Two weeks ago, Fr. David talked about how we should come to God in prayer. The first thing is thankfulness: we should be grateful for all we have, happy we have a relationship with God, and full of praise for all the wonderful things we have in our lives. Friends, family, sunsets, harvests -- there's a lot for all of us to be thankful for. God doesn't want us to always come to Him complaining and asking for things. While that's certainly part of a healthy relationship with God, our primary attitude should be one of grateful praise.
The second way we should come to God is with humbleness, humility. Instead of thinking you're great and spending all your time thanking God for the (doubtless many) ways you're awesome, you should stand in His presence in all your smallness by acknowledging His greatness. Come to God with the understanding that your strengths are because God is strong.
The third way we need to come to God is in and with brokenness. We have to acknowledge that we need God because we aren't whole. When we feel shattered and lost and ashamed, we need to come to God instead of hiding because we don't feel good enough. It's God that makes us good enough, never ourselves.
Thankfulness, humility and brokenness. That's how we come to God in prayer.
This week, Jeff talked about how to pray once we've come before God. The main thing is to be persistent, like that widow who annoyed a judge into giving her justice. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" Whatever, you do, don't give up: God wants to know that you know what you're asking Him is important. Not that you're trying to wear God down until he finally gives in because He's just a big meanie who doesn't want to help you, but because He wants you to understand that asking is important, as is faith that He's listening.
Jeff showed us how the Lord's Prayer teaches us to ask God for things. First, you acknowledge His greatness and praise Him, ask Him to do His will. Then you ask for things you need, and for forgiveness. You ask for the strength to forgive others (God wants things from you, too), ask Him to keep you safe, and say you know everything belongs to Him.
In other words, you pray with thankfulness, humility and brokenness, and ask God to help you live life in this fallen world.
Prayer, and prayerfulness, is the key to relationship with God, is key to having what you most need, is the key to life.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Seasons of Change
As Fr. David said in his homily on Sunday, Summer is over: it's not that season anymore, when the living is easy. Now that Fall is coming, with its cool air and colored leaves, Winter and hardship won't be far behind, and we need to prepare. The point is, he said, that we're deluding ourselves if we think our lives will be one endless summertime; things change, and we have to be ready for them. If we aren't, we'll be like the foolish man who built his house on sand and expected it to last through the storm.
The Church has historically been the guardian and keeper of our seasons: festivals and holy days mark every change. Thanksgiving in Fall, Christmas in Winter, Easter somewhere around Spring. The liturgical seasons of the year don't always follow the path of the sun, but no one can deny that the Church has a very clear sense of the movement of time.
Right now, we're in the season after Pentecost, also called "Ordinary Time." The liturgical traditions of the West all have one thing in common: the colour they're using right now is green.
Green is meant to remind us of life, of growth and growing things, but it also reminds us that nothing special is happening at the moment. We take green for granted. There's no Easter or Christmas or Pentecost. Time just rolls by like a gently-sloping meadow, so easily that you don't really notice it. Whatever you call it, Ordinary Time is a lot like summer because it's easy, fading into the background and making you feel like you have all the time in the world. A sense of timelessness starts to pervade our worship. And sometimes we start to forget that it won't always be like this.
Will we be ready, when Advent comes around, to say: "bring on the purple"?
The Church has historically been the guardian and keeper of our seasons: festivals and holy days mark every change. Thanksgiving in Fall, Christmas in Winter, Easter somewhere around Spring. The liturgical seasons of the year don't always follow the path of the sun, but no one can deny that the Church has a very clear sense of the movement of time.
Right now, we're in the season after Pentecost, also called "Ordinary Time." The liturgical traditions of the West all have one thing in common: the colour they're using right now is green.
Green is meant to remind us of life, of growth and growing things, but it also reminds us that nothing special is happening at the moment. We take green for granted. There's no Easter or Christmas or Pentecost. Time just rolls by like a gently-sloping meadow, so easily that you don't really notice it. Whatever you call it, Ordinary Time is a lot like summer because it's easy, fading into the background and making you feel like you have all the time in the world. A sense of timelessness starts to pervade our worship. And sometimes we start to forget that it won't always be like this.
Will we be ready, when Advent comes around, to say: "bring on the purple"?
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Spaceship Heaven Touches Down
"The kingdom of God has come upon you" (Mt 12:28). This is one of the messages Fr. David touched on several weeks ago. It's important to remember that heaven isn't some city far away in the cosmos that we will someday reach. Christianity isn't about the idea that the good believer will die and his soul will escape into the sky to go live with God. It's about the truth that Jesus promises to come back and bring his heavenly city with him. It's about the belief that, one day, the Heavenly Jerusalem will be here among us.
While it's true that this time hasn't come yet, and can never fully come until the end of days, Jesus also tells us that his kingdom is already here. "[The kingdom of heaven] is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants" (Mk 4:31-32); "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field" (Mt 13:44).
Jesus' obscure sayings about the kingdom of heaven all point to the same idea: that God's kingdom is already within this world, and that it will grow and reveal itself ever more clearly until the final coming of the Lord, when its glory will burst forth in its full blinding magnificence. We see glimpses of that light in Jesus' Transfiguration. The glory of heaven is both here and not-yet-here. The kingdom of God is both obvious and out of our grasp.
In the Our Father, we pray that God's kingdom will come and His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. While we are praying for God to do His final work of establishing His throne on earth, we are also called to nourish the kingdom here and now so it can flourish and thrive to its full earthly potential. While only God can complete the work, we are certainly called to help it along.
"The kingdom of heaven is near" (Mt 3:2). How can we, as a community, recognize the signs of God's kingdom and work in its favor?
While it's true that this time hasn't come yet, and can never fully come until the end of days, Jesus also tells us that his kingdom is already here. "[The kingdom of heaven] is like a mustard seed, which is the smallest seed you plant in the ground. Yet when planted, it grows and becomes the largest of all garden plants" (Mk 4:31-32); "The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field" (Mt 13:44).
Jesus' obscure sayings about the kingdom of heaven all point to the same idea: that God's kingdom is already within this world, and that it will grow and reveal itself ever more clearly until the final coming of the Lord, when its glory will burst forth in its full blinding magnificence. We see glimpses of that light in Jesus' Transfiguration. The glory of heaven is both here and not-yet-here. The kingdom of God is both obvious and out of our grasp.
In the Our Father, we pray that God's kingdom will come and His will be done on earth as it is in heaven. While we are praying for God to do His final work of establishing His throne on earth, we are also called to nourish the kingdom here and now so it can flourish and thrive to its full earthly potential. While only God can complete the work, we are certainly called to help it along.
"The kingdom of heaven is near" (Mt 3:2). How can we, as a community, recognize the signs of God's kingdom and work in its favor?
Saturday, July 31, 2010
I Fall On My Knees
Last Sunday, Fr. David spoke about how God desires for us to pray and to ask Him for things. "Ask, and it will be given you;" "Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things which you have not known" (Jer 33:3). God has told us how to speak to Him and promises to give good gifts to those who ask them of Him.
In his sermon, Fr. David focused on how the most profound encounters with God occur in the midst of difficulty. It can't be found in the world, in material things, or in triumphs, but in the places God longs to search us out -- broken and on our knees. "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; A broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise" (Ps 51:17).
We all know the story of the footprints in the sand: a man is looking back at his life as two sets of footprints. One belongs to himself, and the other to God. Most of the time, the record in the sand shows that the man and God walked side by side. But the man notices that during the most difficult periods of his life, there is only one set of footprints. The man is angry and demands to know why God abandoned him during the times he needed Him the most. God replies: "No, my son, it was then, during those times, that I carried you."
