Tag: Jesus

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.

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 ↩︎

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.

What kind of king? What kind of people?

Notes for a sermon at Holy Trinity Anglican Church (Strathcona), Edmonton
Reign of Christ Sunday, Nov. 21, 2021
Texts: John 18:33-37; 2 Samuel 23:1-7; Revelation 1:4b-8

“Are you the King of the Jews?” may at first seem like a straightforward yes/no question. The Jewish authorities have turned Jesus over to Pilate, demanding his death. At first glance, Pilate is just seeking a quick resolution to the charge. However, I find myself hearing Pilate’s question on another level. Jesus has been accused of claiming kingship, and Pilate can’t quite believe it.

“Are you the King of the Jews?” “Really?”

Whatever answer Jesus may give, he does not present as any kind of king that Pilate can recognize. What does a king look like? Certainly nothing like a Galilean peasant. Pilate knew kings – people who lived in palaces, dressed richly, surrounded by servants. Most kings in the ancient world got their positions through force or violence, whether an ancestor’s or their own, and they held on to those positions through force. Pilate can see none of this in Jesus, who is no kind of king that Pilate (or almost anyone else) understands. “My kingdom is not of this world,” as Jesus says. Living under Jesus’ reign is different from living under the rule of an earthly king. So…

       What kind of king is he?
       What kind of kingdom does he reign over?
       What kind of people inhabit this kingdom?

The Bible is ambivalent about human government, especially kingship.[1] There are texts that affirm its positive value, others that caution about it, and still others that are profoundly negative. Our reading from 2 Samuel points to this tension: someone who rules over people should do so “in the fear of God,” meaning that the ruler’s purposes should be God’s purposes. History has too many examples of rulers whose purposes were not aimed at the good of God’s people, but rather driven by self-interest, aggrandizement, and aggression.

Moves to limit the power of kings play an important role in our history. In 1215, Magna Carta sought to protect the rights of the church and the barons, but real steps in establishing rights for the wider populace came later, notably with the British Bill of Rights Act of 1689. In Canada, human rights, as enshrined in the first section of our constitution in 1982, have become a major factor in our lives, notably as part of some rancorous disputes around pandemic protection.[2]

The language of human rights has become commonplace, even finding its way into church life. At General Synod in 1998, we were asked to vote on a declaration of human rights for the church. The measure was narrowly defeated, but I found the debate instructive. I particularly recall one of the bishops saying something like “Human rights are a good thing to promote, but we in the church should remember that this is not our ‘heart language.’ Our heart language as followers of Christ is the language of responsibility, which is found in the Baptismal Covenant.”[3]

That one short speech has stayed with me ever since.

We are celebrating baptism today, affirming with the candidate and her parents and sponsors our own commitment to following Jesus. We are declaring ourselves to be citizens of Jesus’ Kingdom. Following Jesus is never about asserting rights and privileges, but rather about acknowledging and accepting our responsibilities as Jesus’ people. One of those responsibilities is related to human rights – we pledge to respect the dignity of every human being, but that has little to do with our own rights. It’s more about acknowledging others’ equal standing in God’s eyes.

Jesus could have claimed kingship for himself, with all the rights and privileges pertaining to that office. As the incarnate Word of God – the Truth walking among us – he was certainly entitled to due respect. But he never claimed it.

Instead, as Paul wrote in Philippians 2:5-8

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
who, though he was in the form of God,
   did not regard equality with God
   as something to be exploited,
but emptied himself,
   taking the form of a slave,
   being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
   he humbled himself
   and became obedient to the point of death—
   even death on a cross.

Jesus’ kingship is not about him – not like Louis XIV of France, who famously said “L’état – c’est moi.” For Louis and many other monarchs, it is all about them. For Jesus, it is all about God and God’s people, and his self-giving love for all that led him to stand before Pilate, and soon after to die on the cross.

Christian life – the life expressed in promise form in the Baptismal Covenant – is not about us. It’s about our participation in the Reign of Christ, a Kingdom built on justice, mercy, and love.

Christian life is about us being and becoming a kingdom of “priests serving [Jesus’] God and Father.” We are not all priests in the ecclesiastical sense, but as a people we are called to “proclaim by word and example the good news of God,” presenting God to the world in all that we say and do – the essential nature of priestly ministry. This message will not always be received in joy by people, not least because it confronts all our self-driven agendas.

