First Responders

While COVID-19 makes our in-person services challenging, Knox is providing podcast services. Not everyone can access these, though, so we are also posting my sermons on our Knox Talks blog. I would like to thank Shelley Rose for transcribing my notes into text for the blog.

First Responders

Scripture: Acts 4:32-35

The phrase “First Responders” has come to mean people who are trained and ready to deal with emergencies. They are the police, firefighters, paramedics and other people who go into a crisis situation and help others.

Last week we got a glimpse of the women who were the first to respond to the resurrection. It is clear from the gospels that no one expected it and I’m not sure how you’d train for such an event anyway.

Their first reaction was to hide; to deal with the wonder and the terror

and the sheer impossibility of it all by keeping it to themselves.

Obviously, they got over that, and went on to tell Peter and the other disciples. And if we were to look at Matthew’s gospel we would even see the great commission, where the disciples are sent beyond Galilee, beyond Jerusalem and Israel into the larger world to spread the message of Jesus.

It is very inspiring, but our lesson from Acts today gives us a picture of how things may have gone in a more practical way.

Certainly, Christianity spread from the earliest days, but it’s not like everyone started travelling. In fact, our lesson today gives us a picture of a different first response: the initial response of the Christian community to the absence of Jesus.

I would suggest that this situation is the one Jesus had trained his followers for. All the things he taught them while they travelled around together came to life when he left them to grow on their own and it took a really interesting form: a communal way of life; a sharing of all goods. That’s the first thing that the disciples did as they tried to organize themselves.

We know that some significant disciples didn’t leave Jerusalem for years to preach. The new community was led by James, the brother of Jesus and Peter was also a leading member. Paul reports going to them and arguing with both, to allow Gentiles to join the faith without conversion to Judaism first; without circumcision.

We also know that some of their plan hit problems in just a few years. A major part of early Christian teaching was the expectation that Jesus would return right away. So, when the members sold their properties and shared with all, no plans were made for long-term investments; they started living off their equity. Eventually, Paul had to take up a collection from other churches to help support the Jerusalem church which was facing financial hard times.

It really strikes me that this is the first approach to church that the first followers of Jesus chose: they became a community in a very close sense. They lived together, and shared everything: no one went hungry, no one had to live on the street, it was all about people working together, sharing together. No one had to face life alone.

If it weren’t for the expectation that the world would end right away, it was an amazing model.

Versions of this still exist. Christian Communities have been around for centuries: monks and nuns have gathered in various orders, from the familiar Augustinian and Benedictine sorts of orders to those that were set up in the Celtic lands where the monks and nuns could be married.

In most of these, members take a vow of poverty: the property they bring to the community is held by the church for all members. That’s a fairly strict way to do it, and it isn’t for everyone.

Other versions still exist around us: Mennonite communities strive for the same vision of community where people work together, share together. They have their own homes, their own families but the society defines and shapes their lives. In some cases, the community is as effective as a corporation, sharing effort and resources to buy huge areas of farmland and lots of equipment which lets them out-compete other farmers.

In the United Church we don’t think about these approaches to Christianity very often. When we do it often involves stories about people escaping from them: the kinds of stories that emphasize people rebelling against the social constraints of a rigid society, or maybe about a singing monk leaving the order and wanting a cut of the royalties of the music he helped create.

Our whole society emphasizes individualism, so that this kind of collective approach makes us uncomfortable.

As a teen in the 70s I looked at what the first Christians did and thought: “Wow, Communists!” My political understanding has become more sophisticated since then but the impact remains: these first students of Jesus banded together without reservation and committed themselves to mutual support and help, to generosity and care. They saw this as the natural fulfillment of the teachings that Jesus had shared with them in his ministry.

There’s even an early Christian writing called the Didache: “the Teachings of the 12 Apostles” that sets out a way of life for a Christian community that has set itself apart from the rest of the world to be a holy gathering and a safe haven, where people could be sheltered from the brutality of Roman life.

The lifestyle we inherited from the 20^th century makes it hard for us to imagine this kind of life, this kind of commitment beyond our “nuclear family”; but can that 20^th century attitude last?

I have seen increasing numbers of younger people living in intentional communities. Often there is a strong financial incentive – it’s expensive to find a place to live these days. But a lot of them are committed out of a sense of principal too: a desire to share, to look beyond a self-centred, materialistic culture, to learn about other people and find ways to appreciate them, to share skills and resources in a way that benefits everyone.

Beyond that, I am aware of the isolation that has come with COVID; the way the pandemic has exposed the challenges of insisting on each of us having our own place and trying to be completely self-sufficient, all the time.

The teachings of Jesus have always emphasized the way we connect; the way we are part of something bigger; the way we are a community.

Maybe this is a good time to re-examine our assumptions; to push past the cold war resistance to anything socialistic; to really make a commitment to each other; a determination to be a community in the face of forces that are pulling us apart.

We know that we are going to come out of this pandemic changed. Our society can’t help but be transformed by this – and here is a reminder of what the earliest Christians considered most essential to a daily expression of faith.

Those First Responders to Jesus met him, heard his teachings and tried to bring those to life when he left this world.

We can’t write them off as impractical. Their expectation of an immediate return of Jesus is a misunderstanding that we’ve learned from and the ultimate reason that their community failed: the violent destruction of Jerusalem by the Roman legions, is no reason at all to abandon their values.

So let’s consider what they can show us.

Let’s think about the practical ways we can love our neighbours as ourselves, starting now, when our neighbours are kept at a distance and continuing when we come out of this pandemic and have to figure out how to build a fresh future.

Amen.

The Resurrection Ellipsis

The Resurrection Ellipsis

Scripture: Mark 16:1-8

An ellipsis, for those who are fuzzy on their grammar studies, is a part of a sentence that gets left out; that is unfinished. It is most often shown by those three dots “and then . . .” which leaves the reader to wonder or imagine what happens next.

That’s exactly what happens in Mark’s gospel. This is the first gospel written, and it ends with a cliff-hanger: the disciples have seen the empty tomb and they have the promise that they will see the risen Christ in Galilee. They are so terrified that they run away and say nothing to anyone!

From a literary point of view, this is a wonderful ending, full of drama and suspense. What happens next? Do they see Jesus in the flesh? Do they actually go to Galilee? Do they ever speak of what they saw?

This was all written 30 years after the events, so the Christian community would already be filled with stories about people who had encountered the risen Christ. But this gospel was written to draw new people in, to make them answer that wonderful question: “What happened next?”

