done and are doing now by freely doing more than is expected.  Why?  Because this is what God has done for us.

 

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!

What wondrous love is this, O my soul!

What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,

to bear the dreadful curse for my soul! [2]

 

What wondrous love indeed!

 

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[1]  Isaiah 43.16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3.4b-14; John 12.1-8.

 

[2] Verse 1 of ‘What Wondrous Love Is This’, Common Praise 1998, #400.

Caught in a Web of Words: Reflections for the 4th Sunday in Lent

RCL Lent 4C [i]

30 March 2025

 

Saint Mary’s Kerrisdale

Vancouver BC

 

       When I was a student in theological college, I earned extra money by babysitting the children of my faculty advisor who was both the Librarian and the Professor of New Testament.  Since the children were quite young, they went to bed fairly early, leaving me with the run of Jim’s library.  Every book had its place, and I was always careful, I thought, to put books back in their original locations after I had looked at them.

 

       But I wasn’t as careful as I thought I had been.  One day after Evensong Jim called me over and handed me a book entitled Caught in the Web of Words, the biography of James A. H. Murray, the first editor of the Oxford English Dictionary.  When I asked him why he was giving me the book, Jim said that he thought it would keep my attention for the next couple of weeks and I would stop messing about with his library’s carefully arranged shelving.

 

       He was right.  I dove into the book, and it did keep me busy for a number of babysitting gigs.  And, after I was finished the book, I returned to Jim’s library but learned to be more careful in replacing books.

 

       My encounter with James A. H. Murray left a lasting imprint on me in my ministry as a pastor, priest and teacher.  I often find myself caught by a word or a phrase in the Scriptures or in the liturgy or in the writings of a theologian.  Today is a case in point and I thank the participants in the Bible study group at Fleetwood Villa in Surrey for entrapping me in a particular phrase of a very familiar parable.

 

       This familiar parable can be read on so many levels.  Most of the time we think of it as the ‘Parable of the Prodigal Son’, but I have read commentaries that call it the ‘Parable of the Loving Father’ or the ‘Parable of the Older Brother’.  But I think one of the keys to unlocking this parable is in remembering the context in which this parable is told in the Gospel according to Luke.

 

       It is a parable directed towards a group within Judaism who should be Jesus’ natural allies:  the Pharisees and the scribes.  Unlike the Sadducees who are intimately linked to the Temple, to a strict interpretation of the first five books of Moses and who are deeply aware of the dangers to the Temple if the fears of the Roman authorities are aroused, the Pharisees and the scribes are committed to a Judaism that is not so centred on the Temple.  They are interpreters of the whole of what we know as the Hebrew Bible:  the Torah, the Prophets and the historical Writings.  They understand that what the Bible says may not always be what the Bible means.

 

       But Jesus’ openness to tax collectors and sinners, to women and foreigners, to lepers and the crippled has, for some reason, caused alarm bells to sound in the minds and hearts of the Pharisees and the scribes.  So, when Jesus tells them the parable, he uses a phrase which I think strikes at the heart of their hesitancy and of their fears.  Because we know this story so well, the phrase I’m thinking of may not have caught you in its web:  “But when he came to himself . . . “. [ii]  Most other translations read, ‘But when he came to his senses . . . “ [iii], but I prefer the reading from the New Revised Standard Version.

 

       When I hear these words in this translation, I am struck by a fundamental conviction embedded in them.  It’s clear that this young man has violated any number of social expectations of the times.  In a society where loyalty to one’s family was at a premium, he wants his share of the inheritance and chooses to go off on a frenzy of ‘dissolute living’ without any concern for the needs of his family nor of their reputation in the community.  In a Jewish culture where any association with unclean animals such as pigs rendered a person ritually unclean and cut off from the religious life of the community, the only job he can find is feeding swine.  I can see the faces of Jesus’ audience and can catch a whisper of what they’re thinking – ‘The kid’s getting everything he deserves.  He’s demonstrated that he’s rotten to the core.  His family is better off without him.’

