"Vanity of Vanities"

August 3, 2025 - Advent Lutheran Church

Ecclesiastes 1:2, 12-14; 2:18-23; Psalm 49:1-12; Colossians 3:1-11; Luke 12:13-21

I’m waiting for the day when I ask one of my children to mow the lawn and they say to me, “What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun? Vanity of vanities, all is vanity!” And then ask what there is to eat.

That would, after all, be the proper summary of both our first reading and our Gospel text. All the money and time and labour we spend preparing for the future are pointless. We never know what’s going to happen, death comes to us all, even the great legacies we are striving to leave come to nothing. The writer of Ecclesiastes gets particularly irked about that one – “I hated all my toil in which I had toiled under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to those who come after me –– and who knows whether they will be wise or foolish?” We plan and save for those who will come after us and they treat our efforts nonchalantly or worse, as ridiculous.

Jesus is even a little harsher. He tells this story about the landowner who had such a good harvest he couldn’t store it with what he had so rather than just distributing it to those around him, he hoarded it in new storage facilities for the future. And what happened? He died and didn’t get to enjoy any of the abundance – not the next year, not even the next day. God called him a fool.

The messages from these two readings are counter to the messages we’ve been taught, though. We’ve been taught to plan for the future, to invest money in RRSPs, to save up to purchase a house or a nice car, to make sacrifices in the present for the long term. Kids in junior high are told to take courses now that will prepare them for university, which should in turn prepare them for a long and lucrative career, rather than choose courses for enjoyment. We are taught that every decision we make should prioritize the future, even at a cost to our present enjoyment. And so it’s tempting to hear these words from the Bible and think yeah, all is vanity, we’ll all die at some point, but then to dismiss them in favour of being practical.

Yet, I do believe that they resonate at some deeper level. Because despite what we’ve been promised by the world around us, things are not turning out as we’ve been told they would, especially for the young people in the world. University no longer guarantees a career, and a career no longer guarantees a house. Even a house doesn’t guarantee a stable future – we never know anymore when a wildfire or torrential rains will drive us out of our homes, or even when wildfire smoke will take away the very air we need to breathe. We don’t know what kind of future our children or even our grandchildren can expect as the world gets hotter and hotter. Some insurance companies are saying that 25 years from now, we can expect the global GDP to drop 15-50% and the consequences of that combined with climate change to reduce the world’s human population 15-50%.[1] How on earth can we prepare for that kind of future? What good are our RRSPs or investments for our children and grandchildren if there is no recognizable economy? No place hospitable enough to buy a house? What is the point of young people making sacrifices and working hard in university if there will be no jobs for them at the end because the economy is crashing under the weight of climate collapse? As Ecclesiastes says, “It is an unhappy business that God has given to human beings to be busy with. I saw all the deeds that are done under the sun; and see, all is vanity and a chasing after wind.”

 

Every Sunday, our readings come from the Revised Common Lectionary, which was put together by a committee in 1969. And they made some choices about when readings should start and when they should end, some of which are a bit peculiar. Like today’s. Specifically, when it comes to our reading from Ecclesiastes, it ends at verse 23. But I want to read you verse 24. After all of the vanity of vanities, everything is pointless and why do we even work so hard, verse 24 says, “There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil. This also, I saw is from the hand of God.” And later on, in chapter 9, it says, “Go, eat your bread with enjoyment, and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has long ago approved what you do. … Enjoy life with the wife whom you love, all the days of your vain life that are given you under the sun, because this is your portion in life.” And, after Jesus relates the parable of the fool whose life is demanded of him, he then goes to tell his listeners that just as God feeds the ravens and clothes the fields with lilies, so will God feed and clothe them.

What we have here is the second half of the message – the future is not guaranteed but the present moment is filled with gifts from God. The present moment –– the food we eat now, what we drink now, the work we do now –– has been given to us by God for our enjoyment. The people we spend our time with now, the spouse or family member or pet or friend, are the ones whom God has put into our lives to make them enjoyable. Even the “toil” of our lives is meant to be enjoyed – that doesn’t mean we’re supposed to force ourselves to enjoy work we hate, but that we’re to set ourselves to work that we also enjoy.

             

The most important gift that God gives us is not the guarantee of a future, but the love of God today. In this moment. That love is embodied in those around us, in the food that the land grows for us, in the waters that nourish us, in the sun that shines on the world, in the moon and the stars that shine at night for our delight. Right now, the wild raspberries and the saskatoon berries are ready to be eaten, gifts from God for you. Right now, the people in this very space – in-person and online – are here to love you. Friends love you. Your pets love you. The land loves you. Today. Now. In a few minutes, you will be fed with the body and blood of Christ, the very presence of God in the bread and wine – nourishment for your spirit. The music we will sing together is a gift for your soul.