Although this story may be a bit of a cliche by now, it does capture the truth that God is profoundly with us in our suffering. The constant companionship of the LORD's path next to ours reminds us that God wants us to ask things of Him, that He's never too far away to hear us.
However, I'm not sure that God wants us to always be down on our knees, fearful, grovelling, or desperate. I think sometimes God wants us on our feet, praising Him: "Hallowed be Thy Name!" Maybe that's the time it's most important to pray, the time when we feel fortunate. We can ask for what's truly important most easily when all our other needs have been satisfied -- that Christ may find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts.
In his sermon, Fr. David focused on how the most profound encounters with God occur in the midst of difficulty. It can't be found in the world, in material things, or in triumphs, but in the places God longs to search us out -- broken and on our knees. "The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; A broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise" (Ps 51:17).
We all know the story of the footprints in the sand: a man is looking back at his life as two sets of footprints. One belongs to himself, and the other to God. Most of the time, the record in the sand shows that the man and God walked side by side. But the man notices that during the most difficult periods of his life, there is only one set of footprints. The man is angry and demands to know why God abandoned him during the times he needed Him the most. God replies: "No, my son, it was then, during those times, that I carried you."
Although this story may be a bit of a cliche by now, it does capture the truth that God is profoundly with us in our suffering. The constant companionship of the LORD's path next to ours reminds us that God wants us to ask things of Him, that He's never too far away to hear us.
However, I'm not sure that God wants us to always be down on our knees, fearful, grovelling, or desperate. I think sometimes God wants us on our feet, praising Him: "Hallowed be Thy Name!" Maybe that's the time it's most important to pray, the time when we feel fortunate. We can ask for what's truly important most easily when all our other needs have been satisfied -- that Christ may find a dwelling place of faith in our hearts.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
God vs. God
written by Jeff Alexander
The lectionary is a funny thing. It’s usually pretty straightforward on holy days and other specific celebrations, but the routine-Sunday combinations of Old Testament – Psalm – Epistle – Gospel often keep a poor preacher on his/her toes. This Sunday, in the midst of a celebration of baptism, was no exception. Not only were we treated to Paul’s enumeration of the sins of the flesh – and no reading is a crowd-grabber without “licentiousness” in it! – but the Gospel focused on some of Jesus’ harshest words.
As recounted by Luke (9:57-62), various anonymous speakers express their desire to follow Jesus, but only after completing routine and (on the surface) understandable tasks. “I just have to bury my father,” says one; “I’m coming after I say goodbye to my family,” states another. Would we deny these acts to anyone before they were to jump into a life-changing and life-consuming responsibility? I sure wouldn’t.
And yet, as Katherine Speeckaert pointed out in her reflection, Jesus bluntly responded that both had to choose, then and there, between these actions and devoting their lives to His service. Period. No do-overs, time-outs or polling the audience. This would have been especially troublesome for the mourning man, as Jewish law – God’s law – was very strict on the requirement for burial of a dead body.
What, I wonder, are the first-time attenders among the baptism family thinking? “Woah, this isn’t what I came for. I just wanted to be here for my [family member/friend/co-worker], snap a few cute pictures and fill myself with finger sandwiches and ultra-frosted cake.” Or are they even listening? Are we even listening to Jesus’ words?
There’s the point on which Kat zeroed in. Jesus didn’t hesitate to be controversial or to jar His listeners, even to the point of seemingly contradicting the Father’s will. How can we reconcile when Jesus’ commands fly in the face of the Law?
Step 1 is seeing, through Jesus’ eyes, how God’s commandments and laws had become a way for the religious elite to stay eliter than the rest of the citizenry. “Hypocrites! Well did Isaiah prophesy about you, saying: ‘These people draw near to Me with their mouth, and honor Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me. And in vain they worship Me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’ ” (Matthew 15:7-9). Jesus, like God, is all about the heart, not the action; the relationship, not the procedure. The ultimate worth of the Law, and its rituals, was to draw all Jews to the Father. Even love for the family and the ritual of burial are consumed by the call of Christ to be His disciple.
As Kat underlined, the Christian life is not one of ease. There is no room for the half-hearted when Jesus is the desire. Remember, the context for this reading was in the midst of Jesus heading relentlessly towards the cross. How can we not give our all in the face of His suffering, humiliation and excruciating death on the cross? We are baptized into a faith that demands our total obedience and willingness to sacrifice for the One who sacrificed His earthly life for our eternal salvation. This is reflected in the very sober promises of the sacrament of baptism, and ring true through the lives of all believers.
Maybe the lectionary wasn’t so strange after all.
The lectionary is a funny thing. It’s usually pretty straightforward on holy days and other specific celebrations, but the routine-Sunday combinations of Old Testament – Psalm – Epistle – Gospel often keep a poor preacher on his/her toes. This Sunday, in the midst of a celebration of baptism, was no exception. Not only were we treated to Paul’s enumeration of the sins of the flesh – and no reading is a crowd-grabber without “licentiousness” in it! – but the Gospel focused on some of Jesus’ harshest words.
As recounted by Luke (9:57-62), various anonymous speakers express their desire to follow Jesus, but only after completing routine and (on the surface) understandable tasks. “I just have to bury my father,” says one; “I’m coming after I say goodbye to my family,” states another. Would we deny these acts to anyone before they were to jump into a life-changing and life-consuming responsibility? I sure wouldn’t.
And yet, as Katherine Speeckaert pointed out in her reflection, Jesus bluntly responded that both had to choose, then and there, between these actions and devoting their lives to His service. Period. No do-overs, time-outs or polling the audience. This would have been especially troublesome for the mourning man, as Jewish law – God’s law – was very strict on the requirement for burial of a dead body.
What, I wonder, are the first-time attenders among the baptism family thinking? “Woah, this isn’t what I came for. I just wanted to be here for my [family member/friend/co-worker], snap a few cute pictures and fill myself with finger sandwiches and ultra-frosted cake.” Or are they even listening? Are we even listening to Jesus’ words?
There’s the point on which Kat zeroed in. Jesus didn’t hesitate to be controversial or to jar His listeners, even to the point of seemingly contradicting the Father’s will. How can we reconcile when Jesus’ commands fly in the face of the Law?
Step 1 is seeing, through Jesus’ eyes, how God’s commandments and laws had become a way for the religious elite to stay eliter than the rest of the citizenry. “Hypocrites! Well did Isaiah prophesy about you, saying: ‘These people draw near to Me with their mouth, and honor Me with their lips, but their heart is far from Me. And in vain they worship Me, teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’ ” (Matthew 15:7-9). Jesus, like God, is all about the heart, not the action; the relationship, not the procedure. The ultimate worth of the Law, and its rituals, was to draw all Jews to the Father. Even love for the family and the ritual of burial are consumed by the call of Christ to be His disciple.
As Kat underlined, the Christian life is not one of ease. There is no room for the half-hearted when Jesus is the desire. Remember, the context for this reading was in the midst of Jesus heading relentlessly towards the cross. How can we not give our all in the face of His suffering, humiliation and excruciating death on the cross? We are baptized into a faith that demands our total obedience and willingness to sacrifice for the One who sacrificed His earthly life for our eternal salvation. This is reflected in the very sober promises of the sacrament of baptism, and ring true through the lives of all believers.
Maybe the lectionary wasn’t so strange after all.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The Unnecessary Savior
On Sunday, Fr. David spoke about how the ‘world’ seems to have decided it doesn’t need God anymore. It goes about its business -- Grand Prix, the World Cup, etc. -- thinking that God isn’t a part of it at all. Life is fine just the way it is: a solitary individual or group or team going about their business for their own benefit, and nothing more.
