Thai Dance Troupe Of Ottawa: Traditional Thai dance of Thailand

Drum 4 Life: Afro-Cuban & West African Rythms

Where? 270 Crichton Street,Ebinger Memorial Hall, New Edinburgh, Ottawa, . . . → Read More: Another AFRICA NIGHT Benefit Concert JUNE 9, 2012]]> Come out and celebrate an evening of great music and dance for a great cause!
Featuring:
Afrobeat Project: a complex fusion of Jazz, Funk, Psychedelic Rock and traditional West African style percussion

Thai Dance Troupe Of Ottawa: Traditional Thai dance of Thailand

Drum 4 Life: Afro-Cuban & West African Rythms

Where? 270 Crichton Street,Ebinger Memorial Hall, New Edinburgh, Ottawa, Bus route # 9
When? Saturday, June 9, 2012 from 7pm to 8:30pm

Admission by Donation. All proceeds go towards the construction of a school in Liberia and to fund a medical clinic for homeless women in the Ottawa area.

Bring the family, friends, and kids !

ottawaidf.com – 613-749-7840

Go on a nature walk in the dark. Climb a tree. Play in the rain. A British charity has created a bucket list for kids – a collection of 50 things they should do before they turn 12 – activities like burying someone in the sand, or . . . → Read More: GOD’S BACKYARD: DO WE HELP OUR YOUTH EXPERIENCE IT ENOUGH?]]> God’s Backyard: Do we help our youth experience it enough?

Go on a nature walk in the dark. Climb a tree. Play in the rain. A British charity has created a bucket list for kids – a collection of 50 things they should do before they turn 12 – activities like burying someone in the sand, or making a mud slide.

It started me thinking, in the weekend after Earth Day, about how often we take our youth outside to experience God’s Backyard. Many of our youth events and Sunday schools are composed of classroom activities and indoor discussions, but we may be missing an opportunity to shake things up by taking them outdoors.

Perhaps a quiet nature walk, even if it’s just around the neighborhood. Or planting flowers outside the church.  Or it may just mean holding your Sunday morning class outside, under a shady tree.

You could also make sure you get as many youth as you can attending one of our church camps this summer, where they are guaranteed to have a chance to climb a tree, or sleep under the stars. On May 6^th, churches across the Eastern Synod are invited to participate in God’s Backyard Sunday.  The worship materials on the following pages are meant to help your community of faith discover concrete ways God comes to us through our Eastern Synod Camps.  You can find more information about our camps here:

Camp Mush-a-Mush: www.campmush.ca

Edgewood Camp and Conference Centre: www.edgewood-camp.on.ca

Lutherlyn Camp and Conference Centre: http://camplutherlyn.zxq.net

After all, Earth Day shouldn’t just be about turning off the tap and sorting the garbage. To really take root in our youth, it has to be about inspiring them to appreciate, on a truly personal level, the natural beauty around us.

To read more about the “bucket list” follow this link: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/parenting/young-children/children-health/bucket-list-for-kids-50-things-to-do-before-theyre-12/article2409207/page1/

I hope you take advantage of these materials and lift up an area of ministry within the Eastern Synod that does so much for our youth and young adults.

Thank you for your partnership in ministry,

Rev Joel Crouse, Eastern Synod Youth and Young Adult Ministry Director

Some suggestions for May 6, 2012 worship:

1) Announce the date, theme of the service, and the annual Synod Camp Appeal offering  several weeks in advance.

2) Prominently display the “God’s Backyard “ article from the April 2012 edition of Eastern Synod Lutheran  — and other information from your nearest Eastern Synod camp.  Make special offering envelopes available. Remind people of the envelope that was inserted in Eastern Synod Lutheran.

3) Find people of all ages with camp experience to participate in the service as readers, ushers, offering presenters, assisting ministers. Take special care to include children and youth in these roles.

4) Have one or two people (perhaps a youth and an adult) share a story of how their experience at a church camp has shaped their faith understanding and their discipleship.

Thanksgiving for Baptism

(The following is an edit of the ELW  Thanksgiving for baptism. It includes a congregational response throughout, and a section that refers to the water in your community. Here are some suggestions for how to use the prayer 1)Pour water into the font as the prayer proceeds. A number of children could pour water, each during successive stanzas.  2)Individuals or sections of the congregation might read the various stanzas.  2)Children might sprinkle the congregation with evergreen boughs dipped in water during the last two sections.  3)Gather by a body of water that is important to your community.)

Blessed be the Holy Trinity, + one God,    (L)

The fountain of living water,     ( C1)

The rock who gave us birth,         (C2)

our light and our salvation.

AMEN

Joined to Christ in the waters of baptism,                     (C1)

We are clothed with God’s mercy and forgiveness.

Let us give thanks for the gift of Baptism saying:

Blessed are you, God of Life

We give you thanks, O God                                                     (C2)

For in the beginning your Spirit moved over the waters

And by your Word you created the world,

calling forth life in which you took delight.

Blessed are you, God of Life

Through the waters of the flood you delivered Noah and his family.   (C1)

Through the sea you led your people Israel from slavery into freedom.

At the river your Son was baptized by John and anointed with the Holy Spirit

By water and your Word you claim us as daughters and sons,

making us heirs of your promise and servants of all.

Blessed are you, God of Life

(In the following section, include references to the water at the synod camp closest to you , and/or the water closest to your community. Frame your references in the context of how this water creates and shapes the nature of your community.)

We praise you for the gift of water that sustains life,      (C2)

and for its presence here in this place; the Eramosa River which feeds the Grand, and Lake Erie

Blue Springs Creek and its pristine beauty,

The Edgewood Pond and its vibrant life.

Blessed are you, God of life

We praise you for the gift of new life in Jesus Christ.           (L)

Shower us with your Spirit as you shower the earth with rain

And renew our lives with your forgiveness, grace and love.

