Who Is This Guy? Reflections on Matthew 16.13-20 (23 August 2020)

 Who Is This Guy?

Reflections on Matthew 16.13-20

 

RCL Proper 21A

23 August 2020

 

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

 

Who am I?

            Many years ago I attended an event at our daughter Anna’s pre-school.  As I entered the room I was given a lovely brown, leaf-shaped name tag that had written on it:  ‘Anna’s Dad’.  At first I admit that I was a bit taken aback.  After all I was ‘The Rev’d Professor Richard Geoffrey Leggett’.  But not at Berwick School that day.  On that day, long ago, I was ‘Anna’s Dad’.

 

            I saved that name tag for many years.  It was on my office door at Vancouver School of Theology, right next to the name plate that said ‘The Rev’d Dr Richard Geoffrey Leggett, Professor of Liturgical Studies’.  When I look back, I’m sure more people were impressed that I was ‘Anna’s Dad’ than ‘Professor Leggett’.

 

            Each one of us possess a multitude of identities.  We are sons or daughters.  We are husbands or wives.  We are fathers or mothers.  We are uncles or aunts.  The list of identities can be quite lengthy, whether we think of ourselves as ordinary or extraordinary.  But all our identities come from relationships.

 

            No doubt we all hope that our many identities are rooted in an inner integrity of being, our true selves.  It’s not that we’re playing different roles as if we were actors.  Each one of our identities is somehow linked to who we really are in the core of our being.  Creating and maintaining that integrity of self is a life-long process.  Sometimes we feel that we’re doing a good job and we face the world confidently.  And sometimes we know that our many identities are not quite in order and we become uncertain.

 

            There are even times when we feel that people aren’t taking us seriously.  They’ve only seen one or two of our identities and they believe that they have us conveniently boxed.  I’m sure that you’ve had this experience just as I’ve had whether at work or at home or in some other setting.  There have been times when I just want to shout, ‘I’m not that guy!’

 

Who is Jesus?

            When Peter gives the ‘right’ answer to Jesus’ question, ‘You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God,’ we may be tempted to think that this is the end of the conversation.  But it is not.  To say that Jesus is the Christ or the Messiah or the Anointed One or the Son of God or the Son or Man or some other description is an endless Christian conversation.

 

            It is the conversation we’ve had within the many communions into which Christians group themselves.  It is the conversation we’ve had with Jews, with Muslims, with people of numerous other faiths and with people who claim no religious faith at all.  And why do we have these conversations?  It’s because we’re still trying to understand who this Person is who commands our attention and our loyalty.  We’ve made a choice to follow Jesus as his disciples, but we’re still learning what it means to do this.  Even the most learned of theologians knows that Jesus remains as mysterious today as he certainly did to people two thousand years ago.  The only thing we can all agree on is this:  When you meet Jesus of Nazareth, you meet God.  

 

            For every Christian the question that Jesus asks is one we cannot ignore or simply say is beyond our ken.  We claim that Jesus is the one through whom our most important relationship is shaped and nurtured:  our relationship with God, the Holy One who is the Creator of all things, seen and unseen.

 

            Our relationship with Jesus and with the One whom Jesus called ‘Abba’ is fraught with mystery.  It’s not a mystery to be solved like some crime novel or crossword or sudoku.  The English theologian and writer, C. S. Lewis, called it an onion that only gets bigger with each layer you peel away.  Each question we ask, each experience we have, each prayer we offer, draws us deeper into this intriguing and engaging mystery which can surprise us with unexpected joys and challenge us with uncomfortable truths.

 

How do we answer the question?

            We learn how to answer Jesus’ question for ourselves by belonging to a community of disciples who share our search.  In community we share with each other what we know of Jesus, what we’ve seen of Jesus and what we do not understand of Jesus and the God to whom he leads us.  Our assumptions can be lovingly challenged and new perspectives encourage us to persevere.

 

            We learn how to answer Jesus’ question for ourselves by behaving like him when we do justice, when we love mercy and when we walk humbly with God and each other.

 

            We learn how to answer Jesus’ question for ourselves by loving each other as God loves us, passionately, generously, steadfastly.

 

            And even then, just when we think we know who Jesus is, he will show us another side of himself, something we may have glimpsed before but now see more clearly.

 

Who are those guys?