It’s when you’re really down, when you really hit rock-bottom, that you know God is with you. Fr. David reminded us of the story of Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his own brothers and ended up in prison after being accused of a crime he didn’t commit. All that time, God was with him, and God had a plan. Joseph wasn’t in it alone.
How many times in our own lives have we felt God’s presence beneath layers of setback and hardship? Feeling like we have nowhere else to turn really does awaken a knowledge of God’s presence in a person’s heart. We come to know, in our difficulties, that God has a plan for us in our lives and will not abandon us to ourselves. For some reason, God is always easiest to see against starkness and barrenness. From within comfort and extravagance, He often can seem absent.
It’s important to remember that God is with us in our successes as well as our failures. God’s plan for Joseph wasn’t only that he would suffer but that he would rise to greatness, and someday use that power for the good of others -- even those who had brought harm to him in the first place.
God raises us up, and we always need him. The ‘world’ is wrong to think that God is dead or unnecessary, because the whole world, in all its aspects, is held within God’s eternal plan. It is important that we, as Christians, do not forget our dependence on God, or we may become caught up in a world bent on living without Him. Our God is with us both in sickness and in health, in abundance and drought.
In what ways do we, as a community and as people, acknowledge our dependence on God’s saving help?
It’s when you’re really down, when you really hit rock-bottom, that you know God is with you. Fr. David reminded us of the story of Joseph, who was sold into slavery by his own brothers and ended up in prison after being accused of a crime he didn’t commit. All that time, God was with him, and God had a plan. Joseph wasn’t in it alone.
How many times in our own lives have we felt God’s presence beneath layers of setback and hardship? Feeling like we have nowhere else to turn really does awaken a knowledge of God’s presence in a person’s heart. We come to know, in our difficulties, that God has a plan for us in our lives and will not abandon us to ourselves. For some reason, God is always easiest to see against starkness and barrenness. From within comfort and extravagance, He often can seem absent.
It’s important to remember that God is with us in our successes as well as our failures. God’s plan for Joseph wasn’t only that he would suffer but that he would rise to greatness, and someday use that power for the good of others -- even those who had brought harm to him in the first place.
God raises us up, and we always need him. The ‘world’ is wrong to think that God is dead or unnecessary, because the whole world, in all its aspects, is held within God’s eternal plan. It is important that we, as Christians, do not forget our dependence on God, or we may become caught up in a world bent on living without Him. Our God is with us both in sickness and in health, in abundance and drought.
In what ways do we, as a community and as people, acknowledge our dependence on God’s saving help?
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
A Still, Small Voice
This Sunday we heard testimony from Missy about how God is at work in her life. She spoke about feeling lost in the hectic rhythm of day-to-day life, about feeling spiritually lost, and about feeling as if she were in a void sometimes. I’m sure everyone has felt that way at least once in their lives. In the midst of our busy days, how do we find our way back onto the path? How do we find time to get un-lost when all our responsibilities are pressing down upon us?
Missy testified powerfully about the effect taking five minutes out for God can have on our day and on our lives. By spending a few moments in quiet meditation at the beginning of the day, she found a space to be alone with God, and the effect of having that space for relationship spread through the rest of her life.
She also spoke about the signs in her life that led her to slow down and take time for God, time to find her way back onto the path again. For her, these signs were physical illnesses. The idea that God wants us to take a break at times is a really important lesson that we as a society often forget. When people run into adversity in their lives, the often-heard message is one that urges us to keep going, work harder and –whatever we do – not to give up. But maybe that isn’t always what we need to do, maybe we shouldn’t always be forging blindly onward. Instead we may need, as Missy did, to take time out and discern what God wants for us in our lives. It might be that we need to move sideways to get onto the path, and that charging straight ahead is exactly what we shouldn’t do.
One could say that Sunday’s service was exactly the opposite of the still space where Missy found God: full of music and words and reflection and speech. One could say that, but it would be wrong. We are called to seek God in all things and in all the manifold ways we seek God, we find that stillness. That still, small voice within the chaos; that still, small voice that leads us home.
Missy testified powerfully about the effect taking five minutes out for God can have on our day and on our lives. By spending a few moments in quiet meditation at the beginning of the day, she found a space to be alone with God, and the effect of having that space for relationship spread through the rest of her life.
She also spoke about the signs in her life that led her to slow down and take time for God, time to find her way back onto the path again. For her, these signs were physical illnesses. The idea that God wants us to take a break at times is a really important lesson that we as a society often forget. When people run into adversity in their lives, the often-heard message is one that urges us to keep going, work harder and –whatever we do – not to give up. But maybe that isn’t always what we need to do, maybe we shouldn’t always be forging blindly onward. Instead we may need, as Missy did, to take time out and discern what God wants for us in our lives. It might be that we need to move sideways to get onto the path, and that charging straight ahead is exactly what we shouldn’t do.
One could say that Sunday’s service was exactly the opposite of the still space where Missy found God: full of music and words and reflection and speech. One could say that, but it would be wrong. We are called to seek God in all things and in all the manifold ways we seek God, we find that stillness. That still, small voice within the chaos; that still, small voice that leads us home.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Upon This Rock
This week we celebrated Pentecost -- the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles that gave them the courage and tools to go out and proclaim the Good News. In John's gospel, Jesus breathes the Spirit upon upon them, and in Acts of Apostles the Spirit comes down like tongues of fire. Either way, the Spirit empowers them to do things that would otherwise have been impossible.
Fr. David said something that really stuck with me: that religious faith is the most powerful human experience there is. It's real. It's so real that it calls us to, and speaks to us of, the kind of life God wants us to have -- Eternal life. Basing our lives on Christian faith is like building a house on solid rock, like planting our roots in deep earth.
The 'world' is seductive with answers, and it tells us we have everything we need in it. Cars, televisions, hockey matches; everything that is exhilarating; everything that is life. But really, all of it is fleeting, here for a season and then gone. Basing our lives on these things is like building a house on sand, like planting our roots in a land without water.
As Fr. David pointed out, Jesus found his disciples at the shore because they had returned to their old lives and were fishing. It was too much for them, and they ran. But he came after them, and called them back, and gave them the Spirit so they could do the work they were called to do. In the same way we, too, sometimes run away, back to the soft and easy ground that demands less of us. And, in the same way, the Spirit fills us with the power to return to God Who is our rock and fortress. The Spirit is not gone but among us, was given and has not been taken away.
As members of the universal priesthood of all believers, we have been given the power of God and the strength of God to preach the Gospel by building our lives on the faith of Christ Jesus. At Pentecost, we celebrate the work of the Spirit in all the world by recalling those disciples who, though frightened, built up the foundation of our faith.
How do we, as Christians, lead others to the sure foundation of faith, and how do we build upon it by allowing the Spirit to move within ourselves?
Fr. David said something that really stuck with me: that religious faith is the most powerful human experience there is. It's real. It's so real that it calls us to, and speaks to us of, the kind of life God wants us to have -- Eternal life. Basing our lives on Christian faith is like building a house on solid rock, like planting our roots in deep earth.
The 'world' is seductive with answers, and it tells us we have everything we need in it. Cars, televisions, hockey matches; everything that is exhilarating; everything that is life. But really, all of it is fleeting, here for a season and then gone. Basing our lives on these things is like building a house on sand, like planting our roots in a land without water.
