May 20, 2012 - Reflection by Rev. David Boyd - Pentecost Sunday

I think I first realized that ministry was a possibility in my life, rather than something I never, ever wanted to do, when I took 1st year biology at UBC. As some of you know, my undergraduate degree was in Zoology. I was headed for medical school; I did not want to be a minister like my father was. But when I took 1st year biology, we had to do a tutorial lab at the end of the course and one of the options, which only appealed to two or three of us in a class of 100 or so, was the philosophy of science. We studied Thomas Kuhn, a scientist who first coined the term "paradigm shift." I wrote a brief paper about the intersection of science and religious thought. This course was an inkling that I needed to pay attention to my spirit rather than solely focusing on reason. Or to put it another way, I needed to spend an equal amount of time in my heart AND my head!

I was a fairly rationally-minded person through high school. I took the science and academic courses. While I don't think I was a nerd, the equivalent of geek in the 1970's, for I also enjoyed sports and music, I wasn't a jock or part of the popular crowd. (I was much too contrary-minded to fit in.) Most of my friends in high school, my contemporaries, went on into academia, or became engineers. This was the group that relied on the use of mind and reason, and I was firmly in that group.

What really pushed me to mind my spirit, if you'll accept the pun, is that my dad had his first stroke in 1982 when I was 22. That fall, I met a man who's become a life-long friend, Kevin whom some of you have met, who comes out of the Ukrainian Orthodox tradition and who was studying at Vancouver School of Theology where I was living at the time. He was into meditation and he taught me to meditate that fall. This was one of the single-most important moments that helped me appreciate the more spiritual aspects of life. Of course, being present at my children's birth didn't hurt that process, either!

I think that the translation that we have from John's Gospel, where the Spirit is called the Advocate, is an interesting translation. That's what it felt like for me, and continues to feel like—the Spirit as my Advocate. And I know from conversations with others, the Spirit feels like an advocate, one who works on our behalf for life... and abundant life at that. The literal translation is that of paracletos, a word that literally means "supporter" or "helper". "The Spirit helps us in our weakness for we do not know how to pray as we ought. The Spirit intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words," is how Paul phrased it. The word that Paul used for Spirit is the word we are more accustomed to and that is pneuma or breath. John is the one who uses the word, paracletos, however. As Paul wrote his letter long before John wrote his gospel, this tradition of Spirit as the Breath of God was familiar to John but he chose to use his word, paraclete, as a way of furthering an understand of what the Spirit is or what the Spirit does, that being advocacy.

Help is perhaps too passive, though, for the Spirit does more than help us. The Spirit cajoles us, prompts us, and interrupts our orderly lives with chaos and new directions. The Spirit doesn't like complacency, but is interested in life bursting forth. Think Genesis and the Spirit of God hovering—brooding is the translation that I like—over the waters of creation giving birth. Chaos was too complacent for God. We mistakenly think of life as orderly and that God brought order out of chaos; I think that God's Spirit, in introducing life, introduced a level of disorder and chaos in the mix; there was nothing before there was life, but life is nothing if not chaotic! If we are too much in our heads, the Spirit helps us get into our hearts. If we are too much into our hearts, the Spirit helps us to appreciate our minds. The Spirit attempts to help us find balance by introducing a degree of imbalance into our lives. That's the genius of the Spirit's advocacy or help, leading us into chaos in order to experience the abundance of life more fully.

Think of this little poem from Eleazar Ben Kaller, someone who lived between 1000 and 1300 years ago, no one is quite sure of his dates. It is a poem of contrasts, which is what the Spirit is all about, holding the tension of polarities, something of what I said last week. Ben Kaller wrote his poem, according to a translation by T. Carmi, likening the burning bush experience that Moses had to the coming of the Spirit:

Now an angel of God appeared to Moses in a blazing fire –
a fire that devours fire;
a fire that burns in things dry and moist;
a fire that glows amid snow and ice;
a fire that is like a crouching lion;
a fire that reveals itself in many forms;
a fire that is, and never expires;
a fire that shines and roars;
a fire that blazes and sparkles;
a fire that flies in a storm wind;
a fire that burns without wood;
a fire that renews itself every day;
a fire that is not fanned by fire;
a fire that billows like palm branches;
a fire whose sparks are flashes of lightning;
a fire black as a raven;
a fire, curled, like the colours of the rainbows!

The mystery of the Spirit's presence in our lives is the mystery that confounds order and the order that confounds chaos. That's why it's sometimes easier to ignore the Spirit, because she requires something of us—our attention! We have to pay attention to life and the ways that lead to a fuller living. Spirituality is about new ways of being, not something beyond us, but something within us, that enables, indeed that empowers us, to live the fullness of who we are as individuals, each with our own unique gifts. And that empowerment is in directions that surprise because the Spirit, deeply within, knows us and knows where our learning and growing edges are and might be. And that's all of us, at whatever age and stage of life we might be.

May the Spirit disturb your life so that you might live more fully and abundantly. Amen.

May 20, 2012 - Reflection by Rev. David Boyd - Easter 7

Our Thursday morning book group has finished until next fall. We read a book by Peter Rollins, whom I mentioned some weeks ago; I saw a YouTube video of Rollins and thought a book by him might be interesting. The book we read was called Insurrection: To believe is human, to doubt, divine. It was a provocative book in many ways although we did we argue with Rollins about his ideas. He ended his book with a poem and the last line, a take-off on the commissioning at the end of many worship services, which is "go in peace to love and serve God," reads, "go in pieces to see and feel your world." Rollins advocated that only by sharing our vulnerabilities and doubts can we truly be human and experience God.