             

This is pure grace – that God gives us what we need to enjoy life now. Not after we’ve earned it, not even assuming we will earn it, not making us wait for the future to receive it. My kids would be right to respond with “all is vanity” the next time I ask them to mow the lawn. (They’re not here, though, so nobody tell them I said that.) But they would also be right to ask me what there is to eat, regardless of whether they mow the lawn. As Jesus says to his disciples right after he finishes the parable, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.” God calls us to turn our eyes from an uncertain future so that we might enjoy this day, which God fills with what we need to enjoy life – food, drink, and companionship. Thanks be to God, Amen.

 

[1] https://actuaries.org.uk/news-and-media-releases/news-articles/2025/jan/16-jan-25-planetary-solvency-finding-our-balance-with-nature/

Easter 2025 - Trinity Lutheran, Calgary

 Acts 10:34-43; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-25; 1 Cor 15:19-26; Luke 24:1-12

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I have great sympathy for those women who gathered at the tomb of Jesus early in the morning on the third day. Mary Magdalene, who deeply loved Jesus, Joanna, whom scholars believe was healed by Jesus and was the same woman, Junia, whom Paul mentions in the letter to the Romans, Mary the mother of James, one of the apostles, and “the other women.” (In the Eastern Orthodox tradition, these women are called the Myrrhbearers, and they include Martha and Mary, Lazarus’ sisters.) These were faithful women who followed Jesus as closely as the twelve apostles, who were likely with him at the last supper, and who stayed at the cross and watched him die. As they approached the tomb, they carried with them the spices used for preparing the corpse for entombment. They saw Jesus die, and they were prepared for the reality of that death. They also must have carried in their hearts those feelings that we all have at the death of a loved one - feelings not only of grief, but of uncertainty and discouragement, full of questions. How will we live without him? What will our days look like? It isn’t possible to go back to living the way we did before we met him, but how shall we go forward? Will more of our brothers be arrested and crucified? Where is the hope for carrying on? Their certainty that they had lost someone would have been felt just as strongly as their fear of an uncertain future that was about to unfold.

Interestingly, this is the same situation that the writer of Acts found himself in as he crafted Peter’s speech to the people at Pentecost. The story of Acts is written in retrospect, as a way to tell the story of the birth of the church. But a really important piece of this story that most Christians don’t know is that it was written shortly after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem and, in fact, the entire city. For Jesus and his followers, the Temple was the place where the spirit of God dwelled amongst the people. It was God’s actual home on earth, where people would go at least twice a year to worship and to receive God’s blessings. It had stood for over 500 years, and was the Second Temple to have been built, with the first being there for 500 years before that. So, picture it, for over 1000 years, the people of Israel had experienced God literally dwelling among them in Jerusalem, and then, over the course of just a few weeks, Roman soldiers completely destroyed the Temple and all of the walls around it, burned Jerusalem to the ground, and killed 3/4s of the occupants in the city, including women and children. Not only were the people destroyed, but so was the place where God dwelled. Jews, including those who followed Jesus, were absolutely devastated. What was the future for them? How would they worship? How could God find them? Who were they as a people? The Book of Acts was written in this context - in the midst of loss and grief and uncertainty which mirror the women at the tomb.

It is a story we are also living. It seems that whatever context we consider, whether it is the church or the world, this congregation or the larger ELCIC, we are experiencing a massive shift - the loss of what we have known and how we have lived, and uncertainty over what the future holds and how we might continue as a people. As you know, in the church, there simply aren’t enough pastors to serve every congregation, at least not in the current ways we have congregations configured. Too many people have lost access to that weekly encounter with the grace of God in the body and blood of Christ in Holy Communion. People are somehow not experiencing the call to go to seminary and become pastors - this year and next the seminary will not graduate any pastors, and last year we graduated only one. We, both the seminary and the church, do not know what the future holds. It is uncertain. We know that the life of the church as we knew it in the past is dead, it is impossible to go back, but we wonder what would it look like to go forward? What might new life look like?

 I don’t have an answer for you, not one that will give anybody a complete and unshakeable sense of certainty for the future. But, neither did the angels whom God sent to appear to the grieving women at the tomb, nor did Peter when he was talking to the people gathered for Pentecost. All I can tell you is what the angels told the women at the tomb, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? [Jesus] is not here, but has risen.” In the gospel of Luke, written, by the way, in the same context as the book of Acts, the angels didn’t tell the women where to find Jesus, or describe what he looked like, or offer any vision for how the women and the others were to continue on with their lives. All they said was, Jesus is risen.