As Fr. David pointed out, Jesus found his disciples at the shore because they had returned to their old lives and were fishing. It was too much for them, and they ran. But he came after them, and called them back, and gave them the Spirit so they could do the work they were called to do. In the same way we, too, sometimes run away, back to the soft and easy ground that demands less of us. And, in the same way, the Spirit fills us with the power to return to God Who is our rock and fortress. The Spirit is not gone but among us, was given and has not been taken away.
As members of the universal priesthood of all believers, we have been given the power of God and the strength of God to preach the Gospel by building our lives on the faith of Christ Jesus. At Pentecost, we celebrate the work of the Spirit in all the world by recalling those disciples who, though frightened, built up the foundation of our faith.
How do we, as Christians, lead others to the sure foundation of faith, and how do we build upon it by allowing the Spirit to move within ourselves?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Game Changers
Written by Jeff Alexander
Who was St. Monica, other than the namesake of the city in southwest California? On this Mother’s Day, it was interesting to hear from Father David Hart the story of St. Monica and her more-famous child, Augustine of Hippo. Before the latter became one of the most important “deep thinkers” of the early church, Augustine led a pretty self-indulgent life of wine, women and song, and became a devotee of non-Christian beliefs and philosophies while away at school in the big city of Carthage. Monica, however, was a devoted Christian, and kept at her son, praying for him and pleading with him to put his belief in Jesus. Augustine eventually became not just a believer, but devoted his life and great mind to working for God.
In Augustine’s life, Monica was the game changer. Without her, he was living it up; he even snuck away from her while they were both in Rome. But Monica was tenacious; she caught up with him in Milan, where Augustine eventually was baptized into the Christian church. Her interventions brought him to a place where he came to faith, and the rest is (literally) history.
The term “game changer” gets tossed around with regularity in the mainstream media. It reflects the point in an event that shifts the momentum significantly. The British media labeled now-former Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s “bigoted woman” gaffe the game changer of the recent election.
Father David challenged us to think about the “game changers” in our lives. Whom has God put in our paths to point us to Him? What circumstances have brought us to a deeper faith, possibly through a crisis? Do others see us as their game changers?
It is at the same time humbling and amazing to consider how God works all things to His plan. Please note: I am not saying that God makes all things happen, and tragedies and victories are both slapped with a generic “good” label. Horrible, heart-wrenching things happen in this world with regularity, just as do joyous, miraculous and triumphant things. But God works within human history – sometimes more directly than others – to bring about goodness and to shine His light in the world. And the ultimate goodness is that souls are won to Him to spend eternity in a new heaven and new earth where horrors and tragedies aren’t even memories, and where “coincidence” isn’t found in the dictionary.
Make the most of your opportunities to change the game for someone every day.
Who was St. Monica, other than the namesake of the city in southwest California? On this Mother’s Day, it was interesting to hear from Father David Hart the story of St. Monica and her more-famous child, Augustine of Hippo. Before the latter became one of the most important “deep thinkers” of the early church, Augustine led a pretty self-indulgent life of wine, women and song, and became a devotee of non-Christian beliefs and philosophies while away at school in the big city of Carthage. Monica, however, was a devoted Christian, and kept at her son, praying for him and pleading with him to put his belief in Jesus. Augustine eventually became not just a believer, but devoted his life and great mind to working for God.
In Augustine’s life, Monica was the game changer. Without her, he was living it up; he even snuck away from her while they were both in Rome. But Monica was tenacious; she caught up with him in Milan, where Augustine eventually was baptized into the Christian church. Her interventions brought him to a place where he came to faith, and the rest is (literally) history.
The term “game changer” gets tossed around with regularity in the mainstream media. It reflects the point in an event that shifts the momentum significantly. The British media labeled now-former Prime Minister Gordon Brown’s “bigoted woman” gaffe the game changer of the recent election.
Father David challenged us to think about the “game changers” in our lives. Whom has God put in our paths to point us to Him? What circumstances have brought us to a deeper faith, possibly through a crisis? Do others see us as their game changers?
It is at the same time humbling and amazing to consider how God works all things to His plan. Please note: I am not saying that God makes all things happen, and tragedies and victories are both slapped with a generic “good” label. Horrible, heart-wrenching things happen in this world with regularity, just as do joyous, miraculous and triumphant things. But God works within human history – sometimes more directly than others – to bring about goodness and to shine His light in the world. And the ultimate goodness is that souls are won to Him to spend eternity in a new heaven and new earth where horrors and tragedies aren’t even memories, and where “coincidence” isn’t found in the dictionary.
Make the most of your opportunities to change the game for someone every day.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Jesus, The Non-Disney Version
This Sunday, Jeff reminded us of the book at the end of the Bible that so many people want to forget: Revelation. This book has caused division within churches and between denominations as people fight over things like if Jesus will come before the millennium or afterward, who the Antichrist is, and whether or not there will be a literal dragon.
Whatever our take on it, Revelation does not present us with an image of Jesus-meek-and-mild. It's an R-rated gore fest filled with rivers of blood and a lot of killing. There's a final battle and everlasting torment. There's even childbirth and prostitution.
Even though we can take comfort in knowing how it ends -- God wins -- Revelation still challenges us and makes us uneasy. It isn't a picture of Jesus that we want to see. It isn't an end we really want to envision. It isn't the kind of all-forgiving, sweet God that we want to believe in. Seen through our modern eyes, it brings on a crisis of Christian belief because it means Jesus has not usurped the place of YHWH in the Hebrew Scriptures and set up a monarchy of absolute pacifism. Jesus comes in power with a sword in his mouth that will be used for slaughter.
This is not the way we imagine God's grace, and it isn't what we understand as every tear being wiped away. So what is it?
As Jeff pointed out, it's a picture of God's justice. Heaven is a perfect place, and so all sin must be eliminated. There's simply no question about it: in a place without death, sorrow, or crying anymore, all that does not fit with God's perfection must be purged. Only in such a place could we dwell with God.
I don't know whether or not the end of times will really be like this. I think the outpouring of God's unmerited grace manifests in the world both as mercy and justice, and that the two cannot be separated.
In this world, it makes sense that the image of God's justice would be one of destructive warfare. After all, we've seen that while love and peace can stand firm against iniquity, and sometimes even overcome it, it can't destroy it. But while this may be a picture of justice we can understand, I don't think it's literally true. In the same way, the image of the Good Shepherd coming to lead us all to green pastures makes sense of God's mercy. But I don't really think it will be like that. These pictures help us grasp what is fundamentally incomprehensible about God, which is that He's both perfectly just and perfectly merciful.
When the end comes, we won't need any of these images anymore. All the images, like all things, will be made new. Until then, Revelation helps us remember that, whatever we think God is like, He isn't that, because He's so much more. Even though He gives Himself to us in the person of Jesus, we cannot enclose or comprehend him in our own flawed humanity.
While building a church on a missionary assignment, Homer Simpson says, "Well, I may not know much about God, but I have to say we built a pretty nice cage for Him." In what ways do we try to limit God to being only what we want Him to be?
Whatever our take on it, Revelation does not present us with an image of Jesus-meek-and-mild. It's an R-rated gore fest filled with rivers of blood and a lot of killing. There's a final battle and everlasting torment. There's even childbirth and prostitution.
Even though we can take comfort in knowing how it ends -- God wins -- Revelation still challenges us and makes us uneasy. It isn't a picture of Jesus that we want to see. It isn't an end we really want to envision. It isn't the kind of all-forgiving, sweet God that we want to believe in. Seen through our modern eyes, it brings on a crisis of Christian belief because it means Jesus has not usurped the place of YHWH in the Hebrew Scriptures and set up a monarchy of absolute pacifism. Jesus comes in power with a sword in his mouth that will be used for slaughter.
