Sunday, April 28, 2019

Easter 2 - Children's Sermon - Being Brave

John 20:19-31

(The [...] are spaces for the children's responses.)

What does being brave mean? [...] Being brave means being afraid to do something, and doing it anyway. If you’re not afraid, you’re not being brave. All brave people are afraid people. 
Have you ever been afraid to do something and did it anyway? [...] You were being brave! What helped you to do it, even though you were afraid? [...] Which is more helpful, someone saying you better do this or else! or someone saying, you can do it, and I’ll be with you the whole way and I’ll be here when you’re done? [...]

I once had to babysit a dog for a few months, and every day I had to take the dog for a walk in the park, and one of the walks we would go on included going over a metal grate bridge that went over a creek. This was a scary bridge because it was quite high, and when you walked over it, you could see down through the gaps how far down the creek was. 

Of course, I knew, and I’m sure you all would know, that the metal was quite strong enough to hold us, and that nobody would ever fall through the cracks into the creek below. But the dog I was taking care of didn’t know that. And so the first time I crossed the bridge, I walked across, and I turned around, and the dog didn’t follow me. I was on one side of the bridge, and the dog was on the other, and it just wouldn’t come. 

And of course, I couldn’t just walk away, so I had to go back across the bridge to the dog. And every day this happened––we would get to the bridge and I would go across and the dog would stop because it was too afraid of walking over the creek below.

What do you think I should have done? Keep in mind that this was a big dog, almost as big as me. What would you have done if you were me? [...] Do you think I should have yelled at the dog, and yanked on its leash, or hit it with a stick? Should I have said, oh you’re such a dumb dog, don’t you know this bridge won’t hurt you? Do you think that would have worked to get the dog across the scary bridge? [...] 

Well, what I did was I would go onto the bridge just a few steps, and then I would call the dog very gently, and I would hold out a treat for the dog to come get. And it took a week, but eventually the dog came out just a few steps, and I gave it lots of hugs, and I said, what a good brave dog you are!

And every week, I would go a few steps further, and call the dog very nicely, and give the dog a treat, and lots of hugs when it came a few more steps. And eventually, after two months, the dog was able to cross the whole bridge! It was very scared of falling through the bridge, but it was very brave. And what do you think helped it to be so brave? [...]

Sometimes Jesus asks us to do brave things. What kind of brave things does Jesus ask us to do? [...] Jesus asks us to love our enemies, and to help the poor, and to protect people who are being hurt. Why might these things be scary? Why might we need to be brave to do them? [...] Well, sometimes our enemies might hurt us. Or sometimes if we’re protecting people who are being hurt or bullied, then we might get hurt or bullied instead.

In our Gospel reading, we hear about some disciples who were afraid of doing brave things. So last Sunday was Easter, right? And we heard about how Jesus had told his disciples to love everyone no matter what, and then Jesus was killed by the Roman government, and then all his disciples ran away because they didn’t want to get killed either. 

And then of course Jesus was raised from the dead, and the disciples found out, and today we heard that they ... What did they do? [...] The disciples hid in a room and locked the door! Did they go out and love everyone no matter what? Did they do what Jesus told them to do? Why not? [...]

They were afraid. They were afraid of being killed just like Jesus. If you were afraid of being killed, would you hide in a room and lock the door? [...] I would!

But Jesus really, really wanted them to be brave, and to go tell people about how much God loved everyone, and to help the poor, and to protect people who were being hurt, even though they might be killed for doing it. Jesus wanted them to be brave.

So how did Jesus get them to do that? [...] Did Jesus go in and say, You better get out there or else? [...] Did Jesus go in and say, I am so disappointed in you all, you really let me down? [...] Did Jesus drag on their clothes and pull them out the door? [...] What did Jesus say?

