Mother’s Day

May 13, 2012

Acts 10:44-48 / Psalm 98 / 1 John 5:1-6 / John 15:9-17

Last week when I googled the word “love” on the internet  I discovered one billion, two hundred million results in .08 seconds.  Actually the tally was “about” one billion, two hundred million results.  I didn’t read them all, but here’s some examples:

I love neon.

I love typography.

I love bees.

I love carbon dioxide.

I love coffee.

I love Torah.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

139 reasons to love Canada.

Do what you love.

The Love of Reading Foundation.

Love a tree.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus uses the word “love” only nine times but never shallowly.  As he has loved his friends, he says, so are we to love others.  This is Jesus’ “root command”, as Eugene Peterson says[1]: Love one another as Jesus has loved us.

On the night he’s arrested, the night before he’s crucified on the cross, it’s as if Jesus is saying to his friends:  As you go on your way into the future, a very changed future, no matter what you face . . . . LOVE.   The stakes are high. He won’t have many more times to talk with his friends intimately like this.  And he uses the time he has left to talk with them about the heart of the matter: LOVE.  He doesn’t coach them about political strategy.  He doesn’t lecture them on the pros and cons of weapons for conquest.  He doesn’t say anything about money or buildings or accumulating possessions.  He doesn’t moralize about straightening other people out.   He commands them to love.  Love, love and only love.

For Jesus, love means laying down your life for your friends, something we may think we don’t see very often–maybe in the martyrs and in news stories about exceptional care that given.  But I’d like to suggest this morning that we catch more glimpses of selfless love than we think.  Today I lift up the vocation of caregivers who put aside their own plans to give care–everyday care and in some situations, special care when special care is needed.  I lift up the vocation of care-giving (not just a job—a vocation, a calling) as an example of what Jesus is talking about.

Care-givers are both women and men.  Many never planned to give the kind of care that circumstances call on them to give.  Some give care to family members; others give care to people outside their family.  Usually their care-giving doesn’t make it into the newspaper or appear on the evening news.  After all, they’re just . . .

• Washing
• Feeding
• Lifting
• Listening
• Consoling
• Carrying
• Speaking up and advocating
• Accompanying.

These are examples of what Jesus is talking about when he says that love is laying down your life for your friends.  Maybe we catch more glimpses of this kind of love than we think.  And all the selfless loving we do is rooted (whether we recognize it or not) in the Creator’s unconditional love for us.

Likely all of us have some regrets about the care we give . . . or don’t give . . . or aren’t able to give.   In wisdom, Christ, the best care-giver, makes us into his wounded and resurrected Body here on earth.  He gives each one of us a part in giving care.  And in the Body of Christ, when a caregiver becomes worn out or sick or lives far away–or when a caregiver simply can’t give the care that’s needed–at our best the faith community (often with help from the wider community) pays attention and steps in.

• Washing
• Feeding
• Lifting
• Listening
• Consoling
• Carrying
• Speaking up and advocating
• Accompanying

At our best, we in the faith community work together with resources in the wider community to give love and support to caregivers so they don’t burn out.

People of God, members of the Body of Christ, may God’s unconditional love continue to lead us to put aside our own plans and agendas to attend to the needs of others.   At all times, especially when the time comes for us to be on the “receiving” end of such care-giving, may we be filled with thanksgiving for Jesus himself who teaches us and the whole world how to love.  And may we give thanks for those blessed ones in our lives whose way of life is to listen to him and graciously answer his call to selfless, loving action.

All selfless, loving action we see right here and in the world is a sign pointing us to the Creator’s unconditional love for us and for all Creation.

We remember and give thanks.

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Acts 8:26-40, Psalm 22:25-31, 1 John 4:7-21, John 15:1-8

 Especially in light of our Gospel today. when Jesus says: “I am the vine and you are the branches,” it’s worth our paying careful attention to something that happened in Nova Scotia this past week. You may have heard the news.  A teenage boy in Lunenberg County was suspended from his high school after he insisted on wearing a T-shirt with the slogan:  “LIFE IS WASTED WITHOUT JESUS.”[1]  On Friday the decision was reversed and the boy will be wearing his t-shirt again at school on Monday.

