Lending God Our Treasure: Reflections on 1 Samuel 1.4-20

RCL Proper 33B

17 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         If you were to ask my wife or our children how they know I am feeling stressed and stretched, they would tell you that I disappear into an intense period of reading novels.  I am in just such a time when I am aware of the responsibilities that my role as Priest in charge of this Parish and my roles as the Chair of two Diocesan committees are pushing the limits of my capacity.  Now, there’s nothing for anyone to worry about and I don’t want anyone to think that I am too busy to respond to the needs and concerns of folks here at Epiphany.  I’m just saying that I am aware that I’m approaching but not yet in danger of going too far over my limit.  But I am, when I’m not working, truly engrossed in re-reading a series of novels that I read many years ago.

 

         It’s a series about the end of the Roman Republic and the rise of what we can call the Roman Empire led by an Emperor rather than by the Roman Senate.  In the Mediterranean world of which Rome was a part, there were three qualities that defined how important a person was in the vast scheme of things:  authority, power and dignity.  Authority was bestowed upon a person by some official role that they played in the political life of the community.  Authority could be temporary or life-long, but authority was exercised within the boundaries of law, tradition and custom.  Most of the time, authority was exercised by persuasion.

 

         Power, on the other hand, allowed a person to coerce others to do what the one with power wanted.  A person with authority did have power, but they often found themselves limited in what they could do.  But if you had enough money or a lot of soldiers or both, a powerful person could almost always trump the person with authority.

 

         But beyond authority and power, the most important quality that defined a person was dignity.  Dignity might or might not be connected with power.  Dignity was always connected in some way with authority, whether past of present.  Dignity came from personal integrity – how a person’s words, actions and principles combined to be a worthy example for other people to respect and to imitate.  

 

Being a billionaire certainly gives one power; being elected to high office bestows constitutional authority; but wealth and political office do not necessarily ensure respect, a quality essential to dignity.  One cannot respect one whose character is unworthy of imitation.  Dignity is a treasure to be guarded and used carefully to achieve worthy purposes.

 

         Hannah is a woman with authority.  She is the older wife of a prosperous man.  But her childlessness renders her powerless to exercise that authority within her family.  That powerlessness leaves her open to the ridicule of Peninnah, the younger wife.  Hannah’s childlessness wounds her dignity in a society where childlessness was also attributed to the wife not to the husband.  It does not matter how much attention Elkanah showers upon Hannah; she cannot walk among her peers and expect that her status as the first wife will give her any influence.

 

         With the birth of Samuel Hannah gains more than power over her younger rival; she grows in dignity.  No longer childless, Hannah is the mother of a son, a son whose birth in some ways is miraculous in that it is the result of prayer.  This is no ordinary child; this is a child who is a gift of God.

 

         We might have expected Hannah to have guarded this treasure, this guarantor of her dignity, by keeping him close by her for the rest of her life.  Yet this is not what she does.  Even when she asks God for a child, she promises to dedicate the child to God’s service.  ‘Bestow upon the treasure of a child,’ Hannah prays, ‘and I will lend this child back to you for you to do as you will.’  For Hannah it is a two-fold expression of dignity:  she is no longer a childless woman, and she is a woman who demonstrates profound commitment to the God of Israel.  Her treasure becomes the treasure of the people of Israel who receive a prophet and judge who will lead them into a new chapter of their history.

 

         It is by giving away her treasure that Hannah gains even more dignity, becomes more worthy of respect.  We learn that, after Samuel dedication to the sanctuary at Shiloh, Hannah then bears three more sons and two daughters, treasure upon treasure.  When the time came for Luke the Evangelist to tell the story of Elizabeth and Mary, he will look back on Hannah as the model for these two women.  They will also lend their treasured sons to God, one son paving the way for his cousin.  Both mothers will be become respected examples of faithfulness to God’s purposes.

 

         How we use our time matters to God.  How we use our talents matters to God.  How we use our treasure matters to God.  In our time we tend to define treasure in terms of our financial resources and so we should.  But time and talent are also treasures.  They are treasures we lend to God with the intent that they will enrich the dignity of God’s promises to us and to all creation.  Through our time, our talents and our treasure we join with God in the work of renewal and reconciliation.  We strengthen the ability of this Parish to be a place of help, hope and home in a neighbourhood that needs us and our witness to a living, loving and compassionate God.  We pave the way for our future.

 

         Friends, power is not a treasure we seek.  As the Apostle Paul writes, “For it is the God who said, ‘Light will shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” (2 Corinthians 4.6-7 NRSVue)  Our authority lies in God’s call for us to  be agents of reconciliation and hope and to be worthy of Christ who has called us his friends.  Our dignity lies in how we use our time, our talents and our treasures to embody that reconciliation, hope and friendship God in Christ offers every human being.