 

       And then, as he does so often, Jesus turns all these cultural and social mores on their heads with one phrase:  ‘But when he came to himself . . . ‘.  These words say to Jesus’ audience that this young man is not wicked, not depraved, not beyond the pale.  Has he made some bad choices?  Certainly.  Has he been irresponsible and short-sighted?  Without a doubt.  But when he comes to himself, he finds a core of humility, a core of self-worth, a core of self-awareness that is worthy of a father’s forgiving love.  Everything that the young man has done cannot erase the fact that he has been made in God’s image.  Despite cultural and social norms, there is a way back for this young man from the precipice he has been approaching.

 

       I believe that at the heart of the Anglican way of being a disciple of Jesus of Nazareth is the firm conviction that there an indelible stamp of God’s image embedded in each one of us.  We may fail to act in our daily lives and in our relationships in a manner that manifests that image, but our failures cannot erase God’s claim upon us – creatures who have been given the ability to love one another as God loves us.  Perhaps the ‘new creation’ that Paul speaks of in today’s reading from 2 Corinthians is our re-discovery of our true selves when we realize that when we meet Jesus, we meet God.  This encounter with the living God in the person of Jesus catches us in a web of justice, of loving-kindness, of humility.

 

       We are living in a moment of human history when our commitments to ‘ . . . seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving (our) neighbour as (ourself)’ and to ‘ . . . strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being’ [iv] are under assault from many and sundry persons and institutions.  The perpetrators of this assault claim 

 

·      that some people are worthy of our concern and others are not, 

·      that self-interest rather than the common good of all is paramount, and 

·      that empathy is a tool for our destruction rather than the path towards our working with God to create a just society, ‘ . . . so that we and all (God’s) children shall be free, and the whole earth live to praise (God’s) name’. [v]

 

But we who through our baptism into the death, resurrection and ascension of Christ have been entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation and made ambassadors for Christ [vi] must dare to challenge these messages that deny the dignity of every human being.  We know that in every human being there dwells the image of the living God – 

 

·      whether immigrant, refugee or undocumented, 

·      whether one chooses to use ‘they’ rather than ‘he’ or ‘she’,

·      whether one came to this part of planet Earth ten years ago, one hundred years ago or tens of thousands of years ago.

 

    We are all in the process of ‘coming to ourselves’.  Day by day God gives us opportunities to return from our follies and failures and to be embraced by the love of God made manifest in Christ.  To be a disciple of Christ is to be both the prodigal young man returning in humble repentance and the father with open arms and joyful heart.  To be a disciple of Christ is to engage in public witness to this truth in a world where there are many who need to come back to themselves rather than continue to live in bondage to counterfeit claims that are life-denying rather than life-giving.

 

Let us pray.

Giver of life, you most wonderfully created us in your image and gave us the power to love as you have loved us:  Catch us in the web of love that unites you with Christ and the Spirit, so that we, with all your children, might be restored to our true selves; through your Word made flesh in whom we live and move and have our being.  Amen.

       

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Image accessed at https://millennialpastor.ca/2016/03/06/the-prodigal-son-and-his-self-righteous-jerk-of-a-brother/ on 29 March 2025.

[i] Joshua 5.9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5.16-21; Luke 15.1-3, 11b-32.

 

[ii] Luke 15.17 (NRSV).

 

[iii] See Common English Bible, New Revised Standard Version updated edition, Revised English Bible.

 

[iv] The Book of Alternative Services (1985), 159.

 

[v] The Book of Alternative Services (1985), 215.

 

[vi] 2 Corinthians 5.18, 20.

 

A Never-Ending Question: Reflections for the 3rd Sunday in Lent

 

Church of the Epiphany 

Surrey BC

23 March 2025

Click here to listen to the Sermon in the context of the Eucharist.

 

         Throughout my years as an ordained minister, I have collected stories.  Some of these stories are about people I have known, others about people I would like to have met.  Among the people I would have like to have met are those disciples of Jesus whom we call ‘saints’ – the famous women and men whose lives and teachings have left their mark on generations of believers.

         One of those saints is Teresa of Avila.  She was born in 1515 in Spain and belonged to a family of conversos, Jews who were forced to convert to Roman Catholicism if they wished to remain in Spain.  She became a monastic reformer and travelled throughout Spain helping to restore a life of contemplative prayer among her religious community.  Like many reformers, Teresa was not always popular among her colleagues, but she persevered. 

