Take my yoke…

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton, Alberta on July 5, 2026. Text: Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

What’s a yoke? And what does it mean to take Jesus’ yoke upon us?

As so often in Jesus’s teachings, the word has agricultural roots. Oxen were yoked together to pull a plow, sharing the burden of the work, and submitting to the farmer’s bidding. Another kind of yoke is the milkmaid’s yoke, a horizontal bar laid across the shoulders to allow the carrier to bear a heavier load more easily.[1]

Oxen were usually yoked together in unequal pairs, to help a younger ox learn the discipline of bearing the yoke from an older one. The younger submits to the older, and both submit to the farmer. The milkmaid carries her yoke because her job is to bring the milk to the master’s table: she doesn’t do it for her own reasons, but because her role in life is to submit to the master.

Clearly, Jesus uses the word as a metaphor for submission. “Yoke” turns up in a number of places in Scripture, in both positive and negative senses. It can refer to the process of learning the law from a rabbi, or to the law itself. It can also refer to oppression by an overlord of some kind, especially a conqueror. It implies a relationship based on submission. It may be to a person, to an employer, or to an authority of some kind, or to an inner urge like an addiction, but it’s always a superior/inferior situation.

When Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you…”, we are hearing an invitation to submit to his authority. We hear a promise to do this in our baptismal rite when the candidates or their sponsors are asked, “Do you promise to obey [Jesus] as your Lord?” Submission to Jesus is baked into the life of the Church! We seek to do as Jesus would have us do. The question is not “What would Jesus do?” but “What would Jesus wish us (or me) to do?” Seeking to discern the answer to this question is at the foundation of what we call vocation—answering the call, accepting the invitation. And note this: on one level, vocation is a “once and done” proposition, which we affirm in baptism, but on another level, it’s a day-by-day process, as we seek the way ahead in our lives, both as individuals and as a church.

However we read it, submitting to Jesus’ authority—taking his yoke upon us—goes against the flow of cultural norms and expectations.

Many commentators on the passage see it as a comparison between Jesus’ teaching and the teaching of the Rabbis, making the Torah a heavy burden. If that is the sense of the passage, then Jesus is pointing away from the religious norms of his day to a new and less onerous understanding of the Law. It doesn’t take a great stretch to see that this reading can lead to anti-Semitism. However, other commentators look back to various passages in the Hebrew Scriptures, and find that the idea of a “yoke” is more often associated with harsh or imperial rule.[2] If we read the passage with that in mind, Jesus’ invitation is to shed the chains of the Kingdoms of this world, to live into the Kingdom of God, a Kingdom of justice, mercy, compassion, and love, a lighter burden than the chains of any worldly Kingdom. The invitation then becomes not just a call to live into his understanding of the Law, but to see that life as refusing the ultimacy of worldly rulers’ authority.

The religious invitation becomes a profoundly political one. In a world ruled by Caesar, saying “Jesus is Lord” was a challenge to Caesar’s rule.

In today’s liberty-loving political climate, the idea of taking anyone’s yoke on us is still counter-cultural. There are people who cling to the idea of the rugged individualist, whose idea of freedom is that no-one can tell them what to do. That’s a myth, of course—down that road lies chaos. I would suggest that the rugged individualist labours under the yoke of their own pride. Everyone bears some yoke or other, either externally or internally. As Bob Dylan sang,

But you’re gonna have to serve somebody, yes indeed
   You’re gonna have to serve somebody,
It may be the devil or it may be the Lord
   But you’re gonna have to serve somebody.[3]

We always have the choice to accept or reject Jesus’ yoke. The call to choose is deeply rooted in Scripture, going back at least as far as the Israelites’ time in the wilderness. When the Promised Land was in sight, Moses said to the people,

I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him, for that means life to you and length of days…
                                                           Deuteronomy 30:19-20a

He had stated the consequences of choosing wrongly two chapters earlier:

Because you did not serve the Lord your God joyfully and with gladness of heart for the abundance of everything, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness and lack of everything. He will put an iron yoke on your neck until he has destroyed you.                                                             Deuteronomy 28:47-48

There’s that word “yoke” again!

We don’t have a choice about serving someone or something, but we do have a choice about whom to serve.

As Joshua said to the people of Israel,

… choose this day whom you will serve…
as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.
                                                                             Joshua 24:15

Jesus’ invitation to take his yoke upon us is a call to live into the Kingdom of God, a Kingdom of justice and joy, mercy and grace,[4] a Kingdom ruled by the God who is love, who calls us day by day to live in and into that love.

So let us say “Yes!” to this gracious call—today, tomorrow, and always.

Amen.

[1] https://www.christianity.com/jesus/life-of-jesus/teaching-and-messages/the-yoke-of-jesus-biblical-meaning-and-importance.html

[2] I first encountered this interpretation in the annotations on this passage in The New Interpreter’s Study Bible, Abingdon Press, 2003, p. 1766f.

[3] © 1979 by Special Rider Music.

[4] See Hymn #631 in Common Praise, Anglican Church of Canada, 1998

Looking back on the wilderness

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton, Alberta, March 15, 2026

Texts: John 9:1-41; 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14

The preaching theme during Lent has been “wilderness.” I once heard the late Herbert O’Driscoll, priest, poet, and preacher, say that the telephone number for Christians today should be 1-800-WILDERNESS. His point was that followers of Jesus in these times can find the going difficult as we seek our way ahead in an increasingly hostile or apathetic world. “Wilderness” suggests a place or state where it is easy to become lost. Drawing on this idea, the Diocese of Edmonton is engaged in a process of strategic planning is called “A Way Through the Wilderness.”

The Danish philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard said that we live our lives forward but understand them backward. Just so, we may only recognize our wildernesses by looking back. I want to think about today not so much about finding our way through but rather seeking to understand such experiences which have shaped our own lives, whether or not we called them “wilderness” at the time.