Blessed are you, God of life

To you God of Life,  be given honor and praise        (L)

Through Jesus Christ our Lord

In the unity of the Holy Spirit, now and forever.   Amen

Submitted by Rev Fred Ludolph

Sermon

If you had the chance to go to summer camp as a child, you probably remember it as a magical time. It was a place where you made best friends overnight whispering in the dark in your cabin. You learned to paddle a canoe. You had competitions over who could make the biggest cannonball from the raft in the middle of the lake. Camp was this spirited place away from what was familiar, where you learned to share tight living quarters and to find your voice in a larger group, without your parents to prod you along. Ultimately, camp was what you chose to make it. Camp meant freedom.

In the New Testament, we also learn about freedom – a freedom that guides us in our faith, especially as Lutherans. The foundation of our church is built on this freedom. We are reminded, in Romans, that when we live by faith in Jesus, God marks no difference among any one of us, by bringing us freely to God’s grace. That line in Romans is essential to how we relate then to God: For we maintain, that we are justified by faith apart from observing the law.

As Lutherans, we often interpret this as what we don’t have to do. We don’t have to keep a score sheet of good deeds to win God’s favour, losing points every time we make a mistake. We don’t have to compete against one another to be the best Christian. We don’t have to fear God’s wrath, or that God might find us wanting because we have, as human beings, messed up along the course of our lives. Instead, the God we follow becomes the Awesome God our youth sing about – who embraces us, who stands beside us, who asks that we do our best to follow Christ, not to curry favour, but because it is the right thing to do. In our faith, we find freedom – not unlike the freedom away from your parents that you might remember from those days at camp.

But in this covenant with God, there is still something required of us – and this is a part on which we sometimes neglect to focus. We must have faith. That means turning to God in our daily lives and trusting that God is with us when we least feel God’s presence. It means making God our compass. That is not easy, especially these days when there are so many other forces tugging at our loyalties. But we are told in the Gospel about the fate of the person who chose to build their house on sand, because it was easier – and lost it to the rain and wind. But the one who built their house on rock, though it required more work and strength of character, saw it hold fast against the storm, and it did not fall. Jesus, of course, is the foundation of rock upon which we are called to build our lives. But the task still falls to us to shore up that foundation, to plug the cracks created by doubt and despair and distraction.

How do we do that? How do we shore up our faith in these times when people seem more intent on worshipping their Ipods? How do we teach our children the lesson that God cares for us no matter what happens in these times when success at all costs has become the holy grail? For starters, we gather to worship. We pray at home, giving thanks for the gifts we receive. We read the Bible. But sometimes we are a bit too serious about things – we forget to feel the joy of faith, to laugh in our conversations with God. This is important for our children to see, so that they might begin building their foundations of rock. And especially so that their faith flourishes, not because of the law laid down by their parents, but because of an honest love for God. Too often, we turn to God mainly when we are in trouble – we think of shoring up that foundation only when God helps us get through it. We forget to rejoice with God when life is grand. But as the teachers of the next generation, as much as for ourselves, we must remember that God doesn’t want just to console us, God wants to laugh with us. God wants our children dumping glitter glue on their masterpieces in Sunday School. And chasing their friends around the church hall. And getting a taste of grace and faith at places outside of church, like camp.

That is why it is so important for us to maintain and protect places like Camps Edgewood, Lutherlyn and Mush-a-Mush – beautiful corners of nature far from all the hubbub of daily life, where families can go to commune with God in a joyful space and our children can learn, on their own, that their faith is something to have fun with. It is not only about church on Sunday, or grace at dinner. It is about shouting those crazy songs at the campfire. It is about performing the stories we mostly hear preached only in formal language from the pulpit. It is about celebrating God’s love for us.

Camp is a place where that celebration unfolds naturally – and it is a wonderful thing to watch. Wouldn’t it be something if we could work harder to hold on to that joy in the real world of bills and disappointments and family squabbles? God sets us free to dance – by constantly offering us the gift of new life. God wants us at the campfire, giggling, clapping our hands, and shouting so loud it echoes across the lake: My God is an Awesome God!

Submitted by Rev Joel Crouse

Prayer of the day  — adapted from Easter 5,   Series B:

O God, you give us your Son as the vine apart from whom we cannot live.  Help us to understand that all creation, human community, our church, and individual lives of faith are all nurtured by Jesus’s resurrection  — so that we may bear the fruit of love to all the world, and live in the fullness of your joy.  Through Jesus Christ our risen Saviour and Lord.   Amen.

Eucharistic Prayer

(This Eucharistic prayer is adapted from “Eucharistic Prayer G for Celebrations with Children” as found in the ELCIC resource Gathered for Worship. The prayer is of United Church of Canada origin. The prayer is especially suited to celebrations involving children, – camp settings, day schools, retreats – though it may be used at any time with all of God’s people.

The Lord be with you.

And also with you.

Lift up your hearts.

We lift them to the Lord.

Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

It is right to give our thanks and praise.

We thank you, God.

From the beginning you made the world and all its creatures;

You made people to live for you and for one another.

You created Adam and Eve and gave them a garden;

You showed Noah a rainbow;

You gave Moses strength to free his people and taught Miriam to sing;

You gave courage to Esther and loyalty to Ruth;

You gave David a harp and a voice to sing your praise and vision to lead your people.

Yet some forgot your gifts and your ways of love and justice,

even as we sometimes do.

But you did not forget.

You sent Jesus into the world to show how much you love us

and to bring us back to you again.

He came as one of us,

born an infant, grew as a child,

matured as a youth, and worked and served others as an adult.

Jesus rejoiced with those who rejoiced and wept with those who wept.

To the despairing, he spoke a word of hope.

To the sick, he gave healing.

To the hurting, he was a friend.

Again, people forgot your ways of love and justice.

Some became angry with Jesus and nailed him to a cross.

But you lifted him from the grave and restored him to life,

so that he might be with us, and we with him,

alive for evermore!

Therefore, with all the saints of every time and place,

we join the angels in their song of praise:

Holy, holy, holy Lord,   God of power and Might.

Heaven and earth are full of your glory.

Hosanna in the highest.

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna in the highest.

On the night before he died,

Jesus had supper with his disciples.