         One of my favourite stories about Teresa shows her sense of humour as well as her willingness to address God directly and honestly.

 

As St. Teresa made her way to her convent during a fierce rainstorm, she slipped down an embankment and fell squarely into the mud. The irrepressible nun looked up to heaven and admonished her Maker, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few of them!” ^[i]

 

         I think that Teresa’s question is one that people of religious faith have asked since the very beginning of human spiritual consciousness.  If we who understand ourselves to be God’s friends endure trials and tribulations, then is it any wonder why God seems to have so many enemies.  It’s quite natural to understand the questions that God’s friends ask when such bad things happen to us.

         If we were to spend the time to read the entire book of the prophet Isaiah, we would see a community trying to understand the events of their times.  In the first part of Isaiah, chapters one to thirty-nine, the prophet points to the political dangers the people are facing in the hopes that they might act in ways to deflect that danger.  In the second part, chapters forty to fifty-four, a later prophet tries to instill hope in a people whose land has been ravaged by foreign powers and whose leaders are being held captive in Babylon.  But in the third part, chapters fifty-five to sixty-six, yet another prophet encourages a people who have returned as subjects of a foreign power to a devastated land and attempt to rebuild their lives.

         In today’s first reading we hear the opening words of comfort to this lost and bewildered people.  We can hear the questions that they are asking:  If God is for us, then why are we in this mess?  If we are God’s chosen people, why are our homes destroyed and the Temple, the place where God’s glory dwells, in ruins?  Into that distress the prophet speaks words that I believe to be both true and yet mysterious:  “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.   For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” [ii] 

         These words are spoken in a spirit of encouragement and seasoned with a promise of forgiveness.  But they remind us that God’s ways are mysterious, even as we believe that God is working God’s purposes out as year gives way to year.  We can question; we can even raise our fist toward heaven and challenge God; but God’s ways are not our ways, nor are God’s thoughts our thoughts.

         We see this same conversation going on in the first part of today’s reading from the Gospel according to Luke.  We are told about a massacre of people offering sacrifice by the government and about the deaths of some people in what might have been a construction accident or an earthquake or some other unexplained building collapse.  The people around Jesus immediately want to account for these deaths.  They leap to the assumption that these people who died must have been responsible in some way for their own deaths.

         But Jesus jumps in with a reminder that this is the wrong question.  We don’t know, Jesus says, what prompted Herod to act in such a way, even though we know he’s a tyrant and afraid of any public display that might be seen as criticism or resistance.  We don’t know, Jesus says, why the tower fell down upon those people, even though we might wonder about shoddy construction by a get-rich-quick builder or a tremor that disturbs unstable soil, bringing the tower down.

         What we do know, Jesus says, is that we all live in a world where bad things happen to good people.  We all live in a world where injustice and justice work side by side.  We all live in a world the rich get richer and the poor poorer.  In such a world as this, a world we believe in the creation of a loving God who expects to do justice, to love kindness and to walk humbly, how shall we live?  Do we live in dread?  Do we live without hope?  Do we live in submission to the status quo?

         No, says Jesus, we must live lives of repentance.  Unfortunately, our English translation of the Greek word used in the Gospel is not as helpful as it might be.  When we hear ‘repent’, we hear ‘be sorry for what you have done’.  But what Jesus says in the Gospel is this:  ‘ . . . unless you change your perspective on the world and see the world as God sees it and work to make God’s ways visible in the present, then you will continue to live lives of fear and uncertainty and hopelessness’. [iii]

         My friends, there is little doubt that we live in a world where we see injustice and the abuse of power.  We see and know loved ones who suffer from unexpected illnesses and misfortune.  All of us have probably felt a bit like Teresa of Avila and wondered why we, who are doing our best to be a friend of God, are being treated in these ways.

         We may be tempted to find a reason for our misfortunes in some external cause, whether it be our own poor choices or the bad actions of others.  Sometimes our circumstances are caused by our choices and by the actions of others who intentionally or unintentionally seek to do us ill.  But rather than spend our days stewing in such thoughts, the prophet Isaiah and Jesus bid us consider how we will act in the present – despite our doubts, despite our discouragements, despite our uncertainties.  God’s ways are not our ways; God’s thoughts are not our thoughts, but God is working out God’s purposes in us, through us and for us.