Jesus said, “Peace be with you.” What does that mean, peace be with you? [...] Jesus was saying to them, I am not mad at you, God is not mad at you, I know that you are very scared, but I’m here with you. And then Jesus said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” 

What do you think that means? What does it mean if the Holy Spirit is with you? [...] It means that no matter what you do, God is always with you and God always loves you.

When the disciples were afraid of going out of their room, Jesus spoke to them gently, and offered them a treat, and told them it was okay. And you know what? They eventually left the room! 

We know this because these disciples were the first ones to go out and tell everyone about Jesus and that’s why we have Christians today! If the disciples had stayed in that locked room and never gone out, if they had never been brave, there would be no church. 

So what made them brave? [...] They were brave because Jesus came to be with them, and filled them with the Holy Spirit, and told them that God loved them and would be with them no matter what.

So I’m going to tell you something. Jesus told the disciples, “Receive the Holy Spirit,” and so God was with them, right? Did you know that the very same thing has happened to you? 

I don’t think any of you remember, but when you were baptized, the pastor who baptized you put water on your head and prayed, “Sustain this child with the gift of your Holy Spirit,” and then made the sign of the cross on your forehead and said your name, and then said, “Child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit.” 

When you were baptized, you were filled with the Holy Spirit, and that means that God came to be with you and God has never ever left you since then.

So is God with you if you are hiding in your room and you locked the door? [...] Is God with you if you are afraid of something bad happening? [...] Is God with you when you stay home from church on Sunday morning? [...] (Although I hope you come to church because we all love to see you!) Is God with you if there is something you know you’re supposed to do but you’re afraid to do it but you know you have to do it? [...]

God often asks us to be brave so that we can help the world be a better place. God asks us to be kind to people who are mean, and God asks us to protect others who are being hurt, and God asks us to love every single person and animal and living being that God has made. And that can be scary sometimes, right? Raise your hands if you think that sounds a bit scary? (Even adults!) [...] 


Well, whenever you are scared of doing these things, I want you to remember what Jesus said, “Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit.” God is with you, no matter what, and God will be with you every step of the way, and so I know that you can be brave when you need to be, because God is going to help you. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Easter Sunday 2019

Isaiah 65:17-25; 1 Corinthians 15:19-26; Luke 24:1-12

Raise your hand if you got an Easter treat this morning, like candy or chocolate. Isn’t that the best part of Easter? Okay, well not the best but a really awesome part of Easter? And then to hear beautiful music, and sing such joyful hymns? And to hear the words of hope from our Scriptures, and the promise of new life, of an end to weeping and distress, of an end to pain and suffering, to hear that new life is waiting for each one of us, and that Jesus, who was put to death on a cross because of his love for the world, has been raised, as proof of the new life to come? Easter is, by far, my favourite holiday. Easter is the proclamation that God’s love for the world endures even through death. Easter is the reassurance that we need not be afraid of giving ourselves up in love for others, because in the end, love brings new life for all.

And chocolate. Love also frequently brings chocolate, come to think of it. I now know that Easter egg hunts are a serious labour of love, requiring planning, cleverness, and of course, self-discipline. I remember one year when I was a kid, we were hunting for Easter chocolate in our house, and we thought we were all done, and our parents kept insisting there was one chocolate still hidden. And we hunted and hunted, and we just couldn’t find it, and finally we assumed our parents were mistaken, or one of them ate it and didn’t tell the other, and we gave up.

I think about that missing chocolate on Easter because sometimes, even on Easter Sunday, I feel like I’m still hunting––not for chocolate, because I remember where I hid it all––but for new life. I love the promise of Easter––the words of Isaiah, where God says, “I am about to create new heavens and a new earth;” the words of Paul, “the last enemy to be destroyed is death;” the words of the divine beings to the grief-stricken women, “why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” I love these words, I cling to these words, but sometimes, like the apostles, I don’t quite believe these words.