Rollins wrote about living the resurrection today in how we live, in how we confront the powers and principalities of our day, and in how we make ethical choices. All of that was fine; it was the way in which he wrote that troubled some of us; he wrote in absolutes. For example, he wrote about the problem of religion being a crutch that props us up; some truth to that, surely, but not an absolute. Some of us found this absolutism to be judgemental of people who were just trying to live in this complicated world. He kept knocking the pins out from underneath us by suggesting that only if we always live out of our suffering and vulnerability will we be able to live the resurrection power, and only if we stop seeking the comfort of using God as a crutch will we truly live as Christian people. These expressions of absolute thinking I found difficult. While reading the book, and pondering these absolutes, I kept thinking of a woman in Northern Ontario, a parishioner who had experienced unbearable heart-break quite literally; Mrs. Leavoy was her name. Mrs. Leavoy and her husband, who had died at an early age of a heart-attack, had combined to create a genetic storm by passing on genes that trigger an overabundance of bad cholesterol. The first funeral I did after I was ordained and arrived in Northern Ontario was for Mrs. Leavoy's daughter who died of heart failure around the age of 40. Mrs. Leavoy's husband and 3 children had died of heart disease. One son remained alive who also had heart problems. Mrs. Leavoy's family was studied by the medical and genetics departments of Queen's University, I believe, in Kingston. What kept her going were her faith and her church family. She found tremendous comfort in attending church and she had a profound sense of God's presence holding her and her family in love. What would Rollins say to this, I wonder?

This past week, reading the gospel for today and some background to the readings, I kept coming across headlines and comments that contradicted Rollins' absolute ideas. At The Edge of Enclosurewebsite that I read each week, Suzanne Guthrie wrote in her title "do not leave us comfortless." At the workingpreacher.org website, the scholar of the week, James Boyce of Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, said this, "As Easter people, we are encouraged not to dwell in feelings of abandonment or despair, but to hope in the assurance of Jesus' continuing presenceÉ."

How then do we live with the error, according to Rollins, of relying on the comfort of God on the one hand and the absolute of having to always live out of our vulnerabilities and mistakes on the other hand?

The truth is, I believe, somewhere in between these two absolute poles. Someone once said many years ago, and it's a saying that has been repeated over and over, and I suspect it probably arose in some glib, off-hand kind of way that has a certain wisdom about it, "The Church is called to afflict the comfortable and to comfort the afflicted." I believe that the Church is a paradox that lives in the tension between celebrating the Commonwealth of God here and now, knowing God's presence in our lives especially in times of challenge and difficulty, living the resurrection today in our lives, AND waiting for the fullness of God's grace, justice and peace to be realized in this life, or in other words, to be honest about the brokenness of the world. I know of many like Mrs. Leavoy who live in that tension.

The Apostle John articulates this tension in the idea that we live in the world, which has many challenges that we need to be honest about, but that we are born from above in God's love and so therefore are not of the world. (Remember, John wrote that God so loved this world, but this world is also interpreted by John as a reality of many challenges and injustices.) Living in the paradox of this tension, according to John's Gospel means that we live extravagant giving. The tension between experiencing comfort and living honestly in with our struggles is given legs in the idea that we are called to an extravagant giving that leads to unity. This idea of extravagant giving is throughout chapter 17 of John's Gospel and throughout the whole of the gospel. God gives. Jesus gives. We are given (life, love) and we, in turn, give of our lives. We open ourselves to each other and give of the deep gifts God has given. We give ourselves in the world for that is the path that leads to wholeness. In giving of ourselves, we discover that we are in one another finding unity and togetherness. We give with the extravagant gift of our lives just as God gives with the extravagant gift of God's life in Christ.

At the end of Rollins' book, he talks about his own personal struggles and from reading these, his ideas make a little more sense. At least they did to me... there weren't as many absolutes in his expression of his personal struggles. One of the things that I appreciated in his concluding chapter was the importance of worship. He wrote about the idea that in worship we come together as one, leaving our identities at the door. We worship as people who are equal, sisters and brothers together. And in this space of worship, we tell the story of extravagant giving, of extravagant love, of extravagant grace. We speak of what it means to live the resurrection of Christ in our lives here and now. We speak of our connection and unity with the whole creation. We speak of our quest for justice and meaning in the face of war and torture. We hold the hope for change in solidarity with Aung San Suu Kyi in Burma and the hopes of the Karin women coming to Canada. We stand with the Mrs. Leavoys of the world who are hurting and grieving. We stand with our sisters and brothers in the reconciliation process with 1st Nations peoples. We stand with transgender folk in our humanity. In worship we create space to go out into the world renewed to live with integrity and hope, to live in the tension between comfort and struggle.

As many of you know, I have named my challenges and struggles in the past. They continue and what I have learned along the way is that I can live in the tension, the paradox, of comfort and struggle. I can't live constantly in the middle of my struggles and challenges. It is debilitating and too difficult; there is no lift, no joy. We can't live in the place of comfort all the time, either, for we become stale and stagnant. William Blake, the 18th century poet, wrote a poem that I've used in funerals that captures this tension well:

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine;
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
It is right it should be so;
We were made for joy and woe;
Through the world we safely go.