He took bread, thanked you, broke the bread, and gave it to his friends, saying:

“Take this, all of you, and eat it.

This is my body given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

After supper, he took the cup of wine, thanked you,

and passed it to his friends, saying:

“This cup is the blood of the new covenant shed for you and for everyone

for the forgiveness of sin. Do this in remembrance of me.”

Remembering his death, and celebrating his resurrection,

we await his coming again

to bring love, justice, and peace to the earth.

Together, we shout the mystery of our faith:

Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.

We pray, God of Love, send your Holy Spirit

to us and upon what we do here

that we, and these gifts of bread and wine,

touched by your Holy Spirit,

may be signs of love, justice, and peace among us

and to the whole world.

Through Christ, with Christ, in Christ,

in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

all honour and glory are yours,

O God most holy, now and forever.

Amen

Submitted by Rev Fred Ludolph

During that time the people of St John would meet . . . → Read More: Good Shepherd Sunday—April 29, 2012]]> In 1989, Charles Taylor led a rebellion by the National Patriotic Front of Liberia, setting off one of Africa’s most brutal civil wars that claimed more than 250,000 lives.  For the next 11 years he would shepherd legions of followers down the same path through different territory.

During that time the people of St John would meet Jesse Matthews, who chose not to follow Charles Taylor, and risk everything for a different path.  And in 2005 we would meet Everlyn and Issaac followed by Beatrice and Melvin in 2007, all of whom chose not to follow the bad shepherd in their midst.

The story of the Matthews family is unique to be sure.  But that story says something about shepherds and followers in every context.  We live in a world where we follow people all the time: on the road, on Twitter, Facebook, and a growing number of social media sites.  Who and how we follow is a growing question for parents as they watch their children grab hold of the electronic age in ways that confound us.  Trolls infect the internet.  They are the bad shepherds—the agitators and in some cases predators, who follow in a deceptive attempt to lead.  We live in a world where everyone can lead and follow—and the choice to do so is becoming blurry.

In today’s gospel we hear a similar dynamic in the parable of the good shepherd.  We, the people of the church, are the sheep, and Christ is our shepherd.  But the question that we ask ourselves as the resurrection event has taken place and we continue our journey through Easter is: Who and where is Christ the good shepherd?  It is easy for us to have this image of God leading us and shepherding us, as if God were somewhere up there taking care of all the details of our lives.  But this is not what God did in the event we call the resurrection.  On that Easter morning that seems so distant in our minds, God became our shepherd in our everyday lives. But there is more to the resurrection than the Christ of history—that detailed event we retell from the pages of the Bible.

If we believe in the power of the resurrection — I mean really believe it, believe it in our gut — then Christ’s resurrection takes on a dynamic quality that goes beyond one event locked in history.  The resurrection becomes a never-ending story.

One of the first Bible studies I ever attended was a study on the book of Job.  I remember that Bible study with fondness because of the stories of grief we shared with one another: they were resurrection stories.  They were stories with no endings.  No one had figured out the remedy that would save them from their pain and suffering.  It was through our questioning that we continued on our journey to being saved.  Now, 15 years after my ordination, you may think I have an answer for you.  Well, I don’t.  What I do have is a deeper knowledge of the importance of asking the questions.  It is by our searching through in thought and action that we are propelled along our faith journey.  As our former Bishop Huras once preached, “Whether you are young or old, the possibilities for being a good shepherd exist for those who continue to learn.  It is in this way that our faith-lives are fulfilled — not by answers, but through understanding.”  And, I would add, the only way we can truly learn is in relationship with one another.

Certainly we can learn through reading; otherwise the Bible wouldn’t be what it is.  But there is a danger in dismissing the power of the gospel inside each one of us.  God continues to be resurrected inside each one of us, and without this understanding, the power of the resurrection becomes as flat as the pages of the Bible.  If Martin Luther’s assertion that, “God is deep in our flesh” has some truth to it, then you and I are shepherds one to another.  We are, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer suggests, “little Christs” struggling through in thought and action to live out the gospel.

I believe what Luther and Bonhoeffer suggest.  I believe it because it has been my lived experience.  People have taught me more about the resurrection than any textbook I have read.  You people, who have traditionally been called the flock, have been my shepherd in more ways than I can ever begin to tell you.  The saving power of the resurrection – this is not the Christ of history—this is the Christ of Salvation at work in our lives and in the world.

On Thursday, Charles Taylor was found guilty of war crimes in Sierra Leone.  This action took place because of people’s taking an intentional look at who and why they followed Taylor.  It was a world of people who questioned the leadership of this bad shepherd in their midst.  The people of Liberia are still split on the verdict.  Some people still follow Charles Taylor.  Others—those who experienced the swift blow of this shepherd—never will.  And as those stories reveal themselves it will become clear to the majority that this kind of controlling leadership was not good for their country. It is in the sharing of leadership — of shepherding — that people are served and a nation is strengthened.  It is the Good Shepherd that stands the test of time.

The sharing of the role of shepherd is probably one of the most admirable qualities a Christian community can have.  I saw it this week when I visited a group of Lutherans in Toronto working toward an on-line version of community.  I saw it happening in the lives of a family working together to support someone who can’t support themselves right now.  I saw it happening yesterday at the OSL conference meeting and last night at Good Shepherd, Brockville’s 50^th anniversary party. You people of St John have been shepherds to one another in a way that has been life-giving not only for me, but also for the larger church and community, not to mention one another.  Don’t ever lose this quality of being shepherds to one another.  It is an inspiring quality.  It is the better side of humanity.

So, who and where is Christ the Good Shepherd?  With a knowledge of the Christ of History and the Christ of Salvation, we are given the open-ended answer to this question: God has, and continues to, become the Christ of Salvation in each one of us through our relationship with God and with one another.  May we continue on this journey with thankful hearts that God is our shepherd and that through the resurrection we are shepherds to one another.  Amen.