That upset people. Every age has it literary critics! Two extra endings were written for Mark’s gospel (called the Longer and Shorter endings) and when Matthew and Luke copied Mark for their gospels, they provided two more endings after which John wrote a very different version of events.

It seems we humans like to have things nailed down: we don’t like the uncertainty of those three dots. But let’s dwell there for a bit — what is this gospel saying to us by ending this way?

Clearly, the empty tomb is unsettling. It shows that Jesus isn’t there but we haven’t seen where he is, we haven’t seen him personally. We only have the young man at the tomb, pointing us forward to the future.

Isn’t that where we live? All the information we have about the resurrection comes from someone else and we have to figure out what to do with it. Do we believe it? Do we question it? Which version do we take seriously? What does it mean for our lives?

We can get stuck on those questions. We can be terrified and amazed like the women at the tomb and run away, speaking to no one. That seems like an understandable reaction to an incredible claim.

But they didn’t stay stuck there, did they? If they had, there would be no Christianity. We know that the women did tell Peter and the others. They got over their terror; they came out of hiding and they went to Galilee to see what Jesus had in store for them.

And now, 2000 years later, we are part of a world religion touching every part of the world – because those women didn’t stay frozen; because they were prepared to go into the future without a clue what would happen.

What is our calling in this story? It’s centuries too late to run to Galilee to meet Jesus. So to what kind of future are we being called? Where do we meet Jesus today?

Paul met Jesus on the road to Tarsus. He had a vision that changed his life. He wasn’t hung up about the idea of a physical resurrection. Paul preached a spiritual resurrection and considered that when he met Jesus in a vision, it was in a totally real way. There was no division between spiritual and material as far as significance went. For Paul, the two worlds – the worlds of spirit and flesh – mattered equally.

I strongly suspect that a great many early Christians had that attitude. Questions of a physical resurrection began to matter later as Greek philosophical teachings about dividing the spiritual and material worlds drove a wedge between them.

It would be good for us to reconnect the spiritual and material worlds. We are re-discovering today the importance of spiritual healing and the effect it has on the physical body.

So maybe there’s a clue to what our future holds. The direction to which we are being called is a world in which our obsession with the concrete is tempered with a vision of deeper things, of spiritual realities that can’t be measured with any known instruments.

But that’s just a clue, not an answer. I think the actual message in the end of Mark’s gospel is not to tell us what to expect, but to urge us to overcome our fears and go forward into the unknown to see where God leads us.

That unknown looms large right now. For years we’ve had structures in place that made us think we had the future in hand; that made us believe that we were in control.

But a year of pandemic and the ongoing uncertainties of new COVID variants, plus the prospect that we may not really be able to predict when we will be done with this pandemic has given us the biggest uncertainty most of us have ever faced.

For some people, it has led to very concrete challenges: job losses

or health risks at the jobs they still have; people have lost homes and they don’t know what to expect; they don’t know how to face it all. And in the midst of everything there is the threat of isolation: a modern version of terror and amazement that keeps us alone, afraid to talk to anyone.

All of this suggests to me that our calling is to do what the early disciples managed to do: to stop hiding; to connect with each other;

to go into the future together following the example that Jesus showed us.

How does that work? Who knows? I can’t even tell you how the resurrection works but I believe that it does, as Paul taught, at a spiritual level.

Those disciples had to try something new. They had to learn along the journey; not just to Galilee but beyond, into the rest of the world. And right now we have to learn too. We have to make those extra efforts to connect with each other; to break the isolation and the fear;

to resurrect that community that Christ created and to bring it to stronger life than before.

The message of Jesus always involved getting past our fears, especially the fear of the future. That process is where we build our faith and learn how to strengthen it as we go forward.

We don’t have faith because we know what’s next, we have faith because despite the uncertainty of the future, we know that God will provide us with a way forward. Maybe it will be an unexpected way, a new way; maybe we’ll learn things along the way that we never thought would be in our skill-set; and I can guarantee that we will meet unexpected people and make new connections we could not have predicted, whether in person or through technology. Who can say? A “gospel” was a new technology when Mark invented it and it has served us well.

Who knows what exciting new things God has in store for us? The only way to find out is to get out there and move into the future, building connections along the way.

Our Easter call is to stop hiding; to fill in the blank left by those three dots; to discover this unknown future we can encounter with God.

Amen.

“Hosanna” Translated

“Hosanna” Translated

Lesson: Mark 11:1-11

Palm Sunday is a lot of fun, normally with the children waving their palm branches at the opening of the service. It gives a wonderful feeling of celebration.

Hosanna, loud hosanna, the little children sang

Through pillared court and temple

The lovely anthem rang

In my memory, it has always been like this, although somewhere along the way we switched from green construction paper to real palm branches: it has been a children’s celebration for years.

Of course, adults have always looked beyond that. Once the kids are safely in Sunday School, sermons often talk about the public expectation of a political saviour being disappointed by the appearance of a spiritual, eternal saviour. We have contrasted the traditional human rule by power to Jesus’ message of rule by love; of weakness overcoming strength.

Since we can’t have a Palm Sunday procession this year I’d like to try and develop a more realistic picture of what it was really like in Jesus’ day.

Consider the word “Hosanna”. It means “Save us” and “Hosanna in the Highest” is thus a cry to God to intervene. It is a call for divine salvation.

When you consider that religion and politics were tightly united in all Mediterranean nations in those days and that Israel was no different: they were the chosen people of God and consider that an emperor who called himself a god had forced them to erect his statue in the Temple in Jerusalem . . .

When you consider the depth of that insult, the blasphemy of it, the insult not only to the nation but to God, the violation of the laws of Moses and the third commandment in particular . . .

When you consider that the holy city, Jerusalem, was under the rule of a Roman Governor and had been for over two decades, since Jesus was 9 years old, it should give us a different feel for what that triumphal entry felt like.

Remember, this is the Middle East. It is possible to live in peace there, but it rarely happens.

That stretch of territory has been conquered by empire after empire on their ways between North Africa, Asia and Europe. The Romans were just the latest.

What was going on when Jesus rode into Jerusalem is best compared to the Arab Spring: peaceful demonstrations that we might not consider very peaceful and that certainly wouldn’t be safe, especially with the soldiers watching, armed, but outnumbered and very aware of how much the people hated them.

