Tag: faith

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.

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

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.

Abide in me

Notes for a sermon preached at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton, April 28, 2024
Texts: John 15:1-11; 1 John 4:7-12 

I spent the summer of 1986 enrolled in Clinical Pastoral Education (C.P.E.) at the Royal Alexandra Hospital. C.P.E. is an intensive program of on-site practice, study, and group work, all under a trained supervisor. I learned a lot in those weeks, including that I was not well-suited to the job of hospital chaplain!

I spent much of my time in those 11 weeks on a long-term medical ward, where it was possible to develop relationships with some of the patients. On the other wards I was assigned, patients were typically only there for a few days. One patient was a man in late-stage cancer. He knew he was dying. During our visits, I came to see that he had accepted what his future held, and I was privileged to be an audience for some of his thoughts about his past life, both positive and negative. I experienced his hospital room as a place of great peace. He had one major regret: while he had come to terms with his prognosis, his wife had not. She was praying continually for his recovery, believing that Jesus would heal his affliction. I only met her once: she arrived during a visit, and told me to leave because I was not of the same faith. A few days later I learned from the staff that he had died. Not long after, I passed a nearby church, where I saw his wife prostrate over the steps, clearly in deep grief.

Why am I telling this story today?

The Gospels for the 5th, 6th and 7th Sundays of Easter are drawn from the Farewell Discourse of John’s Gospel, which runs from the end of the Last Supper in Chapter 13 through Chapters 14 – 17. It begins with Jesus giving the “New Commandment” – ‘Love one another’ – by which everyone will know that they are his disciples.

The commandment sets the tone for the rest of the discourse. The central issue is how the disciples are to live without Jesus physically present. Love is to be the rule of their lives, but they will not be on their own. Three times Jesus promises that he will send the Holy Spirit to be with them, to teach them and to be their guide. And three times he promises that he will give them whatever they ask for, if they “abide in [him],” or ask “in my name.” The repetition of these promises indicates just how important they are. The promise of the Spirit is a topic for another day: today we look at the second promise.

The promises in Chapters 14 & 16 refer to asking “in my name.” Quoting those verses out of context can make it sound like a kind of magic spell. Just say “Jesus” and you’ll get what you want! I have heard this kind of thinking from some very well-meaning people, who have said things like, “We didn’t get what we wanted. I guess we didn’t pray hard enough.” As we heard it, the promise in Chapter 15 uses the word “abide,” a word we don’t often hear in this sense in daily speech, but which is found repeatedly in the both the Gospel lection and the reading from 1 John. Other translations have words like “remain”, “live your life”, “joined,” “reside.” Put these alongside “in my name,” and we get some clues about what Jesus means by these promises.

The guiding principle is love. Remember that the first and great commandment is to love God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind, and all your strength. Truly loving God will shape all that we do, all that we say, all that we are, and is reflected in the second: “Love your neighbour as yourself.” The New Commandment Jesus gave is both a repetition and a strengthening of these. Love is our rule because God is love.

Our prayers must always be in the context of love for God and God’s created order (which includes all human beings), under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. Prayer is not meant to bend God to our will, but to shape our will to reflect God’s.

One of my favorite sayings about prayer is:

Don’t pray to get what you want;  
pray to want what you get.

Another saying is paraphrased from a sermon by St. Augustine on today’s Epistle lesson :

Love God and do whatever you please: for the soul trained in love to God will do nothing to offend the One who is Beloved.

The first part of the quote is sometimes used a bit flippantly to justify the speaker in doing whatever they want, but the clause after the colon makes it clear that seeking to live life in Christ will serve to shape our wills to God’s. That doesn’t mean that every prayer of a faithful person will be answered just as we wish, for our finite human wills are subject to the temptations and trials of this life.

The couple in my story seem to me to point to these two different approaches to prayer. The husband’s prayers were more for those around him, including his wife, asking that they would find the same kind of peace he had found as he neared death. I do not wish to disparage his wife’s faith, but I believe her well-intentioned prayers were rooted more in her own desires and grief than in seeking to know and accept God’s will. I wish I knew how she fared in the time afterwards. I can only pray that she eventually worked through the agony of her grief to find some peace, some kind of acceptance of what had happened for her and her spouse.

Some of you may recall an acronym about prayer, which I first heard in confirmation class: ACTS.

A is for Adoration, spending time in God’s presence, usually without words.
C is for Confession or Contrition, facing our own shortcomings before God.
T is for thanksgiving, praising God for all that we have and all that we are.
S is for Supplication, holding up the needs of others to God, and (finally) for ourselves.