Some think the issue in this significant little piece of news is whether or not a show of religion should be allowed in public schools.  Others think the issue is how to express our beliefs and still show respect for others who don’t share our beliefs. As the school board superintendent says, very wisely, I think, “This is a learning moment for everyone.”

So what can we learn?  It’s become a lot more complicated in recent years, hasn’t it? Expressing our faith in this multi-cultural, changing world we live in. And I’d like to suggest we need something much deeper than slogans to witness to the power of Christ alive and active in our midst. And specifically I’d like to suggest that we need to choose ways of communicating our faith that never diminish people of other faiths or people with no particular faith.

To do that, we need something more than slogans.  We need something more than ourselves and our brightest ideas.  We need just what Jesus is offering us today, his own life flowing in us and through us, making us healthy green branches, filled with life, filled with fruit, the way we’re meant to be.

Often I hear people giving thanks for their faith and for their faith community in ways that don’t diminish anybody else. Yesterday is a good example.  Jacob and Benjamin were married here at St. Mark’s, the first gay marriage in this church.   So now Ben and Jake are legally married, and they made their promises to each other with the support and the prayers of this faith community, their own faith community.

And what thanksgiving to God their marriage inspired!

• Thanksgiving for Benjamin and Jacob who are blessings to their families, blessings to their friends, blessings to us.
• Thanksgiving for a place like this that welcomes people in all our blessed variety, a faith community that’s bearing fruit.
• Thanksgiving from Benjamin and Jacob who say they have been surprised by what they call “the unexpectedly good experience” they’ve had in the Christian community.
• Throughout the festivities on Friday and Saturday, I also heard whispers of thanksgiving from their parents and grandparents, siblings and friends.  And each time I heard a word of thanksgiving, I promised to pass it along to you whether you were able to be present here yesterday or not.  People take notice and people give thanks to God when they see the life of Christ active in love.

And yet all faith communities including this one still have room to grow.  So many things can get in the way of people feeling connected to God and connected to other people.  Remembering the T-shirt incident, it can be a real obstacle to faith when we forget that many of our neighbours who express their faith differently from the way we do, or have no faith in particular, are also trying to live lives of faith active in love.  Their lives aren’t wasted any more than our lives are wasted.

People of God, we in the church are called to be extra careful in our actions and in our use of language so that nobody can ever say about us that we branches are like a tangled up, choking thicket, getting in the way of the faith of others.  In a complicated, changing world, thanks be to God for the example of the school board in Lunenberg County, Nova Scotia, bringing in a facilitator tomorrow to help students, parents and teachers express their beliefs in ways that’s respectful to all.  This is a sign to us of the new life Christ is longing to give the world:  new life that builds other people up.   New life that teaches the tools of peace.

When we’re filled with the life and love of Christ, there’s no room in us for diminishing others.  When we are filled with the life and love of Christ, the message that flows in us and through us is Christ himself.  “Christ in the centre.”[2]  Christ is our centre, oozing out into the world in grace and mercy and peace.

People of God, today Jesus makes our mission clear: we are called to be channels for his life and his love to flow out into this world.  This is our hope and this is our promise.

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

Psalm 23, 1 John 3:15-24 & John 10:11-18

Thousands of years after David first wrote the words “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want . . . .” and Jesus first referred to himself as The Good Shepherd, even those of us who know little or nothing of shepherds and sheep still relate to this life-giving image.  Maybe you’re like me and somewhere along the way have experienced a relationship that reminds you of the relationship between shepherd and sheep.

Many years ago when I was studying at California State University—Los Angeles, Bob and Lois Douglass were my teachers.  I was in my thirties at the time, and Bob and Lois were near retirement.  I thought they were ancient!  (Kind of like Yoda—about 900 years old!)   In classroom and clinic, I spent about six years under Bob and Lois’ wings, and they showed me at least as much about life and relationships and growing as they did about Speech Pathology.