         Many years ago my father began our family genealogy.  He loved stories and he probably bequeathed that love to me.  In his searches, he discovered the Welsh motto of one branch of our family tree:  ‘Hebb Dduw, hebb ddim.  Duw a digon.’ – ‘Without God nothing.  God and enough.’  Some years later when I was involved in the work of bringing our blue hymn book Common Praise into being, I was introduced to a hymn by Teresa of Avila which I sometimes sing:  “Nothing can trouble, nothing can frighten.  Those who seek God shall never go wanting.  Nothing can trouble, nothing can frighten.  God alone fills us.” [iv]  

I find comfort in knowing that my Welsh ancestors and a Spanish nun shared the same conviction.  Despite all that the world can throw at us, those who are God’s friends, who are seeking God, will never go wanting.  God will empower us to witness to a world where all God’s children will be free and even God’s enemies will learn to become God’s friends.

 

 

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[i] https://www.littlewithgreatlove.com/breadcrumbs-of-st-teresa-of-avila accessed on 22 March 2025.

 

[ii] Isaiah 55.8-9 (NRSVue).

 

[iii] Luke 13.5 as interpreted by the Ven. Richard Geoffrey Leggett.

 

[iv] ‘Nada te turbe’ Common Praise #568.

 

Elbows Up Canada!

Just some good music for a difficult time!

Listening for the Spirit: Reflections for the 2nd Sunday in Lent

Listening for the Spirit

Reflections for the 2^nd Sunday in Lent

 

RCL Lent 2C [i]

16 March 2025

 

Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

            When I was in theological college, all students were expected to attend morning and evening prayer as well as the daily celebration of the eucharist.  In addition to the daily worship services, my theological college required all students to take at least one or two courses in the Holy Scriptures every semester.  So, when one considers the number of readings we heard each day in worship and whatever course or courses we were taking in the Scriptures, we were immersed in an ocean of biblical texts.

 

            When you are immersed in biblical texts, it’s not surprising that there are, from time to time, texts that are difficult to understand and even difficult to accept as being texts that we should even read.  I remember well one occasion when a classmate of mine was responsible for reading the Scriptures at Morning Prayer.  The goal of the lectionary for daily prayer is to help us read almost all of Scripture over the course of two years.  So, as you can well imagine, sometimes there are texts that are difficult to understand if you haven’t heard the reading from the day before or will hear the reading for the day after.

 

            We were reading the account of David’s adultery with Bathsheba, the wife of Uriah the Hittite.  We’d just come to the point in the story where David arranges for Uriah to be placed in the front line of a battle.  David orders his commander to withdraw just as the battle is most fierce and let the enemy kill Uriah.  So, my classmate read the portion for the morning which ends with the line:  “The men of the city came out and fought with Joab, and some of the servants of David among the people fell. Uriah the Hittite was killed as well.” [ii]

 

            Now, in those days, we ended every reading by saying, ‘The Word of the Lord.’  But my classmate had a moment of doubt, so he unconsciously reverted to the older custom of saying, ‘Here ends the reading.’  To which the whole chapel resounded with, ‘Thanks be to God.’ Afterwards we all thanked my classmate for making a wise choice.

 

            This morning we heard a strange text that may have tested us.  It’s one of the many stories in Genesis that tell about God’s choice of Abraham, here called ‘Abram’, to be the human forebear of the people God has chosen to be the symbol of God’s commitment to humanity.  It has some strange features, so this morning I am going to do what one of my colleagues at Vancouver School of Theology called ‘from text to sermon’.  I will share with you some of the reflections that I had as I read this portion of the Scriptures.

 

            Reflection 1:  Even when we are angry or disappointed with God, God does not abandon us but keeps faith with us.

            I don’t know if you picked up on the tone of Abram’s initial response to God’s opening words.  God may think that Abram would be bursting with gratitude for all the flocks and herds and wealth that God has bestowed upon him, but Abram is actually not happy at all.  The one thing that Abram wants is a son and that is the one thing he doesn’t have.  Cows, sheep, goats and servants are all very good, but they’re nothing if Abram doesn’t have the one thing that will ensure that his name is remembered by future generations.