Because I watch the news, I see what’s going on in the world, I sit with people whose lives are falling apart, and I think, “about to create a new earth? Why wait?!?” I think, “we’ve been waiting two thousand years for death to be destroyed, why is it taking so long?!?” I hunt and hunt for the new life that signals an end to death forever, and I just can’t find it. Sometimes I wonder, deep-down inside, if St. Paul was mistaken, that Christians are, in fact of all people most to be pitied. If maybe we should give up.

I suspect that I’m not alone in this. I think all of us, if we’re honest with ourselves, find it difficult, if not impossible, to live our Easter hope day in and day out without faltering, perpetually holding out hope for that time when the new heavens and the new earth will finally arrive, for that day when there will be no more sound of weeping or cries of distress, for that moment when we will find that last Easter chocolate. We live, and we watch others die, in this world still. Two thousand years later and Jesus Christ is still the first, and only, to be raised from the dead.

Did you know that chocolate stays good for a really long time? A year after my sisters and I gave up on that last Easter chocolate, we were moving some stuff in the living room, and there, tucked behind the record player, was the missing treat. In the meantime, we had enjoyed the Easter goodies we did find, and had completely forgotten about it. But you know what? It hadn’t gone bad. Actually, I enjoyed it more than the ones we had found a year ago, I think because we had given up hunting for it. (I was a kid, of course I ate chocolate a year old.)

It’s true that we are still waiting for the fullness of new life for all to become a reality in this world. It is also true, though, that God gives us a taste of the goodness of new life even in our waiting. There is new life in the midst of death in this world, here and now. We just sometimes need help to see it.

For example, perhaps you remember almost a year ago when it was discovered that thousands of children had been forcefully separated from their parents at the U.S.-Mexico border? Their parents were sent into detention, and the children, some only toddlers, were sent to shelters, with no way for the families to communicate. This past week, 27 of those families were reunited. One of those families included little 6-yr-old Ariel, whose family had been in ICE detention while he had been in a shelter for almost 10 months. He couldn’t even remember what his parents or his sister looked like. But watch––new life is here and now, maybe only in part, but still real.



If this Easter is hard for you, if the proclamation of new life seems to you “an idle tale,” and you cannot believe it, if you have moments when you want to give up hunting for that remaining Easter chocolate, when you want to give up hope, know this: Paul was not mistaken. Death will be destroyed, and God gives us tastes of that in this life. We live both in the not-yet and the now of Easter life, and the more we look for this new life, even in places of death, the more we will find it. It was not the apostles who experienced the resurrection, it was the women who went to the tomb.


And if you do not have energy right now even to look, know that the new life God has for you endures forever. It does not go bad––it lasts even longer than chocolate. This new life is, even, like our missing Easter chocolate, waiting in plain sight. Know also that you are not alone in waiting for it. This community––this living Body of Christ––is here to wait with you and to love you so that you might have life, just as Jesus has loved us. Here––as everywhere, now––as always, God is engaged in a labour of love, creating a new earth where you will be glad and rejoice forever in the new life given to you. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Friday, April 19, 2019

Good Friday - Saved By Love

Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 121; Romans 6:3-11; John 19:16b-40

Last night we heard Jesus say, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love another,” and we were reminded that it is God’s love for us, embodied in Jesus, that enables us to love others. We saw that fear can cause us to forget God’s love for us, and we heard that the most Christian act in times of fear is to remember God’s love for us and, out of that love, to choose to love others. 

This morning we are confronted with the reality that choosing to love has consequences. It’s important to be honest about this. Love is hard. Real love, true love, the kind of love that lifts up the loved one, love that gives life––this love has a cost. Mothers in particular know this, as does anyone who has ever cared for and nurtured a living being: a family member or a friend, a student or even a pet. Choosing to love another so that your love gives them life is choosing to accept the pain and suffering that often accompanies such love. The pain of making space within our lives and within our hearts for them, the suffering that comes from thinking about their suffering and eventual death, the difficulty of doing what’s best for them, especially when it’s not so good for us––these choices give life, they are made out of love, they make us better people, but they come with a cost.