There in a big public university, in the basement of an impersonal concrete high rise, Bob and Lois gathered their sheep: gathered us student clinicians and the children with special needs and families we worked with.  They watched over us.  Gave us a good example to follow.  Kept us on track and kept track of us.  Calmed us down when we were anxious.  Called us to do our best.  Took an interest in our personal lives.

When I thought I’d heard the call to go on a church delegation to El Salvador during the war there, Bob and Lois said:  “This is a big adventure, Nancy!   We can’t wait to hear about it.”

When shortly before graduation we Kellys moved from California to Canada to begin ministry here, they bid us Godspeed & said, “This is a big adventure!  We can’t wait to hear about it.”

When I heard the call to become a pastor in this new country, they said, “This is another big adventure!  We can’t wait to hear about it!”

And still they kept track of me.

A couple of years ago on a visit to California, I recognized Lois’ voice across the room in the Pie ‘n Burger diner in Pasadena.  By the time I saw her face, she had already seen me.  We ran across the restaurant–overjoyed to see each other one more time.  To hear each other’s voice.  To call each other by name.    By that time Bob and Lois really were ancient!  Bob couldn’t make it in to the diner anymore, and he was waiting outside in the car while Lois picked up a pie to take home.  When I went out to the car to greet Bob, still he called me by name.

Just before Palm Sunday this year, Lois died after a brief illness, and last week we received word that Bob had died, too, just seventeen days after Lois.  This is what I want to tell you:  If I were deaf in both ears, I could still hear the sound of their voices calling me by name.  Guiding me.  Encouraging me.  Correcting me.  Calming me down.  Restoring my soul.

What voices do you have like that stored up inside your head?  What voices do you have stored up inside your heart?  Giving you guidance and comfort.  Keeping track of you.  Calling you to be your best.  Cheering you on.  Calming you down when you’re anxious.  Restoring your soul.

Jesus tells us that he is the good shepherd who calls us by name and speaks to us in a voice we can recognize, keeps us together and has even more sheep than the sheep we can see.  Jesus goes a step further than most of the human shepherds we know.  He puts himself in harm’s way and gives his life for us on the cross.  He shows us what it looks like to put our own needs aside to live our lives for others.

The Daily Discipleship[1] materials for today talk about how we yearn for somebody to know and love and protect us like that. For others who will make us feel at home and keep us safe. For companions on the journey of life who are overjoyed to see us, call us by name, keep track of us over time, help us stay on a life-giving path, and go the distance with us through many changes in life.

Even in death still the Good Shepherd recognizes us and calls us by name. Yesterday when we buried Peter Kleinschmidt, long time member of this faith community, at the cemetery I prayed the familiar words:

Acknowledge we humbly ask you,

a sheep of your own fold,

a lamb of your own flock,

a sinner of your own redeeming.

Even in death still the Good Shepherd recognizes us and calls us by name.

Today we give thanks to God for Jesus, our Good Shepherd who lays down his life for us.

We give thanks for human companions on the journey of life, the journey of faith, who have guided us in life-giving ways.

And we ask Jesus to give us all we need to be a faith community that gathers together regularly to listen to his voice and share his meal.  A faith community where we call each other by name.  A faith community that puts aside our individual agendas so the life of Jesus is the life that flows in us and through us.  A faith community that shares our life and our wealth with sisters and brothers in need.

Then we will experience together the grace of what it means to say: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

John 20:19-31

Last week on the evening of Easter Sunday, while my granddaughter was in hospital having surgery, I found myself thumbing through the prayers in the front part of the worship book.   There I found a timeless prayer that spoke to me, a prayer written by Saint Augustine many years ago.