I once asked a young man who was considering Baptism as part of his preparation for marriage what he understood to be the purpose of life. His response startled me: “I guess to get power over other people,” a dramatic contrast to seeking others’ good, entailed in following Jesus. I don’t think he is unique – far from it! – but I had never heard this stance expressed quite so candidly.

Being part of the people of God can sometimes be difficult, as that conversation showed. But the good news is that we are not alone.

We stand with Jesus, who stands with us, together accepting and sharing all the risks of proclaiming the Truth in a world that sometimes seems to despise it.

We are empowered by the Holy Spirit, who moves in our midst and in our hearts, driving out fear, and sowing within us the seeds of love.

We are all children of God, who created us in love, calls us to live in love, and welcomes us into the Kingdom in love.

Thanks be to God!

[1] “Excursus: Biblical Ambivalence to Government”, in The New Interpreter’s Study Bible, Abingdon 2003, p.407

[2] A considerable body of jurisprudence has emerged in Canada, using the principle of “reasonable accommodation” in cases of competing rights.

[3] Book of Alternative Services, Anglican Church of Canada, 1985, p. 158

The economy of Grace

Some years ago I spent a few weeks volunteering full-time at Edmonton’s Bissell Centre, an agency which exists to help the city’s underprivileged people. One of the programs they had was a work exchange program. People could call the Centre looking for day laborers, and the Centre would send workers out as they were available. On occasional days there was more work than people, but mostly there were people left behind after all the jobs had been allotted. Some worked, others did not.

The Gospel reading from the Revised Common Lectionary for September 20 always reminds me of this program. The parable of the workers in the vineyard begins with a farmer needing to bring in his crops. He goes to the town square and finds people available for a day’s work. He hires some and leaves the others behind. Perhaps he grew fearful that the work would not all be done that day, so he returns to the square three times to get more workers, even recruiting some unlucky folk who had hung around until five o’clock because no-one else would hire them. It’s a pretty simple and predictable story — so far!

The twist (there’s always a twist in a parable) comes at the end of work when he doles out payment to the workers. To the astonishment of all and the anger of the early birds, he pays everyone the same amount – one denarius, a normal day’s wage.

The Workers in the Vineyard | The Catholic Word

Now, as my grandson would say, “How is that fair?” Surely there should be equal pay for equal work, and the late comers should not get the same as the first hired. But no, the farmer pays a day’s wage to everyone.

Here’s the rub, as I see it: the pay of one denarius would allow the worker to feed the family for the day. In this economy everyone gets to eat. There’s a parallel here to the story of the feeding of the 5,000: Jesus shows up, and people get fed. It doesn’t matter what we might have done to earn it, how much labour we might have put in, or anything. God is generous to all, even to those whom we may not believe deserve God’s generosity.

The economy of grace is not nice and neat. It can’t be reduced to an input/output table, or the law of supply and demand. God’s grace is poured out on all. Our economy doesn’t usually work that way. Instead, we put limits on how God’s generosity is apportioned among the populace and are often outraged when someone seems to get what they don’t deserve. Are we similarly outraged when someone doesn’t get what they do deserve? It seems to me that such responses tend to be more muted.

In God’s economy, all are fed, all are treated as deserving of respect, all contribute what they can as they are able.

How should we respond to this divine generosity? Surely not by grumbling about someone else’s good fortune. God has provided for them. Who are we to complain? I am reminded of a verse from “The Servant Song,” one of my favorite hymns:

I will weep when you are weeping,
when you laugh I’ll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow
till we’ve seen this journey through.

Richard Gillard © Scripture in Song

The journey in and with Christ is not a race with the winner taking home the medal. Rather, it is a journey of fellow-travelers, all seeking each other’s good.

Jesus shows up, and people are fed. Hallelujah!

Three Journeys

Notes for a sermon on Transfiguration Sunday, February 23, 2020  at Holy Trinity Anglican Church, Edmonton

Today, I invite you to join me on three journeys.

  • From the Hand Hills to the Rockies.

(If it helps your imagination, you may close your eyes.)

Picture a high flat-topped hill, with short grass fields down its sides. You’re looking west, towards the setting sun, and the day is very clear. Looking down the hill, the hillside flattens out into rolling fields. There is a valley visible in the distance, with more farmland beyond. And far, far away, silhouetted against the evening light, is a dark jagged line.