Talents: Lost and Found -- Thoughts on Remembrance Sunday

 

All Souls Propers

10 November 2024

 

Anglican Parish of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         On my first day as a curate at Christ Episcopal Church in Denver, CO, I was handed a stack of files with weddings that I was now responsible for as a priest in the parish.  In the course of preparing for one of these weddings, I became acquainted with family friends of the bride and the groom.

 

         After some time had passed after the wedding, I received a call from this family.  Their youngest child had just been diagnosed with cancer at the age of sixteen and was being treated at a nearby hospital.  They asked if I would visit Danny and so off I went.

 

         Danny and I became friends over the months of his illness.  He shared with me his works of art.  He was a gifted cartoonist and had a gift for story-telling.

 

         When Danny died, I was deeply affected.  For weeks, perhaps months after his death, I found myself mourning the loss of his talents as well as his death.  Even now, forty years later, I try to imagine what Danny might have accomplished had his life not been cut short by cancer.  If he had lived, Danny would now be in his late fifties.  Would he have become a well-known author of graphic novels?  Might he have become a newspaper cartoonist?  My ‘what if’ questions can multiply five-fold, ten-fold, even as I speak to you this morning.

 

         Remembrance Sunday brings upon us a host of emotions.  We give thanks for our loved ones who have served and survived, even as we grieve our loved ones who served and did not survive.  We pray for peace in the hopes that we might see an end to wars and armed conflicts throughout the world, even as we realize that our hopes for peace seem unlikely to be fulfilled.

 

         But we also can imagine what might have been had so many lives, whether of soldiers or civilians, had not been lost.  I think of a series on CBC Radio some year ago that featured the music of what we might call ‘lost voices’, musicians who were killed on active duty or of diseases or injuries brought on by armed conflict or who died in concentration camps.  What music might they have composed to enrich our lives?  How many students might they have inspired?  But their talents, like Danny’s, were unfulfilled, brought short by the cruel realities of human life.

 

         But the memory of what might have been need not be only an experience of sorrow.  Remembering what might have been can also be empowering for us who gather on this and similar occasions to remember the past.  Our pondering of the loss of the talents of those whose lives were cut short by war or disease can lead us to re-commit ourselves to using our talents more intentionally in the here and now.

 

         Last week I spoke about how the saints lived and live in kairos, a sense of every moment of the present as a moment in which God is present and active in our lives.  This Sunday I invite all of us to think about the talents God has given us and how we might use those talents to further God’s mission and our ministry in this place and time.

 

         In the New Testament there is a special word for such talents – charismata.  A charism is a gift of a talent or an ability which enriches the whole community.  None of us has all the gifts needed to do God’s work, but all of us, working together, bringing our talents, our charismata, to the table, “ . . . can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine”.

 

         Just as talents are lost through death, so can the be lost when they are not used.  And there is no one here today, whether sitting in the pews on-site or sitting at home or elsewhere on Zoom, who does not have God-given talents that God intends to be used.

 

         Paul writes in his letter to the Christians in Rome about the importance of using all the gifts that God has given to the disciples of Jesus.

 

We have many parts in one body, but the parts don’t all have the same function. In the same way, though there are many of us, we are one body in Christ, and individually we belong to each other.  We have different gifts that are consistent with God’s grace that has been given to us.  If your gift is prophecy, you should prophesy in proportion to your faith.  If your gift is service, devote yourself to serving.  If your gift is teaching, devote yourself to teaching.  If your gift is encouragement, devote yourself to encouraging.  The one giving should do so with no strings attached.  The leader should lead with passion.  The one showing mercy should be cheerful.  (Romans 12.4-8 CEB)

 

If Paul had wanted to write more, then he could have gone even further:

 

·      If you’re good at welcoming newcomers, then welcome them.

·      If your good at working behind the scenes, then work behind the scenes.

·      Whatever you’re good at doing, then offer it freely to God’s use whenever and wherever you can.

 

         Danny’s artistic talents did not survive his death, but his talent for friendship changed my life.  He made me a better priest.  So all was not lost.  May it be said of us in the months and years ahead that our talents, our charismata, have not been lost.  May people see and know that we have been, are and will be co-workers with God to prepare the way of Christ in the here and now.  For nothing good is ever lost in God’s loving purpose; it just waits to be revealed and unleashed.

 

 

  

For Everything There Is a Season: Reflections on Time

 

RCL All Saints B

3 November 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

         As I have grown older, I am becoming more and more aware of how precious the gift of time is for me.  Perhaps this awareness became more apparent to me after my mother’s death at the end of March this year and after the celebration of my seventy-first birthday at the end of April.  I realized that now, with both my parents dead, I was an orphan, an old self-sufficient orphan, but an orphan nevertheless.