This is not the way we imagine God's grace, and it isn't what we understand as every tear being wiped away. So what is it?
As Jeff pointed out, it's a picture of God's justice. Heaven is a perfect place, and so all sin must be eliminated. There's simply no question about it: in a place without death, sorrow, or crying anymore, all that does not fit with God's perfection must be purged. Only in such a place could we dwell with God.
I don't know whether or not the end of times will really be like this. I think the outpouring of God's unmerited grace manifests in the world both as mercy and justice, and that the two cannot be separated.
In this world, it makes sense that the image of God's justice would be one of destructive warfare. After all, we've seen that while love and peace can stand firm against iniquity, and sometimes even overcome it, it can't destroy it. But while this may be a picture of justice we can understand, I don't think it's literally true. In the same way, the image of the Good Shepherd coming to lead us all to green pastures makes sense of God's mercy. But I don't really think it will be like that. These pictures help us grasp what is fundamentally incomprehensible about God, which is that He's both perfectly just and perfectly merciful.
When the end comes, we won't need any of these images anymore. All the images, like all things, will be made new. Until then, Revelation helps us remember that, whatever we think God is like, He isn't that, because He's so much more. Even though He gives Himself to us in the person of Jesus, we cannot enclose or comprehend him in our own flawed humanity.
While building a church on a missionary assignment, Homer Simpson says, "Well, I may not know much about God, but I have to say we built a pretty nice cage for Him." In what ways do we try to limit God to being only what we want Him to be?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
How Long, O Lord?
Today, Stéphane Forget focused on this phrase from the Gospel according to John: "How long will you keep us in suspense" (10:24)? While these words are spoken by Jesus' detractors, they nevertheless reach into the depths of our hearts as we, too, ask 'how long?'
We all experience hardship and suffering in our lives, and we find ourselves asking God: how long will these troubles beset me? How long, O Lord, before you take them from me?
Today's Psalm (23), so often read at funerals, brings us to a place where we ask: how long do we have? How much life do we have left, Lord?
The story of Tabitha in Acts has people wondering how long it will take Paul to get there, whether or not he will be in time to help. We, too, find ourselves waiting. We wait for many things -- for God, for events, to be healed, to die. How long, O Lord, how long until what we are waiting for arrives?
Finally, the reading from Revelation reminds us that what we are waiting for is the end of time: the final coming of the Lamb and the manifestation on earth of God's Kingdom. How long, O Lord, until the last day, the end of times?
We had a few technical problems today as we tried three times to get a song to play. This reminded me that our waiting is full of uncertainty. We think a thing will happen but it doesn't. We've given up, and unexpectedly, it does. We are anxious and impatient, resolved and despairing, uncertain and convicted. We know that everything happens for a reason and that God's timing is not our own. But none of that knowing robs our waiting of the tension we experience in it.
In our waiting -- our asking, 'how long, O Lord?' -- we feel many things, perhaps most of all uncertainty. We are uneasy. In this discomfort, in whatever kind of waiting we find it, we encounter the Lord Who told us he will come like a thief in the night. In our looking forward, whether in hope or dread, we must strive to be ready, because we do not know when or in what way our call will be answered.
Stéphane left us with this question: how long will we listen to God's word and do nothing?
What are we, as a community, looking forward to and preparing ourselves for?
We all experience hardship and suffering in our lives, and we find ourselves asking God: how long will these troubles beset me? How long, O Lord, before you take them from me?
Today's Psalm (23), so often read at funerals, brings us to a place where we ask: how long do we have? How much life do we have left, Lord?
The story of Tabitha in Acts has people wondering how long it will take Paul to get there, whether or not he will be in time to help. We, too, find ourselves waiting. We wait for many things -- for God, for events, to be healed, to die. How long, O Lord, how long until what we are waiting for arrives?
Finally, the reading from Revelation reminds us that what we are waiting for is the end of time: the final coming of the Lamb and the manifestation on earth of God's Kingdom. How long, O Lord, until the last day, the end of times?
We had a few technical problems today as we tried three times to get a song to play. This reminded me that our waiting is full of uncertainty. We think a thing will happen but it doesn't. We've given up, and unexpectedly, it does. We are anxious and impatient, resolved and despairing, uncertain and convicted. We know that everything happens for a reason and that God's timing is not our own. But none of that knowing robs our waiting of the tension we experience in it.
In our waiting -- our asking, 'how long, O Lord?' -- we feel many things, perhaps most of all uncertainty. We are uneasy. In this discomfort, in whatever kind of waiting we find it, we encounter the Lord Who told us he will come like a thief in the night. In our looking forward, whether in hope or dread, we must strive to be ready, because we do not know when or in what way our call will be answered.
Stéphane left us with this question: how long will we listen to God's word and do nothing?
What are we, as a community, looking forward to and preparing ourselves for?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
30-Hour Famine: Eat Nothing, Do Something
Written by Jeff Alexander
Death and devastation have been mainstays of the news for decades. The statistics from the poorest parts of the world are beyond grasping: more than 24,000 children under the age of 5 years die every day, most from poverty-related causes such as hunger and easily preventable disease. Almost half the world – over 3 billion people – live on less than $2.50 a day. Natural disasters, such as the earthquake in Haiti, and wars add to the misery of those without the basic means to survive. In the face of such overwhelming numbers, it is easy to throw up one’s hands and say, “What can you do?”
Fortunately, this is not a rhetorical question.
On April 16-17, the Two Mountains Community Youth Group took part in the World Vision Canada’s 30-Hour Famine, an annual event to raise funds to combat child poverty. Between 30 and 35 high school-aged teens accumulated pledges and went without food for 30 hours. During this time, we held a police-escorted candlelight march around Deux-Montagnes, did yardwork in the neighbourhood around All Saints Church for additional donations, did themed (“Peace in Understanding”) crafts and generally had a lot of fun as a group.
The TMCYG raised over $1300 towards World Vision projects around the world. A World Vision Canada representative, who came to thank the group and explain how the funds would be used, indicated that, of new groups participating in the 30-Hour Famine, ours had the largest number of participants and raised the highest amount in donations.
As an adult leader for the event, it was my privilege to see these young people give their time and effort towards such an important cause. Despite depriving themselves of food over this time, the mood among the teens was always upbeat. The event was only made possible through the Herculean efforts of Christine Sandilands, TMCYG coordinator. As well, the generosity of the community, in donations of both money and supplies for the Saturday-evening buffet, was extremely encouraging.
We look forward to even more success in 2011!
Statistics from UNICEF (www.unicef.org) and The World Bank (http://www.worldbank.org)
Death and devastation have been mainstays of the news for decades. The statistics from the poorest parts of the world are beyond grasping: more than 24,000 children under the age of 5 years die every day, most from poverty-related causes such as hunger and easily preventable disease. Almost half the world – over 3 billion people – live on less than $2.50 a day. Natural disasters, such as the earthquake in Haiti, and wars add to the misery of those without the basic means to survive. In the face of such overwhelming numbers, it is easy to throw up one’s hands and say, “What can you do?”
Fortunately, this is not a rhetorical question.
On April 16-17, the Two Mountains Community Youth Group took part in the World Vision Canada’s 30-Hour Famine, an annual event to raise funds to combat child poverty. Between 30 and 35 high school-aged teens accumulated pledges and went without food for 30 hours. During this time, we held a police-escorted candlelight march around Deux-Montagnes, did yardwork in the neighbourhood around All Saints Church for additional donations, did themed (“Peace in Understanding”) crafts and generally had a lot of fun as a group.