That’s what Jesus chose to ride through, making himself stand out in the chanting crowd. They didn’t have signs to wave so they waved branches. Whether the crowd really thought that Jesus could challenge the military rulers of Judea, or whether they simply enjoyed the symbolism that he employed that they all recognized from the scriptures doesn’t really matter:

he chose to stand out in a crowd that was challenging the power of Rome, the greatest empire that part of the world had ever seen.

This was not a happy time, although joy would certainly be involved. It would have been electrifying, exciting, terrifying.

You could probably count on the Romans not to arrest Jesus then, with the crowd so worked up. He took advantage of that and went straight to the temple where he looked things over and planned to return the next day

to overturn the tables of the money-changers and challenge the basis of power, the Jewish leaders who collaborated with the Romans.

This is profoundly dramatic stuff and Jesus knew it. He left Jerusalem that night to stay with friends in Bethany, out of the public eye and away from where the Romans would expect to find him.

And you’ll notice that when he was finally arrested it was quiet, in a garden

where riots would not happen. And it was facilitated by the collaborators so the Romans themselves didn’t provoke the crowds.

The security services were not totally stupid. The Romans had ruled trouble spots before and had experience. But they misjudged Jesus; they assumed that when they executed him his followers would disperse.

They also misjudged the Jewish people: so a series of Roman/Jewish wars followed over the years. Eventually the Romans ended up using the military in a brutal suppression that destroyed Jerusalem, and killed countless civilians, creating the peace of the graveyard.

Does this all sound familiar? The CBC has been running a retrospective on the Syrian civil war on this, the 10^th anniversary of its beginning. The early images of the Arab Spring have been re-broadcast and the hopeful people who thought that they might chase their dictator out peacefully brought the Triumphal entry starkly to my mind.

What Jesus did was courageous. It was terrifying and brave and it triggered a predictable response from the authorities – no doubt exactly what he intended to do. And the brutality of their response stands in stark contrast to everything Jesus stood for.

We should not be discouraged by that image of the crucifixion looming. Yes, power regularly responds violently to challenge – we have seen that in recent years, as well as in history, and cynicism might suggest that violence will always win.

But since the time of Jesus, as we have tried to put into place his teachings, as we have tried to make real his values, we have seen the ways these work and the progress that is shared, rather than hoarded when people embrace the ideas of the first being last and the weak being strong; when people work to lift each other up instead of treading each other under their heels.

A theological commentator from the Caribbean, who has personal experience of donkeys remarked that the first lesson you learn when you ride a donkey is the lesson of patience. Donkeys are incredibly strong, and can be very loyal but they cannot be hurried. You have to accept that your journey will not be quick, that there will be pauses and delays on the way and that using violence to speed things up, beating the donkey, will only make you slower.

On Palm Sunday at the Triumphal Entry, Jesus began two journeys on a donkey: the first led to the cross in less than a week; he and the crowd challenged the right of the military to govern and he was executed by the military in the hopes of quelling a rebellion.

The second journey actually started much earlier as Jesus taught his followers and as he started us on our donkey ride: the slow transformation of a world wedded to power and privilege into a world of love, of hope, of justice, of peace.

Jesus set out with unimaginable courage, like the students facing the tanks in Tiananmen Square, or the ordinary people in Tahrir Square in Egypt, or the people of Aleppo in Syria.

We are called to continue this greater donkey ride; this cry against the abuses of power; this celebration of the ways that we can grow and advance as a diverse mix of people, helping each other, embracing each other, instead of building walls or drawing swords.

As terrifying as this might seem, it is what Jesus did and what we are called to do. In a world that in recent years has increased its calls to arms and violence, division and hatred, this message is needed more than ever.

Amen.

Shaking the Foundations

Shaking the Foundations

Scriptures:

Exodus 20:1-17

John 2:13-22

Have you ever heard the expression: “The church is not the building, it’s the people?” It certainly gets mentioned anytime a church building is being closed, or torn down and replaced by a modern structure.

Theologically, this is quite correct. The Greek word for church, ekklasia, the word used in the bible, literally translates as “out of the people” and it was originally used for political meetings in the democratic city-states of Greece. The church is a meeting, a gathering. It is people coming together. It is not a building or a place.

Even in the giving of the Law in our Exodus reading we see something similar. Yes, it is in the context of a people travelling to a promised land, but the law is the foundation of the covenant and it’s all about relationship.

The first four laws set the terms of the relationship between the people and God and the final six are about the relationship amongst the people themselves. The whole business of faith is something to be carried out in community.

But the human need to have special places, holy places, is powerful.

King Solomon built the first temple after the people had worshipped out of doors for centuries. The second temple was tiny, built as a sad reflection of past glory after the people returned from Babylonian exile.

And then king Herod, seeking to restore the glory of Israel, set up a building project to improve the second temple that had been going on for 46 years according to John’s gospel. And all of this would come to naught between 30 and 40 years later when the Romans tore down the walls of the temple in AD 70. All that remains today is the wailing wall two millennia later. The people who first read this gospel would have known about all of this. It would have been recent history for them.

The gospel writer was giving them a new vision: a spiritual interpretation of Jesus’ message to pull people back from the longing for this lost holy place; contrasting the idea of the ruined temple with the resurrection of Jesus; overcoming physical destruction with spiritual new life and truth.

This would have been challenging to all those mourning the loss of the temple. By Jesus’ day it was established as the centre of the worship of God and John is offering Jesus himself as the new centre: replacing a holy place with a holy person.

Over the years, our faith has struggled with this idea. We’ve embraced it in some ways: it allows us to establish congregations anywhere, even in school gymnasiums or people’s living rooms. This same gospel gives us the words to describe this: We seek to worship in spirit and in truth, not in Jerusalem or on Mt. Horeb. (John 4:24)

But we’ve also invested a lot in our holy places: grand cathedrals and places for pilgrimage. Even we who are Protestants, who are not supposed to invest material things with spiritual significance, even we tend to think of a church as a building rather than as the people.

This year of COVID has shaken that tendency in us profoundly. The vast majority of our services at Knox have been podcast with only a handful of actual gatherings taking place. Not only have we been separated from our buildings, but we have been kept from actually gathering in person anywhere.

It has been helpful during this time to remember that idea of gathering in Spirit, to remind us of the connection we have that goes beyond not only walls and physical structures but also beyond face-to-face encounters.

John saw this as a vital, foundational characteristic of Jesus’ ministry. He tells the story of the clearing of the temple right near the beginning of his gospel, when we know from the other three gospels that it actually happened in the week before the crucifixion as a kind of prophetic climax to Jesus’ ministry.