That was enough for the women. That proclamation was enough for them to leave their grief behind, to leave their fears for the future behind, and to go forward. Very likely still uncertain about how things would look, but certain that God was again in their midst.

That same certainty exists for Peter. The writer of Acts wanted to convey to those Christian Jews who were grieving the loss of God’s Spirit in the Temple that God was still with them, in the Spirit of Christ who was raised from the dead. And so Peter proclaims to the people that God raised Jesus Christ from the dead, and that as the Spirit of the Lord is among the people now, thus is God. The writer of Acts, through Peter, was equally uncertain about how exactly the future would look, but his proclamation that God was with the people was enough for them to leave their grief over the Temple’s destruction behind and to go forward, becoming the church.

This same Easter proclamation is made to us today. Christ is risen, God is among us. There are many things that are uncertain about the future - we do not know what the country will look like after the election. We do not know who will be elected National Bishop of the ELCIC this summer or where they will guide the church. We do not know the future of this congregation, or any other congregation without a pastor. At the seminary, we do not know what the future will look like for teaching and forming people for ministry. BUT. Christ is risen, God is among us. Today. Now. Christ is among us in the Easter proclamation, in the hymns we sing together, and in the body and blood of Christ that we will share together this morning in Holy Communion. This is why we sing Alleluia.

I want to end with the reminder that Easter is a season, not just a day. Over the next seven weeks of Easter, you will hear the stories of Jesus’ appearances to the disciples and others, more details of how God’s presence with us takes form, and more examples of what God’s future for us looks like. Things will become more clear. And God will continue to send messengers to proclaim that Christ is risen and God is with us, not where we have seen him in the past, but in a new place and in new ways. Today, on this first day of Easter, simply rest in the joy and amazement that God is with us, that Christ is risen, that new life has begun. Thanks be to God, Amen.

LTS Chapel, Thursday, October 10, 2024

  21st Sunday after Pentecost

Amos 5:6-7, 10-15; Psalm 90:12-17; Hebrews 4:12-16; Mark 10:17-31

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I learned the other day that the top two industries contributing to the world economy, which together account for two-thirds of our global economy, our global life, are manufacturing and retail. Two-thirds of our daily economic existence, which means our material and physical existence, are entangled with and reliant upon the world making things and buying things. And really, the manufacturing industry exists to make things that people buy, so really two-thirds of the global economy relies on people buying things. The top industries in our world aren't health care or education or the arts, not even sports. They're about buying things.

So, for the world to survive, and by that I mean for billions of people to keep living, working, eating, having shelter over the heads and clothes on their bodies, for all of that to continue, we all need to keep buying things. We all need to participate in what is called a growth economy. A growth economy is based on, well, growth. In order to keep people employed, the economy has to produce both goods and more people to purchase those goods. Only in this way can the economic cycle continue so that everybody connected to this cycle can work, buy what they need, and live. 

The growth economy, as Greta Thunberg so famously put it in 2019, is "a fairy tale of eternal economic growth." More goods, more people to make those goods, more goods to serve those people, and on and on. Forever. It's not actually sustainable, but my point today is that in this fairy tale, the ones with the power to purchase goods flourish at the cost of those who have produce those goods. The heartbeat of our economy is goods, not people. And therefore, the production of those goods is prioritized over the well-being of the people who make them. People, who are one of the means of production, become the tools of production, forced to produce as many goods as possible, at high cost to themselves. The standard of measurement in a growth economy is gross domestic product, not the quality of life of the workers, and so we have an economy where the exploitation of people becomes a necessary part of the system. 