The TMCYG raised over $1300 towards World Vision projects around the world. A World Vision Canada representative, who came to thank the group and explain how the funds would be used, indicated that, of new groups participating in the 30-Hour Famine, ours had the largest number of participants and raised the highest amount in donations.
As an adult leader for the event, it was my privilege to see these young people give their time and effort towards such an important cause. Despite depriving themselves of food over this time, the mood among the teens was always upbeat. The event was only made possible through the Herculean efforts of Christine Sandilands, TMCYG coordinator. As well, the generosity of the community, in donations of both money and supplies for the Saturday-evening buffet, was extremely encouraging.
We look forward to even more success in 2011!
Statistics from UNICEF (www.unicef.org) and The World Bank (http://www.worldbank.org)
Completing the Symbol
This Sunday's sermon focused on the conversion of Paul, which we observed both through preaching and through a skit put on by the children. To get into the service, we had to present a copy of the secret symbol -- the outline of a fish.
The early Church was hidden, secret and afraid. Despite the well-known and spectacular martyrdoms of Paul and other early saints, most early Christians practiced and preached their faith in secrecy, evading execution and passing what they had learned on to new catechumens.
"I hate the hiding and the secrecy! All I want to do is tell everyone about Jesus, and that's exactly what I can't do!"
Jeff asked us to consider what these early Christians would have felt when they saw Saul being led into their secret hideout. It must have felt something like waking up in a nightmare.
"Great! Why don't we send an invitation out to King Herod, too? We can all have tea and cookies!"
While most of us can't imagine their sense of sheer panic, Jeff reminded us that there are Christians all over the world who still hide the practice of their faith because the danger of death is a real one.
"I was on my way here with orders to find and kill you all..."
In this secular age, we face persecution too, albeit not the kind that will cost us our lives. We can be ridiculed for believing in God, we can lose friends, or our jobs. It isn't always easy. But, in a way, I think this can also be a blessing. When the Church and religion permeated Western culture, it was easy for people to forget that we've received secret knowledge. Our faith is an initiation into a mysterious wisdom that gives us the strength to live in Jesus' name.
"I'm still glowing with excitement over my encounter with the risen Christ."
Finding ourselves surrounded by a hostile culture can help us remember that there is nothing obvious about what we believe, nothing that resides in common sense. In turn, this realization can lead us to cherish our beliefs and give us the courage to draw the outline of a fish in the sand. Because Jesus went to the Cross on purpose so that we might believe and have life, we find ourselves in a world where we can live the Christian life by proclaiming the Gospel in the face of adversity. We complete the symbol by living as Jesus did.
"Scales fell off my eyes and I could see again, praise God. I now know that it's all true; Jesus is the Messiah and He is risen!!"
(all quotations are from the skit)
The early Church was hidden, secret and afraid. Despite the well-known and spectacular martyrdoms of Paul and other early saints, most early Christians practiced and preached their faith in secrecy, evading execution and passing what they had learned on to new catechumens.
"I hate the hiding and the secrecy! All I want to do is tell everyone about Jesus, and that's exactly what I can't do!"
Jeff asked us to consider what these early Christians would have felt when they saw Saul being led into their secret hideout. It must have felt something like waking up in a nightmare.
"Great! Why don't we send an invitation out to King Herod, too? We can all have tea and cookies!"
While most of us can't imagine their sense of sheer panic, Jeff reminded us that there are Christians all over the world who still hide the practice of their faith because the danger of death is a real one.
"I was on my way here with orders to find and kill you all..."
In this secular age, we face persecution too, albeit not the kind that will cost us our lives. We can be ridiculed for believing in God, we can lose friends, or our jobs. It isn't always easy. But, in a way, I think this can also be a blessing. When the Church and religion permeated Western culture, it was easy for people to forget that we've received secret knowledge. Our faith is an initiation into a mysterious wisdom that gives us the strength to live in Jesus' name.
"I'm still glowing with excitement over my encounter with the risen Christ."
Finding ourselves surrounded by a hostile culture can help us remember that there is nothing obvious about what we believe, nothing that resides in common sense. In turn, this realization can lead us to cherish our beliefs and give us the courage to draw the outline of a fish in the sand. Because Jesus went to the Cross on purpose so that we might believe and have life, we find ourselves in a world where we can live the Christian life by proclaiming the Gospel in the face of adversity. We complete the symbol by living as Jesus did.
"Scales fell off my eyes and I could see again, praise God. I now know that it's all true; Jesus is the Messiah and He is risen!!"
(all quotations are from the skit)
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Quality of Mercy is Not Strained
Written by Jeff Alexander
After the “big” holy days, how do we deal with the inevitable letdown of emotions? How do we hold onto the impact of these celebrations throughout the year and truly become changed beings? These were the challenges presented to us by Katherine Speeckaert this past Sunday. Easter is the high point of the Christian calendar, and the services – starting with Palm Sunday, and through Holy Week to Good Friday and Saturday vigil and ending with Easter Sunday – burst with meaning and emotion. The passion story reads like the quickening of a heartbeat as Jesus “set His face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51), where He knew He would suffer and die. Horribly. Shamefully. Alone.
I find it essential to really experience the deep sadness of this day, as an inheritor of and accomplice in the sin of humanity. My sin and your sin made it necessary that Jesus Christ died on the cross, an act of mercy like no other in the history of creation.
The depth of this sadness makes the joy on Sunday morning all the sweeter. But what about the overwhelming mercy in the act of self-sacrifice? Is this lost in the emotional gear-shifting, and then left behind after the last Easter chocolates have been devoured?
I think I speak for the majority of the congregation in admitting never having celebrated or even heard of the Feast of Divine Mercy, the designation of the second Sunday after Easter which Kat underlined. A knee-jerk reaction would be to dismiss the story of St. Faustina and her vision of an image of Jesus with beams of light emanating from Him (see picture) as a Catholic observance that seeks to focus on the bad while ignoring the good. But the two emotions – the sadness of Good Friday and the joy of Easter Sunday – are intertwined, and are both crucial to remember as we live under God’s mercy throughout the year. By extension, as Kat said, we first received His mercy and are therefore called to be merciful to others. How can we make mercy a cornerstone of our lives if we do not appreciate its full value?
The above title is the first line of one of Shakespeare’s most beautiful and well known bits of dialogue, from The Merchant of Venice. It ends with the following: “And earthly power doth then show like God's / When mercy seasons justice.” I pray that God will help me to soften my justice, when I feel self-righteous, morally indignant and victimized, with the same mercy that He showed in giving up His only Son to die on a cross.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
How Great Thou Art!
The Lord is risen! Alleluia!
As Father David said, the Resurrection cannot be explained. It speaks for itself, and nothing beyond itself can be said about it that would capture or expound on it. There's no box that it can be put in.
What can be said about the Resurrection that belongs to us to say is the effect it has on our lives, the way that it lives in us and transforms the world. These are the stories that belong to all of us and that we all have to share.
There's nothing about me that gives me more to say than anyone else. So, instead, I'll repeat the words of that great hymn that punctuated our worship from Good Friday to Easter Sunday: How Great Thou Art.
Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
consider all the works Thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy pow'r throughout the universe displayed;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
I hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
When Christ shall come, with shouts of acclamation,
and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
and there proclaim, "my God, how great Thou art!"
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
As Father David said, the Resurrection cannot be explained. It speaks for itself, and nothing beyond itself can be said about it that would capture or expound on it. There's no box that it can be put in.
What can be said about the Resurrection that belongs to us to say is the effect it has on our lives, the way that it lives in us and transforms the world. These are the stories that belong to all of us and that we all have to share.