As Jesus reminds us, we seek unity and solidarity with one another in living in the tension between struggle and comfort. In unity, we find the courage and impetus to live the United Church creed, for example, which is to celebrate God's presence, live with respect in creation, love and serve others, seek justice and resist evil, and to proclaim Jesus, crucified and risen.

With this creedal calling, and together with you, I can live in the tension between the absolutes that Rollins describes. I can step out in justice-making and peace-seeking being honest about the difficult challenges of the world; in grief and loss, acknowledging our vulnerabilities and our humanity, we can console one another and practice healing touch and find compassion. Together, we can be the Church living joy in the midst of woe, and acknowledging woe in the midst of joy. For Christ is in us and we are in Christ, together in God seeking the renewal of this world in which we live, seeking the comfort that empowers us to truly live AND seeking the honesty to speak of our, and the world's, vulnerabilities and struggles openly. In this tension, the resurrection power of God's love and compassion are lived in each of us, and it truly becomes an insurrection of love.

May it be so. Amen.

May 13, 2012 - Reflection by Rev. David Boyd - Mother's Day

Mother's Day; Sixth Sunday of Easter

 Lectionary Scripture: John 15:9-17

Do you remember the movie Ghost that starred the late Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore? It came out in the early in 90's. Instead of a romantic evening with Janet going to dinner and movie, I and the youth group leader took our youth group from St. Andrew's to the movie. We did have some interesting conversation about the judgementalism of the movie when those who were evil and bad were taken to hell by the off-key moaning shadows. However, that's not why I bring up this movie. I bring it up for the simple fact of remembering the love story part of it and the fact that Patrick's character could never tell Demi that he loved her. He would say "ditto" or "me too." He couldn't, unsolicited, say, "I love you" except at the end when, as a ghost, he is able to tell his beloved that he loves her.

Do you remember when you first heard those words? You were probably a child and it was a parent speaking them to you—at least I hope so; there are far too many children who go forth in this world without hearing the words "I love you" and maybe even hear worse. Maybe you heard these words from another significant person in your life. When I graduated from high school, my father wrote a poem to me that said, "I love you." I don't recall my father ever saying those words out loud, to my regret. Most of our phone calls with our children these days end with the words, "I love you."

Do you remember when you first spoke those words, "I love you" to someone? You'll remember that saying "I love you" takes courage. Especially when you say the words without responding to someone else who just told you that she or he loves you. As Patrick's character knew, it's far easier to say, "I love you, too" or "same here" or "me, too." It's much more difficult to speak the words first, without any expectation of a reply.

It may be a bit simplistic to say that the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is God saying, "I love you" to the world. And yet, simplistic or not, I believe it to be true. God's love transcends death, weaves through life—all life, embracing, holding, caressing, and blessing.

In all that Jesus did in his life, and continues to do, he conveyed the sense of God's love. He conveyed his own love, which, as John tells us in his gospel, is the same as God's love for God abides in Jesus and Jesus in God and we abide together in God. Jesus conveyed love in the way he related to women and children, in the way he included sinners and outcasts, and in the way he challenged the power structures of his day that left much to be desired. And he did all of this in an era when men didn't relate to women other than from a dominant position. It was an era in which children didn't really count until they became adults. It was an era in which men didn't express vulnerability and openness, didn't express love. In so much more than what he said, Jesus conveyed the inclusive, all embracing, community-building, holy gift of love.

At the preaching festival in Seattle that I attended a couple of weeks ago, the preachers, in their ways, talked about the power of love to heal, to challenge, to make new, to reconcile, to forgive. Nine sermons in two days might seem a bit excessive! And many people thought I was a bit crazy to attend such a festival, but it was great. It was great to hear the variety of perspectives and styles in preaching and to hear the gospel proclaimed and be filled and affirmed.

I remember some years ago reading a book by William Herzog called, Jesus, Justice and the Reign of God: Ministry of Liberation. It paints a portrait of the first century. By all accounts, it was a century in which you didn't fare well if you didn't fit in. Prophets weren't welcome. Anyone disrupting the status quo wasn't wanted. People challenging the accepted mode of operation in Temple affairs, in political affairs, and in spiritual affairs had better keep quiet or else face the dire consequences. If you were ill and people didn't understand what your illness was about, you were ostracized. Men, women and children had rigid places in society and woe betide you should you question these roles. So it wasn't exactly a time conducive to someone preaching a radical peace—turn the other cheek, or a radical message of justice in which those on the outside might be welcomed and included, or a radical kind of love in which one gave one's life for another, or a radical view of equality in which all, men and women together, would be friends. This is what Jesus did. And he faced the consequences and died for it. But God said, "I love you" to the world.

Some biblical scholars have stressed the importance of a little word in today's passage from John; it is the word that is translated as "just as" or "so," or simply "as." It appears a couple of times in our passage: in verse 9, "as God has loved me..." and again in verse 12, "love one another as I have loved you." This simple word appears 31 times in John's gospel. It reveals the simple fact that God, Jesus and all of us are one; there is a mutual relationship here. Jesus' love imitates and mirrors God's love; and "just as" Jesus abides in God's love, we abide in Jesus' love. It is about mutuality and equality.