And yet how are we to extricate ourselves? How is this world's economy to come to a halt and move to a place of equilibrium, which will require what some call degrowth? How can we possibly shrink the world's economy without inflicting collateral damage on those who are most precariously situated in our economy, the ones whose lives, exploited as they are, depend on production? The piece workers who make the clothes, the oil field workers who extract the materials for our cars and our houses, the miners who extract lithium for the electronics that we are using right this very moment, they will be completely without any wages at all if we take a concerted effort to cut production. A degrowth economy, a global reduction in consumption, will cost millions upon millions of people their livelihoods. Their children will starve. Of course we hate this current growth economy. Of course we understand how exploitative it is. But what other option is there?

~~~

Jesus, looking at the rich man, loved him and said, "go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor." When the rich man heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Systems that rely on exploitation of goods and labour have been around for centuries, actually. Even in Jesus' time. According to Biblical studies scholar Steven Friesen, "In agrarian society [like Galilee] wealth was based on the ownership of land. Most land was controlled by a small number of wealthy, elite families. The landowners rented the land for tenant farmers, who - together with their families and possibly slaves - actually worked the land." Those tenant farmers were responsible for ensuring a productive enough harvest that they could feed themselves and from which they were to pay their taxes, which in turn paid for the ruling class's luxuries. (Taxes came first, mind you.) And yet without farming, the labourers would have no home and no food. Their children would starve. The rich man could have sold what he owned, but then where would his farmers and their families live? The money they received from the sale of his land would not be enough for them to purchase their own land.

It was a system that seemed impossible to overturn, even though everybody participating in it knew how destructive it was. So of course when Jesus told his disciples that this economic system was a barrier to God's kingdom, they asked, "then who can be saved?" How can we live otherwise? How can we literally exist in any other way? Of course we don't like this system. Of course we hear the prophet's words in Amos that God hates this system. "How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God." But what other option is there? If we are all tangled up together in this system, where bringing down the system will cause pain and suffering, who then can be saved?

"For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible." 

For a long time, I thought Jesus was saying that even though we are all caught in sinful systems, we can be saved because God makes it possible to forgive us. Very soteriological - whichever atonement theory you prefer, because God sent Christ, who accomplishes our salvation, God makes it possible to save us. For God, all forgiveness is possible.

But I'm not so sure that's what Jesus is saying here. I mean of course, yes, we are forgiven because of Christ. But I'm not sure that specifically is what Jesus is saying here. Because if God saves us through Christ, what's the point of Jesus rebuking the rich who take advantage of the poor? If we're all saved in the end, it doesn't matter. And yet that isn't what we see in Scripture. The prophets, old and new, all spend time talking about the evilness of the system. And they tell us that God punishes those who participate in the system. When Jesus says that for God, all things are possible, I don't think he's offering an escape clause for the rich.

I think Jesus is reassuring us that there is, actually, a way out of the entire system, a way in which we can all thrive without a growth economy. I don't know what that way is. I can't imagine how we might both exit the growth economy and build something different without people suffering. BUT, I think that is exactly what Jesus is saying. For mortals, it is impossible for us to imagine, but for God, all things are possible. 

This is Jesus telling us that while we cannot envision something different, God can. While we cannot imagine a global economy that is NOT built on growth, God can. While we cannot envision a church that is not built on increasing membership, God can. While perhaps we cannot envision a seminary that is not built on increasing enrollment, God can. God alone can. 

I don't know if you caught that - the first thing that Jesus says to the rich man is, "No one is good but God alone." It's a variation on the prayer that every Jew knows, Shema Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad, sometimes translated as, Hear O Israel, God alone is our God. When Jesus says that God alone is good, and then calls the rich man and all his listeners out of their economic captivity, he ends that call by saying, in essence, I know you all think this is impossible, but not for God; for God alone all things are possible. God alone can extricate us all from economic captivity.

Which is why, even in the work of our classes, in the work of the seminary, in the work of the church, in the work of the congregations and ministries you participate in, we are called to focus on God alone. Not on economic viability, or sustainability, not on ensuring our own career prospects or livelihood. Because these things all trap us; they are all part of the growth economy. Instead, we are called to focus on Christ, who calls us to trust in God, who alone is good and who alone provides. Christ calls us to trust in the God who corrects things so that the first are last, and the last first, and around again and around again, so that in the end all receive what they need to thrive, as it should be in the kingdom of God. And so, regardless of what life plans or strategic plans or retirement plans tell us we need to do, we trust God alone, who in the face of the impossible, makes our collective well-being possible. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Ordination for Andrea Wilhelm, ABT Synod - July 27, 2024

 Isaiah 53:6-13; Roman 8:22-27; Matthew 5:1-12