O loving God,
to turn away from you is to fall,
to turn towards you is to rise,
and to stand before you is to abide forever.
Grant us, dear God,
in all our duties your help;
in all our uncertainties your guidance.
in all our dangers your protection;
and in all our sorrows your peace.
Though Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Although Saint Augustine wrote this prayer more than 300 years after the resurrection, it seems to me it’s a timeless prayer with timeless concerns, and I thought maybe it might mean something to you, too, in all your duties, in all your uncertainties, in all your dangers and all your sorrows.  I can imagine the man we call “Doubting Thomas” praying a prayer like this one. Maybe not all at once right after he touches the wounds of Christ, but many times over as he moves into the new life God gives him.

Loving God, of course Thomas would say Loving God. Of course Thomas would address Jesus this way, having touched first hand the wounds of the God who suffers with us.

Loving God, to turn away from you is to fall. And of course Thomas would say this, too. Turning away from God sets in motion a series of subtle little faltering steps, and then more obvious faltering steps, leading eventually a big fall. Even in his time of doubt, even before Thomas touches the wounds of Christ, he knows this: to turn away from God is to fall.

And he discovers that to turn toward God is to rise. When Christ surprises him by bursting through the locked doors of the room where the disciples were gathering, Thomas doesn’t turn away.  He doesn’t take a step backwards when Christ says, “Peace be with you.”  He steps forward towards the One who comes through closed doors, and when he steps forward he meets the living Christ.

“To stand before you is to abide forever. Can you hear Thomas blurting words like these to Jesus all at once in awe as he reaches out to touch the wounds of Christ?  To stand before you, to touch your wounds, is to abide forever. Can you hear Thomas spitting out words like these at the moment of his epiphany when he stands before the living Christ and touches his wounds and grasps, in faith, that he will live with Christ forever, even after death?

So first there’s the affirmation of who God is—Loving God, and then there’s the affirmation of what God does—God raises us up when we turn towards God. And then there are four straightforward petitions:

for God’s help in all our duties;
for God’s guidance in all our uncertainties (doubts).
for God’s protection in all our dangers;
for God’s peace in all our sorrows.

Can you imagine Thomas praying a prayer like this on the day he encounters the risen Christ face to face and insists on touching his wounded hands and side?

Can you imagine yourself praying this prayer throughout your life
in times of commitment,
in times of uncertainty,
in times of danger,
in times of sorrow?

Assuming that this is a timeless prayer and that these themes touch us all, let’s pray this beautiful prayer together slowly.

O loving God,
to turn away from you is to fall,
to turn towards you is to rise,
and to stand before you is to abide forever.
Grant us, dear God,
in all our duties your help;
in all our uncertainties your guidance.
in all our dangers your protection;
and in all our sorrows your peace.
Though Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Thank God for Thomas, the saint who shows us how filled with doubt a life of faith can be.

(Putting it another way) Thank God for Thomas, the saint who shows us how filled with faith a doubting life can be.

Thank God for St. Augustine, an ancient man of faith who gives us this beautiful prayer.

And more than anything, thank God for Jesus.  In our doubt and in our faith, Jesus is saying to us right now “Peace be with you” as he reveals himself to us as he is, wounded,
crucified and risen from the dead.

In Jesus’ name. Amen.

August 15, 2012

Augustine of Hippo’s prayer is found in Evangelical Lutheran Worship, at the top of page 87.

Our custodian Harvey has a way of giving me articles he finds inspiring, and close to a year ago, he gave me an article about Loretta Downs,[1] an end-of-life caregiver, who raises monarch butterflies in a meadow of milkweed in an inner-city alley in Chicago.  Raising butterflies is part of her vocation. Helps her reflect on life (which she’s living), and on death, (which she sees a lot of), and on life-after-death, (which she believes in).

Every June you can find Loretta shoulder-high in a field of milkweed “searching for something so sacred,” she says, it leaves her speechless.”   What she’s searching for is this: those little bitty white dots on the undersides of milkweed leaves.  Little white dots so tiny and so fragile they would “surely drown in a raindrop.”