The man born blind in our Gospel lesson lived in a wilderness not of his own (or anyone else’s?) making. Note that he didn’t ask to see. Jesus simply stepped in and gave him sight. The rest of the story deals with his coming to see, not just physically but spiritually, with the climax of the story coming when

‘He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him.’ (John 9:38)

Coming to believe is to gain spiritual sight, which is the point of Jesus’ dialogue with the religious authorities, whom Jesus calls blind for refusing to see what is before them, and to understand what has happened. (Lawyers might call this “willful blindness.”)

We don’t know anything about the rest of the formerly blind man’s life, but it seems to me that he would probably have looked back on his years of blindness as a wilderness that he had now left, to begin a new life of following Jesus, something like what John Newton wrote of in his great hymn “Amazing Grace,” one verse of which goes this way:

Through many dangers, toils, and snares
   I have already come;
‘tis grace that brought me safe thus far,
   and grace will lead me home.

I was told in seminary that a preacher should keep his or her own story out of their preaching as much as possible, but I’m about to violate that instruction. Please bear with me!

In high school, I was known as a kid who loved Math. and went to church – odd behaviour on both counts! My love for Math. led me into studying it at university, and my love for church life led me into involvement in what was then called the “Anglican-United University Parish.” That association opened my eyes to the social dimensions of Christian faith, which profoundly changed my worldview.

When I returned to my hometown to teach school, I also returned to the church of my youth. It seemed that the church had changed, but I soon realized that I had changed, and that my eyes had been opened to aspects of following Jesus that I had never imagined before. Liturgy and music didn’t quite cut it for me anymore. They were still important, to be sure, but a whole dimension had opened for me, and I was able to see that congregation in a way I had not before. It was not a happy experience, and when we returned to Edmonton for further studies, I was quite happy to put things of faith behind me. This was reinforced by my choice of study – graduate-level Math., in which the number one issue is proof – reason is everything! I found this attitude later reflected in a song by Paul Simon, who wrote:

Faith is an island in the setting sun,
   but proof is the bottom line for everyone.
(“Proof,” Track 4 of “Rhythm of the Saints,” 1990)

If I couldn’t reason it out, I wasn’t going to believe it. I’m now a bit embarrassed by that ego-centric view – making myself the arbiter for truth. My own intellect ruled! But it endured for some years, as I went to work as a researcher, where my stock in trade was truth.

This started to change when we became parents, and my parents wanted us to have our daughter baptized. We went to the nearest Anglican church, where to my wonder we rapidly made friends and church became part of our life once more. My suspicion about faith lingered until one day, out for a walk at lunchtime, I suddenly realized that I no longer had to understand everything. Faith was not just possible but had become a part of me. Looking back, I became able to see that time as my own wilderness, which by the grace of God I had now left behind.

I have met people from other faith traditions who have demanded to know the date and place of my “conversion.” Their idea was that you needed something dramatic like Paul’s Damascus Road experience to count yourself a Christian. The only event I could cite was that lunchtime walk, which wasn’t quite good enough for most of them. They wanted something more: a sudden leap into faith which turned my life around in an instant.

The reality of my conversion, and most people’s conversion, is much more gradual. It’s like climbing a mountain. Most of the time, you can’t see the top – your goal. All you can see is what’s ahead of you, as you choose your hand- and footholds. But when you need to rest, you find a ledge and stop and sit, look back, and realize that you’ve come a long way from the valley below. The mountaintop still calls, and you still need to work hard to get there, but things have changed.

Kierkegaard was right. We only really understand the wilderness when we look back at it, and realize that by God’s grace we have become, and are becoming, one of God’s “children of light,” as Paul says in Ephesians. We come to understand that God’s way of seeing is not our way, and our eyes are opened to God’s will, as Samuel’s eyes were opened when he looked at David.

Looking back on our wilderness times, whatever they may have been, gives us the opportunity to see how God has been at work in us, often without our recognition. And when we see what God has done, we can only say, “Thank you, God, for opening my eyes.”

And then we turn our attention to what lies ahead, trusting in God’s promise to be with us always. We may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but God has promised to be with us, bringing us to the other side, and welcoming us to God’s table and God’s house forever.

Thanks be to God!

Who Does Jesus Call?

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Old Strathcona, Edmonton AB on January 25, 2026.
Texts: Isaiah 9:1-4; Psalm 27:1, 4-9; 1 Corinthians 1:10-18; Matthew 4:12-23

In 2004, I had the opportunity to spend ten days in the Holy Land. One event was a visit to the ruins of Sepphoris. Like most of us on the trip, most of you have probably never heard of this place. Lying in the heart of Galilee, it was the main commercial centre of the region In Jesus’ time. Our group later speculated about why this important town is never mentioned in the Gospels. It’s just over the hill from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, and a short trip up the valley from Jesus’ later base of Capernaum. He almost certainly knew it, but there is no mention of him ever being there. Why?

If we were starting a movement today, our inclination might be to go to somewhere like Sepphoris, where the people are, and where the movers and shakers might help us out with some extra cash. But Jesus didn’t do that. He began his ministry by proclaiming “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven has come near,” and recruiting fishermen from the Sea of Galilee. His call to repent would not likely have received much of a welcome from the elite of Sepphoris, who were doing quite well for themselves, cozied up to Herod Antipas, whom Rome had installed as their puppet in Galilee. “Repent? Why would we do that? Things are fine just as they are!”

Not so for our fishermen. Even though they were important in the economy of the area, Galilean fishermen led a precarious existence, both socially and economically. Some have suggested that they were seen as unclean. That may or may not be so, but they were certainly not among the respected classes of their people, working long and hard hours for a shrinking return. They were taxed at every turn: licenses to fish in the preferred locations, taxes on the raw materials for boats and nets, taxes on their products, taxes on the transportation needed to sell them. And Rome kept on demanding more.

These are the people whom Jesus called first to form the core of his followers. When he made the invitation, we read that they left their boat and nets immediately and followed him. The life of following an itinerant Rabbi to fish for people may sound pretty iffy, but it appealed to Peter, Andrew, James and John. Perhaps anything would have looked better than their hard-scrabble life, a life that looked more futile every day.

These are the first people we hear of who heard and responded to Jesus’ call to repent. Of what were they repenting? One suggestion is that they were repenting of their attitude of futility, of seeing their lives as having little value, losing more value every day.