There's nothing about me that gives me more to say than anyone else. So, instead, I'll repeat the words of that great hymn that punctuated our worship from Good Friday to Easter Sunday: How Great Thou Art.
Oh Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder
consider all the works Thy hands have made,
I see the stars, I hear the mighty thunder,
Thy pow'r throughout the universe displayed;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
When through the woods and forest glades I wander
I hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;
When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur
and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze;
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
When Christ shall come, with shouts of acclamation,
and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
and there proclaim, "my God, how great Thou art!"
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God, to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Then sings my soul, my Saviour God to Thee,
How great Thou art! How great Thou art!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Through The Gates
Palm Sunday has passed: Jesus has entered Jerusalem to shouts of "Hosanna," and now we're getting ready for the Passover feast.
Father David spoke about how we need to walk through the gates with Jesus so that we, too, can taste salvation. How little we need to do to receive the promise of God's everlasting love! Like the prodigal son, all we have to do is take that little step -- to realize that we've strayed -- and God the Father will come running to embrace us while we are still just a speck on the horizon. One little step to follow Jesus through the gates and we will be with him through it all!
When you put it like that, it sounds so easy. But it isn't. It's easy to take that first step through the gates when people are cheering for you, when they're throwing their cloaks and palms in front of your procession. It isn't so easy to walk through those gates when you know everything that's coming after.
Jesus could so easily have stayed outside the city, refused to step forward into a crowd he knew would turn on him so quickly. But knowing all the pain that would follow, he did it anyway.
This Holy Week, that's the same choice we all have to make: to step through the gates into all of it, or to stay outside. To be with Jesus in his glory we have to be with him in his suffering.
He went through it all because of his love for us. In the same way, we have to be willing to make sacrifices in Jesus' name. We, too, must be willing to love Jesus as he loved us. We must be willing to make the hard choices that come from following Jesus -- our Lord who was willing to suffer death, even death on the Cross. Our Lord who was highly exalted because he stepped through those gates, leaving behind him the palm leaves and the cloaks, trampled into the dust by the feet of his donkey and by his followers.
What do the gates of discipleship look like today?
Father David spoke about how we need to walk through the gates with Jesus so that we, too, can taste salvation. How little we need to do to receive the promise of God's everlasting love! Like the prodigal son, all we have to do is take that little step -- to realize that we've strayed -- and God the Father will come running to embrace us while we are still just a speck on the horizon. One little step to follow Jesus through the gates and we will be with him through it all!
When you put it like that, it sounds so easy. But it isn't. It's easy to take that first step through the gates when people are cheering for you, when they're throwing their cloaks and palms in front of your procession. It isn't so easy to walk through those gates when you know everything that's coming after.
Jesus could so easily have stayed outside the city, refused to step forward into a crowd he knew would turn on him so quickly. But knowing all the pain that would follow, he did it anyway.
This Holy Week, that's the same choice we all have to make: to step through the gates into all of it, or to stay outside. To be with Jesus in his glory we have to be with him in his suffering.
He went through it all because of his love for us. In the same way, we have to be willing to make sacrifices in Jesus' name. We, too, must be willing to love Jesus as he loved us. We must be willing to make the hard choices that come from following Jesus -- our Lord who was willing to suffer death, even death on the Cross. Our Lord who was highly exalted because he stepped through those gates, leaving behind him the palm leaves and the cloaks, trampled into the dust by the feet of his donkey and by his followers.
What do the gates of discipleship look like today?
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
All Things New
Jeff's sermon on Sunday talked about newness. He pointed out that there are two ways of being new that aren't exactly the same. The first way of being new is exemplified by the 'new car': it has that great new-car smell, it never drives better than when you take it off the lot, it's shiny and you can definitely show it off to everyone. There's absolutely nothing negative about this kind of newness -- except, of course, the possibility that something newer and better will come along.
The second way of being new is best captured by the new pair of shoes: it's great to have new shoes, but the first few times you wear them are murder. You have to break them in a bit before they're really comfortable. Hypothetically, it's possible to keep your new shoes forever if you keep repairing them and fixing the scuffs, but it takes a lot of work. Making your old shoes 'new' again also means going through a bit of discomfort, both when they really need repair and when you're getting used to the new adjustments.
The second way of being new is a little ambiguous, because there are parts of it that aren't easy. You miss your old, comfy shoes even though you're happy with the new ones.
It's always easy for me to think of Easter as a season of newness -- new life, Resurrection, new start, new ministry. But the idea of the new shoes reminds me that Lent, too, is a season of newness. It's a difficult time for a lot of people, myself included, because it involves sacrifice and a re-evaluation of the lives we're living. It's uncomfortable. But this Lenten discomfort is also a renewal as we strive to live in the way of the Cross.
Lent exemplifies the truth that God is making all things new because it calls us to put on that uncomfortable pair of new shoes, challenging us in a way that makes us better followers of Christ.
What does newness feel like to you?
The second way of being new is best captured by the new pair of shoes: it's great to have new shoes, but the first few times you wear them are murder. You have to break them in a bit before they're really comfortable. Hypothetically, it's possible to keep your new shoes forever if you keep repairing them and fixing the scuffs, but it takes a lot of work. Making your old shoes 'new' again also means going through a bit of discomfort, both when they really need repair and when you're getting used to the new adjustments.
The second way of being new is a little ambiguous, because there are parts of it that aren't easy. You miss your old, comfy shoes even though you're happy with the new ones.
It's always easy for me to think of Easter as a season of newness -- new life, Resurrection, new start, new ministry. But the idea of the new shoes reminds me that Lent, too, is a season of newness. It's a difficult time for a lot of people, myself included, because it involves sacrifice and a re-evaluation of the lives we're living. It's uncomfortable. But this Lenten discomfort is also a renewal as we strive to live in the way of the Cross.
Lent exemplifies the truth that God is making all things new because it calls us to put on that uncomfortable pair of new shoes, challenging us in a way that makes us better followers of Christ.
What does newness feel like to you?
Monday, March 15, 2010
Two Lost Sons
This Sunday we heard the story of the prodigal son from Father Tony Harvey, who came back to celebrate Eucharist for us. His message was that there are two lost sons, and not just one.
The reconciliation between the father and his youngest son is the clearest instance of forgiveness in the story. He led a life of debauchery, realized it, felt sorry for it, and returned in humility. He was lost but now is found, was dead, but now alive.
During Saturday's Bible study, Stéphane talked about the price the father had to pay in forgiving his son. He was humiliated in his community when the son asked for his property, and again when he accepted back the son who had challenged his patriarchy. Giving forgiveness came at a high cost, but he did it anyway, without hesitating. How much greater is the price paid for us! God so loved the world that he gave His only Son, that through faith in him we may have eternal life!
In the story of this younger son, it's easy for us to see a parable of extraordinary conversion and forgiveness -- by experiencing God, people's entire lives are radically changed. It's what we envision when we think about receiving Jesus' unfailing love in the sacrifice on the Cross.
But the firstborn son is equally lost, even though he's done the right thing all his life. He is angry that his father forgives his brother -- angry that his father gives things to his brother he feels he hasn't received.
The firstborn son has forgotten that everything his father has is his: he's forgotten that he's already received the lion's share. He, too, needs to be reconciled with the father.
Most of us are like the firstborn son: we haven't done anything spectacularly wrong, and we can remind ourselves of everything we've done right. And this is what makes it so dangerous for us -- it's hard to see ourselves as needing forgiveness when our separation from God is invisible; it's hard to accept forgiveness if we don't know how to admit we've done anything wrong.
We all need to experience God's healing love and accept that love in our hearts. This, of course, is easier said than done. It's difficult because we have to admit to ourselves, to God, and to one another that we are separated from God by sin.