The resurrection only emphasizes this mutuality and the power of love. What we need to remember, though, in resurrection story after story, is that God didn't magically remove Jesus' wounds. They were there in all their bodily glory. Jesus pointed them out. Jesus appeared, ate and showed them his side, his hands and his feet. It makes sense to me because we forget too easily that we can be wounded when love calls us to take risks, to get our hands dirty, to get down into the muck and the earth of our world and work and toil for the same kinds of things Jesus embodied: peace, justice, inclusion, overturning unjust power structures, equality, mutuality, and especially love. So, Jesus showed his scars as much to say, "don't forget that love costs something! It won't be easy, but it will be worth it!"

Today on Mother's Day, it is a good day to say "I love you." But not just to our mothers; to everyone. I attended a presentation by Dr. Jackson Katz last Wednesday night; Dr. Katz is internationally recognized for his groundbreaking work in gender violence prevention in schools, the sports culture in Canada and the US, and the military. He also led a workshop on Thursday that I could not attend. Dr. Katz' premise is that gender violence needs to involve men, that these are not women's issues, but that they are men's issues as well. And he challenged men to be role models, to be vulnerable and open, to ask for help, and to say "I love you" without waiting for someone else to say it first, to not say "ditto" or "me, too." This day, and every day, is a good day to say, "I love you."

Amen.

May 6, 2012 - Reflection by Jayne Slawson Licenced Lay Worship Leader (LLWL)

Scripture: Acts 8:26-40
            Philip and the Ethiopian Eunuch

Let us pray:

God always present, help us at this time to return to you with all our heart and soul. Help us to know that your word is not beyond our reach. That your word is not in heaven, so that we need wonder, "Who will go up to heaven for us and bring it down to us, so that we can hear and practice it?" Nor is your word beyond the seas, so that we need wonder, "Who will cross the seas for us and bring it back to us, so that we can hear and practice it?" No your word is very near to us: it is in our mouth and in our heart for us to perceive and share in the way we live our stories of love as you have lived and loved us. Amen (Deuteronomy 30: 10B, 11-14)

I think that questions like: Where were you... or Who were you with... when you heard that man walked for the first time on the moon?... when the Berlin wall came down?... when the tragedy of 9/11 occured?... when the first black American President was elected?... can lead to some very momentous discussions and life moving stories. I would like to add to these "where were you" questions with this one: "Where were you, or who where you with when your eyes and heart was opened to a new way of looking at faith or an aspect of faith you hadn't considered before?"

I was baptised and involved in the United Church from birth to today. I went to Sunday School, Messengers, Explorers and CGIT. I sang in the youth choir went to Youth Group and Church Camp. I was confirmed at the age of 16 and later married and had my children and not long ago my first grandchild baptised in the United Church. I knew alot about my church and could recite many stories about God and Jesus in the Bible, but the day I walked into my first adult Bible study group at the age of 32 was the first day that I can say that my eyes and heart were truly opened to a new way of looking at faith — a new way of speaking by the heart.

I remember being told that my first year as a nurse I was called a novice, a beginner. The second year I would be considered anapprentice, and the third year I would be considered an expertin my area. In swimming lessons, we started as yellow then progressed on to green, then blue and then silver, then gold... There was always a starting place and you worked your way up the ladder-becoming better, stronger or more knowledgeable.

When it came to my spiritual growth my first step was learning to get along with fellow youngsters in the nursery, things like learning to share toys and books, learning little prayers before cookie time, learning patience as we waited for our parents to come and retrieve us after church. Then came primary class where you learned simple bible stories and songs and verses,like,"BIBLE, yes that's the book for me. I stand alone on the word of God. The BIBLE!" And Oh those many crafts. Then you moved into theIntermediate class where you learned more bible stories, parables, psalms, and about important events like Easter, Lent, Christmas, Penticost, Advent. We had a ciriculum and a book to follow that talked about how to be a good neighbour or person. Then came Senior class where you got to discuss topics like what it meant to be a Good Samaratin, or Why did Jesus have to die on the cross? What does Easter Ressurection mean? This was my spiritual foundation and it seemed very complete and easy to be a Christian...

I remember reading this quote in the Observer: We may think we heard it all in Sunday School. But at that age, all we could handle was the headlines. Only as adults are we finally ready to appreciate the articles and the editorials, unfortunately, by then, many of us have stopped getting the paper.

The 50's and 60's, and into the 70's, Churches were experiencing a major revival. I remember Sunday School classes of at least 20 kids in each class and there being 20 or more age groups. Many of my age group have stopped going. Like me, they probably thought they knew all they needed to learn about religion, about church. But what about faith, what about grace and mystery and mercy. What about discussions that broaden our vision about a God that is so awsome, incompassing and compassionate. What about the heart and passion of God? What about "the way", the "path", forgiveness, justice. So many questions about "what abouts..." Those were the discussions that I happened to walk into that one morning — those discussions that invite your heart to the passion of God.

It was simply a group of fellow journeyers talking about their faith in relation to a particular bible passage or event that may have happened that week. People who had no theological backgrounds, no special credentials. Just a group of seekers who included me in their discussions and opened my heart and eyes to a faith that was budding inside and they helped guide me into a spiritual experience that continues to grow today. They didn't have or claim to have all the answers and, no matter our ages we helped each other dig deeper, think more openly and often reconsider past beliefs and practices. My prayer life changed, my capacity to forgive and my openness to inclusiveness of people grew. There were some very wise people in this group and while they would be the last to think so, they certainly moved me with their stories. Stories about an ever mystifying God and the Good News of Jesus.