But love is what we choose, because love is what we see Jesus choose, even though the cost was crucifixion. We are not here to praise his choice to die, we are here to praise his choice to love no matter what, and to commit to making that same choice. Because Jesus is not unique in his choice to accept death as the consequence of his commitment to love others. The world forced Jesus to choose between loving others or betraying them to save himself, and he chose love. He was not the first, nor is he the last, to make that choice, nor was he the first or the last to suffer death as a consequence. Many others, some inspired by him but not all, have made the same commitment and suffered the same consequence.

What we do see in Jesus, though, is his resurrection, “the first fruits of those who have died.” In Jesus, we see that death ceases to be a permanent consequence of love, as we heard in Isaiah, “the Lord will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death for ever.” We receive God’s assurance, God’s promise––and the fulfillment of that promise––that death is only a temporary detour on the road of love that gives life. In Christ, we see that the deadly consequences of love come to an end, and that the new life that comes from love endures.

After our hymn of the day, we will move into what are called the Bidding Prayers and the Solemn Reproaches. In these prayers and reproaches, we will call to mind the love that gives life to others. We will confess that we have not always chosen to live into that love. We will give thanks that, despite our failures, Jesus’ choice to love gives life to us, too. And we will call the cross life-giving because we know that God has turned it from a symbol of the power of death to a symbol of the power of love.


 Love gives new life, and so we can choose, again and again and again, to love as God calls us to, to love so that others have life, accepting for ourselves the consequences of pain and suffering and even death. We can take on the difficult work of choosing to follow Christ in the way of love, even when it leads to a cross, because we know that this is not the end. We know that “since we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” We know that loving one another as Jesus has loved us means––in the end––life for all. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Maundy Thursday - Just As I Have Loved You

Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:31b-35; Mark 14:43-50

“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” Which half of this sentence is easier for you to remember? “I have loved you,” or “love one another?” I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the latter––love one another. After all, that is the commandment Jesus leaves with his disciples, and the reason we call tonight Maundy Thursday, from the Latin Mandatum which means mandate, or command. “Love your neighbour as yourself,” “love one another,” we find it easy to remember that we are supposed to love others, even if we can’t always manage to do it. We repeat it over and over because we know that this is how, as Christians, we are supposed to live our lives.

Except that so often we don’t. We don’t always live our lives loving our neighbours as ourselves, we don’t always love one another as Jesus has loved us. Particularly in moments of crisis or moments of betrayal, we panic. We become afraid.

And that fear causes us to forget about love. The story of Passover is a story of a Pharaoh who was so afraid of immigrants that he decided to enslave them all, justifying it with the argument that they might join forces with Egypt’s enemies and defeat the country from within. He made a decision based out of fear, not love.

Fear caused the disciples to abandon their leader when he was arrested. As we heard from the Gospel of Luke on Palm Sunday, Peter, who followed Jesus all over Galilee out of love for God, was so frightened at the end that he denied knowing Jesus three times. As we will hear from the Gospel of Mark at the end of tonight, as soon as Jesus was arrested, his disciples fled. Fear possessed them, and they forgot all their proclamations of love and chose to preserve their own skins.

In our own lives, we have all made decisions based out of fear rather than love. As individuals and as groups, we get caught up in protecting ourselves, caught up in fear of what-if, and we forget to ask, “What can we do that most embodies our love for our neighbour?” When we’re anxious, when we feel that we’re under threat, we opt for self-preservation even if it’s at the expense of the other. It’s understandable, but it’s not what Jesus calls his followers to do.

“Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” “Do this in remembrance of me.” Fear causes us to forget about love. Specifically, it causes us to forget that God loves us. We forget to love one another because we forget that God first loves us. The Pharaoh didn’t love the Israelites because all of Egypt had forgotten that it was the God of Israel who had saved them from a seven-year famine, precisely through the actions of one of those Israelite immigrants named Joseph. They forgot that God loved even Egypt, and so they failed to love in return.