“I’m not going to slog on in this pointless way of life anymore. I’m going to turn my life to something that may make a difference in the world.”

That’s an act of repentance: changing your mind about your life and the purpose of that life. It’s an act of repentance that we could do well to emulate in our lives today.

Galilean fishermen were poor and getting poorer, due to exploitation by Rome, and Herod and his cronies. There are many other instances of such oppression throughout history. The region of Galilee had experienced it many years before, when Assyria conquered it and exiled its leadership, the event recalled by Isaiah in today’s reading. It is quite easy to list many other examples, right up to the present day. It is also very easy to react to lists like this with the same attitude of futility that Peter et al lived with daily. Things are not the way they should be, but we continue to pray for the coming of the Kingdom that Jesus said has “come near.” We’ve been praying this way for two thousand years, and the Kingdom often seems beyond our reach.

Is it futile to pray “Your Kingdom come?” Some would say it is and so resign themselves to accommodating to whatever regime is in power. “You can’t fight City Hall!” Or can you? Can you repent of this attitude of futility, and resolve to keep on working to build for the Kingdom? That’s a big part of the first disciples’ response to Jesus’ call, and it ought to be part of ours.

Ought to be? Let me remind you of some of the promises in the Baptismal Covenant, remade every time we celebrate Baptism. We promise:

  • to persevere in resisting evil.
  • to seek and serve Christ in all persons… and
  • to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being

In short, we promise to work for the coming of the Kingdom, as we pray every time we say the Lord’s Prayer.

The work may seem endless, and occasionally futile, but we are not 1st Century Galilean fishermen. We are ordinary 21st Century people, living in an extraordinary time when the world order is changing, climate is changing, common civility seems to be vanishing, and the task of working to build the Kingdom seems harder all the time. But to reiterate: we are people who have promised to follow Jesus, striving to help bring to fruition the Kingdom he proclaimed.

And if we say, “We can’t do this, it’s too much for us,” remember what Paul said to the church at Corinth (not in today’s reading, but last Sunday’s):

I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that has been given you in Christ Jesus, for in every way you have been enriched in him, in speech and knowledge of every kind just as the testimony of Christ has been strengthened among you so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ. (I Corinthians 1:4-7)

In other words, we already have all the gifts we need to do the work to which we have been called. Look around you! People with many and varied gifts, here in this congregation, and in every congregation of the faithful, all equipped in their own way to follow Christ, to strive to do God’s will, and to build for the Kingdom.

Friends, never give up! Never think that seeking God’s Kingdom is futile.

Let us repent of such thoughts.

Let us roll up our sleeves and keep on with the Holy work to which we have been called.

Jesus did not first call the elite of the land, but ordinary people like fishermen, and Jesus calls ordinary people like us.

Jesus calls ALL of us.

May God bless you all as you continue in your ministries!

Amen

God is With Us or “What’s Next?”

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church,
Edmonton, Alberta, November 9, 2025
Texts: Hag 1:15b-2:9; Ps 145:1-5, 18-; 2 Th. 2:1-5, 13-17; Luke 20:27-38

In twenty-six years as a parish priest, I was only once involved in prison ministry. The man I was called to visit had asked to see an Anglican minister, which suggested to me that he might have some church background. What I found was a person who had been dragged to church as a child by abusive parents. He said, “I guess I’m Anglican—that’s what I was baptized,” but he knew next to nothing of the Christian faith and wasn’t even sure he believed there was a God. He told me he had decided that he needed “a faith,” a statement that raised so many questions I hardly knew where to begin. In many ways, his life had been a battlefield for over thirty years. And he was wondering “What’s next?”

It seems to me that this question relates in various way to all of today’s readings, to observances of Remembrance Day, and to our parish’s current situation.

When the Sadducees came to Jesus with a trick question about marriage in the resurrected life, their interest was not so much in getting a legal opinion, but in continuing their ongoing argument with other Jews over whether there is life after death. They would answer “What’s next?” by saying “nothing.” Dead is dead, and that’s that—a position which Jesus demolishes with an appeal to scripture: the patriarchs remain alive to God, so the question is simply foolish. “What’s next?”—life in the nearer presence of God.

Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, who were sure they knew what was next—Jesus was coming back any day now, and the delay was shaking their faith. He urged them to stand firm, living as if the day of the Lord had already arrived, giving glory to God who has sanctified them by the Spirit. “What’s next?”—life lived in the awareness of God’s presence in all things.

The prophet Haggai exhorted the returned exiles to get on with re-building the temple. Work had started, but they were dispirited and disorganized, and the new temple was unfinished. Life in the ruins of Jerusalem was nothing like they had dreamed it would be, maybe even far inferior to their existence in Babylon. “What’s next?” Why bother rebuilding the temple? Things were bad, and it didn’t seem that they were going to get any better. But the prophet told them that God was with them, and would be with them, and would give them prosperity in this place.

“What’s next?” In every case, we are assured that God is present and at work among his people, always leading them into new life, in this world and the next. I think of in-between times like this as “Holy Saturday experiences,” recalling the day between Cross and the Resurrection when Jesus’ disciples waited in fear, grief, and confusion behind closed doors for a future they could not begin to comprehend or foresee. But God was with them even on that darkest of days! Another writer has called such times the “Sacred In-Between,” saying this:

…what’s next will come. It always does. But who you’ll be when it comes, that’s what the in-between is shaping right now.[i]

This week we remember those who died in the wars of the past century, conflicts which overshadowed and profoundly shaped our country’s history. We sent men and women overseas to fight for “King and country,” often to die. In retrospect some of those battles were questionable, and some of the so-called sacrifices almost meaningless.

Veterans of various combats often came home to a hero’s welcome, but all too often that home had changed almost beyond recognition. War changes people—on both the battlefront and the home front. Many veterans of both wars bore scars of the battle in their psyches for the rest of their lives. And both world wars changed our society profoundly, sometimes for the good and sometimes not.

The difficult memories and the challenges our country faced in post-war times were tempered by our being on the winning side. But what happens on the other side? The reading from Haggai may help us understand.