Called to be a pastor in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada - a missional, prophetic, and diaconal church. Called to be a minister of Word and Sacrament. Called to speak the truth God has given us to speak and to share the means of grace God has given us to share.

Each pastor who is here today will have a different description of what a pastor should do, as will each person here who isn't a pastor. The tasks listed in the ordination service are lengthy and aspirational, something to inspire us, not components of a checklist to follow. Pastoring is about discerning what is needed by the people we serve while holding fast to the core of the office. Not an easy balance.

To start, however, we look to Jesus and to what we see him doing and saying in Scripture. And what we see in today's Gospel reading is that Jesus is speaking words of blessing that are simultaneously words of... well... woe. "Blessed are those who..." followed in the Gospel of Luke with "woe to those who..." Now I know we aren't looking at the Gospel of Luke this morning - we have chosen to go with Matthew, but we can't overlook that these words of Jesus, like all his words, like Jesus himself, evoke hope for some and invoke fear in others. Jesus, like his mother before him, was given the word of God to proclaim that God acts for the wellbeing of the downtrodden and the powerless, which means overturning the oppressor and the powerful. Jesus speaks these words as a prophet, he speaks God's words, on this occasion not privately to a few friends in a closed room, but publicly, in a crowd, where all can hear. This is one of the core things pastors are called to do. To speak God's truth publicly, whether that truth comforts the afflicted or afflicts the comfortable, as the saying goes, not in private to our friends, but to the community at large.

It is no easy task. Being a pastor is challenging, especially today. The standard trope about comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable is complicated. Especially when we realize that the afflicted and the comfortable exist within the same community, and indeed are even the same people. Most people we encounter whom we consider to be comfortable and powerful are powerless in certain arenas of their lives - we are all captive to the capitalist economy, for example, and in that captivity we are suffering. Likewise, people whom we consider to be afflicted and powerless, they too have power and agency and are quite comfortable in other areas of their life. We all participate in an anthropocentric culture that oppresses our non-human relations, and most of us are quite comfortable living that way. To know who is comfortable so we can speak the words that afflict them and who is afflicted so we can speak the words that comfort them, that takes wisdom very few of us have.

And because the communities whom we serve are complicated and indiscernible mixtures of both comfortable and afflicted, both sinner and saint, pastors must always be prepared, then, that our words will not be heard as we mean them to be - we may mean to afflict and find that our words leave people feeling very comfortable. We may mean to offer comfort and listeners find themselves afflicted.

This, actually, is one of the most humbling things about being a pastor. That we don't have nearly as much power or wisdom or influence over our listeners as we think we do, or as we think we ought to have. Not only are our words heard other than we mean them to be be, but by and large, the world does not actually even care that much about what we have to say. Our words are quickly forgotten, like this sermon might be, or ignored. To be a pastor is to be humbled, over and over again, by our mistakes, by being ignored, by being misinterpreted.

This is not a bad thing. Because humbleness drives us to God, who reaches us in Christ. And this is what we know about God - taught to us by one of God's most important prophets, Isaiah - "For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven and do not return there until they have watered the earth... so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose and succeed in in the thing for which I sent it." You see, it is not our words that have power, that transform hearts and minds. It is God's words that do that. We are honoured enough to be, but we are only, God’s vessels and God’s mouthpieces. We ground ourselves, we remain open to the Spirit, we pray for guidance, and when God chooses, it is God's words that come forth. It is, in fact, only then that God's words come forth. And when they do, the result is transformation. The result is that God's words afflict where affliction is needed and comfort where comfort is needed, even at the same time. The result is that the Good News, that Christ brings about our reconciliation with one another and with God, comes to pass. The result is that the truth that God speaks through us, the future that God hopes for us, becomes our present reality. The result is that we publicly preach the Word.

But what happens when our own human limitations muffle the Word or get it confused or get lost in translation? Every preacher here has preached at least one sermon that was terrible. Every person here has heard at least one sermon that was truly dreadful. The decision to accept the accept the office of pastor is a decision to accept the responsibility of regular, usually weekly, preaching. There are bound to be failed sermons in there, on more than one occasion. Sermons that go on too long. Sermons that are irrelevant. Sermons that wound. Sermons that accidentally drive a hearer away from God. The burden of the office of preaching is that this can happen unintentionally. But. There is a reason that the call to pastor is a call to the ministry of Word and Sacrament.

The Sacraments - baptism and holy Communion - are the means of grace. They are God's unequivocal embrace of everyone who comes forward, they are God's ultimate reconciliation in the moment in which they are received, and it is impossible for anybody to do them wrong. Seriously. This is the body of Christ given for you. This is the blood of Christ shed for you. You are baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The simplest of words accompanied by the simplest of actions, powered by God. Our readings today don't directly reference the Sacraments but they are the most important of Jesus' actions, and they are grace not just for the recipients but for those who preside. You can give a bad sermon (you will give a bad sermon), but you can’t possibly give bad Communion.