Peter and the rest of the disciples, in their panic over Jesus’ arrest, clearly forgot the words of Psalm 116, which we recited earlier: “I love the Lord, because he has heard my voice and my supplications. Because he inclined his ear to me, therefore I will call on him as long as I live.” God hears us in our times of need, God always responds to us in love. Jesus tried to remind his disciples of this before he was arrested, over and over again he said to them, I love you because the Father has loved me, abide in my love. He told them that God loves him, and therefore he loves them, and out of that love they are to love others. As they entered the darkness of the garden, Jesus tried to prepare them by reminding them, “You are loved by God, God has made you one with God through me, God loves you through me.” Knowing that the prospect of death would make them afraid, Jesus wanted them to cling to the remembrance that God loves them and that that love is what would carry them through.

The constant reminder of God’s love is what carries us, too. Through today and tomorrow, through betrayal and death, through the betrayals and deaths in our own lives. Remembering God’s love for us is what strengthens us to love others, because when we remember God’s love for us, we forget to be afraid. “Perfect love casts out fear,” it says in the first letter of John. In times of fear and anxiety, Jesus reminds us to cling to the anchor of God’s love for us. Whenever you have to choose between someone else’s well-being and your own, remember that you are loved by God, trust that you will always be loved by God, and see what decision emerges.

“Do this in remembrance of me.” Even in this, God helps us. This evening’s service began, right off the bat, with the proclamation of God’s love for us. “God, who is rich in mercy, loved us even when we were dead in sin.” Before we are asked to engage in the difficult work of confronting our own role in the betrayal and death of others––Christ above all, we are forgiven and reminded of God’s love for us. “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” It’s not the “love one another” part that we need to remember most, it’s “just as I have loved you.” It is only when we are anchored in this reminder that we can remember to love one another.

“Do this in remembrance of me.” Through Holy Communion, Jesus gives us what he asks us to give others. On the night of his betrayal, he loves his disciples so they can love others. Even knowing that they are going to betray him, and deny him, and abandon him, he still gives them his love. When we come to the rail, Jesus gives us his embodied love so that we can go and love others. Even knowing that we might again betray, that we might again deny, that we might again abandon others, he still gives us his love. The love of Christ, the love of God, is the anchor of our love for our neighbour, a love that is given “for you.”



The fear that causes us to forget about love is pervasive in our world these days, just as it was during the time of Jesus. The opportunities to choose ourselves over others, as Peter and the disciples did, are many and frequent. But as Jesus tells us, and as he shows us on Good Friday, the most Christian act in times of fear is to choose to become open and vulnerable to others––to choose to love others. How blessed we are, then, when faced with this choice, to know that God has already chosen to love us. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Sunday, April 14, 2019

Palm Sunday - Religion and Politics and the Power of Darkness

Luke 19:28-40; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Philippians 2:5-11; Luke 22:14-23:56

They say you should never mix religion and politics, but this week is going to show us the exact opposite. (I’m curious if you think I’m talking about the election or the Bible readings for Holy Week...)

I’m actually talking about our two Gospel readings this morning, although they certainly have something to say to us as we go to the polls on Tuesday. As we know, during Jesus’ time, the great power of the world was the Roman Empire, which was quick to mix religion and politics in the Imperial Cult. Emperor Augustus, who famously ordered the census that caused Mary and Joseph to travel to Bethlehem before Jesus’ birth, was titled the Divi Filius (Divine Son, or Son of God), and he was hailed for restoring the pax deorum (or Divine Peace). Emperor Claudius, who succeeded Augustus, was the one to bestow the title, “King of the Jews,” on both the Herod at the time of Jesus’ birth and the Herod at his death. Under the Imperial Cult, Rome was the religious centre of the Empire. It controlled everything - it levied a tax on Jews who wanted to be excused from worshipping the Emperor; the high priest in Jerusalem was appointed by Rome and the vestments necessary for conducting worship in the Temple were under Rome’s lock and key. If the high priests didn’t do what Rome wanted, worship in the Temple couldn’t happen.