            In the film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the lead characters, both men who stand somewhat outside the law, find themselves being pursued by a posse.  The outlaws have a high opinion of their ability to lose the posse and they use every skill they have.  But the posse keeps on their trail.  After each unsuccessful attempt to lose their pursuers, one or the other of the outlaws says, ‘Who are those guys?’

            

            Just as surely as you and I are pursuing this Jewish rabbi who has grabbed our hearts and minds, so too is Jesus doggedly following us.  He shows up in the most unexpected places and in the most unexpected people.  He shows up in the isolation and distancing that COVID-19 has imposed upon us.  He shows up in the courage of people who do their ordinary jobs in these extraordinary times.  He shows up in the faithfulness of a married couple celebrating their seventieth wedding anniversary.  He shows up in the curiosity of a person who has never been to church but has dared to cross the threshold to see what might be found here.  And in all of those places and more, Jesus reveals something of himself we have not seen before and shows us another dimension of the God who has loved creation into existence.

 

            Who do we say Jesus is?  Like Peter we know him to be the Messiah, the promised one who leads us into right relationship with God, with each other and with our very selves.  But this is just one of the many faces that God’s Beloved shows us because God still beckons us to go deeper into the mystery. 

No Storm Can Shake Our Inmost Calm: Reflections on Matthew 14.22-33 (Sunday, 9 August 2020)

RCL Proper 19A

9 August 2020

 

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

 

Learning How to Run the Rapids

            Twice in my life I’ve had the opportunity to go white-water rafting.  Although I was a good swimmer in my younger days, I’ve always harboured a fear of drowning.  Riding the rapids on those two trips allowed me to confront my fears in a somewhat controlled setting.

            When you go white-water rafting, the first day or so is on quieter waters where you and your fellow rafters learn how to work together as a team under the leadership of a guide.  You also get a basic course on how to ‘read’ a river, so that you can identify submerged rocks and hazards and to discern how the various currents and eddies will influence your passage through a particular section of the river.

            During my first rafting trip, when I was seventeen, the practice and the orientation paid off.  I was in the smallest of our three rafts with three other Scouts and our guide.  We were going through one of the most difficult and dangerous sections of the river.  Just above the rapids we had done some reconnaissance and a couple of practice manoeuvres.  We knew we wanted to avoid one particular set of rapids.  We watched the two larger rafts pass through the rapids and then tie up on the river bank below the rapids.

            We set off and quickly hit the rough water.  A sealed metal container that had not been tied down tightly enough came loose and knocked out our guide who was also our steersman.  After a few moments of panic, we quickly recovered but the current took us straight into the rapids we’d hoped to avoid.  A huge wave took us under for a brief moment, although it seemed to last much longer.  We popped up and paddled over to the river bank where the rest of our group were waiting.  We patched up our guide, bailed out the water and tried to regain our composure.

            Looking pack from a distance of fifty years I remember this as one of the most remarkable experiences in my life.  But fifty years ago my feelings were far less nostalgic, I can assure you.

 

Following Jesus is rarely smooth sailing.

            For the disciples of Jesus their association with his mission and ministry was becoming more and more demanding and risky.  By this point in Matthew’s telling of the story of Jesus, the crowds are growing, the religious authorities are becoming more suspicious and hostile and Jesus has started to delegate more and more responsibility to his inner circle.

            No matter how we hear today’s gospel, the waters, whether real or figurative, the waters around Jesus and his disciples were indeed becoming more and more wild and unsettling.  The boat of fellowship in which the inner circle of disciples were travelling with Jesus was becoming more cramped and perhaps even more unstable in the face of the political, social and religious winds that were blowing ever stronger in Roman Palestine.

            So after a miraculous feeding of thousands of people, surely another straw threatening to break the patience of the religious and political authorities, Jesus sends his disciples off across the Sea of Galilee while he takes a break.  The Sea of Galilee is beautiful but like Lake Superior sudden storms can quickly rise up and become deadly.  The peril that the disciples is real and death is lapping at the gunnels of their small fishing boat.

            Then they see him.  Is he Death’s messenger coming to take them to Sheol?  Even if it is Jesus, how many rabbis do they know who can walk safely on the waters of a stormy lake?  Their fear and apprehension are perfectly normal reactions to their perilous situation and to the ghostly apparition approaching the boat.  Just like Peter, I’d want some sort of identification before venturing out into the unknown on the word of a person who has just become a bit more mysterious.