I told you that so I could tell you this:

The Eunuch was a man who we heard read scripture and had come to Jerusulem to worship. He had the basics, he was a beginner. But it wasn't until Philip asked the question: "Do you understand what you are reading", that the real discussion of faith, heart and soul started. Philip a deacon, someone appointed to take care of widows and the poor of the church, would be the guide that the eunuch needed to more fully start his spiritual education.

Like many of the early prophets and Christian leaders Philip was hesitant to answer God's call and go out to a desert, a wilderness and guide anothers way. Philip was not a great leader like Peter or John or a missionary like Paul. We are told he was hesitant to talk to an Ethiopian eunich—a non Jew. God needed to ask three times. There were probably many reasons not to go but he went with God's encouragement and he made a big difference in the Ethiopians life and possibly the life of those Ethiopian eunichs went on and touched.

A man went to see a minister. A voice inside him had been saying to him, "Go to the church and talk to the minister. Go to the church and talk to the minister. Go to the church and talk to the minister. About this drinking problem you don't think you have." And he kept on saying to himself, "I don't want to go. I don't want to go. I don't want to go." The inner voice said to him again, "Go to the church and talk to the minister." So he finally did. He drove through the church parking lot and gave a sigh of relief. The ministers car wasn't there. "Good," he thought. "I'll just drop in and see the secretary." He did. And while he was walking to the office he came upon a group of people in deep discussion. It happened to be an AA group that met in the church that day and so began one of those important life changing conversations. (Edward F. Markquart)

But, it comes down to more than just a conversation. I think one of the things we do well as a church at Nelson United is we tell our stories. Our culture today seems to suffer from what Neil Postman in his book, Amusing Ourselves To Death, calls "story starvation." There are so many books, movies, reality shows, soap operas, comedies on TV that do nothing to "feed the soul." Today many clergy say they have trouble reaching people with the gospel, and yet we are stewards of "the greatest story ever told." We have a wonderful story to tell to the world, a story of peace and light...A story about a Triune God who lives and breathes in us and a story about a man named Jesus who cares and loves us.

What the story of Philip helps us realize is that each one of us here is a guide, a leader. A guide to having or starting that important conversation, starting with a question, being open to reaching out to a new comer, to a fellow journeyer, to a child or youth. Looking past barriers of prejudices, fear of speaking ones questions, fear of not having all the answers. Philip told the Eunich the good news about Jesus. He seemed to do it so spontaneously. He didn't have time to prepare a well-crafted sermon, he didn't speak from prepared notes, he jumped right in dispite the fact that he was on a dusty road in the middle of a wasteland. In other words Philip just told the story of Jesus!

He told his own personal story- not just his personal history of Jesus, but the values and motivations, the knowledge and experiences that shaped Jesus way of life, and identity. Philip told a story of one's people. Those well-worn, well repeated stories that a people know by heart, often fragmentary and forgotten peices of stories that nonetheless still help make up the identity of a people. He blended them into a new story to which the eunich could see himself belonging, that he could be a part of, and like a true guide, Philip gave shape and cohesiveness where the eunich previously knew fuzziness and incoherence. Philip brought himself into the story and practiced what he preached, practiced what Jesus preached and the eunich was able to find himself in Jesus's story and eventually asked to be baptised.

Philip told the story of Jesus. The story of Jesus is our story. And the story of our truest selves is the story about how we have been engrafted into the story of God through Christ. We belong—we live and move and have our being in God's Great Story. The scriptures, the great "Song of Faith", the psalms and the great hymns of our faith, the story of our faith through the ages, the marvelous spiritual writings and stories of faithful saints carefully passed along to us over the centuries. These are all the ways in which our story and the formless longings and hopes of our people are gathered up into the Story of God that calls us by the Spirit to be the church. Philip simply opened his mouth, beginning with scripture and told the story of Jesus at the point where the eunich was ready to hear it and accommodated the story to the need of his hearer. The story teller/guide and the hearer met as one. Philip and the eunich start with scripture, something both were familiar with and from there they digest and chew on the words until both their hearts are open and they can tell the story of Jesus by heart, they can see God's story of life and love as their story and they can then truly tell the story of heart to others so that they too want to hear it over and over.

Our role is to have our eyes open to the places where we can help a person to hear and respond to the voice that is already calling them from within. The Ethiopian eunich was already worshipping and reading scripture, but Philip's openness to the situation meant that the man recieved the needed instruction that led to his baptism. I think that that is part of why we come to church. To be in conversation with like minded people who struggle and are challenged by a voice that calls from within. To be or to be given a guide along this path we travel called faith or heart. Jesus is our guide and through his teachings and good news, we too are encouraged to share these stories with others. Just ask a question, just tell the story—our Jesus story. Tell them over and over again to anyone who will listen. Chew on them, digest them in your heart. See where you go...

I believe you too will truly tell the story by heart for as Diana Butler Bass said in this past March Observer, "We in the United Church are poised to become a form of Christianity that can be inclusive and yet grounded in the Christian story, and we can be prophetic and transformative in the good that we do in the world. I think all the pieces are there for a genuine spiritual awakening. That's the prediction of my heart..." and that is the greatest story that still needs to be told over and over again, and it awaits to be told by the likes of spirit-filled Philip and each one of us here today.

May it be so...

Amen.

April 15, 2012 - Reflection by Rev. Carol Prochaska (ret.)