To be a minister of Word and Sacrament, then, is to be challenged to preach the Word faithfully and regularly while also being blessed to administer the Sacraments, to promiscuously and flagrantly share God's grace with all who request it. Here, mistakes are not possible, because in the Sacraments we find God most powerfully and most purely at work. This reality is the pastor's greatest comfort, and her congregants' comfort as well. 

To follow Jesus as a pastor and as a minister of Word and Sacrament is to throw ourselves entirely on God's mercy and grace. Yet as Paul reminds us, "the Spirit helps us in our weakness, for we do not know how to pray (or preach) as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes." And so because we have the promise of grace through the Sacraments and the presence of Christ's Spirit in our weakness, we can be bold in accepting the call to be pastor, and give thanks to God for God’s Word and God’s grace given and shared among us. Thanks be to God. Amen.

10th Sunday after Pentcost, 2024

 2 Samuel 11:1-15; Psalm 14; Ephesians 3:14-21; John 6:1-21 (Preached for Hope Lutheran, Calgary)

This is an interesting gospel story we have today - one of the miracles of Jesus that finds its way into all four gospels, that is meant to be a reference to Holy Communion and to Jesus feeding the world. This is a gospel story that is just full of material to talk about, and full of opportunities to testify to God’s presence in the world.

But there’s one verse in particular that struck me this week, and that’s what I want to talk about. The people react very positively to this miracle of feeding, and talk about Jesus as sent by God into the world, the one who has been expected for a long time. And the verse I want to look at is v. 15, “When Jesus realized that they were about to come and take him by force to make him king, he withdrew again to the mountain by himself.” When Jesus realized the people were going to make him king, he withdrew.

It’s such an odd statement, and kind of buried in all the excitement over the miracle, but there it is. Jesus has the opportunity to become the king in a land that has suffered from oppression for centuries, that is currently being occupied by a Roman force that determines their every move and even regulates their worship. By being king, Jesus has the chance to fix everything and to overcome every injustice and to make Israel the kingdom of God - where there are no hungry, no poor, no oppressed, no sick, and no lonely.  And yet Jesus says no.

Why would Jesus say no to this opportunity? Of course, we could say, “well, he had to die, or we wouldn’t have been saved,” but let’s put that answer on hold for a minute, and get into this a bit more deeply. Because there’s something going on here about power and about what we do with power and how we use it, and also about how power corrupts, that we need to look at. Because we may not die like Jesus did, and our death will not save the world, but we all, to one degree or another, have power, and how Jesus deals with power can teach us a lot about how we use our own.

So. Why did Jesus withdraw from being king? What was it about having power and using it did he not want? Well, to start with, kings in the Bible have never been that great. We all know the stories about King David and King Solomon and how great they were, but the Bible also presents a strong critique of these kings, even if we don’t learn these stories in Sunday School or confirmation. Look at King David. The great king, anointed by God, whose piety inspires him to want a house for God, this David is not as perfect as we like to think he is. David, blessed by God, has trouble with the ultimate power that he has as king. We see it in the story about David and Bathsheba, when we see David not only have sex with another man’s wife, without her explicit consent, but arranges to have her husband, one of David’s own soldiers, killed at the front so that David’s actions won’t be found out. And yes, we know that David repents greatly, but let’s not get there quite yet. The point is that even God’s anointed king can’t handle the power he has been given without destroying those around him.

And then there’s King Solomon, whom we look up to as the model of wisdom and piety. He built the first Temple for God, he solved knotty ethical dilemmas, and is considered to be the author of the book of Proverbs. But what else did Solomon do with all of his kingly power? Well,  1 Kings 5 tells us, “King Solomon conscripted forced labor out of all Israel.” When you add up all the numbers, King Solomon, whom God appointed to be in charge of the well-being of God’s people of Israel, forced one hundred and eighty thousand Israelites into slavery for seven years. Solomon, with all his power, enslaved Israel rather than caring for it.

So it’s no wonder that Jesus did not want to be King over Israel. Our human reality is that we do not do well with power. “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” This is true of kings, and this is also true of us regular folk. We may not be the rulers of nations, but we are often the monarch of our own particular little world, and as such, we have the same kind of power. Each of us is regularly placed in situations where we have power, and more to the point, where we have the power to damage others. Maybe not literally, as David and Solomon did, but in emotional or spiritual ways. Who among us has not had a moment, even a brief moment, where we used our position of authority - whether as a boss, or as a supervisor, or as a parent, or even as a grandparent - to impose our own will, to make things the way we think they are supposed to be? Who among us has not taken an opportunity to fix a problem to our liking? Who among us has not said or done something to someone weaker than ourselves, simply because we had the power to do it, even if we immediately regretted it afterwards? As Christians who call ourselves both saints and sinners, we acknowledge that there is something within us that engages our own power in often destructive ways. We know both through others and through our own experiences, that when we have power, we do not use it well. 

But, you might ask, if Jesus was king, wouldn’t he change that? Couldn’t Jesus be a king without destroying lives as everyone else does?