John wanted his readers to think about this right from the start: to consider the way that Jesus was creating in the church something that links us to God is a way so spiritual that physical considerations like walls and foundations or even the death of physical bodies would not stand in the way of our ongoing relationship with God.

I have seen a number of churches closed over the years; buildings that were huge, much larger than the congregation contained within; and every time there has been a real sense of mourning, a sadness that is palpable. Occasionally, there is also the sense that the church itself is lost. The fellowship is somehow lost with the sale or destruction of the building.

But I have also seen what is possible when people remember the spiritual truth we embrace.

Lori’s second charge had two congregations, originally three, but two of them had just amalgamated shortly before she arrived. The Warwick congregation had moved in with the Watford congregation and proceeded to bulldoze their building so they couldn’t even consider returning. When we arrived and looked at the property, there was a sign, and a pile of bricks along with a stern comment from the Presbytery that taking down the sign would be appreciated.

But the resulting congregation with its combined Session of elders from both churches was vital and energetic. They had a big choir where previously they’d had two small ones, a bigger Sunday School, and all sorts of ideas about what they could do next.

This was a stunning contrast to what we see so often where people hang on to old dinosaurs of buildings because of their fond memories, forgetting that those memories are formed with the people and not with the bricks and mortar and stained glass.

We have done well here, at Knox. Many churches are facing the prospect of closing their buildings after this stressful year and we are far from that kind of dreadful choice. But as we hope and pray for a return to what we call normal, we should take a lesson from this challenging year.

That truth that John was trying to tell his readers right from the start of his gospel is still true today:

Our foundation is a spiritual foundation linking us through Jesus Christ to God and to each other. And as happy as we will be to gather again in a familiar space, we should recall that WE are Christ’s church and our spiritual connection has grown stronger, despite our physical separation.

This year of pandemic will stick in our memories; we will not forget it. Instead of dismissing it as an irredeemable time let’s also remember this lesson as one of the good outcomes where God has used a difficult time to remind us of what really matters.

Amen.

Facing Facts

Facing Facts

Scripture: Mark 8:31-38

Today’s reading has shocked people for centuries: Jesus has some very harsh words for his friend, Peter: “Get behind me, Satan!” can hardly be taken as friendly or supportive.

Who wants to be called Satan? If you look at the book of Job you see that Satan’s role is to test people with temptations. So, the implication here is that Peter’s words were tempting Jesus to take an easier path.

But what was Peter really doing? He had found real hope in what Jesus was teaching and all this talk about betrayal, death and resurrection was so grim and nasty. He was trying to jolly Jesus out of this negative tone.

You can just imagine the kind of thing:

“C’mon, Jesus, don’t say that! Everything will be fine, God will take care of you . . .” or maybe: “C’mon Boss, don’t talk like that, you have all these followers and if you discourage them, they’ll quit . . .”

It’s not hard to imagine Peter being concerned for Jesus’ mental health and trying to cheer him up, or to imagine him being concerned about the “spin” and trying to put a good face on Jesus’ words.

And wham! Jesus tells him off in no uncertain terms and then summons the crowd to warn them all that following Jesus’ teachings could become really tough.

Christianity is not a “fair weather” religion. We do preach a lot of hope: we look forward to all kinds of positive things but Jesus had no illusions about how challenging life could be and there is every indication that he went to Jerusalem riding on a donkey, taking advantage of the symbolism and throwing the sacrifice sellers out of the temple in the full knowledge that the Romans and the religious leaders would have to deal with him and would be harsh about it.

He was provoking them into a confrontation with his vision of a kind of kingship that was not about power and force but about transforming the first into the last and the weak into the strong. He was confronting the world’s greatest power with his own vulnerability and there was only one way that could end.

Peter’s vision wasn’t practical, yet he wanted a world where all the bad stuff was gone, where God had fixed everything and everything would be smooth sailing. (Peter knew boats, and he loved the idea of permanent smooth sailing.)

But Jesus knew what he was doing and he wasn’t afraid to face facts. He knew that you can’t have a resurrection without dying first and he didn’t want nice words to tempt him to avoid the hard times.

This year of COVID has been a hard time. We barely recognize ourselves anymore as a church. We’ve had to move online for services, for meetings and we’ve had to work hard to make sure that people haven’t been left behind.

And it’s not over. We still don’t know when it will be safe to meet normally again. We don’t even know what “normal” will look like. At our Annual Congregational Meeting we will consider what this past year has been like and we will try to look to the future, with a lot of questions still unanswered.

If we try to do this with some kind of Pollyannaish optimism that encourages us to pretend that it will be easy, then we are making the same mistake Peter did. We would be ignoring our call to face facts; to deal with the world as it is. We would be trying to live in an imaginary happy place, which has never been our calling.

Jesus did offer hope, amazing hope. Think about it: if you have a vision of going through crucifixion and coming out the other side, restored to life, how amazing is that?

What Peter was offering was a vision that nothing bad should ever happen. I can see the attraction in that vision. But Jesus faced facts: bad things will happen and we should not avoid that reality because God will get us through those bad things and we will be better, and stronger, and wiser when we come out the other side.

And if the crucifixion and the resurrection are any example, we will discover new hope: hope that we could not have imagined if we hadn’t had to face the hard realities of life first.

God can see us through any challenge.

So, instead of bemoaning the bad things that happen, or worse, instead of thinking that God has abandoned us, let us face the realities of the world we are in and discover how God will get us through our challenges.

Amen.

International Frog of Mystery

February 21st was Youth Sunday at Knox, a day we traditionally have a small green guest visit as our speaker. We invited him back, but as you can see below, he decided to remain anonymous, even as he was visiting. His visits are not so much sermons as dialogues, so the setup below is a script. Enjoy!

Scripture: Genesis 9:8-17

International Frog of Mystery

Lori: Hi everyone. This is Youth Sunday, and we have a special guest I think you all remember. Let’s say “hi” to . . .

Mystery Frog: Shh! Don’t say my name!

L: Really? What do you want us to call you?

F: I’m the International Frog of Mystery.

L: That’s a pretty big name. Can we call you something shorter?

F: Are you making jokes about how short I am?

L: I would never do that. But that’s a really long name. I’ll get tired saying it.

F: How about “Mystery Frog?”

L: (slowly) “Mr. E. Frog?” That’s way too formal. How about just “Frog”?

F: Not “Mr. E.” Mystery . . . oh, never mind. Frog is fine.

L: So why can’t we use your real name? We all know you.