Easter 2 

Sermon: "Moving Through Doubt and Fear"

Scriptures: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 133; 1 John 1-2:2; John 20:19-30

A favorite author of mine is Anne Lamott. I have especially enjoyed her personal chronicles of faith and reflections. In a book titled, Travelling Mercies, she tells how, against all odds, she came to believe in God and in herself. In her introduction she writes: "My coming to faith did not start with a leap but rather a series of staggers from what seemed like one safe place to another. Like lily pads, round and green, these places summoned and then held me up while I grew. Each prepared me for the next leaf, on which I would land, and in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear... And in this way I moved across the swamp of doubt and fear".

I think of those times in my own life I think of those times I've shared in the lives of others. And I'm wondering if this metaphor isn't also applicable to your own faith journey? And then — of course, this morning, there's Thomas! I think we can safely say that he was in the swamp of doubt and fear. He was there even though he was in the midst of those confident, excited voices —those other disciples who were one or two lily pads ahead of him.

Doubt, as we know, is uncertainty. It's the lack of confidence combined with suspicion. Most of us have known the experience of doubting, of being uncertain. We've been suspicious of what others are saying about matters of faith. For us their confidence just doesn't seem to ring true for us. Fear, in the biblical sense, is the opposite of believing in God and in God's Love, the opposite of trusting the God revealed in Jesus Christ. We may be afraid to take a chance that God is and always has been loving us —no less than anyone/everyone else.

We may doubt God needs us. We may be afraid God does need us. We may doubt the church will ever change. We may be afraid the church will change. Now tell me: Can it be all that bad being a kind of faith-caterpillar? Why not try to avoid the cocoon-times: those times of darkness and transition and transformation? Just suppose that we can through life without being a faith-butterfly?

Certainly some of us, like Thomas, want something solid to hold onto! Have you ever asked God to be more specific? "Tell me clearly God! Let the heavens open up and speak words I can hear and understand!" Of course—if that actually did happen I'd probably wet my pants! So how about an archeological find, for instance Jesus' hand prints with crucifixion markings and how about some DNA to test! I personally would like bones of women disciples!

And then!

And then?

Would it be easier to make our way through doubt and fear? Would we be a more trusting people? Could we better deal with those things in life that challenge our believing?

Some of you will have received and read the April edition of The United Church Observer. Inside the front cover are five headings and out of these five articles, four could be cause for doubt and/or fear. First Heading: The Crosses We Bear. Beneath this heading is the statement: "Today millions of Canadians shoulder the task of providing care to ailing loved ones". If we're not in this place of responsibility we may fear we will be or that we will be the one needing that care. Our oldest son and daughter-in-law live in Calgary. They have been caring for her father. They have spent weeks downsizing and moving him into an apartment. They are now in the process of unpacking and getting him settled. They have two sons. One is mildly Autistic and the other one is graduating and getting ready to go to college in the fall. They are the sandwich generation. Like so many they are at times overwhelmed.

Another Observer Heading: An Ominous Tide. On Ghana's Atlantic coast there is a centuries-old fishing village: Shama. As "climate change intensifies, rising sea levels threaten to swallow this town and its traditional way of life". This kind of reporting is certainly not new to us! What can we do? Will it be enough or soon enough?

The Third Heading: The Plight of the Honey bee. This article has to do with the mysterious collapse of bee colonies and so there's the question of where have our pollinators gone?

The Fourth Heading: Reconciling to a Hard Truth. You will remember that Canada is going through the process of compensating residential school survivors. It has now become apparent that the prevalence of abuse was far greater than anyone imagined. So much pain and so much loss; can there ever be healing?

So?... So we do as people of faith have always done: We turn to scripture, to the Living Word of God. We turn to that which can speak to our doubts and fears, to that which can touch us deeply and can summon us from stuck places.

Our four scriptures for this morning all emphasized that we do not travel our journey of faith as individuals. In Acts we heard how the whole congregation of believers was united as one and "great grace was upon them all". We stay together. We will take turns at being encouragers and being in need of encouragement. Sometimes we will have something to share Sometimes we will need what another has. And always we remember we're in this together — we need each other.

From Psalm 133 we surmised that those pilgrims were tightly packed together. Even so they were able to declare: "How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together". In close quarters we discover our differences -and our strengths! How many of you ended up doing something for the church which at first you thought couldn't or wouldn't ever, ever do! But you did! And you experienced joy. And you were transformed in the process.

From 1 John we remember the words: What we have seen and heard we declare to you, so that you may be one with us as we are one with Abba God and with the Only Begotten, Jesus Christ".In Jesus Christ we have been made one. Even though some of us are on the lily pad over there and some of you are way over there, we are still one body — the body of Jesus Christ.

In our passage from the Gospel of John, Jesus says to the disciples, "Peace be with you." The Greek word for "Peace" comes from the root meaning joined; at one again. Jesus seems to be saying: Be together; be joined with me and with each other so that you may experience wholeness and rest and plenty and well-being.

Thanks be to God for Thomas — and for this gospel writer! In this story we all are given permission (even encouraged) to be up front concerning where we are in our faith journey. We can speak the truth regardless of where we are: caterpillar, cocoon, butterfly or somewhere in between or we may not even be sure where we are.

In this reading did you notice how the other disciples did not withhold their love from Thomas? Their sin—their lack of love—could have been to exclude Thomas or ridicule him—but they did not sin against him. Neither did he give-up them. Scripture says: "A week later Jesus' disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them".

In the words of our United Church Creed:

We are not alone; we live in God's world. We believe in God: Who has created and is creating...