On the ocean this week, three fishermen were found stranded at sea. The engine had died on their boat, the Fifty Cent, and they had been drifting aimlessly for nearly a month. Two of them were very sick. The youngest, Fernando, was only 16 years old. For all those weeks . . . → Read More: Don’t Sail On By Those In Need]]> 3rd Sunday of Easter—Luke 24:36b-48—April 22, 2012

On the ocean this week, three fishermen were found stranded at sea. The engine had died on their boat, the Fifty Cent, and they had been drifting aimlessly for nearly a month. Two of them were very sick. The youngest, Fernando, was only 16 years old. For all those weeks they saw not a single ship, except those on the horizon too far away to see them.

At last, hope arrived. A cruise ship called the Star Princess passed close enough that some passengers who were scouring the ocean for birds caught sight of a small boat through their binoculars. They saw the strongest fisherman – a man named Adrian Vasquez – waving frantically and ran to tell a crew member, who alerted the ship’s officers.

There is a rule at sea – time-honoured in my home town of Lunenburg – that every ship will stop to help another vessel in distress no matter what. But what did the Star Princess do? The cruise ship never slowed. It never altered course. And what’s more, it never contacted the Coast Guard to make sure the crew of the Fifty Cent were okay. Later, the captain would say that he thought the fishermen were waving a thank you for the cruise ship’s avoiding some local nets. But it hadn’t looked that way to the passengers who had raised the alarm. The cruise ship carried on with its own agenda.

That night, a 24-year-old crew member died. Fernando also eventually succumbed before rescue finally came. Only Adrian Vasquez made it off alive.

All of us know, when we speak of righteous deeds, the passing by of that cruise ship was not one of them.

This is one of those sin-heavy Sundays, a word, as most of you know I tend to avoid. That’s because it is always getting used to point fingers and to level blame, or to shut the doors of the church to one kind of person or another.

In fact, our three readings this morning take us on a journey of sorts about our wrongdoings. In the first reading, we hear Peter reminding the people what happened to Jesus and telling them that they have been offered forgiveness. But they have to take a step in that healing process: they have to acknowledge their mistake and admit what they did wrong. “Repent therefore and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out,” Peter says.

In the second lesson, we are asked to consider the actions that constitute a sin, and what constitutes a right action.  “Everyone who commits sin is guilty of lawlessness; sin is lawlessness.” And then we are cautioned:  “Little children, let no one deceive you. Everyone who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous.”

And when we come to the third step in this morning’s reading, it is as if we receive a comforting embrace at the end of the road: Jesus comes to the disciples, eats with them, and reassures them. What’s more, he again urges them forward, telling them to spread the news of the gospel, a message of repentance and forgiveness.

This is, in fact, the ying and yang of the moral life, the Christian life as followers of the gospel. We often imagine – or perhaps we just hope – that truly moral people reach a place where every deed they perform is righteous, where they always do their best, and their conscience never wavers with a doubt. Of course this is not true.

The truly moral life is one wise enough to see the constant exchange between repenting our mistakes and forgiving others. When we don’t see what we have done right, we have no chance of being moral the next time: if we pass by someone in need of our help, and we never consider it again, we aren’t likely to stop for someone the next time it happens. We would, in fact, just keep walking by, just keep sailing by, on our own steady course. Instead, Jesus calls us to live life in stops and starts. We stop to repent. We move forward forgiven and forgiving. We cannot vow to do the right thing, if we never admit when we are wrong.

This is why the gospel puts such a high value on repentance. It requires us to think, to pause, to reflect, to have a conversation with God. If you are admitting your part in an argument, you don’t just say sorry and shrug. Repentance requires an examination of what caused the fight: what was really behind it, what steps led to it, and why it escalated.

Repentance is the path to wisdom.  If we see a bully – adult or child – and we do nothing, repenting, even after the fact, it’s too easy to say: I will step in the next time. Most likely, if that is as deep as you go, you will not, in fact, step in next time. To repent is a process of thought and an examination of action: why didn’t I step in, we need to ask. What circumstances deterred me? Was it the people watching? Was it the nature of the bullying? Was I worried about myself?

Finding those answers is what moves us forward; it makes us conscious of the things to watch out for, the pitfalls to be mindful of. It gives us the courage to do something different the next time. Perhaps we realize that the other witnesses felt the same as we did; or that the cost to ourselves was really very small, or that even if there was a cost – like detention or anger from the bully – we could handle it.

So you have repented – you have answered those questions. Why should forgiveness come next? How many times do we beat ourselves up about our own mistakes: why didn’t I do something? Why did I do that certain thing? Why didn’t I stay quiet? Why didn’t I speak up? If we have thoughtfully repented, we find it is easier to move on to forgiveness – the kind that Jesus speaks of, in which we are then motivated to try again.

If repentance is what stops us – what should pause us, what should bring us to a state of reflection — it is forgiveness, for ourselves and others, that starts us up again.

That is why it comes as a deliberate two-step in the gospel: Repent and Forgive. Only then do we begin to acquire the wisdom to be righteous – a journey that never reaches its destination. But surely along the way, we become more accepting of ourselves and others, and less likely to just sail on by those who are in need.  Amen.

Doubt gets a bad name on the path to faith. It is typically seen as something that erodes our faith in the gospel, that moves us farther away from God. A posture that weakens belief and makes skeptics and cynics. How many times have we heard people measure their . . . → Read More: Doubt Gets A Bad Name]]> 2^nd Sunday of Easter-April 15, 2012-John 20: 19-31

Doubt gets a bad name on the path to faith. It is typically seen as something that erodes our faith in the gospel, that moves us farther away from God. A posture that weakens belief and makes skeptics and cynics. How many times have we heard people measure their faith as it compares to others by their willingness to believe without question, by their lack of doubt.

And yet, history has shown us only too clearly what happens to faith without doubt. Belief without questions leads to tyranny and slavery, to the worst choices of humanity. To greed and intolerance, racism and discrimination – all those evils  The very things that move us away from the gospel are the result of a failure to question, a failure to doubt, a failure to consider other possibilities.