F: (whispering) I’m not supposed to be here.

L: (whispering back) Why not?

F: International travel is a problem these days. So I hopped across the St. Lawrence River near Kingston. And I didn’t quarantine.

L: You didn’t go to one of those government hotels?

F: Too expensive. I came straight here.

L: Listen, Frog! That’s not safe! What about COVID?

F: I’m wearing a mask. See?

L: Yeah, it’s cute. It’s covered with pictures of pigs.

F: So I’m safe, right?

L: Not so fast. How do you keep your mask on? You have no ears!

F: I’ve got this special clip that ties it at the back of my head. See?

L: This is still risky. Do you wash your hands?

F: Sure! And my feet, too! I love water! Yay! Splash, splash!

L: And do you stay a safe distance away from people?

F: That’s harder. I have to stay two or three big jumps away from everyone.

L: But do you do it?

F: Of course! I’m really trying.

L: Okay. But you still took a big risk. Why did you sneak across the border like that?

F: I miss my friends! It’s lonely. I want to see everyone.

L: But we can’t see each other here, either. That’s why we have this podcast. To keep everyone safe.

F: Yeah. I found that out. But at least we can meet for the recording.

L: You know, frog, I’m still nervous about that. I have to check something.

F: What are you doing with your phone?

L: I’m looking on the internet.

F: You can’t trust everything you read there, you know.

L: True, but I think this one’s safe. It says that frogs can’t get COVID.

F: Really?

L: Right. So you don’t need to quarantine.

F: Yay! Does that mean I can’t make anyone else sick?

L: Nope. You’re COVID free just because you’re a frog.

F: Great! So I can take off my mask, too.

L: Hold on there, Froggy. You keep that mask on.

F: Why? I’m safe.

L: Yes, but we want to keep everyone safe. If people see you with no mask on, they’ll think they can take theirs off too. You have to set a good example.

F: Really? That’s no fun.

L: No, but it’s a cute mask. It’s the same as the people who get vaccinations. They should keep wearing masks too.

F: It is a cute mask. And you know I like pigs. So I guess I’ll still wear it.

L: I’m glad to hear that, Mr. Frog.

F: But it’s so frustrating! I can’t see my friends, and I can’t go anywhere, and I have to wear a mask all the time, and it’s been going on forever! Is COVID ever going to end?

L: Come on, Frog. It’s not the end of the world.

F: It feels like it is.

L: Listen, do you remember Noah’s Ark?

F: Yeah. Hee hee. Ha ha.

L: What’s so funny?

F: All those animals crowded on the ark for weeks and weeks; it’s a good thing they didn’t have to wear masks. Can you imagine what kind of a mask an elephant would wear? (giggles)

L: At least an elephant has ears to hold the mask straps.

F: You’d have to use a bed sheet to make the mask! Hah!

L: Let me guess: you like Elephant jokes, don’t you?

F: I have a whole book of them. But I know other jokes, too. Like: why couldn’t they play cards on Noah’s ark?

L: Why?

F: ‘Cause Noah was standing on the deck! Get it?

L: I get it. But I was trying to say something.

F: Oh yeah? What’s that?

L: The flood was like the end of the world. And after the flood was over, God promised never to wipe out the world again.

F: God promised?

L: Yes. We call it a covenant. It’s like a contract, or a deal. God made that deal not just with Noah and the other humans, but will all the plants and animals of the world. Even frogs.

F: Cool!

L: What do you think the rainbow’s all about?

F: Well, it’s pretty. And it reminds us that all different kinds of people can live together and be amazing when we share the world.

L: Okay . . .

F: And it means that the sunlight is broken up by the raindrops in a prism effect: bending the light differently based on the wavelengths of the different colours.

L: Whoa! Where did that come from?

F: I was bored, so I took an online physics class.

L: Well, the rainbow has even more meanings than that. It’s also a reminder of God’s promise not to end the world again.

F: So, when you said “it’s not the end of the world,” you really meant it.

L: I did. This may be a hard time, but God will help us through it.

F: Wow. A promise from God. A Covenant. That’s great! I feel a lot better now.

L: I’m glad to hear that, Mystery Frog.

F: Hey, you got it right!

L: I was just teasing you, before. But you know, you’re going to have to go.

F: I know. I have to get back across the border. But I’m feeling pretty good now. Can we sing a hymn before I go?

L: Do you have one in mind?

F: How about “Jump for Joy?”

L: I should have guessed.

F: Okay everybody! Stand up and get ready to jump! The words are printed in the Order of Service. Hit it, Alison!

(All sing “Jump for Joy”)

L: I’m glad we got the chance to do that, Froggy. Hey, how are you getting back?

F: I’m going to hop across the river again.

L: Well, I hope you have a safe trip. Stay out of trouble.

F: I’ll try. But you know, going across the border in February, it’s hard to avoid the ICE. Get it? The I-C-E?

L: Do you mean the Immigration and Customs Enforcement people at the American border?

F: Yep. Funny, huh?

L: That’s a terrible joke! Especially in Canada.

F: Well, I’m the International Frog of Mystery. I can’t only do Canadian jokes.

L: Say good-bye, Froggy.

F: “Goodbye Froggy!” Hah! See you next time. Maybe none of us will need masks by then.

L: It’ll be nice to get together again. Bye.

Chariot of Fire

Chariot of Fire

Scriptures:

2 Kings 2:1-12

Mark 9:2-8

It’s amazing what an impact a single scene from the Bible can have: our image of the prophet Elijah being caught up into Heaven resonates across our language and culture.

It gives us our expression of one person “taking up the mantle” of another as they step into a recently vacated position because that’s what we see the prophet Elisha literally doing just after our reading ends. Elijah had dropped his outer garment, his mantle, as he was caught up in the whirlwind and when Elisha took it up it became a lasting symbol.

We know that the Chariot of Fire has grown into something remarkable – an instantly recognizable and moving musical theme from the movie “Chariots of Fire” where it morphed from one chariot into many, echoing a later scene in 2 Kings where Elisha is backed up, in a vision, by a mountainside of horses and chariots of fire.

And the movie itself was likely inspired not only by the scripture but by William Blake’s poem: “Jerusalem” and the hymn it turned into in which the chariot of fire became part of his arsenal along with spear, bow and arrows to take on the mental fight of transforming his homeland into a holy place worthy of being called the New Jerusalem from Revelations – the place where people can live on this earth in the presence of, and in harmony with God.

