Reflection by Rev Carol Prochaska (ret.) – September 4, 2011

Based on: Ezekiel 33:7-11; Romans 13: 8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

As we've already noted earlier this morning newspapers keep us posted on ever-evolving research. Recently in the Vancouver Sun, from Concordia University in Montreal, researchers found that finger pointing can be harmful to one's health. According to the research when people blamed external causes for their shortcomings rather than looking at their own actions they tended to be less healthy. So when we refuse to see ourselves as we really are we might just be putting our health at risk!

And it just may be that the folks back in Ezekiel's time were figuring this out. They were saying: "We are wasting away. How can we survive?" Was their wasting away spiritual? Emotional ? Physical? Or all three? Chances are they had tried blaming the Babylonians, had tried pointing fingers at their own leaders, and had come up with all kinds of acceptable excuses and creative rationalizations. But God had called forth a sentinel. Ezekiel's job is to tell it like it is: "You've strayed from God's way. You've gone your own way—And it's not working!"

In studying this passage from Ezekiel and its companion passage from Matthew I realized that sentinels come into our lives. They come with love—they come loving us as their neighbor.

They see something about us that we can't, or would rather not. They see how something is not working for us—and in fact may be doing harm not only to ourselves but to others as well

I share with you a story about a sentinel coming to me. It was not by any stretch of the imagination a high point in my ministry. At the time I was serving a church of about 200 members in WY. A mother and her daughter were seated in my office. They had come to the church to visit with me about a wedding. It turned out that the 20 year old daughter wanted to be a bride—again. She and her husband had been previously married at the Court House. But now she and her mother wanted a real wedding—a church wedding. "So this would be a renewal of vows," I said. "Oh no!" said the young woman. "Oh no!" said her mother. This was to be a wedding as if there had been no other marriage ceremony. The daughter explained: "I want to walk down the aisle. I want to wear a white dress, a real wedding dress." My reply?—"So this is about the white dress and all the frills!" The discussion came to an awkward halt and they left.

The next day the Moderator of the church came to see me. The previous evening she had received a phone call from a very upset friend who was a cousin of the woman who wanted to be a bride the second time. This being a town of five thousand, or so, it probably meant that 24 hours later some 500 or so people knew what I had said so unkindly—so absent of love for my neighbor.

But - the thing is, I could have come up with 10 good reasons... Five?... Three for sure—I had 3 really good solid reasons why I did not love my neighbor:

1) There was the woman who had called the previous week to have her daughter's wedding at the church—why? Because of the size of the parking lot...
2) How about the couple who came to the church to book their wedding but who insisted on no God-talk and the removal of all the churchy things on the stage—the pulpit, the lectern, the cross, the bible...
3) You can't legally do a wedding as if it is for the first time when it isn't...

Three really good solid acceptable reasons! But! What I truly needed to do was to see myself—in that moment the moderator was a sentinel. She was the sentinel who had come in love—in love for me, in love for the church, and in love for those who come to the church wanting. As painful as it was as much as I longed for it to have been otherwise, I needed to let go of my pride and my excuses and yes even the legal stance. What was a required of me was to see unreservedly how I had not loved my neighbor. How might I have loved my neighbor? I could have said something like, "Let's talk more about this."

Our gospel reading this morning sets out an ideal way for church members to see themselves, to understand how they have not loved their neighbor. The one who has been sinned against—the one who has not been loved—is to go to the one who has done the harm. If that doesn't work then the harmed member takes one or two other members. If the offender still refuses to listen, it is told to the entire church. Still no results? Then treat that one as you would a Gentile and a tax collector, perhaps meaning that that one is to be treated like one who is not or not yet a committed disciple of Jesus Christ. It is, after all, we disciples who have been commanded to love our neighbor.

As was mentioned in the background commentary the church over the centuries has abused this procedure from Matthew. At times it has even led to cruel shunning. It may also have come to your mind those sentinels like the man who can be seen standing at the corner of The Hume Hotel. He holds a religious sign, a warning to those whose theology isn't on par with his. He is not the kind of sentinel we are speaking of this morning.

That being said, the wisdom in Matthew still holds. Truth is most of us—maybe all of us—have need of another to show us how we have not loved as Jesus has commanded.

This past week I've been reading about labyrinths written by an Anglican priest and psychotherapist. In thinking about this morning the following two sentences especially caught my attention:

"We often don't realize that the way to God is generous and error is part of the journey. As soon as become conscious that we are lost we have found our way again."

In this morning's gospel reading we also heard those very familiar words of Jesus:"Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." This promise has been a source of comfort for the church throughout its history. It's a promise we cling to when we're disappointed with a small turn-out.

But this morning I'd like you to ponder with me another possible angle for Jesus' promise. Could it be that this promise is also meant for those times when a sentinel comes? And comes in Jesus' name? When the church moderator came to me, we came together as two church members, as two disciples of Jesus Christ. Had we been asked, we would have said that we had gathered in Jesus' name.

It seems to me that it is an act of heroism on the part of the sentinel as well as the one who is to heed the words. this is so not easy, so not easy for either one! Both may wish they were somewhere—anywhere else. Both will die a little, but in that dying something will be loosed on earth and in heaven.

Is it not easier to say "I'm sorry" when we believe Christ is right there with us?

Is it not easier to admit to not loving our neighbor when we trust that Christ is right there with us? Is it not easier to commit to a different way the next time when we trust that Christ will be there with us?

When we are the sentinel—when the sentinel comes to us—let us rely on Jesus' promise: "Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them."

I did not ever see the mother and her daughter again. I apologized to both of them on the phone which they seemed to accept—more or less. Several months later when the new Methodist minister was settled, she was able to work something out that was within the law and still allowed the bride to walk down the aisle in a real wedding dress.

C.S. Lewis is an author many of you will recognize. In his book, The Four Loves, he writes:

We may be sure that all of us are receiving Charity Ð we are loved not because [we] are lovable but because [Christ] is in those who [are loving us]. We are loved Ébecause Christ is in those who [are loving us].