 

We’ve weathered many storms.

            A number of biblical scholars and theologians have suggested that every five hundred years or so the Christian movement undergoes a time of testing and reformation.  Around the year 500, Christians began to be the dominant religious group within the boundaries of the Roman Empire after centuries of exclusion and persecution.  A movement was now a growing institution.  Around the year 1000 Christians found themselves split into eastern and western branches, confronted by the growth of Islam and the collapse of what was left of the Roman imperial structures.  Around 1500 Christian entered into that conflict that split western Christians into a number of competing and sometimes warring tribes.

            As tempting as it is to focus on the COVID-19 pandemic, we need to recognize that the rapids we are passing through began long before 2019 turned into 2020.  We can choose to bemoan the difficulties we’ve been facing and long for the restoration of the ways things were or we can practice some new manoeuvres, scout out the river and plunge in.

            This is a congregation that has already practiced new manoeuvres.  We take our worship life seriously and seek to make it open to all, whether old-timers or newcomers or in-between.  We have embraced the ministry of all people whom God has called into the life of faith.

            This is a congregation that has scouted out the river that we are navigating.  We know the needs of community whether we’re speaking about affordable housing, food security and a safe place to meet for community partners who share our commitment to the well-being of this city and all who live here.  We continue to ask questions and ponder how we might better serve the people Lillian Daniels, an American theologian, calls the four ‘None’s’. [1]

1.     “No Way.  This person has made a deliberate and well-thought-out decision not to attend church, often in reaction to a genuine hurt.

2.     “No Longer.  This person used to attend church, but doesn’t anymore and doesn’t particularly miss it.

3.     “Never Have.  This person has never experienced church, and may be the grown child of parents in one of the first two groups.”

4.     “Not Yet.  These people may be curious about church and may choose to show up.”

These four groups are the currents in the river we navigate as Christians living in the twenty-first century on the Pacific coast.

            This is a congregation that has plunged into these waters.  No doubt COVID-19 has made our work a little bit harder.  But the work was hard to begin with, so adding a viral difficulty factor makes things just a bit more interesting and the successes just a bit sweeter.

            The good news is that we are not alone.  We are part of a wider network of Christians who are navigating the same waters as we are.  When we are frightened or uncertain, this wider network reaches out to us as surely as Jesus reached out to Peter.

            The good news is that we have spiritual resources in the Scriptures we read and proclaim every time we gather for worship.  We have the gift of the Spirit who shows us the way forward when we pause long enough to listen carefully to the whisper of its wisdom.  We have the sure knowledge that God in Christ offers us a vision of the world as it can and, in God’s good time, will be, the haven we draw nearer to with every breath we take.

            Right now I’m sure things look a little bit daunting, just as my rafting adventure did fifty years ago.  But just wait.  Five years from now, ten years from, fifty years from now, we’ll look back and know that these are remarkable times and that we are a remarkable people sealed with the Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.

---

[1] Lillian Daniels, Tired of Apologizing for a Church I Don’t Belong To (New York, NY:  Faith Words, 2017), 39.

 

Strange, Patient and Not Fussy: Reflections on Matthew 13.31-33, 44-52 (26 July 2020)

Strange, Patient and Not Fussy

Reflections on Matthew 13.31-33, 44-52

 

RCL Proper 17A

26 July 2020

 

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

 

Strange, Patient and Not Fussy

            When I was Rector of Saint Faith’s in Vancouver, my office was located in the northwest corner of the building.  Just across the lane from my office there grew a remarkable large plant that eventually reached a height of more than two metres.  I was so curious that I did some research and discovered that the plant is called Verbascum Thapsus or ‘common mullein’.  It has a number of nicknames:  Aaron’s Rog, Lady’s Foxglove, Donkey’s Ears, Bunny’s Ears, Candlewick, Feltwort, Flannel Leaf, Jacob’s Staff, Lungword and, my favourite, Cowboy Toilet Paper.

            The plant was brought to North America by European settlers in the early 1700’s and has made its way westward across the continent.  The settlers used various parts of this plant for herbal medicines and teas, particularly as remedies for the symptoms of certain respiratory illnesses.  Indigenous peoples also quickly discovered the useful qualities of the plant and made it their own.