Clearly the image is an inspiring one and has thrilled the imaginations of people for millennia. But the first people who heard it were practical – they would have imagined it in concrete terms that are worth considering:

For example, a chariot of fire and flaming horses present some practical issues for human beings. We are not fireproof and the writers of these books knew that.

People sometimes assume that Elijah was collected by the chariot. But no, he was taken up in a whirlwind – the job of the chariot was to separate Elijah and Elisha; to drive them apart so Elisha wouldn’t be take up as well. The chariot was something no human could survive; clearly a kind of divine intervention and Elisha was overwhelmed by it to the point of babbling.

That babbling – that baffled inability to speak sense is a hallmark of a theophany. It is a typical human reaction to an experience of an infinite divinity breaking into a limited and fragile world.

Clearly, what we are to understand is that a direct experience of God is overwhelming. It leaves a profound impression but it is nearly impossible to find the words to really express the experience.

There is a parallel experience in our reading of the Transfiguration where Peter says frankly silly things about building shelters for Moses, Elijah and Jesus on the side of the mountain. The gospel writer clearly tells us that Peter didn’t know what to say because all three disciples were terrified.

We know what that’s like. Different people react to stress in different ways, but we all know someone whose first response is to start talking – whether they have engaged their brain or not. I tend to be one of those people and learning to shut up and listen as a first response can be a real challenge.

But for both Elisha and Peter, this is evidence that they were overwhelmed; that their words weren’t enough to express the profound experience of encountering God, even second-hand in a flaming chariot and horses or in a vision of two long-dead bible heroes conferring with their friend and teacher in a blaze of glory.

We are a jaded generation, really. We have had movie magic try to convey this kind of thing and we are less and less impressed every time we see the bright lights that seem to bore a hole in the screen.

But try to imagine what this would be like if we faced it in real life. Would we still be calm, cool and collected? Would we refuse to believe our own eyes because this kind of thing can’t be rationally explained? Or would we let it change us, leaving an impression that we might never be able to really express?

It is probably a mercy that most of us won’t have a mountaintop experience of God’s presence. The people I have met who claim to have had them can leave you feeling quite uncomfortable. There can be an intensity about them that is unsettling and I find myself wondering if it was a real event or if they experienced a psychotic break?

And then I have to wonder if that’s even a real question. How could someone experience the creator of the universe without it having some kind of overwhelming effect?

The people we read about who have had these experiences are forever changed by them. Elisha has a whole book written about what he went on to do (II Kings). Peter, James and John went on to have profound influences on the newly developing Christianity.

And what we have from them is a kind of handed down inspiration: the image of a chariot of fire that can defend God’s people, that can be part of a spiritual battle to change our own reality and make our everyday land into a holy place where we can all experience the presence of God every day, without being overwhelmed.

We have the image of Jesus transfigured, moved beyond humanity to embody something divine; the image of the law and the prophets coming together with the teachings of Jesus to bring us an experience of God that promises to transform all of us.

Maybe that’s all the inspiration we can handle and maybe it’s all that we need. These few short verses have inspired stirring music, a powerful film and a cultural vision of a country transformed into a better place.

They have given us the words to imagine ourselves, supported by divine strength as we wrestle with the challenges of life; and we are shown the possibility that we humans are not limited by our mortal flesh but that we are touched by the divine and have the spiritual opportunity to grow closer and closer to the unimaginable wonder that is our creator.

That inspiration has fired the imagination of William Blake and countless other artists. Let’s see what we can accomplish when we let these stories of people transformed by God transform our hearts and minds and inspire our dreams.

Amen.

Meeting the Need

Meeting the Need

Scriptures:

Isaiah 40:21-31

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

“I have become all things to all people, so that I might by any means save some.”

When I was a teenager, the Moonies were a powerful force in religious life. They were called the Unification Church and were considered a dangerous cult by many people.

One of the accusations levelled against them was that they followed a doctrine of Heavenly Deception which permitted a follower to lie to others to lead them to conversion, and a greater truth. That idea scared a lot of people and soon similar accusations were being made against Evangelical branches of many Eastern Religions.

I remember reading these words of Paul and wondering about them: Was Paul doing the same thing: being a Jew to the Jews, a Greek to the Greeks, under the law and free from the law? How should we understand this?

We even have that clever section of the book of Acts where Paul speaks in the Areopagus in Athens and introduces his teachings about Jesus by remarking on the temple to the unknown God the Athenians had erected, to make sure they didn’t unknowingly offend any deity and then telling them that he would reveal that God to them in the person of the God of Israel.

We know that Paul was a firm monotheist. Monotheism is the foundational belief of Judaism: “Hear, O Israel, the LORD your God is one God.” And if you look at what Paul is recorded as saying, he never pretends to be anything else. He merely acknowledges that the pagan crowd he is addressing believes in many gods, not that he does himself.

I think that gives us a handle on what Paul was really doing: he was putting himself in a position of understanding his audience.

Paul was Jewish, and very well trained. So when he was being a Jew to the Jews it was simply part of who he was. What it meant for him was that he was prepared to make an argument following the principles of the law of Moses, even though he didn’t feel bound by that law anymore.

Paul had grown up among the Greeks and so speaking in their cultural terms would have been easy for him. It would have included talking comfortably about many gods without giving up his own belief in only one God.

Paul was not trying to deceive anyone; he was trying to speak in their own language. Paul was listening to people and engaging with them in their world instead of trying to impose his world on them.

Paul’s vision of the universe left no room for other gods or idols. Our lesson from Isaiah is one expression of faith Paul believed. Paul would have considered the gods of the Greeks to be petty, soap-opera characters, humans writ large rather than the all-supreme God Isaiah describes. And Paul would have taken great comfort in Isaiah’s description which combines the supreme power of God with the promise of God’s love and help.

What Paul was trying to do would have taken a great deal of listening, of understanding, of putting himself into the shoes of others. We know very well that Paul understood the challenges Jesus raised for Jewish people. A lot of the book of Romans is devoted to unpacking all of that.

And we also know that Paul had an appreciation for what the Gentile Christians wanted. He took a forcible stand against James, brother of Jesus and Peter in Jerusalem, to allow non-Jews to become followers of Christ without circumcision. He was prepared to challenge the Jewish dietary laws that early Jewish Christians still followed. And he even wrestled with the issue of meat offered to pagan idols and whether Christians should be allowed to eat that.

His conclusions are amazing: he comes down on the side of freedom, for the most part, but also puts the onus on people of faith not to let their freedom damage the faith of another. Once again, he was thinking of the needs of others and insisting that as people of faith, we are called to put the needs of others ahead of our liberties.