It’s easy to skip one or all of the first three before going on the last. The order is important, because the first three help us to pray as Agnes Sanford said:

The first thing to pray for is the wisdom to know what to pray for.

The first three also help us to put ourselves in a place where we can begin to perceive God’s will, to experience God’s love, and to be able to shape our supplications according to what gives glory to God.

When we pray – however we pray – let us remember that we are not there to dictate to God what God should do. God knows that well enough. Rather, we are called to approach God seeking first to know what God wills, confident in God’s love. And let us remember that hearing comes before speaking.

Let us pray then that through the power of the Holy Spirit, God will open our hearts and minds, that our lives may be shaped more into the likeness of the one who loved us into existence, who loves us today, and who will love us for all eternity.

May it be so.

Surfacing – with thanks!

Late in his life, the great composer Ludwig van Beethoven poured his soul into a work for string quartet, the third movement of Op. 132 in A Minor. He subtitled it “Heiliger Dankgesang eines Genesenen an der Gottheit, in der Lydischen Tonart” (“Holy song of thanksgiving of a convalescent to the Deity, in the Lydian mode”). I was privileged to hear a riveting performance of the whole quartet recently, which helped the Isidore String Quartet win the first-place prize at the Banff International String Quartet Competition (aka “BISQC“). If you have 15 minutes available, give it a listen here.

When I heard this performance, I was recovering from an ailment that had troubled me since mid-June. Most of the summer had been lost, while I sat and stared at the walls, without the energy to do much of anything except pant for breath after walking from the living room to the kitchen. The doctors were puzzled, running all sorts of tests, all normal, but finally one came up with a symptomatic remedy, which I was still on when we went to Banff. I was doing much better by then, but it took until mid-September for me to feel almost myself again.

During these long months of the COVID-19 pandemic, I have heard many people lament the virus and its effects, especially from those suffering with “Long COVID.” Fortunately, my wife and I have both escaped it to date. When I first got sick in June, I tested for the virus five times in ten days, and all were negative. While I did not have the “virus of the day”, I was experiencing ill-health in a way I had never done before.

For much of my earlier life, I saw myself as a healthy person. I have had only one in-patient operation, a tonsillectomy when I was five, which was the only time I have ever been hospitalized. I have never broken a bone that I know of for sure. (I might have broken a toe some years ago, but I was able to get around well enough that visiting the doctor seemed pointless.) In 26 years in parish ministry, I never once missed a Sunday due to illness. Prior to about three years ago, I had experienced only one blip in my health, during my second year of my theological studies, when I was diagnosed with a mild case of lupus. Regular medication, reasonable precautions, and some modification of my life-style kept the disease at bay, until 25 years after diagnosis, when I was declared disease-free. Hallelujah!

I retired a few years later in good health, with a lot of energy which I proceeded to pour into various activities. All was good until I started to have severe pain in one hip, which was determined to be osteoarthritis. This is almost certainly traceable to when I fell while skiing at the age of 16, and tore up my knee. Some years later, a physiotherapist noted that I walked crookedly, turning my left foot out. It appears that the old injury had never properly healed, so I had been twisting my hip and knee for decades. Result? A knee which occasionally hurts, and a hip which hurts most of the time. I have had to learn new physical habits, which have helped the condition become more or less manageable, although a hip replacement was a possibility in the early times after my diagnosis.

A hip replacement is very probably off the table now, because of the next diagnosis, which I received last February. It was found that I had prostate cancer which had already spread to various bones, including the femur just below the arthritic hip. I doubt very much that I would be seen as a candidate for a hip replacement, when the bones around the joint are not in good shape.

In the meantime, I am dealing with the cancer diagnosis. It was devastating at first. A horizon had appeared in my life in a way that I had never before experienced. The doctors gave various predictions of time-lines, but all of them had an end-point. They said that this condition is not curable, but it is controllable. Because of the bone involvement, I was not a candidate for surgery, so I am on Androgen Deprivation Therapy (aka “Hormone Therapy”). All appearances seven months later are that this is having the desired effect, but I will be on the medication for the rest of my life, or until it ceases having effect.

I had not previously been very public about this, because I was really unsure about how things were going to go. Things now seem more predictable and manageable. I’m not looking for sympathy or an outpouring of prayer intentions, but if that’s your inclination, so be it.

The effect on my life has been to spur me to get some things done that had been left lying for years. People often call this “putting your affairs in order.” The realization of the need was made very real to us right around the time of my initial diagnosis, when our son-in-law died suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 54, leaving no will.