And yet, as Loretta knows, these little white dots are filled with new life.  It takes time for the new life to come—a message for all of us who are waiting for new life for ourselves or for someone we love or for this earth which is so scarred and broken.  Egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, butterfly, “These are most essential way stations,” Loretta says, “for a living being that has so much wisdom tucked inside itself at every stage.” Profoundly, I think, she calls the chrysalis is a “transformation chamber.”   The place where new life is working itself out even though you can’t see it and just have to trust that it’s happening inside.

The chrysalis is like the tomb, during those three dark, cruel days when Jesus is inside, death having done its worst.   And I would be bold to say, the chrysalis is like what’s going on with all of us right now as we live in these bodies that have been loaned to us, by grace following Jesus the best we can with the promise that the best is yet to be.

As we wait, new life is safe-guarded for us, in the realm of mystery and trust.  And at the same time, even now, in our life together, and in our life with our neighbours, new life has already begun.   We get little wiggling  glimpses now and then to egg us on, to encourage us.

So for all you little white dots on the underside of milkweed leaves and all you caterpillars inching along on the way of the cross and all you pupas wrapped up in your transformation chambers, take heart . . .

As John and Robin McCullough-Bade[2] say about Easter in our Daily Discipleship materials for Easter Sunday,

“In the resurrection of Christ,

God is pulling off the greatest reversal of all.

The last word spoken is not death, but life;

The last word spoken is not sorrow but joy,

The last word spoken is not guilt but forgiveness”.

Today God lets us see that what we can see isn’t the whole story.

“God breaks down the locked tombs of whatever shuts us in”[3]—a God-sized job, and God promises wonderful, hopeful, healing surprises beyond what we can see right now.

“Go tell,” we hear Christ speaking to us alive on Easter morning.

• God is in the little white dots on the underside of milkweed leaves.
• God is in the caterpillars inching along to death.
• God is in the transformation chamber.
• And God is in the butterfly.

When we see the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, new life is what we long for and new life is the gift that is already ours.   At each way station on the journey, this is our hope and this is our promise.  In Jesus’ name.  Amen.

If you’re reading WaterMarks by Diane L. Jacobson as part of your Lenten Journey, you are invited to post your comments and reflections here!

Today is Day #3 of Lent 2012 when we are considering the story of The Flood in the book of Genesis.

What do you think our children are learning when we teach them the story of Noah’s Ark?

Join the conversation!

 When our staff at St. Mark’s meets for Morning Prayer on Tuesdays, we always pray that we’ll catch a glimpse of the face of Christ in everybody who crosses our path.  And because we see the face of Christ all the time, I know God answers prayer.  For the record, here’s where I saw the face of Christ in twenty four hours more or less.

In the apologetic face

of an adult

who showed up at a breakfast program for high school students.

“May I have breakfast, too?” she said. “My cheque won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

In the transfigured face

of a man who struggles with addiction

just after he got a free hair cut at the high school.

In the tear-streaked face

of someone telling me

about a death in the family.

In the compassionate face

of a nurse

trying to find a good vein.

In the desperate face

of a mother

trying to get help for her child.

In the angry face

of someone describing mistreatment.

In the face of a child,

filled with purpose and wonder,

pushing her kitten around in a toy grocery cart.

In the happy face

of a colleague

showing off family pictures.

In the anxious face

of a taxi driver

as he said, “I guess God is here somewhere.”

The face of Christ:  apologetic…hopeful…familiar…strange…happy…sad…anguished…angry…filled with wonder…purposeful…desperate…anxious.

When did you see the face of Christ today?

When did others see the face of Christ in you?

Grief is the deep blue of sadness,
bottomless
like the ocean
and just as wide.

Grief is the raging red of anger.
So many things you can’t control.
Who can you blame?
Where is God?

Grief is the dark murkiness of fear.
Things changing so fast,
churning in the dark.
Not sure where to turn.

Grief is the splatter pattern of confusion,
too much happening all at once.
What now?