 

         If I live as long as my mother, then I have at least twenty years ahead of me.  But, if I live only as long as my father, then I’m looking at fourteen years.  

 

         Let me say that I’m not trying to be morbid.  I’m simply being realistic about how much more time I may have in my life.  This means that I’m becoming more careful with how I use the time that I have now.  It was with such care that I considered whether I would accept the invitation of the Bishop and of the Wardens to become the priest in charge of Epiphany.  I’m here now because I came to the conclusion that this is a ‘good’ thing and worth giving a year or so of my life.

 

         There are many ways to talk about the saints, about sainthood and about what makes a saint a saint.  In recent days I’ve come to think that how a person lives in the mystery of time is one of the ways we can identify a saint, someone whose way of living points us in towards God.

 

         For example, time can be experienced as a quantity.  Just as I can compare my potential lifespan with that of my parents and grandparents and beyond, so can I limit my experience of time to checking off the days and the weeks on the calendar.  How many days before Christmas?  Fifty-two days from today until Christmas.  How many days before New Years?  Fifty-nine days from today until New Year’s Day.  How many days before Easter?  One hundred and sixty-eight days from today until Easter.  How many days before my tax return is due?  One hundred and seventy-eight days.

 

         Looking at time solely as a quantity is not a very enlivening way of living.  It’s like watching a large-screen timer counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the days, the weeks, the months until something happens.

 

         I think that this way of looking at time generates anxiety and fear.  We can become paralyzed and unable to accomplish what we think we need to do before the due date comes crashing upon us.  It’s the kind of anxiety and fear that makes Christmas, for example, not a happy time for many people.  The pressures to get things done by such and such a date, to make sure that our lengthy to-do lists are cleared off, and to have something to show for all that we’ve tried to do, overwhelm many a good and thoughtful person.

 

         But saints look at the quality of time.  In the New Testament this way of looking at time is called kairos.  It’s understanding that every moment of every day is filled with the possibility that it will be an experience of God’s presence.  It’s understanding that every encounter with another person is a moment when a window into God’s love for us and for creation will open, even if only for a brief moment.

 

         Saints know the difference between busyness and business.  Busyness is a substitute for doing what needs to be done for our good and the good of all.  Business is committing oneself to the good things that need to be done for the well-being of ourselves, our families and friends, and the people among whom we live and work.

 

         For saints, waiting is not wasted time but precious time.  Waiting for the celebration of the birth of Jesus through the weeks of Advent becomes an opportunity to experience the birth of Jesus in every moment of every day.  Waiting for the coming of a new Rector becomes an opportunity to explore how our life together as a community strengthens us for ministry in this place in these times.  Waiting for our hoped-for redevelopment becomes an opportunity for us as a Parish to dream of a future in which we serve our neighbours in new and exciting ways.

 

         When we live into kairos, into an appreciation of the quality of each moment of every day, we leave anxiety and fear behind.  Instead of being bound by our fears, we are freed so that we can become more fully alive.  Did you notice in our reading from the prophet Isaiah how ‘waiting’ and ‘salvation’ are linked to freedom from fear?

 

And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the covering that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.  It will be said on that day, “See, this is our God; we have waited for him, so that he might save us.  This is the Lord for whom we have waited; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” (Isaiah 25.7-9 NRSVue)

 

This is a description of a people who are living in kairos, a people who are living in expectation of lives free from the fear of death, whether that death is physical, spiritual or emotional.

 

         When Jesus arrives at the home of Mary, Martha and Lazarus, he is confronted with the reality of the death of his friend and the implicit disappointment of Mary that he did not come earlier.  But because Jesus is always alive in kairos, what we might call ‘God’s time’ or ‘kingdom time’, he acts to unbind not only Lazarus from the physical cloths that bind his hands and feet, but to unbind Mary and Martha and all who witness the raising of Lazarus from their bondage to time as a quantity.  They are now free to witness to the unexpected ways God reveals God’s purposes in our times and places.

 

         So, my friends, as we approach the end of this liturgical year and of the calendar year, it is right that we ask ourselves how we inhabit the mystery of time.  We are all encumbered by the many calendars of our lives and by the due dates that populate our lives.  There are days when I sit down at my desk at home or here at Epiphany and feel overwhelmed by the many tasks and expectations there are of me.  I do not doubt that we all have those moments.

 

         But, when I pause long enough to hear the voice of the Spirit of God whispering wisdom into my ears and into my soul, I can begin to experience kairos and I am free to do what truly needs to be done.  I am freed so that I can consider what is important and pressing and what is not.  I am freed so that I can use what days and weeks and months and years that are left to me to serve God’s purposes and to grow as a disciple of Jesus.  That’s what saints do – and I want to be one too – I think that we all want to be saints.