 

            Did you notice that God does not respond to Abram’s ingratitude in anger?  No, God acknowledges Abram’s desire and promises that a son will come to him in due time.

 

            This short exchange left me with a question to ponder:  How has God responded to my disappointments?  When I have felt let down by God, when I have felt genuine anger towards what I see as God’s failure to do what I think God should do, has God reacted by shutting me off from any experience of God’s presence?

 

            So I leave this question to you as a Lenten exercise:  When you have been angry with God, how has God responded?

 

            Reflection 2:  Worship is the act of declaring before God and the world what I consider to be the most valuable of all that I have and all that I am.

            Because most of us here have been raised in an urban or suburban environment, we do not grasp the meaning of scriptural texts written by and for people living in agricultural and rural contexts.  For example, the details of the animals that Abram sacrifices seem meaningless to us, yet there are some deeper values expressed here.

 

            By sacrificing three animals that are three-years-old, Abram is not only sacrificing the animals themselves, but he is also sacrificing their future offspring as well.  They are animals at an age when they could be counted on to produce more cattle, goats and sheep.  Abram is not only sacrificing his present wealth; he is sacrificing his future as well.

 

This small detail causes me to ponder:  What am I willing to offer to God – not just in the present but in the future?  When I look at what I’m offering to God, is my vision a short-term one or a long-term one?

 

            So I leave this question to you as a Lenten exercise:  When you think about what you’re offering to God – your time, your talents, your treasure – whatever you’re offering, are you only thinking about the immediate present or are you looking at a longer term, something that may even extend beyond your life?

 

            Reflection 3:  God has bound God’s very self to us, without conditions, for eternity.

            There is a strange scene in today’s reading from Genesis.  After Abram has sacrificed the animals and then laid them out with a pathway between them, ‘. . . a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between the pieces’. [iii]  There are many interpretations of this verse, but the one that I find most compelling is this one.

 

            The ‘smoking fire pot’ and ‘flaming torch’ represent the divine presence.  By passing through the pieces, God is binding God’s very self to Abram, without conditions and for eternity, to fulfill the promise of descendants more numerous than the sands of the sea and the stars in the sky.  God is saying to Abram, ‘If I fail to perform what I have promised, may I be as dead to you as these animals you have sacrificed.’

 

            I found myself pondering how many believers of various faiths seem to behave as if God’s promises to us and to all creation are conditional – conditional on doing whatever is thought to be ‘right’, conditional on saying the right words, conditional on associating with the ‘right’ people.  But God’s promises to humanity are unconditional.  When God finishes creation, God does not say, ‘This is good only if . . . ‘, God says, ‘This is very good.’  When God restores the world after the flood, God does not say to Noah, ‘I won’t do this again only if . . . ‘, God places the rainbow in the sky as a reminder that God will never do this again.  When the people of Israel rebel in the wilderness and God is tempted to destroy them, Moses leads God to promise to abide by the promises made at Passover.

 

                        So I leave this question to you as a Lenten exercise:  When have you ever thought that God’s love for you was conditional on doing the right things, believing the right things, saying the right things?  We do the right things, believe the right things, say the right things in gratitude for God’s unfailing and unconditional love for us.

 

Today when the reader had finished reading Genesis, we heard, ‘Hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church’, and we responded, ‘Thanks be to God.’  But had the reader said, ‘The Word of the Lord’, I believe that I could have easily said, ‘Thanks be to God.’  Thanks be to God for faithfulness even when I am angry.  Thanks be to God for faithfulness even when I hesitant to offer my future as well as my present.  Thanks be God for faithfulness even when I am doubtful of God’s unconditional love.

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[i] Genesis 15.1-12, 17-18; Psalm 27; Philippians 3.17-4.1; Luke 13.31-35.

 

[ii] 2 Samuel 11.17 (NRSVue).

 

[iii] Genesis 17.17 (NRSVue).