            But what interests me about common mullein is that it is strange, patient and not fussy.  Mullein is strange because it is not a native to this continent and has developed a mixed reputation.  Even though settlers and indigenous people found it an aid to health, in Colorado, where I grew up, it’s classed as a noxious weed mainly because cattle don’t like to eat it.  

            Mullein is patient because the tiny seeds of this large plant will remain dormant for seventy to a hundred years before sprouting.  Even then the first year, the sprouts remain close to the ground as if scouting the territory.  Only in the second year will a plant reach out to the heavens.

            Mullein is not fussy because it will grow in almost any soil, even rocky ground or gravel, a quality that aided its rapid movement across North America.  You can see this for yourself the next time you’re driving the Coquihalla Highway.  You can see the tall plants marching down the gravel slopes to the highway.

 

We are strangers in a strange land.

            If the truth be told, being a person of faith in the twenty-first century in North American culture is to be a stranger in a strange land.  Perhaps centuries ago religious culture was more strongly rooted among the European settlers of this continent, but the events of the twentieth century have made it more acceptable to remain unassociated with a faith community.

            It’s even more strange to be a member of a faith community that welcomes questions and seeks diversity.  When we look around us, the religious communities that seem to be growing are ones where belonging means believing and behaving in a clearly-defined way.  Many, but not all, of these communities tend to reach out to a particular group within the broader social and cultural environment.

            When I talk with people who are not part of an identifiable religious tradition, I find myself spending a great deal of time engaged in Christianity 101.  Even these folks value their own diversity and distinctiveness, they seem to want to put all Christians into the same box.  They’re often surprised when, after they’ve said, ‘Well, Christians believe that . . . ‘, I say, ‘Well, some Christians do, but I don’t.’

            That’s why it’s so important that we, as a community of faith, are committed to diakonia, to self-giving service of the wider community.  I believe that the main reason this Parish hosts community groups of any sort is because we are here to build community and to serve the needs and concerns of those who are not directly connected with the Parish.  Just like the mullein plant became a welcome stranger because of its usefulness, just so we become welcome strangers because people know we care for neighbourhood.  To me one of the major costs of COVID-19 has been the absence of our neighbours in this space, perhaps even more than the lost revenue.

 

We are patient.

            Shortly after I became Vicar, Joe Carreira of Conwest, our development partner, and I met the Mayor of New Westminster, Jonathan Coté.  At one point in our conversation, the Mayor asked above the motivation for our re-development project.  I answered, ‘Holy Trinity Cathedral has been part of this community for more than one hundred fifty years.  We plan to be here for at least another hundred and fifty years, because the work begun in 1859 has not only incomplete, it has changed.  We’re in this for the long haul.’

            Most of you know far better than I the ups and downs of the last twenty years or more.  You know the hopefulness that has accompanied plans for renewal.  You know the frustrations that have come from waiting for this project to come to fruition.  But we’re in this for the long haul because we know that this City needs communities such as ours as places of help, hope and home.

            Just as the seeds of the mullein plant will wait patiently for the right conditions to sprout and, even then, poke their heads out in the first year to see how things are, so are we waiting for the right conditions.  We do see signs that our hopes will be realized and a new centre for mission and ministry will rise on this site.  So we wait patiently knowing as we heard the apostle Paul say last week, ‘For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God’ (Romans 8.19).

 

We are not fussy.

            One of the things that I learned in the early days of ordained ministry was that it was not a good idea to be overly fussy about things.  I travelled all over the Diocese with one or both of the Bishops visiting congregations, some small, others larger, some simple in tastes, others more elaborate.  In some I was offered coffee with canned milk, in others the choice of various coffees, teas and snacks from the finest suppliers.  But all these congregations were centres of mission and ministry, all of them rich and lively and precious in God’s sight.

            As a Parish I hope that we begin to rejoice in the small accomplishments.  We’ve resumed in-person worship.  Is it exactly what we would like?  No.  Is it an opportunity to share the good news in many and varied ways?  Yes.  We’ve resumed our Trinity Tuesday program.  Is it as much fun as being together physically?  Probably not.  Are we deepening our understanding of Matthew’s Gospel?  I hope so.  We’re feeding people on Saturdays with bag brunches.  Are we able to connect as deeply as we can when we gather in the Lower Hall?  Not likely.  Are we serving our neighbours?  Definitely.