Aside from some rather intimate matters (Permit me not to overshare!), the main physical effect of the cancer and the treatment has been a general reduction in my energy. I have found it necessary to back away from some activities, especially some that take place in the evening. I was just getting used to this new normal when the other thing happened in June, and I was knocked flat on my backside for the next two months. You might understand if I describe my state of mind in most of this time as depression and anxiety. I would sit down to a meal, often not feeling much like eating, and try to give thanks, when I really could not see much to give thanks for.

The last few weeks have given me new hope, new energy, and a new resolve to live my life to the fullest as I am able in the months and years ahead, however many they may be. I was invited to preach at another parish on October 9, the weekend of the Canadian holiday of Thanksgiving, and prepared for it by pondering Paul’s exhortation in Philippians 4:6 to “…not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

The message? Even when things seem awful, there is still much for which to give thanks, which should underpin the whole of our approach to God. As the medieval mystic and theologian Meister Eckhart said “If the only prayer you say in your life is ‘thank you,’ that would suffice.”

I listen to Beethoven’s wonderful music, and I am reminded that the call to give thanks becomes very profound when one has faced one’s destiny. I wasn’t anywhere close to dying last summer, but there were times when I wondered if I would ever recover. But now…

I am surfacing. I feel well. I am enjoying life more.

Thanks be to God!

Masks, and the G-G

Some reflections on the Golden Rule

I live in a city (Edmonton, Alberta, Canada) which has recently instituted a by-law requiring everyone to wear a non-medical face covering in buildings which are accessible to the public, unless they have medical or psychological reasons. Not surprisingly, there has been vocal resistance from some people. I’m not going to rehearse all the arguments I’ve heard, but they do seem to fall into two main categories. One tries to make it a matter of personal rights. The other asserts that they don’t need to wear a mask to protect themselves, and they don’t care if others become sick as a result.

It seems to me that both of these arguments fly in the face of one of the pillars of ethics. Almost every religion has a version of what Christians call the “Golden Rule.”

In the New Testament, we hear Jesus saying:

 ‘In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.’

(Matthew 7:12 NRSV)

A poster available through various on-line sources sets this quote with with similar quotes from seventeen other faith traditions. They sound remarkably similar. (Search for “Golden Rule Poster” to find it.) The seeming ubiquity of this rule suggests that it is in some way integral to much of human ethics. What the Golden Rule does is show that ethical behaviour is reflexive. My actions affect your life, just as your actions affect my life. As John Donne wrote, “No (hu)man is an island.”

Understanding that my needs and desires are interwoven with the desires and need of all other people, acknowledging that other people’s needs and desires are as valid and important as our own, are the key to building true community. We call this ability “empathy.” Many people confuse empathy with sympathy, which expresses a feeling about another person’s situation without real involvement in that situation.

The Golden Rule elevates our striving for empathy to an ethical principle.

Wearing a mask may protect me from the COVID-19 virus, but that’s not the point. If we all want to be protected, we must ask each to protect each other — to do to others what we would want done for ourselves. It’s a reflexive benefit, working best when we undertake it for the good of other people before ourselves.

I have also had occasion to reflect on the Golden Rule in a very different context. Canada’s Governor-General has been accused of running a toxic workplace, in which staff often feel belittled and abused. The matter is under public scrutiny, and I have no knowledge of it other than what I have read in the news media. Thus I will refrain from any judgement of Mme. Payette here.

What this reminded me of was my own history as both employee and boss. I had one really bad boss in my early work life, who knew just how to make me feel inadequate and incompetent. His replacement was a revelation to me — the first supervisor I had ever had who made me feel a valued part of the team, building me up where I needed help, and letting me do my job where I was fully capable. When I started supervising others, I resolved to emulate him, by trying to be the kind of boss I would like to have myself.

That’s the “Golden Rule of Management” for me. It sounds simple, but it can be very hard to put into practice, especially if you have a tendency to perfectionism like me! What it means in practice is to listen to the people you are working with, treat them as humans, accept and help to correct their failures when they happen, and rejoice with them when they succeed.

What it means is to have empathy.

We could on at length about places the Golden Rule can be applied. I’m not sure we would ever exhaust the list. For me today it remains one of the central guiding principles of my life. Jesus taught it, and that’s where I first heard it, but it cuts across human life in a wonderfully powerful way.

So, my friends, let us strive to do for each other as we would wish done for ourselves — and the world will be a better place

Holy Relationships

Notes for a sermon at St. Matthew’s Anglican Church, St. Albert AB, July 28, 2019. Texts: Hosea 1:2-10; Psalm 85; Colossians 2:6-15 (16-19); Luke 11:1-13

When your Rector invited me here, he asked for three weeks. I was glad to accept the invitation, but had to decline the third Sunday, August 11, because of a major event happening in our life that day. My wife Joanne & I are coming up to our 50th wedding anniversary and had already arranged to renew our marriage vows that day at Holy Trinity, Strathcona.