By his death on the Cross, Jesus paid our overwhelming debt. The same debt is owed by each and every one of us, regardless of who we are or the lives we have led. And that same Cross is our reconciliation with God, if we have the courage to embrace it.
How do you think we as a community can best exercises a ministry of reconciliation?
The reconciliation between the father and his youngest son is the clearest instance of forgiveness in the story. He led a life of debauchery, realized it, felt sorry for it, and returned in humility. He was lost but now is found, was dead, but now alive.
During Saturday's Bible study, Stéphane talked about the price the father had to pay in forgiving his son. He was humiliated in his community when the son asked for his property, and again when he accepted back the son who had challenged his patriarchy. Giving forgiveness came at a high cost, but he did it anyway, without hesitating. How much greater is the price paid for us! God so loved the world that he gave His only Son, that through faith in him we may have eternal life!
In the story of this younger son, it's easy for us to see a parable of extraordinary conversion and forgiveness -- by experiencing God, people's entire lives are radically changed. It's what we envision when we think about receiving Jesus' unfailing love in the sacrifice on the Cross.
But the firstborn son is equally lost, even though he's done the right thing all his life. He is angry that his father forgives his brother -- angry that his father gives things to his brother he feels he hasn't received.
The firstborn son has forgotten that everything his father has is his: he's forgotten that he's already received the lion's share. He, too, needs to be reconciled with the father.
Most of us are like the firstborn son: we haven't done anything spectacularly wrong, and we can remind ourselves of everything we've done right. And this is what makes it so dangerous for us -- it's hard to see ourselves as needing forgiveness when our separation from God is invisible; it's hard to accept forgiveness if we don't know how to admit we've done anything wrong.
We all need to experience God's healing love and accept that love in our hearts. This, of course, is easier said than done. It's difficult because we have to admit to ourselves, to God, and to one another that we are separated from God by sin.
By his death on the Cross, Jesus paid our overwhelming debt. The same debt is owed by each and every one of us, regardless of who we are or the lives we have led. And that same Cross is our reconciliation with God, if we have the courage to embrace it.
How do you think we as a community can best exercises a ministry of reconciliation?
Friday, March 12, 2010
Letter To The Editor
Jeff Alexander wrote this letter to the editor, which appeared in Thursday's Montreal Gazette (March 11):
Re: James firm on niqabs in French class.
So Immigration Minister Yolande James has dug in her heels over the niqab ban in French classes, claiming such garments are against "our" values. Can we expect an elaboration on a) what this ambiguous set of values includes, and b) how many Quebecers are part of "our"?
Canadian values are outlined in two essential documents: the Criminal Code of Canada and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.
Does the wearing of the niqab clearly contravene either the Criminal Code or the Charter? I agree that there are clear examples where identity is essential. Applying for a legal document and testifying in court come to mind. But a French class? Naema Ahmed would be hurting only herself and her ability to master French by hiding pronunciation and other visual cues of conversation.
If a government can curb the rights of an individual based on nebulous societal "values" that I might or might not share, I wonder what other activities in which I am currently engaged or beliefs that I hold also fall outside of them. Can I expect an MNA to speak out against the cross I wear around my neck or the fact that I read a Bible on the commuter train?
Re: James firm on niqabs in French class.
So Immigration Minister Yolande James has dug in her heels over the niqab ban in French classes, claiming such garments are against "our" values. Can we expect an elaboration on a) what this ambiguous set of values includes, and b) how many Quebecers are part of "our"?
Canadian values are outlined in two essential documents: the Criminal Code of Canada and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.
Does the wearing of the niqab clearly contravene either the Criminal Code or the Charter? I agree that there are clear examples where identity is essential. Applying for a legal document and testifying in court come to mind. But a French class? Naema Ahmed would be hurting only herself and her ability to master French by hiding pronunciation and other visual cues of conversation.
If a government can curb the rights of an individual based on nebulous societal "values" that I might or might not share, I wonder what other activities in which I am currently engaged or beliefs that I hold also fall outside of them. Can I expect an MNA to speak out against the cross I wear around my neck or the fact that I read a Bible on the commuter train?
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Difference Makers
Throughout the Olympics we watched athletes achieve extraordinary things, sometimes in the midst of great adversity. Before some of their events, broadcasters aired vignettes about their lives -- about the "difference makers" who were so important in helping them reach their dreams. One was a great coach, while one was a mother who supported her child moving away from home so she could perfect her talent. There were the local men who'd taught a biathlete to shoot and who made sure she had the resources to succeed. Yet another was a speed-skater who suffered a horrible accident but who was determined to one day train again: though he did not make it to these games, his courage inspired his friend to keep going and reach for the goal they had shared.
This Sunday, Father David talked about how we, too, are called to be difference makers.
One example he used was Ananias, a man whose name probably leaves you thinking: "who?" After Saul / Paul is blinded by the revelation of Christ, this man is sent to him by God, even though Paul has been persecuting the Jesus followers with a fervor rivaled only by his devotion to God (Acts 9:10-19). Ananias, though doubtless terrified, went and found Paul. Who knows what would have happened to the course of Christianity if he hadn't! Maybe Paul would not have become the Apostle of Grace; maybe we'd still be hiding from persecution.
Ananias, by trusting in God, changed the course of history and promptly disappeared into anonymity. We never hear about him again, and no one knows what happened to him. He may not have won a gold medal, but he certainly was a difference maker!
Not everyone is called to greatness: we do not all command public attention and acclaim, and we do not all shape the history of our faith. But we are all called to bear fruit for the Kingdom and to be difference makers.
We may not know, at the time, that we are making a difference. Nor may we even be consciously trying to make one. Maybe it's something as simple as wearing a cross, as telling people you go to church, as inviting someone to share a meal, as letting someone pass in front of you, as buying fair-trade coffee, as bearing a child.
So long as we live the Gospel in our lives, it shines out from us in ways we can't begin to see or imagine. Our faith is a gift from God and has all the power of God behind it. By living our lives as Christians, we are changing the world! God is at work in us for His good pleasure, and if we allow Him to tend us we will bear much good fruit.
What does being a difference maker mean to you?
This Sunday, Father David talked about how we, too, are called to be difference makers.
One example he used was Ananias, a man whose name probably leaves you thinking: "who?" After Saul / Paul is blinded by the revelation of Christ, this man is sent to him by God, even though Paul has been persecuting the Jesus followers with a fervor rivaled only by his devotion to God (Acts 9:10-19). Ananias, though doubtless terrified, went and found Paul. Who knows what would have happened to the course of Christianity if he hadn't! Maybe Paul would not have become the Apostle of Grace; maybe we'd still be hiding from persecution.
Ananias, by trusting in God, changed the course of history and promptly disappeared into anonymity. We never hear about him again, and no one knows what happened to him. He may not have won a gold medal, but he certainly was a difference maker!
Not everyone is called to greatness: we do not all command public attention and acclaim, and we do not all shape the history of our faith. But we are all called to bear fruit for the Kingdom and to be difference makers.
We may not know, at the time, that we are making a difference. Nor may we even be consciously trying to make one. Maybe it's something as simple as wearing a cross, as telling people you go to church, as inviting someone to share a meal, as letting someone pass in front of you, as buying fair-trade coffee, as bearing a child.
So long as we live the Gospel in our lives, it shines out from us in ways we can't begin to see or imagine. Our faith is a gift from God and has all the power of God behind it. By living our lives as Christians, we are changing the world! God is at work in us for His good pleasure, and if we allow Him to tend us we will bear much good fruit.
What does being a difference maker mean to you?
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