            The kingdom of God is not terribly fussy about where it takes root.  Once it does, it hunkers down for the long haul and bears unexpected fruit.

            

We begin small.

            When the Rev’d Mr Sheepshanks rang the gong on that first Sunday more than one hundred and sixty years ago, only six people showed up.  None of them were communicants of the Church of England.  The only communicant of the Church of England in New Westminster at the time was an unnamed woman who was probably reluctant to show up among a group of strange men.  But the seeds were planted and this strange plant we call Holy Trinity took root.  Over the years we have patiently borne the ups and downs of being the church in changing times.  For the most part we’ve not been too fussy about how we’ve gone about it.  And we are here in this place and now, because of COVID-19, people can join us wherever in the world the internet is available.

            Consider the common mullein, Jesus said.  It is a strange plant with very small seeds.  When they are sown, they will wait for the right time to germinate.  Even then they’ll only poke their heads above the surface for a quick look around.  If all is well, they will spring up into a towering plant with beautiful yellow flowers from which healing medicines can be made.  It’s a patient plant.  It’s not too fussy.  That’s how the kingdom of God is.  Strange.  Patient.  Not too fussy.  And it’s all around us.

 

 

See Who We Are. Become What We See.

See Who You Are.  Become What You See.

The 4^th Sunday after Pentecost

28 June 2020

 

RCL Proper 13A

Genesis 22.1-14; Psalm 13; Romans 6.12-23; Matthew 10.40-42

 

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

 

How can we sing the Lord’s song upon an alien soil?

            The COVID-19 pandemic has stirred up a controversy among the ranks of those folk who plan, who lead and who ponder the experience of public worship.  This controversy swirls around a simple question:  ‘Should we celebrate the eucharist when so many of our people are unable to participate in person?’.

            It’s a fair question.  Even if our ritual traditions have wrapped the sharing of bread and wine in many layers, the eucharist is, after all, a meal.  If, when we are live-streaming the eucharist because we cannot celebrate it in a larger public gathering, only a small number of people are present and only the priest and a server or deacon receives, then are we keeping faith with Jesus who told all of us to eat this bread and drink this cup?

            I feel this tension most keenly when I point to the consecrated bread and wine on the holy table and then say to those who are present and those who are participating on-line, ‘The gifts of God for the people of God.’  I then consume some of the consecrated bread and all the consecrated wine and Carole consumes the bread that remains.  Somehow I feel that the words and the actions are disconnected.  But I’ll come back to this in a moment.

 

Receiving our marching orders

            Chapter 10 of the Gospel according to Matthew is devoted to Jesus’ instructions, exhortations and warnings to the twelve apostles.  Today we hear his final words before they push off in a new direction, as Jesus travels the highways and byways of Palestine, always working his way towards Jerusalem.  In these three short verses we hear not only their marching orders but ours as disciples of Jesus.

 

1)  We are to be prophets.

            Contrary to popular belief and usage, biblical prophets do not predict the future.  They are people led by God’s Spirit to speak God’s truth to a given people at a given time and place.  Prophets point to what God is doing in the events of their times and ours.  In many ways the prophet’s role is to take the blinders away from our eyes so that we can see more clearly how God is at work in our world whether on-stage or off.

            All disciples of Jesus are to be prophets.  We’re baptized into the same prophetic role as the first apostolic generation was empowered by their experience of Jesus’s life, teaching and resurrection.  We speak of God’s justice, the clear arc of God’s history working towards justice, in a world where injustice is not only widespread and systemic but serves the interests of the few at the expense of the many.

 

2)  We are to be righteous.

            Do not forget that there is a big difference between being self-righteous and being righteous.  Self-righteous folk are convinced that they are always right and that others need to be compelled to follow the same path as theirs.  Self-righteous folk rarely engage in conversations; they prefer monologues filled with moral advice and little self-examination.

            The righteous person tends to seek a conversation with others, especially those whom they may not understand or whose way of life is different from their own.  The righteous are interested in having right relationships:  with God, with others and with self.  The righteous seek to be faithful to their baptismal covenant by

·      resisting evil and, when they fall into sin, repenting and returning to the Lord; 

·      seeking and serving Christ in all persons, loving neighbours as oneself;

·      striving for justice and peace by respecting the dignity of every human person, and

·      safeguarding the integrity of God’s creation.