Over and over again we go from caterpillar to cocoon to butterfly.

April 8, 2012 - Easter Reflection by Rev. David Boyd

Branding and marketing have become cornerstones of wanting to have a successful business or enterprise in today's world. Companies pay big money to have their logo or brand displayed in a movie or television program. Studies have been done that show young children, toddlers even, recognize brands and logos. In today's world, for good or for ill, it is important to get your name out there.

This is no less true for the Church. Why then, do you suppose, that at the two most important times of the year, when we have visitors and perhaps the curious coming to church to check us out, do we emphasize the fact that we are depraved and totally sinful and that it is our fault that Jesus died on the cross? Even at Christmas time we sing "Joy to the World" with the third verse: "No more let sins and sorrows grow, nor thorns infest the ground: he comes to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found, far as the curse is found, far as, far as the curse is found." For Isaac Watts, steeped in 18^th century theology and the Dawn of the Enlightenment, the curse is in each of us.

On Good Friday, we sang the hymn, "Ah, Holy Jesus, How Has Thou Offended?" The second verse reads, "Who was the guilty? Who brought this upon thee? Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee. 'Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee. I crucified thee.'" And today, some of our Easter hymns allude to the fact that we caused Jesus' death and suffering on the cross.

Is it any wonder that the sociological study after study has shown that people who do not go to church and who do not know much about the church feel that they are judged as evil sinners by the church? When our major feast days of joy and gladness still emphasize that note of judgement, that the world is an evil and depraved place and that we are all part of that condition and need God to release us from this evil scourge, how will we invite people to join us.

This theology that we have inherited is not the Easter theology of the early Church; it was the note the Easter theology of Paul, the 1^st major theologian. There was some sense of Jesus dying for our sins in 1^st Peter and Hebrews, but that was only part of a greater theological belief that God was the giver of life and that life had the last word. This is the Biblical meaning of John's Gospel, and Mark and Luke. This is what we find in the Christian Scriptures, even in Revelation.

Jesus was crucified by the Roman authorities, with the approval of some Jewish religious leaders, because Jesus challenged the economic policies of his day. He challenged the fact that people were being exploited, that innocent people were being crucified, that the Jewish religious teachers had turned their back on the Torah and on the message of the Prophets. Jesus challenged the day and age in which we lived to be more just, more about love of neighbour and love of God, more about kinship and relationship. Some scholars argue that Jesus came to proclaim a whole Way, not of judgement and condemnation, but of light, of compassion, of grace, of justice, of freedom, of forgiveness, of life. Jesus was crucified because he dared to stand up to the powers of Rome that and its so-called plan for peace.

Jesus was not crucified because of individual sin. Even in the few places of the Christian Scriptures that speak of Jesus dying for our sins it is more the idea that sin does exist in the world, but this sin is about participation in injustice and oppression. When we do not stand up for each other for a just cause, or when a brother or a sister faces oppression and lack of freedom, when poverty grinds so many people down and we do nothing about it, we participate in sin and Jesus died for this. Jesus died because he affirmed the power of life and love in the world, that we are blessed and capable of wondrous acts of justice and love and compassion.

The idea that Jesus died for our individual sins is a relatively new development in theology. It arose out of the feudal world and reached its zenith in the teachings of Anselm who said that God became a human being in order for salvation to occur; but because people are inherently depraved and sinful creatures, salvation could only be brought about by God—not by humans—so God had to become human. But since the only way to become one with God was for God to require a sacrifice for this atonement, death had to occur. And therefore the emphasis on becoming one with God is on the death of Jesus rather than the gift of life. This is the belief in a nutshell.

This is not what the early Church proclaimed. Anselm and others constructed this theology as a means of power and control. What Easter proclaims and Christmas, too, is that our God cares deeply for this lifeÑthis incarnational livingÑto such a degree that God would become part of it. Not as an act of judgement but as a note of affirmation. Jesus came to be among us as a sign of God's deep love for the world... God so loved the world. God knew that people were suffering and that there was an emphasis on being hurtful and oppressive. God wanted to point back to creation to say loudly and with energy, "I am the God of life... and it is good! Life is good. Celebrate life."

We do that here today, celebrate life! Jesus was crucified because he dared to affirm that life is good! That we need not put up with leaders and authorities that oppress and deny the various ways that we experience the wonder of life. Jesus died because he was a threat. But death was not the last word. Life is the last word. God is the God of life and God raised Jesus to life to affirm once again that death and oppression and injustice and grief and loss hold no power. Life holds power. The life of love and blessing holds power. The mystery and wonder of relationships hold power!

  

April 5, 2012 Reflection by Rev. David Boyd

At the science fair at Blewett School last Wednesday morning, the last project that Nolan and I adjudicated was about the heart. It was a very comprehensive project showing information about the heart. As Nolan and I were filling out the adjudication form, we both kind of said at the same time that the presentation made us want to go home and exercise. The student making the presentation talked about the vital importance of the heart. I went home and thought about this from both a physical and a figurative sense... the importance of the heart.

When I got to my office later Wednesday afternoon and opened my email, I discovered that Liz had sent me an email from YouTube that originated at the TED website that showed the development of human life in utero from conception to birth. TED stands for Technology, Entertainment and Design, and there are over a 1000 wonderful and inspiring presentations on the website. The presenter was Alexander Tsiaras who was doing research at Yale and NASA in computer and scientific visualization. I watched this video of conception to birth in wonder and awe. What an incredible world we live in!