And so we have poor Thomas, maligned and misunderstood throughout Christian history, so much so that he has become a secular colloquialism: don’t be a doubting Thomas, we say. And we don’t use this term to refer to doubt that is healthy, but to doubt that is corrosive. It describes a foolish lack of belief in the face of facts. And the last person it truly describes is the disciple Thomas.

Who was Thomas anyway? If we review the gospel, Thomas appears in two significant roles. In the first, when the other disciples try to prevent Jesus from travelling to Bethany because of the danger of being stoned that he might face, it is Thomas who steps up bravely: “Let us also go, that we may die with Him.” Is this a person who lacks faith? Is this a person who might be considered a corrosive presence among the disciples? Surely, we might call him Thomas the Courageous.

In the book of John, Thomas also has one the most famous exchanges with Jesus. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” he asks. And Jesus, we are told, replies: “I am the way and the truth and life.” In this instance, Thomas might be called the Illuminator of Truth.

But let’s acknowledge that, yes, upon meeting this person claiming to be Jesus, Thomas desired a few more facts, a clarification that this was not an imposter. Was he the only doubter in the room? Hardly. Even after Mary passed on her message from Jesus, a group of the disciples raced back to the tomb to check it out. They had to see for themselves. And Thomas was not with them. And with Jesus, did Thomas take off, did he abandon the cause? No, he stayed, despite the danger, for a week, no doubt trying to figure out what to do.

And finally, when he finds himself in the same room with Jesus, he is invited to touch him and see for himself. And he accepts that it is Jesus, strange as it may be. “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” I caution you against literalism nearly every Sunday, and this is again one of those times. Are we to understand that Jesus was saying that the disciples and Thomas were therefore not blessed because they had been fortunate enough to have their doubts put to rest? No – in fact, Thomas was blessed enough, important enough to Jesus, that his doubts were laid to rest.

If we are thoughtful in our faith, we are all, at one time or another, and perhaps even most of the time, doubting Thomases. Doubt is necessary for faith, because it is our questioning about our role as Christians and the place of the gospel in society that keeps it alive, that keeps it moving. What is God’s message? Who does the gospel serve? Where does the gospel fit? Everyone who has thought they had that answer locked up has faltered miserably, if they did not cause endless human suffering. We need to be like Thomas, and we need the Thomases in our midst. Otherwise faith becomes as stale as week-old bread, unable to respond to need. That is what is most troubling about the people who say they have faith and God all sewn up, who speak without reservation and without much contemplation. Those people decide who is in and who is out, and what is so-called sin and what is not. They make themselves like God. And their words end up betraying the gospel. The most faithful people I have met in my life have always been the ones who asked the most questions.

Of course, always asking questions is not a true measure of faith either. We must also follow the other qualities of Thomas. That is the Thomas who posed his queries and then heard the answers. His questions changed and grew as his faith developed; he applied reason and intellect to his belief. Certainly that gave him the courage to stand with Jesus, knowing he had thought through what was right. That made him stronger because he had shored up his belief with thoughtfulness, not blindness. He saw clearly what was required of him.

And he did not get caught on the question, though he asked many. Having heard the answer – having been shown the answer in that room – he went forward and spread the word of Jesus – until it cost him his life.

If we run from our doubt, then we are saying that faith is not strong enough to stand up to a challenge. Does God exist? How much of the scripture is true? These are complicated questions – but not ones we need to run from. These days especially, Christians are faced with these questions in a secular world: is our belief so weak that we cannot pose them ourselves?

In fact, history teaches another lesson. The good path, the honourable path, is the one that can most easily stand up to questions. Am I right to judge this person? Is my reaction fair? Should grace prevail? Asking questions reveals the gospel to us – it shows us the right thing to do. And the funny thing is asking questions often changes the question itself. Many of the people who ask me, “Does God exist?” ultimately discover they are really asking: “How does God exist in my life?” And those people who wonder, “How much of scripture is true?” often find out that what they really want to know is, “How is the scripture true to me?” Those are important and essential questions. And we are free to ask them. After all, Jesus did not send Thomas to the corner for doubting. He beckoned him forward, he answered his questions.

Let us do the same.  Let us be courageous enough to believe that faith cannot falter with doubt.  Let us be bold enough to know that not only will our questions be answered, but our faith stronger. Amen

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

If we are paying attention, there is a moment – a second in time – between when we open our eyes in the morning and when we get out of bed, when everything seems to take a pause.  That moment, the space between the warmth . . . → Read More: Today, I Will Rise]]> Easter Sunday – April 8, 2012

Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

If we are paying attention, there is a moment – a second in time – between when we open our eyes in the morning and when we get out of bed, when everything seems to take a pause.  That moment, the space between the warmth of the covers and the dash to get everyone out the door, is rich with expectation and potential.  It says: Anything is possible. Today is a fresh beginning. Today, I will rise.

The image of rising up is rich with meaning. It suggests a transition from being asleep to being awake. It speaks of courage: rising to meet a challenge.  It feels like resurrection, the return from insurmountable odds. There is a reason why so many movies have that moment we all know to expect: there’s something exhilarating about being caught in that space, between what has happened and what will happen. Everything seems lost — when the hero is surely dead, when breath stops – but we don’t despair. We know it’s coming: the life-saving gasp, the final comeback to victory. The resurrection. The Rising Up.

That is the story of Easter: the rising up of Jesus, the conquering of evil in the face of certain darkness, the coming of the light of the sun over the horizon. We experience in this morning’s gospel the dawning truth falling upon the faces of the women who have come to the tomb of Jesus and found him vanished. “Why are you weeping?” the angels ask Mary. “Why are you weeping?” Jesus asks her.  And slowly, she realizes what has happened – she emerges from Good Friday to Easter Sunday. And she spreads the news of the Resurrection of Jesus to the disciples.

But it is not only Jesus who is resurrected at Easter: the gift of Easter is extended to all of us in turn. God is telling each of us to rise up, to start new. That moment between waking and getting up is not just the possibility of a new beginning: at Easter, it becomes a new beginning. And not just this morning, when we are basking in the glow of a happy day, but every morning. Easter is the salve that says to each one of us: rise up, God has a plan for you, and it is a good plan. Rise up!