At the end of the day, the righteous are always just a little bit surprised to learn that others think of them as righteous.  They tend to point to others rather than to themselves.  They understand it’s a lifetime process not something achieved in a moment.

 

3)  We are to be grateful.

            Genuine gratitude is ultimately rooted in a humility that recognizes that all that we are and all that we have is a gift from God.  We are never self-sufficient.  We are always dependant upon the kindness of strangers.  A cup of cold water in the hand of a stranger when we are thirsty is a gift from the hand of God.

            

See who we are.  Become what we see.

            When the priest or bishop presiding at the eucharist says, ‘The gifts of God for the people of God,’ they are speaking words which have an ancient pedigree.  Augustine of Hippo, the fifth-century North African bishop and theologian, is said to have invited his congregation to come forward to receive communion with these words, ‘The gifts of God for the people of God.  See who you are.  Become what you see.’

            What God desires for us in that we become who we truly are, but this is a process not a one-time event.  To be made in the image of God is God’s gift to us, but to grow into the likeness of God is a life-long journey towards spiritual maturity.  Our pilgrimage towards such maturity is strewn with moments of achievement punctuated with obstacles and doubts.  This pandemic is just such a time where obstacles and doubts may cast shadows on our path.

            We all know the old saying that ‘seeing is believing’.  Whether we are physically or digitally present, when we see the gifts of God, we take a step towards becoming what we see.  We see what we love:  the gathered community, the beauty of this space where so many of our memories have been formed, the self-offering of God embodied in the bread and wine.  Seeing these gifts stirs up our belief, a word whose roots, I remind you, mean ‘to consider beloved’.

            Even as we wait to resume sharing the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation, we can see who we are --- the beloved of God being reminded that we are beloved by God.  Even as we wait to sing God’s praise with our own voices and to greet each other with the sign of peace, we can become what we see --- grateful and righteous prophets of a generous and just Creator of the universe.

            For we are the gifts of God for the whole human family.  See who we are.  Become what we see.

We Have Another World in View (14 June 2020)

We Have Another World in View

A Sermon for the 2^nd Sunday after Pentecost

 

RCL Proper 11A [1]

14 June 2020

 

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

 

We have another world in view.

            As a person who grew up during the charismatic revival in the Diocese of Colorado, I have an inner hymn book that occasionally pops a melody or lyrics into my head at unexpected times.  This week, as I was pondering what to say today, my inner hymn book kept re-playing a Ghanaian folk hymn sung as people are walking to worship.

 

We have another world in view, in view,

we have another world in view.

We have another world in view, in view,

we have another world in view.

Our Saviour has gone to prepare us a place,

we have another world in view.

Our Saviour has gone to prepare us a place,

we have another world in view.

 

            These simple words enshrine what I believe to be the reason God, through the Holy Spirit, has entrusted us to continue the ministry begun in the life, death, resurrection and ascension of Jesus of Nazareth.  These simple words form the foundation to our response to the events that have unfolded before our eyes since the untimely and unlawful death of George Floyd.  These simple words form the essence of the message proclaimed by those who are committed to peaceful change and to the dismantling of the social and cultural structures that support racism in all its forms.

 

            For two thousand years we have held to the hope that the world that God has shown us is possible will come soon.  It was the hope of the first generations of Christians who, in the face of oppression, persecutions and martyrdom, called out in prayer, ‘Maranatha’, ‘Come, Lord.  Come soon.’  It was the hope of the Reformers who shaped the Christian tradition in which we worship today that they could create a truly Christian society.  It was the hope of the many social reformers who fought slavery, who sought justice for indigenous people, who worked for better living and social conditions for workers, that God’s reign of justice would come soon.

 

            It is in the light of this hope that I read today’s reading from the Gospel according to Matthew.

 

Then Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching in their synagogues, and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and curing every disease and every sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful, but the labourers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out labourers into his harvest.” [2]

 

As Jesus begins his ministry, he is proclaiming this hope, the hope that God’s promised reign was on the immediate horizon.  The poor and marginalized among whom Jesus lived and to whom he brought near God’s healing and God’s good news were no different from those who long for healing and justice in our towns and cities, no different from those of us gathered for worship in the Cathedral and in our homes.

 

We still have work to do.