For many years, the exiles in Babylon had lived with the knowledge of defeat and destruction. They had been sustained by the dream of their homeland, and the memory of Jerusalem’s lost glory. When they returned, reality did not match their dreams. The temple lay in ruins, the city walls were piles of rubble, and the people of the land seemed to have given up. As a line in the hymn “Abide with Me” says, “Change and decay in all around I see.”[ii] Defeat had become the people’s mindset. Is it any wonder they could not find the energy to rebuild the temple?

And then the prophet said to them:

…take courage, all you people of the land, says the Lord; work, for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts, according to the promise that I made you when you came out of Egypt. My spirit abides among you; do not fear.[iii]

“What’s next?”—a new temple, a fresh start, and new prosperity, for God is with them. It may not have been what they had been dreaming of for half a century, but it was where God had been leading them.

It’s easy to perceive God’s spirit among us when things are going well. When things are not going so well, during the muddy hell of World War I, or on the return to a defeated land, we may have a different awareness of God. The man I met at the jail was not sure he could believe in God, because his life had been a personal hell. Nonetheless, he was wondering if he did in fact believe, because he sometimes found himself praying to God for help. I wish I could tell you that his story ended as he prayed, but what was next for him was a court appearance. He was sentenced to time served in that province, but police from another province were waiting for him at the back of the courtroom to re-arrest him for other offences.

We need to remember, to know our story, and to understand how we got here. On Remembrance Day, we give thanks for our war dead who helped bring this story to where we are today. Nonetheless, we do not live in the remembered past, but in the often-uncertain present, in hope for the future, always asking God “What’s next?” Always we know that God’s answer—for the people of ancient Israel, for the earliest Christians, and for us today—is “I am with you.”

Holy Trinity is facing challenges in the months ahead. Clergy changes are always difficult, and the community is justified in asking “What’s next?” But the prophet’s words continue to ring true:

…take courage…; for I am with you, says the Lord of hosts

And the hymn continues,

“O thou who changest not, abide with me.”[iv]

God abides with us, in war and in peace, in victory and in defeat, in hardship and in prosperity, in times of change and in times of stability. May we always remain aware of God’s presence, ready to hear God’s call into the future waiting for us.

“What’s next?”

God is with us always. That’s what’s next.

Thanks be to God.

Amen

[i] Shawn C. Branch, https://shawnbranch.substack.com/p/the-sacred-in-between?triedRedirect=true

[ii] Henry Francis Lyte, vs. 2, line 3

[iii] Haggai 2:4b-5

[iv] Henry Francis Lyte, vs. 2, line 4

Post scripts:

  1. Holy Trinity is about to enter into an interim period, after the resignations of our Rector and her Associate.
  2. I was introduced to the idea of “Holy Saturday” experiences through “Between Cross and Resurrection: a Theology of Holy Saturday,” by Alan E. Lewis, Eerdmans, 2001.

Me too, Joe!

The news that Joe Biden, ex-President of the U.S.A., had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of prostate cancer hit close to home for me. There was a lot of doom-and-gloom reporting, which seemed to me to miss the mark.

I received a very similar diagnosis just over three years ago. After my annual physical, my family doctor ordered a number of routine tests, including the standard marker for prostate cancer, Prostate-Specific Antigen (aka PSA). Normal PSA is 6.5 or less, and mine turned out to be over 300. After a couple of scans, my doctor called me to come in and discuss things. It seemed that I almost certainly had prostate cancer, which appeared to have spread to many points on my bones. He referred me to a specialist, who immediately ordered a biopsy, which then confirmed the diagnosis. The biopsy was perhaps the most unpleasant episode in the whole story (don’t ask!)

There are a variety of treatments for this disease. If the cancer is confined to the prostate, surgery is the treatment of choice, perhaps followed by either chemotherapy, radiation, or both. If the cancer has spread to other places such as bones, there are other treatments available, depending on the actual type of the cancer. My variety is of the type that typically responds well to Androgen Deprivation Therapy (ADT), using drugs that suppress the body’s production of male hormones. Testosterone in particular provides fuel for the cancer’s growth.

I had a short course of radiation (5 sessions) to treat two of the larger bone metastases. This was pretty easy to bear, although the radiation oncologist I saw was the gloomiest of all the doctors I saw, giving me 3 years or 5 if I was lucky. (I’ll come back to that).

The actual course of ADT is pretty easy to deal with. I get a shot in my belly every six months, and take a pill once a day. The shot suppresses hormone production, and the pill (as I understand it) enhances resistance to hormones that might still be floating around. I had a bit of a reaction to the pill — an unsightly rash on my scalp, causing me to lose most of whatever hair I had at the top. It passed, and some of the hair has grown back.

What has been the upshot of this treatment? Four months after the initial diagnosis, my PSA had dropped to around 8. Three months later, in September 2022, my test results said <0.1, which means it’s undetectable. It has stayed there ever since. That’s as good as that gets. Adding to it was a follow-up bone scan in November 2023, which found that almost the spots on my bones had disappeared — a “dramatic reversal” was the radiologist’s comment. Last fall, my urologist said that my cancer is “deeply suppressed.” He didn’t say “in remission,” but that seems to me to be close enough for all reasonable purposes.

The doctor who gave me 3 years or so to live was wrong, thanks be to God. It’s now over 3 years since I saw him, and I’m doing fine. I have heard reports from other men on the same treatment regime, many of whom are also doing fine, some after 15 years or more.

The specific treatment I’m on only became generally available about 6 years ago, so I’m benefiting from the continued advancement of medical knowledge. Many types of cancer used to be short-term death sentences, but people are living happy and productive lives much longer than could have been imagined a few decades ago.

Joe Biden’s cancer is more advanced than mine was at diagnosis, but I believe my story and those of many others give reason for hope. It is said that more men die with prostate cancer than die of it. I’m hoping that will be true for me, and also for Mr. Biden.

There are naturally some mildly bothersome effects of my treatment. They’re a bit personal, but suffice it to say that it pushes the male body back to pre-puberty conditions. The most obvious is the loss of body hair, which curiously does not include facial hair. My beard is more or less as it was before, if a bit grayer. (I am almost 77, after all!). It this is what it takes to stay alive, I’m OK with it.