Earlier this morning, our youth shared with us the tale of the three trees that had big dreams that didn’t go the way they wanted. But their story is ultimately about rising up to what came next: accepting the past and facing the future. To rise anew on Easter doesn’t mean we forget our mistakes; it means that they don’t weigh us down so heavily that we can’t start again.

But Jesus says another thing to Mary at the tomb: “Do not hold on to me,” he tells her, “for I have not ascended to God.” And this is the part, I think, we often neglect at Easter: the not-holding-on part. Maybe, you can all agree, it sounds like a great offering from God: the promise of a fresh start, a new rising. Maybe you can even resolve to make it happen, right before you jump out of bed.

But if you hold on to the things you need to let go of, you won’t get very far. What might those things be? We know them all: lies we’ve told, insults that have slipped out, acts of selfishness or cruelty, careless anger. Some of it’s been against ourselves and some against others. “Don’t hold on to it,” God says at Easter. Let it go. Rise up!

Now what does Jesus mean when he says to Mary, “Do not hold on to me.” Surely, he’s not telling her to forget him, or to abandon his teachings. He is urging her not to hold on to him in an unhealthy way, where her grief will weigh her down. So it is with our own personal baggage of weights: don’t forget them, don’t abandon what you can learn from them. But don’t let them weigh you down. Easter is when God’s step in and says to each of us: here is the weight you need, so you might rise in the direction of the gospel, flawed but not flailing.

What gives us the power to rise? To overcome sadness and disappointment? Easter is the act of life defying death. It is the moment when God reaches out a hand and yanks each one of us to our feet. And then, we might ask, what happens next? Well, too often, we quickly pile on the burdens that flatten us down to the ground again. We seek the wrong things as if they will help us rise, when instead we should to look to the disciples for our lesson.

Mary leaves the tomb.  She walks away from Jesus and runs off to tell the disciples. She rejoins community, and her rising becomes a contagion for the others, as the news spreads. And so empowered, the disciples begin the work of the gospel, a selfless and dangerous act for a greater good. If they had just sat around, enjoying the fresh feeling of Easter, the lift of the resurrection would have lasted for a while. But for how long? That’s a hard feeling to sustain, especially when you are relying on memory to do so. No, the disciples had to go out and recreate Easter with good works; they had to rise each day spreading the teachings of Jesus. In this way, the resurrection remained a powerful force in their lives.

Easter Sunday is my favourite morning of the year: full of energy and promise. There’s a sense of shaking off the shadows and austerity of Lent and certainly the darkness of Good Friday. But to hold on to that feeling, as Jesus would say to Mary, we must walk away from this place today and be people who are trying to rise to God’s challenge everyday. We have to find the right balance between savouring the moment and taking inspiration from it. After all, one cannot rise by standing still.

Savour the joy and warmth of the resurrection on your face today, and the possibility and potential that it signifies. Feel the hand of God this Easter yanking you to your feet. Rise up!

Christ is risen! Alleluia!

What is it about tragedies that draw the crowds? Since the early days of theatres, humanity has been captivated by stories of star crossed love, sacrificing heroes, and disaster. We go to movies and weep in the darkness when the protagonist dies. Recently, researchers looked at why this was – why did . . . → Read More: Living In the Moment of Good Friday]]> Good Friday April 6, 2012

What is it about tragedies that draw the crowds? Since the early days of theatres, humanity has been captivated by stories of star crossed love, sacrificing heroes, and disaster. We go to movies and weep in the darkness when the protagonist dies. Recently, researchers looked at why this was – why did we find this appeal in unhappy events. They discovered in interviews that it was not because we necessarily empathize with the victim or the sacrificing hero. It was more because it makes us feel better about our own lives. It makes us appreciate what we all have relative to the disaster on screen. It’s a psychological pick-me-up. Things could always be worse, we say. And we go home, havng dried our eyes, feeling better.

Well, this is not one of those stories. This is not that kind of day. Good Friday is not about feeling better. It is not about looking at that crazed mob, or the helpless disciples, or Jesus upon the cross, and thinking: My life sitting here safe and sound is pretty good. Things could always be worse.

Our task today as Christians is to place ourselves in that scene, not to escape it the minute we leave this church. Our task today is to live in it, and to take responsibility for it.

So, do this now: Find your place.

Be Judas, who has lost his way, who has given up Jesus for the sake of a few coins. Judas, who will relish that feeling of that silver in his hand for but a few minutes. That is until the heart-sickening feeling in the pit of stomach eats at him and he realizes the gravity of what he is doing. And worse the feeling that he cannot fix it, he cannot stop it. Be Judas: who lost his way to greed.

Be the disciples, who one by one rejected Jesus, not for greed, but out of cowardice, which may be worse. See the Roman soldiers staring you in the eyes, demanding: “Do you know this man? Do you know this man?” His sword is drawn, he is ready to arrest you. And in that moment, everything that you have aspired to since you began the journey from Galilee, collapses. Everything is forgotten. “No,” you say, “I don’t know him.” You betray Jesus with a shrug and turn away. Be the disciple: who lost his way to cowardice.

Be Pontius Pilate, shirking responsibility as a leader. You know that Jesus is guilty of no crime, that he is innocent. You could take a stand and set him free – it is within your power. But you don’t really care. The mob is hungry and it is easier to just give them what they want. So you do, you wash your hands. You stare Jesus in the eyes, and you leave the decisions to others, knowing exactly what they will decide. That is your part in it: Be Pontius Pilate, who lost his way to weakness of leadership.

Be the one in the crowd, sweaty and stifling, with strangers pushing around you. You can hardly see the place where Pontius Pilate stands before you, asking what should be done with Jesus. Someone shouts, “Crucify him! Crucify Him!” and you join in, pulled along with everyone else.  It’s your shouting that gets the crowd behind you going, so you are not an innocent bystander. You too are an accomplice. But you feel a part of something, like a community of doers. You feel powerful that this decision is in your hands, and you like that feeling, even if you know it is wrong to like it, even if you know that it’s ugly what the mob is doing. But like Judas, you are in the moment. Perhaps, on you way home, you will see women weeping in the streets – those followers of Jesus. And you will scorn them, even as the doubt takes hold. Only later, will you realize your weakness. And you will have to live with your part in the story. Be the faceless one in the mob, who refused to stand up and be truly counted.