(You can open your eyes now.)

I have stood on that hill, known locally as Mother’s Mountain. It is the highest point of the Hand Hills, northeast of my hometown of Drumheller, the second highest range of hills on the prairies. On a clear day you can see the Rocky Mountains on the horizon, about 200 km away as the crow flies.

Satellite image of the Hand Hills, from Google Maps

To drive from the Hand Hills to the Rockies takes less than 3 hours. The mountains disappear as you leave the hills. You soon come to the valley of the Red Deer River, perhaps travelling down a steep and winding coulee. Across the river, you ascend on a similar route, reaching the prairieland once more, back “up on top,” as valley residents would say. The terrain between Drumheller and Calgary is not flat, but broadly rolling. Places appear ahead in the distance as you crest each hill, only to disappear again as you descend. There is a point in the trip when the Rockies again become visible. Shortly after, they remain in view for the rest of the journey.

As you go, you see ranch land, badlands, farmland, urban areas, and forest. All of them have their attractions. Turning aside for a while to enjoy one of these environments only enhances the journey. In fact, it helps us to see that the journey itself may be more important than the goal. It also reminds us that the journey is best made with others, so that we can help each other enjoy the day in each place where we arrive.

But the goal always lies ahead of us. And as we drive, the goal becomes clearer and clearer. Finally, we reach the Rockies, known from Anthony Henday’s annals as the “Shining mountains.”

  • From Transfiguration to Resurrection

In our revised calendar today is Transfiguration Sunday. Today we remember a strange event recounted in three of the Gospels, when Jesus took three of his closest disciples up “the mountain” where he was revealed in glory, and a voice from heaven declared him God’s beloved Son.

The Transfiguration has an important narrative role in the first three Gospels. The traditional calendar didn’t pay it much mind, fixing it on a August 6, commemorating a 15th-Century battle. The new calendar has put it in its proper context in the Gospel account. In Matthew, it’s the second-last of five mountain events, looking ahead to the final one in Ch. 28, when the Risen Christ sends the disciples out to be his messengers, and to build the Church.

The journey between these two mountains takes us through the last days of Jesus’ life on earth, as he goes to Jerusalem, engages the religious authorities in the temple, and is crucified. This is the journey we remember each year as we approach the most important festival of our faith – Easter. We call the season of this journey Lent, and it begins on Wednesday. We descend into the valley, and then set our face to the mountain of the great promise.

In the early church this period before Easter was the time when catechumens made their final preparation for their baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter. Preparation included disciplines such as prayer and fasting, aimed at strengthening the candidates for the commitment to the life of faith before them. Members of the church would join the candidates in their preparations. The traditional Lenten disciplines reflect this communal commitment. Lent is a journey towards the renewal of our baptismal covenant at the Paschal festival – we remind ourselves of who we are, and where we are headed.

Placing the story of the Transfiguration just before Lent gives us an opportunity to stand on one mountain-top, looking ahead to the next – the shared goal of all the faithful, the Kingdom of God in its fullness.

We climb the mountain with Jesus, beholding him in his already-but-not-yet glory. And then we go to the valley and the plains and we work our way ahead, with the goal always in mind.

The goal lies before us, but – like driving from the Hand Hills to the Rockies – the journey is at least as important as its end. We don’t jump straight to the Resurrection, but rather follow Jesus to Jerusalem, to the cross and the tomb.

  • From Baptism to the Kingdom

We are baptizing today, on this day when we look ahead to the glory to come, when we stand on one mountain with another just in sight.

The candidates may or may not have the shining mountains in view, but those who promise to uphold them in their life in Christ do. It is our responsibility – both sponsors and congregation – to hold that vision before them, to help them to grow into their full stature in Christ. It our responsibility to walk with them on the journey of faith, supporting and upholding them wherever they may find themselves as they go.

The road ahead may not be easy for these young people. We may pray that it will be so, and by God’s grace it may be so. But there is nothing certain, except for the promise that we, like Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, are God’s beloved.

God’s beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, went from the Mount of Transfiguration to the Mount of Commissioning, journeying through trials, tribulations, and testing.

Today, as we move into Lent, in our lives of faith, we journey with Jesus from a glimpse of his glory to its full revelation. The beauty of the journey is that we are with Jesus, with all Jesus’ people here, throughout the world, and across the ages.