Which makes it no coincidence that in the Gospel of Luke the angel Gabriel tells Mary that her son, Jesus, will be called the Son of God, that his kingdom will last forever, or that Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, proclaims that the God of Israel will guide the people in the way of peace. The Gospel of Luke is a political Gospel, and the writer is boldly challenging Rome’s claim that the Emperor is the divinely-appointed ruler of the world.

And the procession on Palm Sunday is a political protest. You see, what we’ve forgotten over the course of two thousand years is that in Jesus’ time, the celebration of Passover at the Temple under Roman rule was a politically-charged event. It was the only time that Pontius Pilate lived in the city––he usually lived in Caesarea––but during Passover, when the Jews remembered God’s deliverance of them from the powers of Egypt, Pontius Pilate would move into Jerusalem with his powerful Roman Army, in order to intimidate the Jews into behaving peacefully. So on one side of the city we have Pontius Pilate and his Roman Army coming in, with their chariots and horses and standards, and on the other side, we have Jesus, on his donkey, with his disciples saying, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” Not who comes in the name of the Emperor. And “Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” Not peace in Rome, and glory for Rome.
With religion and politics tied so closely together, no wonder the Pharisees told Jesus to tell his followers to be quiet. The atmosphere in Jerusalem during Passover was primed for a riot that would result in Roman soldiers coming down indiscriminately on all Jews and crucifying all of them as insurrectionists. Only one hundred years earlier, Rome had crucified 6,000 rebels along the Appian Way. Rome used crucifixion to keep the people in line, and nobody wanted anybody to end up on that cross. The Pharisees were rightfully concerned that this not happen in Jerusalem.

And yet Luke won’t keep quiet. Instead, the Gospel of Luke makes it very clear that, by claiming divine appointment, the Emperor of Rome, indeed the entire system of the Empire, is crossing the line. And so Luke sets up Jesus’ final days as a struggle between the power of God and the power of the Empire, or, in Luke’s words, the power of darkness.

We see this in Jesus’ last supper with the disciples, when warns them about the “kings of the Gentiles (ie. Rome) [who] lord it over them.” He warns them that those in power over the kings, the “benefactors” (Rome’s Senate and Emperor), will call themselves the greatest. The Gospel makes a point of telling us that the desire to have the most power results in “disputes” and fighting, but that this is not the way to the power of God. God’s kingdom is for those who serve.

That being said, it is the power of darkness––the power of the Empire––that reigns over Jesus’ last days. He is arrested at night, and says it outright, “this is your hour, and the power of darkness!” This power, embodied in Pontius Pilate, manipulates the chief priests’ and the leaders’ desire to keep the people of Jerusalem safe by forcing them to actively choose the death of Jesus. Pilate pretends he doesn’t want to crucify Jesus, but he knows that if Jesus is released, the potential for riot and Imperial violence will escalate, and he knows that the chief priests and leaders know that too. He forces them to choose between a rock and a hard place––between the death of one innocent man and the mass execution of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. History tells us that Pilate was never a compassionate person. On more than one occasion he would deliberately goad the Jewish people into protesting just so he could demonstrate his power to crush them––today we’d call that gaslighting. It’s likely he didn’t care either way whether Jesus or Barabbas was crucified––he enjoyed making the Jewish leaders struggle to make the decision themselves. This is the power of darkness––it puts us in impossible situations, it forces us to choose between the lesser of two evils, it tries to convince us that there are actually no other alternatives than the ones it presents to us, all in order to demonstrate its own power.