Grief is the bracing white light of clarity.
How precious life is
and how uncertain,
worth every spontaneous hug
and kiss
and I love you.

But what is the colour of regret?
The colour of so many things
unfinished and unfinishable?
Purple like a bruise?

Grief is the colour of grass,
locked up in memory for now,
waiting to rise up green again
alive beneath the snow
when springtime comes.

But not yet.

1/11
From the funeral sermon for rbw

For several nights before Christmas, the homes of church members are prepared to receive visitors and to offer an open door, hot chocolate, coffee and sweets.  After the preparations are made, on the designated nights, groups of people move from one home to another carrying candles and singing songs as they walk.

In the lead is a young girl playing Mary, soon-to-be the mother of Jesus, very obviously pregnant, sometimes with a big balloon or pillow under her blouse.  Mary and her partner Joseph are far from home, out on the streets of a strange city, in need of a place to stay. Mary is just about ready to give birth.

The procession includes kids dressed up like shepherds and kings and angels (the other characters in the story), and when everybody arrives at a darkened house one person knocks on the door and asks for a warm place to stay.  Because Mary is about to have a baby and she’s in a strange town, far from home, and she has nowhere to give birth.

“There’s no room here!  We will not let you enter.” [1] After they knock, this is the first response Mary and Joseph hear from those who are safe and warm and cozy inside the house.  “There is no room here!  We will not let  you in!”

There follows a heartfelt pleading for hospitality: “We are cold. We need a place to stay. We need refuge.  Our baby is just about to be born.”

“What good is it, brothers and sisters,” the people outside in the cold say to those inside who are safe and warm, “What good is it if you say you have faith but take no action?  If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what good is that?  So faith by itself, if has no actions, is dead.”

And with that the people on the inside of the warm and cozy house switch on the lights, throw open the doors and say: “Come inside, holy pilgrims.  With much joy, we will receive you, and give you a place to stay.  Receive a place, not in this humble home but in our hearts.”

And then let the party begin.  The strangers are welcomed inside, and Jesus has a safe and warm place to be born.

Las Posadas strikes me as an honest tradition–a tradition that tells the truth.  Las Posadas shows both sides of Christianity.

The side that says “No” to strangers in need of welcome.

And the side that opens up the door and says: “Yes.  Come in.  Line up your shoes inside the door.  You must be hungry.  Come have a bite to eat.  Our house is your house.  We will treat you like family.  There is a place for you here in our home and in our heart.”

And people old and young respond, enthusiastically, thoughtfully, hungrily, hopefully:
“Thanks be to God!”

Lately one of the kids has taken to shouting out the words–which puts a smile on everybody’s face!

Over the years these words have welcomed:
• mommies and daddies who break off a little piece of the bread to feed their babies,
• toddlers with shy, outstretched hands who are learning to eat the bread and say Amen,
• people walking with canes and walkers, people in wheel chairs,
• dying people coming to church one last time,
• children somewhere on the autism spectrum who love the rhythm of this particular meal,
• gay people, sometimes in couples, sometimes not,
• a Hindu man visiting his dying wife in the hospital next door who came to the table on the arm of one of the ushers, both of them hungry,
• patients on passes from the Psych Ward next door,
• prisoners on passes from the prison on the other side of town,
• doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers, mail carriers, artists, guitar players, fork lift drivers, drunks, liars, cheaters, murderers and thieves,
• people born in Canada and people born in Germany, China, El Salvador, Guatemala, The Netherlands, the US, Guyana, Jamaica, The Sudan, Egypt, Mozambique, Ethiopia, and who knows where all else,
• folks waiting to be baptized who suddenly feel the need to share in the meal.

Because we believe that Christ doesn’t turn anybody away, we don’t turn anybody away. We who need Christ’s wide embrace all have a place at the table.

Once in awhile a child who’s two heads taller than I am spontaneously grabs the plate of bread from me and says, “Pastor Nancy, this is the Body of Christ.”

And indeed it is!

Thanks be to God!