And now, be Jesus. Forced to bear the weight of the cross up the long hill to Golgotha, with your back breaking under the weight. All around you angry faces are shouting for your death, crowding out the few who might come to your aid. At the top of the hill, they hammer the spikes through your palms and pin you to the cross, and then your feet, crossed over one another. They lift the cross high and leave you there to die, slowly. Everyone has left you. Your closest friends have betrayed you – though even in your weakness you take one last chance to keep them in community with one another, to make reparations for what has been done. “Women, here is your son,” you say. “Son, here is your mother.”A weak leader has sacrificed you. The crowd that feted you just days earlier has turned upon you and hates you. They fight over who will get your clothes. A guard stabs you with a spear to see if you are dead yet, and you barely feel it. Even God is silent. You are alone. You ask for water and receive viningar. And you feel your life ebb away. “It is finished,” you say. You have done all that you could in the time that you had. And you bow your head, and give up your spirit.

But wait, don’t move on. Today, this is a story that does not end. It is freeze-framed in our hearts and in our minds. To understand Good Friday, to learn what we should from it, we have to live in that place – to be greedy Judas, the cowardly disciples, the weak Pilate, and the hateful mob.

And in this way, we should reflect on the dark shadows inside each one of us – the deeds that align us with Judas and the mob to close for our own comfort. The times when we have been disloyal to our family and closest friends. And we must be Jesus to understand the depth of the sorrow and despair that we caused.

This is not the day of redemption. It is not the day when we dry our tears, and say, well, things could always be worse.

Because things could not be any worse on Good Friday. It is a day of greed, cowardice, shame and betrayal. And it is a day to learn the lesson of the actions. Remember this, when you leave this place and head out into the sunny afternoon.

I am sure I won’t have to convince many of you that we don’t get as much sleep as we used to. Not since factories and street lighting and late night restaurants. Certainly not since Facebook and iPhones. An interesting BBC magazine article this week on the history of sleep . . . → Read More: Time away from the crowd]]> First Sunday in Lent—Mark 1:9-15—February 26, 2012

I am sure I won’t have to convince many of you that we don’t get as much sleep as we used to. Not since factories and street lighting and late night restaurants. Certainly not since Facebook and iPhones. An interesting BBC magazine article this week on the history of sleep reported that not only did we sleep a lot more in those old days, but we also slept differently. People, a couple centuries ago, went to sleep for four hours, woke up for a couple of hours, and then went back to sleep. Historians have found all sorts of references to the 1st sleep in literature, medical reports and court documents. Part of it was economic – candle wax was expensive and even the wealthy, researchers say, didn’t get much status out of wasting it. The night was much darker than it is for people in cities now, and it was not a time people wanted to spend up and about for long stretches – so they spent more of it getting rest. As it turned out, much of the time between 1st and 2nd sleep was spent reading or praying. I imagine a great many thoughts happened in that space between sleeps. Probably a lot of important inventions as well. I am sure that many of us will reflect with a certain wistfulness on a time that put a premium on sleep, as we are pulled in so many directions these days.

But living in the midst of a society, we can become ignorant to the subtle ways that it influences our choices, the way that technology expands our workday, or something like street lighting might influence our sleep patterns. I often talk about apathy, which I think is a growing social ill, but that suggests people don’t want to be better, that they prefer doing nothing, to live in a walking sleep of sorts. In fact, most of the time we don’t see what we can do , or we don’t have the energy to do it, or so many things have been put in place to make it hard to do something. I saw a great Ted Talks video on apathy, in which the commentator made a similar point. He showed on the  screen a sample of a Toronto City rezoning request. We have them here in Ottawa – there’s been one on the old Boehmer building down the street for 10 years. The piece of paper he was using was paragraph after paragraph of little type, or confusing bureaucratic language, and only at the bottom, in 12-point font, was there a notice of who to call or what meeting to attend if you wanted to save this certain green space or prevent a new strip mall, or whatever it was. The point was that most of us want life to get better, we want things to be better, but there are an awful lot of roadblocks in the way, and often it is distractions or temptations that lead us in another direction.

So why do we have this moment in the gospel when Jesus heads off on his own – our hero taking some time away from the crowd? Our gospel this time doesn’t go into detail, but we know that this was the point when Jesus was most tempted by the devil to step off his path, to prove his power, and to claim it for himself. Why does the Devil pick then? Why does the temptation strike Jesus in that solitary moment? Wouldn’t it have been better for the devil in our story to sit on Jesus’s shoulder in the marketplace where the fans are adoring, all clamouring to wash his feet and serve him dinner – when Jesus might see most clearly just how good life could be if he hung up his dusty sandals for a golden throne? But now, instead, temptation arrives in that quiet moment.

Often this is when it comes for us too: perhaps this is partly why we keep so busy, why we run around so much, why we have gotten away from meditative thought and prayer as a regular practice in society. We know this is where the tough questions happen. They don’t get asked when we are thinking defensively in a fight with our spouse. When we are trying to justify a mistake to our bosses. When we just want our kids to stop fighting with each other and go to bed. No, the doubt creeps in in the dark, in our quiet moments: that is when we are often the weakest.

And it is also when we can be the strongest, or at least the wisest. We know in Jesus’ case that he, of course, wrestled the devil’s tempting and won. He listened to his own self-doubt and silenced it. He heard his own hidden whispers, and tuned them out. But he needed that quiet space, that reflection – both to hear what those nagging fears and concerns were saying, and to contemplate and resolve them. He needed that space between the 1st and 2nd sleep, when we are still in the dark, and must face the truth. That is not something that should scare us: it is something that we should practise intentionally – otherwise we spend a lot of time doing the wrong things over and over again, or doing nothing when perhaps there is a simple way to act. It is in those periods of quiet that we read past the jumble of words to the sentence in 12-point font that really matters.