For me, the important thing is to greet each new day as a gift, trying as much as possible to keep active mentally, spiritually, and physically. The last one is a bit of a challenge, due to an arthritic hip which predates the cancer. I’m probably not a candidate for a hip replacement, because the cancer damaged the femur below the affected hip. So it goes!

The other annoying thing is that I can’t travel outside Canada. Because I was diagnosed with metastatic cancer, no insurer will give me travel insurance. The irony is that I traveled many times without giving any thought to such insurance, thinking I didn’t need it. Now that I know I would need it, I can’t get it!

I have no idea what causes cancer, but what I do know is that early detection is hugely important. Regular screening by your doctor is vital in this regard, and it troubles me that many people (about 1 in 5) do not have access to a family physician, and often don’t get the early detection and treatment that they need. My wife and I were fortunate to find an excellent doctor who was taking new patients when we relocated to Edmonton. Others are not so lucky, sad to say.

And now for a political comment, directed mostly to the province of Alberta: our current government has been at war with the health care system, including the medical profession, for as long as it has been in power. This is shameful and dangerous behaviour, leading to the deterioration of care across the board. Our current premier says she is fixing the system by carving it up into subsections. I don’t understand how a major top-down re-organization helps the folks who are not getting the care they need. Fix things at the bottom — starting with support for family doctors, nurses, associated professionals, and all the people on the ground who make our health care system work.

If you’ve read this far, more power to you! Share it with your friends, especially the male ones. As the old radio show theme song said,
“Keep happy! Keep healthy! To heck with being wealthy!”

Cheers,

Robin

Come Out!

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church (Strathcona), Edmonton, on June 1, 2025. Text: John 17:20-26 – Easter 7, Year C

Thirty-eight years ago today, Edmonton was in a celebratory mood, after the Oilers won the Stanley Cup on home ice. The street party on Jasper Avenue went on for hours, trapping some friends who had come from Saskatoon for another event. They had parked their car near All Saints Cathedral, right on Jasper. They sat there for a while.

The event they had come for was an ordination at All Saints, when Archbishop Kent Clarke ordained a priest and three deacons, one of whom was me. The ordination took place on the seventh Sunday of Easter, the Sunday we are observing today. My family and friends and I had reason to celebrate, although our celebrations were a bit more muted than the near-chaos on the streets.

Looking back at that day, I realize that I don’t remember much of it, except for a few odd details. What I do know is that the Gospel lesson read that night was taken from the same chapter as the selection we just heard. John 17, known as Jesus’ “High-Priestly Prayer”, is spread over the three years of the Lectionary. The Prayer is at the end of the Farewell Discourse, after the Last Supper, immediately before the Passion. As John tells it, these are the last words in Jesus’ earthly ministry. As his time draws to its end, Jesus first prays for his own “glorification,” going on to pray for his disciples, that they will be protected from evil and sanctified in truth. Finally, in today’s lesson, he prays “…on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one.”

This passage has often been used as the Gospel lesson for services of Christian Unity, as churches from different traditions gather to pray that we may be one. In my University years, in the first excitement of the ecumenical movement after Vatican II, many of my Christian friends were running around proclaiming that organic unity was just around the corner. I wish it were so, but historic change usually takes a lot longer than 50 or 60 years. Churches don’t change easily! In recent decades we have entered full communion with other denominations, all taking years of talk and prayer, and those full communion declarations are only half-steps toward visible unity.

However …

One of the things I have observed since June 1, 1987, is that while churches may have erected barriers between themselves and others, those walls often vanish when we seek to serve the wider community. Time does not permit me to elaborate on the many examples in have in mind. Suffice it to say that Churches which have deep differences in doctrine and worship often find themselves much more united when they are called to do things like feed the hungry, care for the homeless, and advocate for people on society’s margins. Getting outside our church buildings brings us together in ways that inviting people to worship with us does not. Shared worship is valuable in itself, but I believe that it is an act with a wider purpose – calling on all God’s people to follow Jesus in the world.

Look over to your right, at the second stained glass window from the front. The image in the central panel is a rendering of William Holman Hunt’s 1854 painting “The Light of the World.” It was inspired by the text of Revelation 3:20: “Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me.” One of the notable features is that there is no door handle on the outside. Jesus cannot enter unless someone inside opens the door.

Shortly after Pope Francis died, I read a story allegedly dating from the conclave which elected him. It seems that Cardinal Bergoglio, as he was then, preached a short homily to the assembled cardinals, referring to this same image. He suggested that it could be viewed in another way: Jesus, the Light of the World, is inviting people huddled behind locked doors and closed minds to come out and share in his ministry – to come out into the world, to be light-bearers with him amid all the world’s strife and needs. In this view, Jesus is not saying “Let me in,” but “Come out!” The story went on to say that it may have been this homily that helped Cardinal Bergoglio become Pope Francis. I believe his ministry shows how much importance he gave to this message.

While it is sometimes comforting to shut ourselves into our safe spaces (which we absolutely do need!), it is important to remember that the holy havens to which we retreat are not the only places, or even the main places, where the church’s mission is fulfilled. The gathered church is like a ship in harbor, doing little as it remains there. It must eventually set sail to carry its cargo across the open seas. Jesus prays for those who will follow him into those wider places (his disciples) and then for those who believe in him through the disciples’ words – US! – for protection, for unity, and for the bonds of love, which bear us up as we venture into the world beyond these walls. As we go, we are to shed the light of Christ in all places.

As Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount:

‘You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.’                                                                                       (Matthew 5:14-16)

When the Oilers beat the Flyers 38 years ago, people felt the need to get out to share their joy, to celebrate with others their faith in their hockey heroes. That’s one kind of celebration (and a pretty good one!), but we Christians have something more to share. We are called to share in the joy of the Resurrection of Christ, which calls us out of our safe places to share the Good News with the wider world.