It’s a good question - and of course now we can argue that if Jesus were king, he wouldn’t have died the way he did. He certainly wouldn’t have died as a subject of the ruling power, or in humiliation as a criminal. But then we would have come to believe that the best way to heal the world is through the use of power, and in attempting to be like Jesus, in attempting to be faithful Christians and follow our Lord, we would have attempted to make ourselves kings and queens - even more than we already do - and justified it by claiming that Jesus already did it - even more than we already do.

There’s a scene from a movie, which comes from a book, and if you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, you’ve definitely heard about it. It’s Lord of the Rings. It is an epic story about power - about who gets it, how it should be used, and the consequences of it. Power, in the book, takes the form of a ring, which gives to its wearer ultimate power - the power over life and death, the power to control people’s will, and the power to shape the world into whatever the wearer of the ring desires. And near the beginning of the book, there is a scene where all the rulers of the world, as you might say, debate what they should do with the ring. They know that if it falls into the wrongs hands, the worst possible destruction would come upon the land, and the evil enemy, Sauron, would have ultimate power forever. And so the argument begins - what to do with the ring? And one man, Boromir, who is a good man, and wants the world to be a better place, and hates the darkness of the enemy, and has all the best intentions in the world - he wants to keep the ring and use it against the enemy. His argument is that you can only fight power with more power.

And so we ask, what is so wrong with that? If we are good-hearted and well-intentioned and if we care for those around us, and seek justice, and want to do good in the world, what is wrong with having power? What is wrong with using power? Why didn’t Jesus use his power to perform miracles of food and healing to overthrow the Roman Empire (bloodlessly, of course)? It would have made a better world for everyone. Why did Jesus turn away from that power?

Well, as it turns out, there is only one way to handle power. There is only one way to use power so that it gives life to others, and not death. The only constructive, creative, life-affirming and life-giving use of power is to give it away. It is completely counter-intuitive, but that’s how power works. It only works for good when it is not kept for one’s self and when it is given away to others. 

This is the reality that Jesus shows us. That the power of rulers and kings and queens, the power of taking charge and taking over, the power of running the show and making the best decisions - this power is not for humans to use. It fails us. It traps us in its evil. But Jesus shows us how to overcome this kind of power. Jesus turned away from those who wanted to make him a king, and instead, Jesus turned toward Jerusalem. The writer of the Gospel of John describes this story as taking place near the festival of Passover, and for the Gospel writer, Passover is synonymous with Jesus’ death. Passover is when Jesus died. Jesus turns his face away from kingly power, and towards the power of weakness. Jesus uses his power, that of multiplying the loaves and fishes for the crowds to eat, to give that food away. Jesus blesses the food to make it holy in Holy Communion and then gives it away to each of us. And in Jerusalem, Jesus uses his power and strength to see him through toward dying on the cross, and then gives the new life that was a result to each of us. Jesus turns away from power that would make him stronger and give him power over everyone, and instead turns his face to the cross, and in doing so, gives up all his power so that everyone else can share in it.

And Jesus calls us to do the same. To live as a Christian is to live a life that constantly turns away from power, and gives it away when we have it. The Christian life is about letting go of our desire to be in charge of everything, no matter how good of a job we might do, and to let go of that power.

So how will you give it away? How will you follow Jesus and give your power away?

Jesus gave away his power by asking other people for their opinions - he asked Philip where they should buy bread, even though he knew what was going to happen next. So, try that. In the next conversation with others, ask them for their opinion. Give them the power to change the future. Let others have the last word. Let others speak for themselves. Let them make decisions for themselves without offering advice. Give away your power by giving others autonomy. 

And so Jesus calls us, we might even say Jesus empowers us, to give our power away. Only power that is given away has the power to bring life, and Jesus gives us his power, through baptism and through the blessing of food in Holy Communion. Jesus gives us his power to go out and to serve others - to give them our power - so that, one day, as everyone who receives power gives more of it away, and they in turn give it away, and so on and so on, we might all participate in the healing that Christ offers, and we will all be satisfied, with more than enough for everyone. Just as everyone who ate Jesus’ food was satisfied with more than enough left over, the same is true with the power that Jesus shares with us. Jesus’ power is yours. Thanks be to God. Amen.

LTS Conclusio 2024

 May 9, 2024 - Genesis 12:1-5a; Psalm 116; Ephesians 3:16-20; John 14:15-17, 25-27

(A sermon for LTS graduates)

So, are you ready to get going yet? Ready to hit that good road and leave seminary behind and head out into ministry? To proclaim the Gospel, to proclaim the message of the abundant life given to all through Christ?

I hope so. You are ready, after all, gifted with wisdom and knowledge from your time at LTS, and you know that Jesus, or Creator Sets Free, will walk alongside you as you go. No doubt your heart is warm with the excitement and joy that comes when we hear that call from God and finally start on our way.

It's understandable, though, if you also feel nervous, and maybe even some trepidation. After all, it is not a simple thing to transition from one call to the next, especially when, concretely, that transition might include physical relocation, and a community transition, and even moving from living in the identity of learner to occupying that space of graduate. The expectations of you will be different, from  others, from yourself, from the church.