There are two times a year in our faith life in which we are specifically guided to take those moments. Those times are Advent, and Lent, which started this week. They are both times of anticipating, but also of reflection. Lent is meant to prepare us so that when Easter arrives, we know what to do with it. 
Next weekend at our Youth Leadership Event, we will be talking about what it means to be a hero. And there is a reason why the curriculum we are using makes a special point of talking about teaching our youth to be reflective, and how to meditate. To be heroic requires thoughtful action, an awareness of self: it takes planning.

Every year, I urge you do to the same thing during these Lenten weeks. Turn off the television and sit with your thoughts. Go for a walk and let your mind wander. Consider the temptations and the self-doubt and where it comes from. In listening to ourselves, we find clarity. In listening to ourselves, we hear God. That is the lesson of the gospel today.  That is the discipline for this season of Lent all of us would do well to practice. 

Amen.

Last week, sitting with the kids, I tried to engage them in a conversation about the difference between pride and confidence. It’s a complicated point of distinction because how often do we say to our kids, “I am proud of you.” We want our kids to know this, and more important, we want . . . → Read More: I have faith in you]]> Transfiguration Sunday—February 19, 2012

Last week, sitting with the kids, I tried to engage them in a conversation about the difference between pride and confidence. It’s a complicated point of distinction because how often do we say to our kids, “I am proud of you.” We want our kids to know this, and more important, we want our kids to feel proud of themselves. And we know that to create leaders we have to create people who take pride in their accomplishments and feel confident about their abilities. The same people who can look at a great mark on a report card and feel that they deserved it — that’s pride — can look at a not-so-great mark and believe they can do better next time — that’s confidence. The danger we face — I think especially these days — is when we get too much of the other. In that case, we become too proud to ask for help from others – or see the role that others play in our success. And we become so confident that we fail to recognize our weaknesses and improve upon them. Our focus gets blurry, you might say, and our gaze turns inward. The trouble is, if you spend too much time looking back at yourself, you miss most of the important things around you.

In large part, this is the point of our readings this morning: to make sure our gaze is directed at the right place, to ensure we are focused in the right direction. In the gospel, that point is made as clearly as it could ever be: God literally shines the spotlight on Jesus in front of the disciples. Why would God do this? After all, the disciples would have been pretty clear on who their leader was at this point. God’s light show is a confirmation of source, but it’s also a sealing of the deal: this act defines the role of Jesus and the path he will soon take. And perhaps more importantly, the role is defined for the same people who will need to maintain the highest clarity of focus in the days ahead.
 
The second lesson takes the same approach, but this time it is an explicit lesson for us—the lesson of listening. The lesson says, “For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake.” That is, the ministry of the church, and of our lives, is not about us: it is ultimately about Jesus. Our focus, our gaze should rest on him.
 
Now, you could say what difference does it make: if we take the acclaim for our good deed isn’t it still a good deed? Can’t we bask in all those wonderful acts of generosity and gospel-sharing for a little while? Jesus would be the first to say, take a breather, enjoy the glow of accomplishment and well-deserved success. For a minute. But remember when the disciples grew too cozy up in the mountain, too comfortable off their feet, too swelled up with all they’d already done, Jesus let them have it: and sent them right down the mountain side. That’s the problem with focusing on ourselves: while we are busy with the back-patting, there’s more work that needs doing.
 
But there’s another danger when we focus too much on ourselves. Two possibilities happen: the first is that we start second-guessing ourselves; we become too self-critical and we lose confidence. The gospel is also about risk, and a lack of confidence puts an end to any risk-taking. We might spend too much time ruminating about how we said something to someone, or how we might have done better, or how we could have made a different choice, and suddenly that’s all we’re doing. Sometimes we need a little less talk and a little more do. Self-reflection is good, but focusing inward too much –well, that tends to be paralyzing.
 
Some Canadian researchers recently did an interesting study with doctors. They brought doctors into a room and set them up before a computer; they were given a large sample size of patients’ profiles and told to prescribe a fictional drug for them.  The computer would instantly tell them whether the drug had worked or not, and over time, the doctors were meant to develop a clear treatment plan for the drug in the experiment. Two-thirds of the doctors never got it right: they kept prescribing the drug incorrectly. But another one-third figured it out: they ended the experiment with the correct treatment plan. What was the difference? When they studied the doctors who had failed the test, they found that their brains lit up when they succeeded: when patient A got better on the drug. But the doctor who passed the test, their brains lit up when they failed: that is when the drug didn’t work. By focusing on their mistakes instead of their successes, they figured out the solution.

Researchers say this applies to all of us: we tend to read too much into our successes, and make connections that are not there. In fact, by focusing on what we know is wrong, we find a faster way to the real truth, because we aren’t jumping to conclusions. How does this fit into the gospel this morning?  Well, it’s ultimately all about focus as well. On the first level, if we are busy applauding ourselves, we are forgetting the gospel; we might assume we don’t need the gospel anymore, though I think we’d find we’d get off track pretty quickly. And if we fail to focus on what is wrong with society, rather than basking in what’s right about it, then we miss the lesson that Jesus leaves to us: we can’t fix anything if we don’t see it. We have to keep our gaze, our focus, on the gospel.
 
Our confidence as Christians should be rooted in the gospel, not just because it is our faith, but because it is, ultimately, the only way to keep seeing the things that need fixing, the only way to avoid complacency, the only way to bask in our brilliance. There is always work to be done, and on its own, that could be pretty disheartening: after all, we might ask, when can we just call things a success? And that’s where Jesus comes in: Jesus is our confidence booster.
 
Because Jesus says that just as God had faith in me, I have faith in you. I am proud of you. Focusing on Jesus and the gospel reminds us not only that things can be changed, but that we have the power to make it happen – in our own lives and communities. Jesus is the one who says to us, with love: You did well. Now do it again.  Amen.