            When Jesus says, ‘(the) harvest is plentiful,’ I hear him saying to his disciples and to us that there is still work for us to do.  If that isn’t clear to anyone, then all we need to do is to look at the world around us.  The unrest on the streets of the world’s cities is a symptom of a world that is still becoming what God would have it become.  The troubles of the present are a reminder that we, made in the image and likeness of God, have the freedom to choose to give life and to withhold it.  From the beginning we have shown great ingenuity in choosing badly and seeking self-interest rather than the common good.  Undoing the evils of our bad choices requires the conversion of our hearts, minds and wills.

 

            Converting our hearts, minds and wills is the work of the Spirit.  Why?  Because God, in God’s infinite wisdom, invites us to be co-workers in this great reclamation project.  Ever since Adam and Eve were given the responsibility to tend the Garden of Eden, God has chosen human beings as agents.

 

We need to invite others to join us in this work.

            But this is a massive project that has lasted for millennia and continues into the present day.  To do this work well requires committed communities of faith who resist evil, who seek and serve Christ in all persons, who respect the dignity of every human being and who strive to safeguard the integrity of creation.  We need such communities because being a co-worker with God is exhausting and the supportive love and concern of other disciples renews us for the work we face.

 

            It’s no secret that the last decades have seen our numbers decline in Canada and elsewhere in the world.  For many reasons Anglicans have been reluctant to do what other Christians have done:  We’ve stopped sharing our faith and inviting others to join us in the work that God has entrusted to us.  But this reluctance has to be overcome.  If we need any incentive to invite others to join us in God’s reclamation of creation, then let’s look only to a world in turmoil.  To use a term we hear frequently these days, God needs many more ‘allies’.

 

Ordinary people are God’s favourites.

            The interesting thing is that God has a preference for ordinary folks as allies.  This is good news for us since we live in an age of celebrity.  We find it hard to imagine sometimes that most of the main characters in the Scriptures are not the rich and the powerful.  They are fisherfolk like Peter, Andrew, James and John.  They are women such as Mary, Elizabeth and Mary Magdalene.  They are even people of questionable qualities such as Matthew the tax-collector and Judas Iscariot.

 

            Some years ago a congregational consultancy conducted a survey about ‘believability’.  They were wondering how congregations grew and who were the influential agents of growth.  They discovered that ordained leadership was influential in the pastoral, liturgical and educational dimensions of congregational life.  The most influential agents of parish growth were the laity because they are the most ‘believable’ when they share their faith with others.  A word spoken in a coffee shop or at dinner or in a private conversation often has more impact that the most carefully constructed and passionately delivered sermon.

 

We have another world in view.

            We do have another world in view.  The world we have in view is a world where every human being is respected and treated with dignity --- especially those whom the majority or the powerful may consider undeserving of respect and dignity.  The world we have in view is a world where ancient wrongs are made right and walls that divided one group from another are torn down.  The world we have in view is a world where every human being has a home and need not fear hunger or strife.

 

            How soon that world comes into being is only known to God.  What can be known is that we have a part to play in bringing that world closer.  The work before us is great.  The need for more hands, hearts and minds to join in the work just as great.  The good news is that the world is filled with the ordinary people that God trusts to do this extraordinary work.

 

            Paul writes, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.  For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God.” [3]   We eagerly await the world we have in view.  Our Saviour has gone to prepare us a place.  But, in the Spirit, God has entrusted to us a fair bit of work in the meantime.  I actually find that good news in times such as these.

 

 

---

[1] Genesis 18.1-15; Psalm 116.1, 10-17 (BAS); Romans 5.1-8; Matthew 9.35-10.8.

[2] Matthew 9.35-38 (New Revised Standard Version).

[3] Romans 8.18-19 (New Revised Standard Version).

 

Joining in the Dance: Reflection for Trinity Sunday (7 June 2020)

Joining in the Dance

Reflections for Trinity Sunday

RCL Trinity A

7 June 2020

Holy Trinity Anglican Cathedral

New Westminster BC

         When my sister and I were growing up, we had few opportunities to spend time with our grandparents.  Our maternal grandparents lived in England and didn’t own a telephone.  Travel across the Atlantic was too expensive for them or for us.  So we had to do with letters and two lengthy and precious visits.  Our paternal grandparents lived in New York and we would drive to visit them every other summer.  Even as a child I knew that these visits were filled with tension, so they usually lasted only a week or so.