Through the portal of our hearts, we have such opportunity to see the world in all its beauty, wonder and mystery. I think that Maundy Thursday and what we do and remember here this night is heart stuff. We remember and commemorate actions and ideas that open our hearts to the reality of new life, new opportunities and new hope.

One of the main things that we remember tonight is the mandate to love that Jesus gave. This is heart stuff. Jesus took a towel and served his friends. He stepped out the role as teacher and rabbi to enact the gospel of love, to enflesh the example of giving to others, to incarnate the importance of doing unto others. Perhaps in today's world we might say that Jesus got out of his head and into his heart. He engaged people out of his own vulnerability and entered into the vulnerability of others.

Peter, in his typical way, wanted to get things back into the head, into a place that could be understood and appreciated, that could be rationally sorted out. Many of us can relate to Peter's response, "What are you doing. This isn't what you are about, Jesus, washing feet. You will never wash my feet!" And Jesus' response was to suggest that Peter needed to emphasise the importance of his heart.

The first year we enacted the foot washing as part of this service I thought to myself, I'm going to have to wash people's feet. I'm going to have to touch another human being in a very vulnerable and intimate way. And I'm going to bare my own feet to have them washed. Can I do something that requires me to suspend my inner critic and my need to explain and understand? Can touch people in this way that in today's world seems out of place and character? Can I trust another enough to bare my feet and can I be trusted? And yet we did it! And it was humbling! And we're doing it again! Heart stuff!

Part of what I appreciate about Maundy Thursday is that it is the beginning of these three significant days in the life of the Church. There is a deep mystery about these three days that appeals to our hearts such that our churches recognize them with special liturgies and vigils and observances. The power of these days defies logic, really. One of the few Saturday night Easter Vigils I attended had a lasting impression on me; I was a student at Vancouver School of Theology and we held an Easter Vigil at St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church. I was a participant and one of the planners. The imagery of the whole event was of moving from life to death to new life. It was very powerful and we felt that we walked the road with Jesus in a very real way. I thought of that Easter Vigil experience back in the 80's when I watched the TED video about life. I watched in awe as images of life flashed on the screen, a new birth into a new life; the Easter vigil was about participation in the life of the resurrected Christ. That's heart stuff; it defies logic and explanation.

Samuel Wells, Dean of Duke Chapel at Duke Divinity School in Durham, North Carolina, wrote an article in The Christian Century in June of 2005 in which he said this about footwashing: "When they wash each other's feet, Christians embody the ministry of Christ in a concrete act of humble service. This act is inherently socially subversive, not so much in being deliberately confrontational but in its playful turning of the world upside-down. Here disciples discover that there is no fundamental hierarchy but simply a call to all Christians to attend to the most intimate, least attractive and most shameful gestures of mutual care. Footwashing is a model of interdependent community—subversive, playful, imaginative, physically (but not sexually) intimate, and faithful."

Wells goes on to link Footwashing to the Eucharist, to Holy Communion, and the invitation to see communion in all of life. The link is that footwashing is an incarnational act; Jesus, as incarnation of God's love and compassion, gives the mandate to love and helps us to remember that mandate through the Eucharist or communion. Put another way, footwashing is a small "s" sacramental act. We sacramentally draw one another closer in community through the act of footwashing; we live the Life of Jesus in self-giving love and compassion. We embody, we incarnate this love and compassion of God, when we take a towel, some water and gently massage one another's feet.

One of the theological agreements we have as Protestants is that we recognize two big "s" sacraments: Communion and Baptism. These two sacraments through water, bread and wine are tangible signs of God's grace. They draw us together where as an enfleshed community we dare to love one another and act out that love in ways that require of us vulnerability and compassion. These sacraments are subversive in accentuating the importance of hospitality, openness, and the invitation to all to eat at table together. These sacraments, through the emphasis of God-with-us, Emmanuel, our incarnational God, overturn the power-mongerers, the empire-builders, the exclusionary practices of defining those who are in and those who are out as expressed by the domineering powers of our age.

And this is heart stuff. When we live more out of our hearts, we live less in fear; we move beyond cynicism and despair. Jesus' heart-felt expression of grace in washing his friends' feet lives in the very incarnational ways that we subvert the dominant culture that surrounds us, or when we sometimes grudgingly respond to the needs of others when we have an already full agenda for our day, or when we open our borders to refugees seeking simply to live, or when we see the environment around us as a brother or sister and not as something to exploit, or when we seek to support local farmers rather than agri-business, or when we advocate for life-giving changes to health care, or when we take those who are grieving silently into our arms, or when we seek ways of distributive justice rather than building more prisons and creating harsher sentences, or when... we live simply with others in compassion and love washing each other's feet.

That's what we do here tonight: we live the life of Jesus in washing each other's feet... we live the life of Jesus in incarnational living in this world... we live the life of Jesus in experiencing God's grace and sharing that grace and love through communion with all life.

Maundy Thursday
by Sarah Rossiter
(The Christian Century, April 8, 2011)

Kneeling on Boston Common it's this foot,
naked, resting in my lap with clean towel,
socks, warm water waiting, that tells me
this is what happens after a cold winter
of deep snow when you're homeless in
dirty socks and cracked shoes that don't fit:
this foot, bloody, swollen, toes deformed,
I wash gently, first one, then the other, and
never have I felt so close to Jesus, his feet,
bare, pierced, bloodied, nailed to the wooden cross.

Amen