Milestone anniversaries should be occasions to celebrate, of course, but also to reflect on what went into all those years. No relationship, marriage or otherwise, is ever totally golden throughout its course. When clergy prepare couples for marriage in the church, we are required to ensure that they have had appropriate preparation. The Marriage Canon (lately in the news for other reasons) contains a list of the topics that should be addressed. Most of them deal with matters about which couple can and do have conflicts. The most important IMO is the matter of the importance of communication. If you can’t communicate, agreement will always be difficult.

There’s a huge amount of material available today in various media on building good relationships. In this social network age, when people are supposedly more connected, relationship problems sometimes seem to be getting worse, not better. It may be that interpersonal communications have tended to become text-driven and superficial—but I’m not here to slag Facebook and Instagram! Rather, I am here to suggest that our readings today have something to say about relationships, both interpersonal and between people and God.

Let’s start with Hosea, the most difficult one. Did it seem to be written in code? That’s because we miss the vivid wordplay in the original Hebrew. Hosea has given names to his children which point to the decline in the relationship between Israel and YHWH. The first part of the book is structured around an image some may find offensive, likening Israel’s behaviour to that of a prostitute.

In response to a word from God, Hosea married a woman on the fringes of society, and fathered children who would immediately also be marginalized. His marriage and children became a living metaphor for his people’s broken relationship with their God. They have gone off after false Gods. The children’s names, especially the latter two, express a divine reaction to the people’s unfaithfulness: they will not be pitied; they will no longer be YHWH’s people.

If we ended our reading at verse 9, things would look very bleak, but verse 10 turns things around: “it shall be said to them, ‘Children of the living God.’” The reversal of fortune here, echoed so beautifully in the Psalm, is a theme that will be repeated again in the book: “[the] fact that we Christians must never forget but too often do: our faith is in the God who never gives up on us.”

In human relationships, as most of us well know, people do give up on each other. People’s willingness to keep promises is at times not matched by their ability to do so. Not so with God: the message is that our God not only will not give up on us but CAN not give up. It is God’s nature to be faithful and loving. As God self-described to Moses

The Lord, the Lord,
a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin… (Exodus 34:6f)

The heart of the divine-human relationship is “steadfast love,” the usual translation of the Hebrew word “hesed.” It is the love that can not let go, not blindly, but out of deep compassion for the other. It is conscious. It is active. Above all, it is persistent. It stands as the model for all human relationships. If we fail to live up to this ideal, it is because we are human. The wonder is that God forgives, and will forgive, every time we turn and re-turn to God.

Continuing in our own relationship with God through Christ is not always easy. There are many occasions when we can stray from our life in Christ. Some of them may be obvious temptations. Others are not so clear, as in the issue Paul addresses in Colossians: people criticizing the church for not attending to some particulars of religious practice that they consider essential. How many of us have experienced the judgment of others in whose eyes our own faith walks don’t quite seem to measure up?

Paul will have none of this. He tells his readers to “live your lives in him,” as the NRSV puts it. Other translations give a more dynamic idea: the King James Version says “walk ye in him.” The Contemporary English Version has:

You have accepted Christ Jesus as your Lord.
Now keep on following him.

The point of the life of discipleship, a life lived in relationship to God, is thus not to believe we’ve arrived, or that we have it all figured out, but to keep on. Live in Christ. Walk in Christ. Keep on following Christ.

And how do we do that? One important part of that answer is to do just what we’re doing here today. We gather as God’s people, in relationship with each other and with God, seeking always to deepen our bonds of holy love. The life of discipleship doesn’t just mean gathering on Sunday, but in walking with Christ and being in relationship with him every day of the week.

The essential tool of building that relationship is the subject of today’s Gospel: prayer. The passage ties the Lord’s Prayer to teachings about the need to persist in prayer.

For many people, prayer mostly means asking God for something. We may and do take our desires and wishes to God, but that’s only the last and least part of it. Prayer is the conscious cultivation of our relationship with God—and that requires communication.

Remember those things we clergy are supposed talk to couples about, and how I suggested communication is the most important of them? Same thing with God. Prayer is keeping the lines of communication open, which means that listening is of prime importance. I believe that prayer is not so much about getting God to agree with us, as about getting us to agree with God.

It takes work.

It takes persistence.

And all of it comes through the gift of the Holy Spirit, freely poured out upon all who seek and all who ask.

God won’t give up on us.

Let us never give up on God.

Amen.