And let’s be clear, the power of darkness is no joke. We often say God wins, or love wins, and then go about our merry way, but it’s not that easy. The power of darkness is strong enough to kill. It nails Jesus to the cross. The Gospel of Luke tells us that just before Jesus died, “darkness came over the whole land,” the “sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the Temple was torn in two, ... and when all the crowds who had gathered there for this spectacle saw what had taken place, they returned home, beating their breasts.” The power of darkness, the power of the Empire, fell over the entire land of Israel, over God’s holy land. The sun, created by God, was overcome. The most holy part of the Temple, where God’s spirit dwelled, was destroyed. The true Divi Filius, the true Son of God, stood up to the power of darkness and was killed by it.

Of course, we know that today’s readings are not the end. This story does not end with crucifixion. The victory of the power of darkness is only temporary. This story––our story––ends with dawn, and the rising of the sun/son that banishes the darkness. It ends with resurrection, and the revelation of God’s power, and true life for all.


But we are not there yet. We are still here and now. And if today’s readings say anything to us about politics today, they tell us to be very cautious of the powers of darkness in our world, of powers that claim divine appointment. They tell us to discriminate between those who exploit power and those who empty themselves of it, between those who claim riches for themselves and those who seek to give their riches away, between those who speak words of hate and violence and those who speak words of healing, between those who would try to convince us we have to throw others under the bus for our own survival and those who commit themselves to serving the servants of the world. The Gospel tells us to beware of those who manipulate us into false antagonism that serves only the good of the Empire because the powers of darkness will do anything, and say anything, to convince us that they have our best interests at heart, but in the end, they will kill us. Our Scripture tells us that it is only by standing up to the power of darkness and casting our lot with the one who serves, the one who is filled with the true power of God, that we have any hope at all of life. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Thursday, April 11, 2019

Mid-Week Lent Series - When Church Hurts #5

(Part 4 was special guest David Milgaard.)

Today is five weeks since Ash Wednesday. For a little more than a month we have been learning to acknowledge that church is a place where leaders appointed by God have the power to hurt us, just as King David hurt Uriah and Bathsheba and the entire kingdom under his care. We learned that we have three responses to being hurt––fight, flight, and freeze, as we saw the disciples do after Judas betrayed Jesus, and that these responses can hurt others in turn. We heard from the prophet Ezekiel that we live within a long history of religious leaders who could not or would not meet our needs, who did not live according to our shared values, and whose neglect has caused suffering.

At the same time, we have heard that God does not desire that we hurt, and indeed judges those who inflict pain; God challenged David to see the hurt he had committed and to repent. We have heard that when we are betrayed, God takes all our brokenness into God’s self; when we have hurt others because we have ourselves been hurt, God holds all of our broken edges into God’s hands. And we have heard that when we are abandoned and in need, God searches for us and gathers us up, and gives us rest and and healing and feeds us with justice.

Over the last five weeks, we have acknowledged our pain, we have given our brokenness to God, we have reoriented ourselves to make God the one to whom we turn for our needs.

There is one more story of hurt to hear, though. This is the story of Joseph and his brothers. We know the hurt and betrayal pretty well––Joseph is the rather spoiled younger child of Jacob, and constantly brags to his older brothers about how special he is. His brothers get tired of his attitude, and kidnap him and sell him to slavers. Joseph ends up in jail in Egypt, and then rises to power to save Egypt from starving in a famine. And we know that Joseph’s brothers end up before him, on their knees just as he dreamt they would be, and that he helps them, and they all move down to Egypt to be with him.
The end of the story, however, doesn’t take place until decades later.

Genesis 50:15-21

What do you notice?