And how do we share that joy? How are we to be the light of the world? We could, of course, buy an amplifier and shout over the crowds on Whyte Avenue. Some have done that, but it seems to me to be self-defeating, shedding more heat than light. Instead, we should share our joy and light by being joy and light for others. That joy and light takes different forms for different people at different times. For the hungry, it is food. For those who mourn, it is comfort. For the lost, it is a helping hand, a guiding presence. For the lonely, it is a friendly presence. All of these and others are ways to shed God’s light into a world which so often seems plunged into darkness.

So, I believe the question for each of us today is this:

How am I light for other people, and
        How do I share Resurrection joy with them?

Friends, let us come out of our safe places.

Let us come out and spread Christ-light wherever we go.

Let us come out and be the Church,
doing God’s holy work among God’s people.

May it be so.

The Hardest Part of Following Jesus?

Notes for a sermon at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton, Alberta
February 23, 2025
Texts: Genesis 45:3-11, 15; Luke 6:27-38                           

Families are wonderful, until they’re not! Families have great power to provide loving care and nurture. But there is a downside: they also have the power to inflict enormous hurt upon their members. The high expectations we place on families means that when they fail, they fail badly. The same can be said for churches, the difference being that we can choose our church community, but usually have no choice in belonging to a family. Hurt caused within a family is uniquely devastating to the one sinned against.

Today’s lesson from Genesis is the climax of a story that begins with a massive wrong done to one family member by other members. It began when Joseph’s older brothers were well and truly fed up with him, their father’s favorite and dreamer of troubling dreams, so they planned to be rid of him. Although they did not kill him as they originally intended, he ended up being sold into slavery in Egypt.

We have to fast forward our story for some time, maybe decades, to get to today’s reading. (See Genesis chapters 37 – 43 for the back-story.)

By the time of today’s reading, a famine has spread across all of Egypt and the neighbouring countries. Jacob has sent his ten older sons to Egypt to look for food, because they have heard that Egypt has sufficient stores to feed themselves. What they do not know is that their younger brother had risen to become the second-in-command to Pharaoh, and was responsible for the prudent planning that saved the Egyptians from starvation.

Joseph recognizes the brothers when they come into his presence, but they don’t know who he is. He was a boy of seventeen when he was taken, and years have passed. He might have looked vaguely familiar, but they certainly wouldn’t have expected to see their brother dressed as a high official. It fell to Joseph to make the connection, to reveal his identity to his brothers, who reacted in dismay and fear. Joseph! The brother they had conspired against, now in a position to pay them back. And here’s where the story takes its decisive turn: Joseph is not angry and vengeful, but asks after his father, and calls them to him. He sends them back to bring his father and his brother Benjamin, promising them food, land, and livelihood in Egypt.

Although the word “forgive” doesn’t appear in the text, Joseph forgave his brothers, saying that God had brought him to this place to be a blessing both to the people of Egypt and to his own people. Forgiveness changed the story beyond imagining. It’s easy to see the story taking a different turn. What if Joseph had harbored anger in his heart throughout those years? Thoughts of hatred and vengeance might have ruled his life. At the very least, he would have sent them back to their father empty-handed. At worst? Let’s not go there! We could easily understand a story which went that way, but that way was not God’s purpose. God had promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that a great people would come from their line. Joseph became God’s unexpected human agent in keeping that promise alive.

Rather than lashing out at the brothers who had sinned against him, Joseph displayed the kind of behaviour Jesus held up to his disciples in the second two parts of the “Sermon on the Plain” in Luke’s Gospel. In the NRSV, these sections are titled “Love for Enemies” and “Judging Others.” The commands we read there are almost the same as we find in the “Sermon on the Mount” in Matthew (Matt 5 – 7), with only a few changes in wording.

What Jesus tells his disciples – tells us – is that the kind of behaviour the world has come to expect is not how we are to act. Calls to love your enemies and turn the other cheek are objects of scorn from others, but Jesus’ call is based on love. God loves his whole creation: the good and the bad together. Jesus calls us to act accordingly, regarding all others as God regards them. Other people may hurt us, and the world around may expect us to seek vengeance, but Jesus said:

Instead, love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.

Friends, nobody said that following Jesus would be easy. In fact, it can be very difficult. As G.K. Chesterton wrote:

The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting.
It has been found difficult; and left untried.

The call to forgive may be the very hardest of Jesus’ hard sayings. I know this personally, and I suspect many of you here today know it too. It’s all too tempting not to forgive, to dwell on past hurts – sometimes long past! – and to consider how you might get back at the other. But as it has been said:

Bearing a grudge is like drinking poison,
and waiting for the other person to die.

If I nurse a long-held grudge, it hurts no-one but me. On the other hand, forgiving the other is a healing act, even when there is no possibility of letting them know of our forgiveness. By letting go of past pain, we move towards the healing that is God’s desire for all people. We can not change another person, but by the grace of our loving God, we can certainly change ourselves. If there is an opportunity to tell the other of our forgiveness, there may well be an opening to healing that relationship.

We can’t change the past. It’s over and done. But we can change the way the past holds on to us. But forgiving is not easy. Henri Nouwen wrote this:

Maybe the reason it seems hard for me to forgive others is that I do not fully believe that I am a forgiven person. If I could fully accept the truth that I am forgiven and do not have to live in guilt or shame, I would really be free. My freedom would allow me to forgive others seventy times seven times. By not forgiving, I chain myself to a desire to get even, thereby losing my freedom. [1]

Forgiving begins at home, in our own hearts, in seeking to see how God’s love may move us towards God’s ideal for us.

Turning back to Joseph, he likely had much time to ponder how his life had turned out, seeing how God was at work, leading Joseph to do good where he had been planted. He probably also had time to reflect on his youthful behaviour that had led his brothers to hate him, leading him to the repentance and forgiveness of himself that made today’s story possible. His insight about God’s purpose in leading his brothers to him was both sudden, and long-prepared.

Did he expect to see his brothers and his father again? We can’t answer that, but we can see how his years in Egypt made it possible for him to forgive them absolutely.

This was God’s work, leading Joseph to reach out in love to his long-lost family, forgiving them, welcoming them, making them part of his world once more.

Friends, let us strive to forgive, setting the past aside, not forgetting it, but not being bound by past hurts. Let us seek only to heal, building and re-building the family of God. In this way, God’s great love may become the basis of all our relationships, in our families, in our churches, and in the world.