Paul was able to think critically and deeply about what mattered most in the gospel; not only to interpret it in traditional ways but to discover its core value and present it to new people and cultures with as little baggage as possible.

During the age when missionaries were being sent out from Britain, France, Spain and Portugal, they brought all kinds of cultural assumptions and taught them as if they were the will of God. They taught people what clothing they should wear to be “decent” and challenged all kinds of cultural practices, not because they had studied them and saw them as harmful but because they didn’t match the dominant culture. They even interfered with their sex lives, insisting that the “missionary position” was the only way to have sex that was approved by God.

How different would life be now if the missionaries had come to listen; had developed relationships with the people of the land; had learned their way of seeing the world and had offered the teachings of Jesus as a gift instead of as a set of rules to be enforced to keep people from Hell?

Some did try: Jean de Brébeuf, a Jesuit Missionary, is renowned for writing the Huron Carol. The English translation is full of problems but the original uses the Huron/Wendat language not just for words but also for the spiritual understanding shared by those people.

Brébeuf lived with the Wendat people for years, learning their ways and culture before writing this hymn. He had a lasting impact on their lives.

As a student, I took a course in missions at the Jesuit college in Toronto. The ethical position they were taking at that time was that if we want to ask other people to consider sharing our beliefs, we have to put ourselves into a vulnerable position. We have to risk being convinced to share their beliefs, or we have no right to try to convince them of anything.

Imagine if we had come here with that attitude? There certainly would have been no Residential Schools if we had remembered that we could share a gift of love without having to destroy a culture.

Paul tried to be all things to all people and we should make that effort too: to connect, to build relationships, to understand where people are coming from.

This isn’t just about missionary work, either. Our culture is becoming remarkably intolerant these days about all kinds of things and is often determined to ignore the context that produced a person, an opinion, a piece of art.

An “us vs. them” mentality has become prevalent today and in some ways we can even look more Victorian than the Victorians themselves did.

People take stands quickly these days: making pronouncements about what is right and wrong and it might be tempting to do this since we’ve had centuries of practise.

But before we give in to that temptation, we are called to be all things to all people: to build relationships, to develop understanding, to build bridges based on mutual respect – the kind of respect that is earned – by doing the work of getting to know actual people and letting them change us as we grow to appreciate what they have to teach us and as they add to the richness of our spiritual journey.

Amen.

Standing Out

Standing Out

Scriptures:

Deuteronomy 18:15-20

Mark 1:21-28

In the 58 years of Knox’s history, there has never been a year like this. The fact that we can’t even gather and share an anniversary cake is frustrating, and scary. It makes us wonder what the future holds for us.

So let’s get a bit of perspective as we begin our 59^th year as a community of faith.

We have weathered COVID remarkably well. As you will hear at the annual meeting, our finances for 2020 worked out much better than for most congregations. There are challenges ahead, and we will have to figure out how to face those, but that’s hardly surprising. It’s like driving a car in Canada: you know that the conditions in January and February are going to put the extra stress on the car that reveal where the repairs are needed. We know there will be work to do to keep this car on the road.

People have stepped up to meet the challenges of this pandemic at Knox. Our leaders, volunteers and staff have gone above and beyond to make sure that we figure out how to stay connected and how to keep ministering to this community and I would like to express my sincere appreciation to all of you.

The future is still unfolding and this pandemic is taking a lot time to resolve. So how do we keep on being the church as we face these challenges?

I find inspiration in our gospel lesson today. This is from the earliest gospel, Mark, and in the very first chapter it talks about how Jesus started his ministry with a healing at Capernaum.

People identified Jesus as a prophet which is not quite as exceptional as we tend to think. Our Deuteronomy lesson shows us God promising to send prophets to the Hebrew people so they didn’t have to deal with God face to face. They’d tried that once and it had terrified them; there had been many prophets over the years.

Historical records show us that in Jesus’ day there were an exceptional number of people speaking as prophets, calling people to justice, predicting dire consequences, pushing for particular interpretations and solutions to the problems of the world and the people of God.

Most of those prophets left no records; but Jesus stood out and what he did in our lesson today got his reputation growing quickly in the land. So what made the difference? Why did Jesus stand out from the others?

He healed a man at Capernaum. He helped him, casting out an unclean spirit. Where the others talked, he reached out and did something. The crowd was accustomed to hearing speeches and sermons – everyone called a prophet did that – but the crowd was impressed when Jesus accomplished something.

Let’s not get hung up on the language here. I’m not suggesting that we all have to become exorcists or faith healers. In those days, people made no distinction between physical health and spiritual or mental or emotional health. The Greeks had introduced words to distinguish these areas of life but that distinction hadn’t really sunk in very deeply in Jesus’ part of the world.

It was simply accepted medical knowledge that many afflictions were caused by unhealthy spirits and casting out a spirit was the way to heal many conditions.

It’s ironic that in the centuries since, we have made such a distinction between physical illness and other aspects of health that we have trouble recognizing the connection between our mental and emotional health on our physical bodies. The distinction isn’t as absolute as we’ve come to believe.

Jesus gained a reputation as a healer and the crowds would come to him with their ailments and afflictions and as he helped them, he taught them. They wouldn’t see this as a contradiction at all. It was all part of a spiritual, mental and physical package deal.

Jesus stood out because he went beyond theory. He didn’t just share ideas and interpretation, he worked to make people’s lives better.

That would be a good place for us to start as we figure out our future at Knox: how to do things to make people’s lives better. As we put our ideas into action, people will be touched and our role of being the church will grow and develop into the future.

New ideas and possibilities should be welcome. New technologies have already proven helpful in overcoming lockdown limitations. But some old-school technologies still work well. I have witnessed the power of a single phone call to make a real difference in someone’s life. A basic conversation can build up and strengthen, can provide inspiration and give hope and it’s these kinds of conversations that people are missing during our imposed isolation.

True, it’s not the same as a hug or a handshake but it is a connection that we each need.

I have observed over the years that Knox has a lot of shy people, or perhaps “introverted” is a better word. That’s not a bad thing at all but when we are talking about reaching out to others, it’s something to know and take into account.

It means that we have to consciously decide to act; to make contact with someone who might feel alone. That’s always easier to do with the people you’re close to but if it’s someone who is more of an acquaintance, it requires a decision.