 

When Is the 'Opportune' Time? Reflections for the 1st Sunday in Lent

 

RCL Lent 1C

9 March 2025

 

Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         In the autumn of 1990, Paula and I were given the gift of new neighbours in the apartment across the hall from ours.  Cyril and Marjorie Powles were retired Anglican missionaries who had spent a considerable time serving in Japan and elsewhere in the world. They were a wise, hospitable and generous presence in our community at Vancouver School of Theology.

 

         Paula and Marjorie occasionally had tea with one another – Paula at home with an infant, a two-year-old and a four-year-old, Marjorie at home with wisdom and a listening ear.  During one of their conversations Paula mentioned her desire to begin theological studies.  When Marjorie asked what Paula was waiting for, Paula said, ‘The right time.’  Marjorie looked at her and said, ‘There is no such time.  There is only responding to what God calls us to do and then we figure things out as we go along.’  By the end of the week Paula had applied for and was accepted by VST for the fall term.

 

         When is the ‘right’ time or, as the evangelist Luke writes, the ‘opportune’ time?  How often have we heard people talk about something that they would like to have done or to do, but the ‘opportune’ time, the ‘right’ time, didn’t present itself?  How many times have we promised to ourselves to do x, y or z when the ‘right’ time, the ‘opportune’ time comes around?

 

         As we hear in today’s reading from the Gospel according to Luke, even the devil waits for the ‘opportune’ time, the ‘right’ time, to renew an assault on Jesus.  Jesus may have successfully resisted the devil’s temptations in the desert, but the devil is patient and knows that another opportunity will present itself.

         The opportunity comes at the end of Luke’s gospel.  Jesus is in the garden after having broken bread for the last time with his disciples.

 

[Jesus] came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him.  When he reached the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.”,  Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me, yet not my will but yours be done.” . . . . When he got up from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping because of grief, and he said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you may not come into the time of trial.” (Luke 22.39-42, 45-46 NRSVue)

 

Jesus is fully aware of the consequence of his actions.  He has aroused the anger of the religious authorities who are willing to use the fear the Roman imperial authorities have of rebellion to use the power of the Roman occupation to bring Jesus to death.  For Jesus, this time in the garden is a time of temptation, and it would be fair for us to hear in his words doubt, fear and just a little hope that God might re-arrange things.  But in this ‘right’ time, this ‘opportune’ time, Jesus chooses to follow through on what he believes God has called him to do.  

 

         I remember a discussion I had with my classmates in seminary about the question, ‘When are we saved?’  We went around and around and around, but at the end we agreed that it is Jesus’ acceptance of what is to come, his obedience to God, that is the moment of salvation.  Everything that follows from this point on is almost inevitable – the trial, the torture, the crucifixion, the death – and the resurrection.

 

         When is the right time?  When is the opportune time?  The right time, the opportune time, is whenever we face the choice between doing what we believe God is calling to do or not doing what God is calling us to do.  Often it is not as clear as we might wish it to be, but we feel something speaking to us from deep within us that leads us in a direction we had not anticipated.  We recognize that there is a risk in travelling this path, but we cannot ignore our intuition that, despite the risk, it is the ‘right’ thing to do.

 

         We know that this Parish is called to be a place of help, hope and home for our neighbours, for our members and for those who may not even know we exist.  To be a place of help, hope and home, we recognize the need to re-develop our property and our buildings even as we undertake to renew our life as a congregation.  After many years of thoughtful consideration and some disappointments, we have reached a point in our journey where we have to decide what to do.  At Vestry we decided:  we shall take the next step in the path towards re-development.  We have a roadmap in the feasibility study that was completed in November of last year.  

 

         Some will ask if this is the ‘right’ time, the ‘opportune’ time.  That’s a fair question.  But, as Marjorie Powles once said to Paula, ‘sometimes you just need to begin what you’re called to do and work on things as you go along.’  That’s what we’re going to do in the coming months.  The future will have its trials, but I am hopeful, even confident, that we will discover our strength, our resilience, our vision for the work ahead of us.

 

         As we begin our Lenten journey towards the cross and resurrection, let us pray for one another.  Let us listen closely to the words of the Scriptures to discern what God is speaking to us.  Let us grow closer to one another as we share in the bread broken and the wine poured. Most importantly of all, let us be thankful for this journey and for the gifts God has given us to undertake it and for all the people with whom we journey.