         In 1965, two years after we returned from a three-year tour of duty in Germany, my family joined Saint Michael the Archangel Episcopal Church in Colorado Springs.  We settled in and quickly found friends and a supportive community.  Among the members of the parish were Jon and Elma Nottingham, a retired couple who became our foster grandparents.  No birthday was forgotten, no major event left uncelebrated, no achievement left unnoticed.

         Shortly after I was ordained in 1981, my parents and I were invited to lunch at Grandma Elma and Grandpa Jon’s house.  At one point Grandma Elma asked, “Father Richard, do you want anything more?”  I said to her, “Grandma Elma, you’ve known me since I was twelve-years-old, you don’t have to call me ‘Father Richard’.”  “I know,” she said, “but do you want anything more, Father Richard.”  Never try telling your grandmother, foster or otherwise, how to address you.

         Grandma Elma was reminding me that our relationship had changed.  It had become more complicated because she and I were now relating in two dimensions, one personal, the other spiritual.  She was my foster grandmother and a lay member of the congregation.  I was her foster grandson and a priest.  Over the next few years she and I would navigate this new mystery where my public role and our personal relationship could not be easily put into separate compartments.

         When I go home today, I will enter the house and re-engage the web of relationships that define my life.  To my mother I will be her son.  To my wife I will be her husband and, because she is a priest of the Diocese, I am also an archdeacon.  To my younger son I will be his father.  Somehow I have to integrate all these relationships in a life-giving and life-enriching way, sometimes successfully, often not so successfully.  I’m sure that I’m not alone in this tricky endeavour.

         When Christians speak about how we understand God, we are trying in limited human language to speak about the mystery of relationships.  Each one of us knows that our lives are webs of relationships and that we play different roles in each one of them.  Relationships are what make us persons.  Human beings are not individual blocks of marble; we are more like diamonds with many facets, each one catching the light and casting a reflection unique to that facet. 

         And it is the relationship between the God whose love caused creation to come into being, the Christ who is God’s love embodied in time and space, and the Spirit who is the love that unites us into the communion of God’s life that we celebrate today.  What Christians have been saying for two thousand years is that when we meet Jesus of Nazareth, however we meet him, you are meeting God.  How will we know this?  The Spirit will lead us to this truth.  We are then brought into the complicated but invigorating dance we call the mystery of God.

         At the end of his second letter to the Christian community in Corinth Paul blesses them with words we’ve come to know well:  “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.” [1]  In this one sentence I believe Paul gives us a way of discerning whether our relationships participate in the dance of the divine life God invites us to join.

         “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ”:  Charis, the Greek word translated here as ‘grace’, is better understood to mean ‘a windfall, an undeserved gift freely offered’.  when a relationship is freely offered to us, an invitation from one person to another to know and be known, with no other motive than mutual joy and growth, we are dancing with God.

         “The love of God”:  In Greek there are at least four distinct words to describe different kinds of love.  Here the word is agapé.  This kind of love is the offering of oneself for the good of another.  Agapé expects nothing in return.  Agapé seeks only the welfare of the one who is being loved.  When we are in a relationship where another person embraces us with a love that helps us become more full the person God intends us to become, a love that encourages us to be more human, created in God’s image and likeness, we are dancing with God.

  

         “The communion of the Holy Spirit”:  As Anglicans we become accustomed to hearing ‘fellowship’, but koinônia, ‘communion’, is a far better choice.  Communion is a unity that welcomes the diversity of people, of gifts, of experiences that can be found among human beings.  Communion rejoices in the infinite variety God has caused to come into being.  When we are in a relationship where are distinctiveness as a child of God is welcomed, respected and nurtured, we are dancing with God.

         Today we celebrate the mystery of God and of ourselves as creatures made in the image and likeness of God.  It is a mystery not to be solved but to explore with ever-deepening wonder at what God has wrought.  It is the mystery of a God who seeks to be known in and through the kosmos, in and through human relationships, in and through the wonder of each human being.

         So come and join the dance.  Let us hold each other in our hearts even as we look forward to the day when we can actually join hands again.  Let us dance wherever we may be, for the Lord of the dance is beckoning us to join the circle with the Lover, the Beloved and the Love, one God, as it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

---

[1] 2 Corinthians 13.14 (New Revised Standard Version)