May it be so.

  • [1] Henri Nouwen, The Road to Daybreak, Penguin Random House 1990

A special anniversary

A short reflection on living with cancer.

A few days ago I realized that the day was a kind of anniversary. Three years before, I had received a diagnosis of prostate cancer. One doctor said that I would have about three to five years left. Well, three years have passed, and I’m still here, still going reasonably strong. I am profoundly grateful for every day I am alive, the more so when some medical people said it was very unlikely.

My treatment has been state-of-the-art, almost totally medication-based and non-invasive. My PSA (The basic diagnostic test) level has been <0.1 since Sept. 2022, which really means it’s undetectable. Normal is 6.5 or lower: when I was diagnosed its was over 300. A follow-up bone scan last fall showed that the bone metastases they had found in the spring of 2022 had almost completely resolved. My current doctor has never used the word “remission,” but says that my cancer is “deeply suppressed.” The side-effects of my medication are a bit personal, but the one thing that has caused a life-style change is reduced energy. I tire easily, and tend not to be much use in the evening. I can live with that, although it sometimes irritates my dearly beloved when I doze off while we’re watching TV.

So what do I take from this?

First, more than ever before in my life, I am able to see every day as a gift. If one’s man’s opinion was that I wouldn’t be here today, that his opinion. I’m here!

Second, I am really grateful for the advances in medical science that have made this possible. A good friend died of the same disease right around the time I was diagnosed. He was originally given 6 months, and lasted 6 years. The drugs I am taking were not available when he was diagnosed. If they had been, he might still be here.

Third, but not least, I will forever be grateful for the support of friends and family as I dealt with the uncertainty of the situation. It’s still uncertain, of course, but I have much more confidence in the future now than I did three years ago.

Thank God for all of this — friends, family, medical science, every new day. Thanks be to God!

Symbol and Sacrament

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church (Strathcona), Edmonton, August 11, 2024. Text: John 6:35, 41-51

I invite you take a moment to look around this church, identifying some of the symbols around you, and perhaps considering what they stand for.

[Call for what people saw, and how they understand them.]

Symbols are important. We find them everywhere, ranging from the very commonplace to the profound.

Open a hymn book, and you find pages and pages of symbols, both musical notation and printed text. The hymns they represent come to life only when we sing them. There is no one right or wrong way to interpret these symbols, which depend on the readers’ and performers’ points of view and abilities.

You will very often see an important symbol at public buildings—the Canadian flag. The flag represents our country, but its function is to point to the realities of place and people. The flag’s meaning depends on the viewer’s point of view—how we understand and relate to our country, its land, its people, and its history.

There are many crosses around this building, all pointing to the story of salvation as we learn it from the Gospels. Once again, we understand the Cross in many and varied ways, none of which are the ultimate answer.

Symbols are like sign posts by the road, pointing away from themselves to something else. But some symbols are more than that—they not only point to, but also embody the reality of the thing they are pointing to. In Church talk, we call these symbols “sacraments.”

We are gathered here today to participate in what for many is the central symbol of Christian life. We are here to celebrate the Eucharist, the sacrament in which believers share in the body and blood of our crucified saviour. We are here to partake of the Bread of Life, the very being of Jesus.

The language we hear throughout Chapter 6 of John’s Gospel, the so-called “Bread of Life Discourse,” is very clearly symbolic. Jesus is not bread in the ordinary sense. He does not give his physical body at every Eucharistic celebration, but what we share in this symbolic act, from the opening greeting to the dismissal, is the fullness of his life, the essence of the Holy, his loving sacrifice on the cross, and the glory of his Resurrection.

What we share at the altar is a bit of bread and a sip of wine, but it is far more than that to those who see with the eyes of the spirit. I can’t pretend to know what motivates anyone to come forward for Communion—the reasons are as many as there are recipients. But what I believe deeply is that the Holy Spirit draws every one of us to this place, enlivens our hearts and our minds and our spirits with the written and spoken word, and leads us to partake of the bread and wine of the Eucharist.

What we do is symbolic, but the reality behind it is far more than our rituals. The reality is that Jesus is truly present among us, giving of his very self, the Bread of [Eternal] Life.

John’s account of the Last Supper does not have an institution narrative like the other three, focusing instead of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet, given as one of the signs of participation in Jesus’ work in this world. Taking the place of an institution story we have the Bread of Life Discourse, an extended narrative on the meaning of bread as both physical and spiritual food. The language of feeding of the 5,000 is clearly Eucharistic: Jesus took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it—what Gregory Dix called the “four movements of the Eucharist.” The rest of the chapter is an extended reflection in a series of dialogues on the meaning of the bread, centering on the great claim we heard twice in today’s Gospel lesson: “I AM the Bread of Life.”

Unlike Matthew, Mark, and Luke, John’s Gospel has no parables. Instead, we find extended discourses and narratives which expand upon encounters with individuals or groups. In many of these, Jesus uses spiritual and symbolic language, and the hearer interprets it literally, not symbolically. In Chapter 3 Nicodemus responds to Jesus’ call to be born again with the question as whether a person can return to their mother’s womb. In Chapter 4 the Samaritan woman at the well responds to Jesus’ offer of living water with a declaration of simple thirst. And in John 6, Jesus’ assertion about bread and his identity is met with similar misunderstanding.

John’s Gospel probably took shape over at least 50 years. It contains some very early material alongside the results of extended reflection on the life of the Church, and how it seeks to live into being the Body of Christ. What we hear in John 6 is one of the prime examples. From early times, the Church’s life together centred on the Lord’s Supper, a symbolic and memorial act which must be taught to every succeeding generation of Christians.

The central assertion has always been that we do this in memory of Jesus, and that Jesus is truly present as we share in the sacrament. How that happens, how we do it, what rules we put on it, have been issues at least since the time of Paul, forty or so years before John’s Gospel was given its final form.