  • the brothers are still afraid (the ones who do wrong are afraid of the one they wronged)
  • They try to manipulate Joseph into forgiving them “your father said forgive us”
  • there is a lot of weeping
    • can be a sign of repentance
      • Joseph repented of his youthful behaviour? that it caused that rift?
    • can be a sign of mutual vulnerability
  • the brothers finally ask for forgiveness and confess that they committed a “crime” (the first time they actually confess)

Some people find it easy to forgive - it seems to come naturally to them. You might know people who are quick to let bygones be bygones and they really do mean it. When a white supremacist killed nine African-Americans at the Mother Emanuel Church in Charleston in 2015, the daughter of one of the victims, Nadine Collier, said to the murderer in court, “I forgive you. You took something very precious from me. I will never talk to her again. I will never, ever hold her again. But I forgive you.” When another white supremacist killed fifty Muslims in New Zealand a few months ago, the husband of one of the victims, Farid Ahmed, said, “I lost my wife, but I don’t hate the killer. As a person I love him. .. I think somewhere along in his life maybe he was hurt but he could not translate that hurt into a positive manner. I have forgiven him and I’m praying for him that God will guide him.” These people know that forgiveness is what brings healing in the midst of pain. They know that not forgiving traps us in suffering, and so they actively choose healing.

But not everybody can do that. Some people have been hurt so deeply, or so often that forgiveness seems impossible. Sometimes the one who has hurt us is not in the least repentant, and we wonder how we can forgive. Doesn’t forgiveness require repentance? Isn’t forgiveness about reconciliation and justice, both of which need a proper apology?

Did you notice what Joseph said when his brothers fell before him? He said, “Am I in the place of God?” Ultimately, it is God who forgives. We know now that when we are betrayed, God is also betrayed. When our religious values and relationships are broken, God is also sinned against. We feel our own pain; God feels the combined pain of each one of us.

And yet God is the great forgiver. And God forgives where we cannot. In the crucifixion of Jesus, we hear him say, “Father, forgive them.” He doesn’t say, “I forgive you,” which he certainly could have done. I wonder if maybe in that moment, in the excruciating pain of dying, he was unable to forgive. But he knew that God would, and so he asked his Father to forgive on his behalf.

We are not compelled or obligated to forgive. God’s forgiveness of us does not rest on our forgiveness of others. God forgives us completely and God forgives us first. Certainly, Jesus calls us to forgive, because of the new life it gives us in the here and now, and if you are able to forgive, I encourage you to walk that path, for your own well-being. But if you aren’t able to forgive and you are troubled by that, know that God is the great forgiver, the one who forgives when we cannot. God is the only one who can truly balance both justice and mercy, the only one who can turn harm into healing.

And so, finally, for our last experience this Lent, I invite you — if the Holy Spirit moves you to — to take the white strip you got at the beginning of the service and use the marker to write down the name of someone who has caused hurt in church that you would like God to forgive. Maybe you’ve already forgiven this person, and you want to be clear with yourself about that. But maybe you haven’t forgiven this person, you find that you just can’t do that yet, but you know that you want God to forgive them. Write their name down. Whomever you would like God to forgive — and it’s possible that that person is yourself — write them down. As many names as you would like.

And if you are not in a place yet to even want forgiveness for a person who’s hurt you, that’s okay too. Forgiving someone, or even wanting God to forgive them, can sometimes take a very long time. It took decades for the brothers to seek out Joseph’s forgiveness. Take your strip home, and when you are ready, feel free to use it at home, whenever that may be.

After you’ve done that, when you’re ready (if you’re ready), I invite you to bring the names forward to the font. Take a moment to commend those people to God’s forgiveness, and then wash the strip in the waters of our baptism. Through baptism into Christ, God accomplishes complete forgiveness, especially where we cannot. I invite you to follow the lead of the Holy Spirit and let go of those who have caused hurt in the church and give them over to God, who is both merciful and just, and who promises Easter wholeness for all.




We are coming to the end of our walk through the darkness of Lent. I am thankful to God for the presence of the Holy Spirit among us these last five weeks. I pray that these weeks have been a time of blessing and healing for you, and that you have been able to experience that:


The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.