We are not alone in this journey. The Shining Mountain of the Resurrection beckons. So come! Let us journey together. The Kingdom – what God wishes for this world – lies before us.

In the name of Jesus, who made this journey first, AMEN.

Come and see … and then go

Notes for a sermon preached at St. Matthew’s Anglican Church, St. Albert, Alberta, January 19, 2020. Text: John 1:29-42

On a cold day in January, we might forgive someone for asking us why we are here, although I sometimes wonder the same thing on a beautiful summer day.

Every one of us has made the decision to be here today. If we started asking each other about our reasons, we might well be into a long discussion. Every one of us has a unique story, and every one of those stories is worth telling and sharing—but maybe not this morning!

I once had a conversation with a person who was bothered that other parishioners didn’t seem to share their level of commitment. As we talked, the person started to disparage others’ reasons for church attendance. “He only comes because his wife doesn’t drive.” “She’s only here to hang out with her friends.” … I managed to call a halt, and then I said something that I meant with all my heart, and which I firmly believe to this day.

No matter how they might articulate their reasons, every person who walks through the doors of this (or any other) church, has been led here by the Holy Spirit.

It’s not for us to judge their motivation, but rather to give thanks that they are here, and then to seek the Spirit’s guidance about how to minister to them and with them. The act of walking through a church door, whether for the first time or the ten-thousandth, is a decision to accept Jesus’ invitation to “Come and see,” as he gave to the first disciples, and which continues to come to people today.

When Jesus invited Andrew and his companion to come and see, it did not come out of the blue, but was a vital step in a longer process. The two were already disciples – of John the Baptist. They were seeking the Messiah. They had no doubt gone to John in the hope that he was the One, but John pointed away from himself, to the one on whom he had seen the Spirit descend and remain.

John’s testimony about Jesus presents us with a full-blown doctrine of Christ: pre-existence, the Spirit remaining on him, God’s Chosen One. John knows who he is, and when he sees Jesus passing by again, he points to him and says to his disciples “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” They leave John and follow Jesus, apparently without any question.

Jesus asks them a very simple question: “What are you looking for?” to which they answer, “Rabbi (‘Teacher’), where are you staying?”

This response may seem odd to our ears, but it would not have been out of place from someone seeking to follow a new teacher. To follow a teacher meant to spend time with him, not in a formal school setting, but staying or traveling with him. Today we might call it “hanging out.”

Jesus said, “Come and see.” They went, and they stayed with him for the rest of the day. We are told that it was four o’clock in the afternoon, which might mean that they stayed only a few hours, or perhaps that they stayed into the next day. Either way, they were with Jesus long enough to become convinced that he was the One whom they had been seeking. They were convinced enough to find Simon and to take him to Jesus, who then gave him the name by which we remember him, Peter.

And that’s the beginning of the story of Jesus’ disciples, as it is described in this Gospel. The story of Jesus’ disciples continues today, not written in the Bible, but in the stories of billions of followers of Jesus over two millennia. It continues here in this church today, with people who in some way have heard Jesus say, “Come and see,” who have come, who have seen, and who have believed.

It is the work of the Holy Spirit – the same Spirit who descended upon Jesus at his baptism – that has brought us together today. We come. We see. We believe.

The work of the Church began with people seeking God and God’s salvation, going to John for baptism, hearing John testify about Jesus, and then following Jesus at his invitation.

The work of the Church continues today with people seeking God, entering the Church through baptism, learning by word and example how others have followed Jesus, and then following – each in our own way.

Every one of us has his or her own story of how we came to follow Christ and how we continue to do so day by day. Every one of us made the decision to be in this place on this day. Every one of those decisions is one more step in our story as individual disciples and as a small part of the Body of Christ, the Church.

It has been said that the most important point of the liturgy is the dismissal. “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” is not just someone telling us that it’s time to put on our coats and go home. Rather, it is a charge to go out from this place and BE the Church in the world, doing the work of God wherever it needs to be done and wherever we are able.

Andrew and his companion went out from their first time with Jesus and found Peter. They got to work spreading the news.

The Spirit of God called them to find and to follow Jesus, and then sent them out again.

The Spirit of God has led us to this place, to find Jesus once again in Word, Sacrament, and fellowship. Renewed, refreshed, and reinvigorated, may we be sent forth by the Spirit to do the work of God’s mission.

May we go in joy and peace and with love in our hearts.

Amen.