And then add onto that the reality that the church you are about to minister to is not the church any of us remember from before. The church that existed in your childhood, even in the childhood of that generation we call Millennials, doesn’t exist anymore. You are being called to minister to a church that is, in Canada, rapidly shrinking, with those who remain struggling to carry on in some recognizable way. You are being called, in a way, into a kind of palliative ministry. You are being called to a Maundy Thursday kind of proclamation - that resurrection is coming, but death is at hand first. You are being called to proclaim the Gospel of the abundant life of Christ to a people for whom abundant life is taking forms so new as to be unrecognizable. While the Gospel you proclaim will be the same, the ways in which you must proclaim it will be new. And the reality is that while we have tried to prepare you for that, even we are not sure what form that proclamation will take in the coming years. You are leaving here to travel a road that is unmapped.  

Of course, you are called to proclaim the Gospel to the world, not just to the church. You are called to ministry, not to “church service.” That will also be challenging. The changes we see in the church are only mirrors of the changes already occurring in the world, and the destabilization that we are already experiencing in our communities and our countries is going to increase. As you leave here, you are being called to proclaim the Good News of Christ in a world that will see - is already seeing - massive suffering from climate change, from agricultural precarity, from emerging pandemics. Before you retire, you may very well be proclaiming the Gospel to a community that is in perpetual drought, or has been evacuated due to wildfire or flooding or both, or is experiencing civil unrest and even violence. You will be challenged to proclaim the Gospel in ways that are meaningful, and real, but do not deny the reality of suffering or give occasion for false hope.

But hey, get going!

In our reading from Genesis, God tells Abram to get going - lech l'cha - it's a phrase that translates as, Get outta here, according to my family's rabbi. I don’t need to review the story of Abram getting going - it’s a story of migration - many of you know the challenges of that. Excitement, joy, nervousness, trepidation. But if you have ever gone through a transition, you  also know that, above all, getting outta somewhere requires you to be courageous, especially when you don’t know what will meet you on the road. Abram needed not a small measure of courage to leave Ur, that's for certain. And Jesus, knowing that his road would pass through his death before it ended in resurrection, needed some as well. When God calls, you must lech l’cha with courage.

The word courage is related to the french word coeur - heart. To go out with courage is to go out with heart. We are called to go out with our bodies, and at seminary we learn to go out also with our minds, but we must not forget our hearts. And courage begins first in the heart. But when I say we go out with heart, what I mean is that we go out with love. To go out with courage is to go out with a heart of love.

Now I know that you have learned many things in seminary, but I really hope that one of the things you have learned is love. I hope that you have experienced God's love, for you and for the world. Because this love, when you allow it to fill your heart, will give you the courage you need to get going. This love that fills our hearts is the Spirit of God. It is the presence of Christ along the good road.

This doesn't mean the journey will be easy. I’m not offering the false comfort that courage means there will be no challenges, no dark nights of the soul. As Beyonce Knowles Carter says, “Now is the time to face the wind, now ain’t the time to pretend, now is the time to let love in.” To be courageous is to face the troubles that come, not to turn our backs on them and deny them, not to hide from them, but to face them and to do so with hearts full of love. Because the Good News we proclaim is the news of love, of the power of love, of the everlasting truth that the love we see in Christ, the love of God, is both the road and the destination of our collective journey.

So where do we get some of this courage? Well, I know that you know the answer - it comes from God, but let me remind you, "My prayer for you is that ... Creator will gift you with the Spirit's mighty power and strengthen you in your being. .. I pray that as you trust in the Chosen One, your roots will go deep into the soil of his great love, and that from these roots you will draw the strength and courage needed to walk this sacred path together with all his holy people. This path of love is higher than the stars, deeper than the great waters, wider than the sky. Yes, this love comes from and reaches to all directions. ... This love fills us with the Great Spirit, the one who fills all things."

God’s Great Spirit, who gives us our courage, is in the soil beneath us, in the skies above us, in the relations around us. The same Spirit filled Abram as he left Ur, and filled Jesus as he spoke to the disciples before he went to the cross. 

So in the months and years to come, as you find yourselves worrying about how to proclaim the Gospel to the people you are with, “do not let your hearts be troubled”, as the NRSV version of John says. "Do not let the troubles of this world fill you with fear and make your hearts fall to the ground." Do not be discouraged, do not let your heart be emptied of love. For the Spirit of God is with you.

I want to end by reading the last few verses of Chapter 14 from the Gospel of John, again from the First Nations Version. Creator Sets Free (Jesus) said to his disciples, "The dark ruler of this world is coming. His power over me is nothing, but I must walk the path the Father has for me, so the world will know the great love I have for him." "Get up," Creator Sets Free said to the disciples. "It is time for us to go from here."

It is time for you to go from here. Go knowing that the courage of Abram and the courage of Christ will fill your heart, through the Holy Spirit who fills us all. Thanks be to God, Amen.