Consider: who haven’t you seen since last March, someone from Knox who sat a few seats away, someone you met at coffee? If you’ve wondered how they are doing, reach out: figure out how to call them and just have a chat. Maybe make a point of calling people this way every couple of days.

It doesn’t have to be only Knox people, of course. God’s call to love others isn’t restricted to our own group and if we each make this effort with as simple a technology as the telephone, people’s lives will start to get better. Real healing will start to happen. I mean that seriously: human immune systems always work better when our minds and spirits are in good shape.

As we work to plan our future together other ideas will come up and other opportunities will be revealed for us to make a difference in people’s lives: a concerned conversation, a warm greeting, an enthusiastic wave from across the street, even a letter or a card in the mail; all of these can do wonders to cast out the unhealthy spirits that are depressing people these days.

Let’s each make the effort. It will be worth it and it will set the stage for our future as we discover new ways that we can continue to be God’s loving church in this community.

Amen.

Adaptable

Adaptable

Scripture:

Jonah 3:1-10

Mark 1:14-20

Today’s lessons give us examples of calls to people to minister. Jesus calls Simon and Andrew, James and John who drop everything to follow him: a familiar story.

In Jonah we see the prophet called to go to Nineveh and we are shown the result: the king and capital city of an evil empire brought to repentance. How inspiring is that?!

If we left it there, it could be a simple lesson: when God calls, drop everything and follow and you may be rewarded with great results. But it’s not that simple and that would be a naïve and misleading message.

What is Jonah best remembered for? Spending three days in the belly of a whale. And why did that happen? Because God had called him to go to Nineveh once before and Jonah boarded a boat going in the opposite direction. God sent a storm to the Mediterranean and the boat was at risk. There was Jonah, sleeping while the storm raged (sound familiar?) and after some hurried investigation and discussion, Jonah was thrown overboard to save the ship, which worked: the storm ceased immediately.

God sent the whale to swallow Jonah to save him from drowning; not as punishment, but as rescue. It was only after this failed attempt to flee from God’s call, after the trauma of being thrown overboard to drown, after the ordeal of spending three days inside a fish, that Jonah was finally ready to obey God’s call.

Jonah was a favourite prophet amongst early Christian writers. They saw in his experience a parallel to Jesus; with the three days in the belly of the whale looking like the three days between the crucifixion and resurrection; like an experience of death.

They knew that the parallels weren’t perfect. Jesus wasn’t reluctant: he never tried to flee from God, so the gospel writers demonstrated how Jesus was superior to Jonah. When he was awakened in a boat in a storm by panicked sailors, Jesus didn’t need to be thrown overboard to calm the waves; He simply stood up and commanded them to be still. Although at another level, the parallel holds because Jesus would, like Jonah, become a sacrifice; given over to death to save everyone else; given over to spend three days in the belly of the beast before being seen alive again.

In Jonah’s story, he is pursued by God; Jonah isn’t allowed to wiggle out of his call. The reading today shows the dramatic result of his preaching but it doesn’t show how much Jonah hated what he was doing.

Jonah hated the people of Nineveh. They would become responsible for the destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel when they emerged as the Assyrian Empire.

If you read into the 4^th chapter of Jonah the first thing you see is the prophet sulking and complaining because he knew that the people would repent; he knew that God would be merciful and fail to destroy them. And Jonah really wanted them destroyed – they were the enemy, after all and the conclusion of the book of Jonah is a lesson in the mercy of God and the love of God for all people – not only the chosen people of the Hebrews and not only the righteous people who behave well.

The early Christian writers saw in Jonah an imperfect Jesus; someone called to a similar mission: to reach out with God’s love to rejected and hostile people; even to experience 3 days of death to achieve God’s goal.

This parallel gives us some things to think about: for one, the work of Jesus wasn’t new. God has wanted to reach out to others for a very long time. Jonah gives us an example of God’s mercy bubbling over, much farther than God’s people can tolerate. That’s why Jonah rejected his call at first, why God had to pursue Jonah to actually answer the call.

Jonah’s prejudice against the people of Nineveh probably worked to God’s advantage: the prophet’s hatred of the people would have been palpable; Jonah’s desire for the threats of destruction to come true would have made him that much more persuasive.

So once again, like Eli last week, we see God working through a flawed, prejudiced, totally inappropriate representative to achieve something good.

There should be something comforting in that; to know that when really bad people become leaders, God can work around their own agendas and plots to make good happen, sometimes using their own flaws to advantage.

I mean, why not? If Machiavelli can sort this stuff out, is God going to be less subtle, less adaptable, less insightful?

For those who like things to be plain, straightforward and honourable, it can be a challenge to accept that God might work this way. For those who try to hold onto an image of God that is full of absolutes, that God is all-powerful, all-knowing, all-seeing, the idea that God might need to be adaptable is jarring.

For those who take the utterances of God to be carved in stone it is hard to know what to believe when God says “Nineveh will be destroyed” and then it isn’t, because the mind of God has changed

or as scripture sometimes puts it, because God has repented.

I have no doubt that part of Jonah’s sulk is because his own words didn’t come true; not just because his enemies were spared but because he could be seen as a fool instead of a prophet. His ego was hurt.

Answering the call of God is risky. Jonah, and Simon, and Andrew, and James, and John all were led into situations they hadn’t prepared for. They were faced with unfamiliar people and challenges; they had to deal with new ideas and they had to adapt their old thinking. When God called them, part of that call was a challenge: to change, to be transformed, to participate in building a new world.

We are called, just like those people were and right now, this world we live in is upside down. The challenges of our call are particularly clear these days. We would love things to go back to normal as quickly as possible, but we know that can’t happen.

We can try, like Jonah, to hide from God’s call but that didn’t work for him and it won’t work for us because where can we go that God isn’t already there? And it may be that, like Jonah, it will take a time of real hardship, a time where we feel like our lives are over, a time that feels like death before we are ready to answer God’s call.

But God is patient. God is adaptable. God still wants us to reach out to others in love and mercy, to make connections with strangers and hostile people, to love our enemies, to change our prejudices and presumptions and to discover what God is doing in the world instead of wishing it would all go back to the way it used to be.

God is calling us out of our comfort zones. If necessary, God will pursue us out of our comfort zones. God is calling us to be adaptable

and even if we’re not very good at it, even if we actively resist it, like Jonah, God can still work through us to make a difference.

While that’s good to know, demanding that God work despite our resistance is not really enough, and we know it.

How much more can be achieved if we are willing participants? If we embrace our call?

We won’t know until we try.

Amen.