We come to the table as ordinary people. We share in something very simple. But if we come in faith, guided by the Spirit, what we are as we depart is something more than ordinary people who have shared a simple meal. I have long held that the most important point of the Eucharist is the dismissal, when the People of God, having gathered in faith, heard the Word proclaimed, and shared in the Bread of Life, are sent forth to be the Bread of Life for the world.

Gandhi said:
To a hungry [person], a piece of bread is the face of God.

May we go forth from this place today to show the face of God to all whom we meet, sharing the Bread of Life both physically and spiritually in the same love which Jesus showed to us on the cross.

Symbols? May we all be symbols of God’s love in the world. And more than that, may our presence with others be a sacrament, making God’s love more real in all that we do, all that we say, all that we are.

May it be so.

God is Calling

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity, Old Strathcona, Edmonton, June 16, 2024
Text: I Samuel 15:34 – 16:13.1

Adults often ask children what they want to be when they grow up, and often the responses are unrealistic. Someone once said that adults ask kids this question so that they can get some new ideas! When we put on one of our favourite CD’s,2 my wife often says “When I grow up, I want to be Tommy Banks.” My own history is one of changing direction several times, most recently from full-time to retired ministry, which took a while to figure out what it meant – it wasn’t totally by choice! The “churchy” word about discerning your path in life is “vocation”, about which our lesson from I Samuel has something to teach us.

This is where we first meet David, as he is summoned from herding the sheep to have Samuel anoint him as God’s chosen King. Samuel’s coming meant that something important was afoot, and surely David wanted to be part of it. As the youngest son, the task of tending the sheep fell to him, while his brothers could stay home to greet the great man. I can almost hear him saying “It’s not fair!” just like any other teenager.

Was he wondering about Samuel’s purpose in visiting his father? He might have had an idea about what was up: King Saul had fallen from God’s favour, and Samuel’s visit likely had something to do with that. Did he have any idea of what God intended that day? Had he heard some kind of call? We’re not told. What we are told is that none of his older brothers passed muster as they paraded by, while Samuel listened for God’s voice. None of them were called to be King.

The rest of the family was surprised when Samuel told them to bring David to him. The youngest? A mere boy? Directed by God, Samuel saw otherwise, and called David out of his family to become King. Samuel named David’s vocation. Had David already heard it? We don’t know, but later events show him growing into the realization and fulfillment of his divinely-ordained role in life.

I have twice been an assessor for ACPO3, a major part of the process our church uses for discernment of vocations to the priesthood. Candidates are interviewed in a variety of settings, looking at the “3 C’s”: Character, Charism, and Call. Dealing with the first two is a bit like a conventional job interview, but the third presents some special issues. “Call” means both the candidate’s personal sense, and the affirmation of their community. I met some who said strongly that they knew that God needed them for the priesthood, but whose recommendations from others were more equivocal. Contrariwise, I met one young man, immensely gifted, by all accounts a really fine person – charism and character in spades! – but who simply could not articulate any kind of personal call. When we asked, “Why do you want to be a priest?” his only response was “Everyone says I should be.” When we asked him what he would do otherwise, he was able to map out a clear direction in academic work – he almost had his Ph.D. dissertation written in his head. We recommended that he continue with that work, and if at some time he was able to say, “I believe God is calling me to be a priest,” he should once more present himself as a candidate.

Vocations to Christian ministry come from both within the person (the “inner call”), and from the community (the “outer call”). Both must be present. Samuel gave David his outer call in dramatic fashion. We will hear more over the summer how David’s inner call developed, but we may be sure that he heard it.

Church folks most often use the word “vocation” in the context of ordained ministry. But please remember this: Christian ministry is not confined to the three-fold ministry of Deacons, Priests, and Bishops – not by a very long shot! The Catechism of the Episcopal Church of the USA teaches that there are four orders of ministry, naming the ministry of all the baptized (laypeople) as primary. I wish our Church had adopted this Catechism.

The ministry of the laity does include the various roles people assume in the church: lay readers and assistants, sides people, sanctuary guild, lectors, intercessors, musicians, teachers, wardens and vestry members, to name some of the most obvious. More importantly, it means the ministries that lay people exercise in the wider world, in all the many and varied ways they follow their calling as disciples of Christ. Every baptized person is called to a new life, dedicated to living into the promises found in the Baptismal Covenant. There is a good reason why this covenant is renewed by the whole congregation at every celebration of Baptism: the newly baptized are welcomed into a community of people who are striving to be God’s ministers in the world – people with many and varied vocations.

What’s your vocation? Some of us – a very few – can say “I’m called to be a priest or deacon in the Church.” But others might say something like “I’m called to be a (_______), the best one that I can be, so that people around me can see Christ at work through my life.”

When an ordination candidate is presented to the Bishop, the Bishop describes the nature of the ministry in question, and then asks, “Do you believe you are called to this ministry?” The Baptismal Covenant is the counterpart of ordination for the ministry of the laity. Any Baptized person can ask the call question for themselves, and then seek the affirmation of the wider Church when they believe they have heard a special call. Just like David, just like that gifted young man, we all need to hear both inner and outer call. We need to listen for the voice of God. And then we need to test our insight with others who are similarly striving to follow Jesus.

And let us never assume that a calling once heard is once and for all time. I once thought I wanted to be a railroad engineer – that didn’t last long! Things change over time, and God may lead us in ways that we hadn’t previously imagined or couldn’t imagine. No-one in my school years could have articulated a desire to design video games! And the kind of job I had with the Provincial government in the ‘70’s and ‘80’s has been almost totally changed by the internet.

We need to keep on listening for God’s call, because it can and does change. But make no mistake about it: God is calling you, and you, and you, and me. God is calling every one of us. We may not always hear clearly, but we may be assured that God will in God’s time send us our own Samuel or Samuels to help us hear better.

God is calling. Listen, pray, test, and respond.

God is calling. Live into that call, and rejoice!

God is calling. In Jesus’s name, may we hear and follow.

Amen.

  1. Video of the sermon and the full service may be found at https://www.facebook.com/holytrinityanglican ↩︎
  2. “Yes Indeed“, Tommy Banks, solo piano, Royalty Records RRI-300-9647, 1997 ↩︎
  3. Advisory Committee on Postulants for Ordination ↩︎