Believing is Seeing

Notes for a sermon at Holy Trinity Edmonton, April 28, 2019
Text: John 20:19-31

Many of us will be familiar with the adage “seeing is believing,” which may well originate in today’s Gospel story, and is sometimes taken to be the point of the story. I don’t think so. There’s a lot more happening in the story of Thomas’ encounter with the Risen Christ than how we often over-simplify it:

  1. Thomas hears the news from the other disciples and demands visual evidence before he believes.
  2. Jesus appears to Thomas and gives him the proof.
  3. Thomas believes. Seeing is believing. End of story.

Or is it? Has anyone else noticed that there’s a big gap in this story? There are two scenes, a whole week apart. A week can be a very long time: much can happen in seven short days, especially when something like the Resurrection has happened. The text is maddeningly silent about what went on between those two Sundays. We could speculate endlessly, but it seems to me the least likely answer is that “nothing happened”. Things surely happened—for Thomas, for the rest of the Twelve, and for all the disciples who received the Holy Spirit and were sent by Jesus on that first day. When he sent them, did they just sit there? Surely not—I have to believe that they went out from that room and told many people what they had seen and heard. In that week, there would have been time for Thomas to see what was going on, to talk to his companions, to ponder what was happening around him.

What happened when Jesus appeared again with Thomas present? Thomas saw and believed: that much is clear. But he would not have been there at all had he not believed on some level in his friends’ veracity. He knew something had happened, and he had not abandoned the group. He believed—and so he saw! Proof was offered, Thomas believed, and then he made the great acclamation that climaxes John’s Gospel: “My Lord and my God!” Belief in the reality of Jesus’s Resurrection led to this colossal insight. First among his companions, he now saw Jesus as he truly was and is.

Believing became seeing.

Something like this happened recently in the world of science. On April 10 an international team of scientists announced the first successful imaging of a black hole. The existence of these strange objects was first proposed over a century ago as a result of Einstein’s theory of general relativity. Half a century ago, when I was an undergraduate taking a course in astrophysics, they were believed to exist, but there was little evidence available. Succeeding years led to more and more evidence, almost to the level of complete proof. The announcement three weeks ago was the culmination of over a decade’s work, involving eight separate observatories and hundreds of people. Looking like a fuzzy yellow-orange doughnut, the image agrees almost exactly with theoretical predictions. Einstein was right!

I could go on at length about the science of black holes, but that’s not where we want to go.

What struck me about this achievement was the team’s dogged determination, and their clear belief that what they were seeking was truly there. If they had not trusted the theory and the mounting body of evidence, they would never had invested so much time and energy (not to say money!) in this arcane quest.

If they had not believed in black holes, they (and we) would never have seen one. Believing led to seeing!

The Risen Christ said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” We can certainly include ourselves in this number.  The fact that we are gathered here today in this place testifies to our belief in the Resurrection – in a variety of ways and understandings, to be sure – and to the church’s continued faithfulness in proclaiming this central truth of the Gospel.

The contemporary Christian writer Diana Butler Bass (in “Christianity After Religion”) has suggested that the church needs to pay more attention to HOW we believe. We’ve been pretty good at enunciating WHAT we believe, in creeds and catechisms, but we have been less effective in putting wheels on the bus.

If we say we believe, what comes next?

What difference does it make in our lives?

Will our proclamation of the Resurrection be anything more than words?

Think of those scientists. They believed in the existence of black holes enough to devote over a decade’s work and many millions of dollars to produce the image they presented to the world. They believed, and so we see.

Friends, belief in the Resurrection can never be just a head game. It has consequences far beyond that upper room, consequences reaching into every aspect of our lives, consequences that give us a wholly new way of seeing the world.

We believe and proclaim that Christ rose from the dead. We affirm that this was not just a “one-off,” but as Paul wrote in 1 Cor 15:20, it is the “first fruits of those who have died.” The promise of the Resurrection is that death will never again have the last word.

Believing in the Resurrection of Jesus is a truly eye-opening event. To the believing eye, the world no longer needs to look like a medieval map, with “here be dragons” on its margins. Rather, we are enabled to see a world destined for renewal and resurrection – a world in which the forces of evil, while still present and active, are fighting a rearguard battle. As Fr. Chris said last Sunday, “We shall overcome,” and we can and should affirm that in our words and our actions.

Believing is seeing—seeing the world as the creation of a good and loving God, seeing death not as defeat but as the next step in God’s renewal of creation, seeing all others as heirs with us of God’s eternal kingdom.

As we believe, so may we see.

As we see, so may we act.

As we act, so may we proclaim.

And may our proclamation always be
“Alleluia! Christ is Risen!”