St. John Lutheran Church

Knowledge puffs up. Love builds up.

admin — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 03:44:17 +0000

Sermon from January 29, 2012 (AGM Sunday). Mark 1:21-28

I recently watched the movie The Help with Erin one evening. It’s the story, as many of you will know, of black maids in the American South in the 1960s who were raising children and cleaning floors and cooking meals for white women and what their lives were like. You learn how they raised babies, loved them like mothers, and then later went to work for those grown babies, who treated them like slaves. Or that their employers built washrooms in their garages believing that they’d get a disease if they shared a toilet with a black person. Or that books could not be shared between black and white school students. You watch it and you think that this seems like a time we have learned from. But of course, it’s only the context that has changed, really: as humans we are still pretty good at segregation, even if we now have different targets. Muslims. Poor people. Mentally ill people. Disabled people. Different people.

I want to talk about the second lesson, because really it would be hard to find a better passage from the Bible than this for our annual meeting. Of course, we don’t have much issue with sacrificing food to idols these days – at least not in the context of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. And so like The Help, the specific context might make it seem like a time that doesn’t relate to us. But let’s look at what Paul is saying. In his historical context, he’s saying that some Christians are still sacrificing animals to idols; but others know better. If you are among the ones who have given up the practice, he says, then you need to set an example, and what’s more you need to create an environment where it stops happening, where it is easier for others to stop themselves. If food sacrificing doesn’t relate to us, then many other things will: if we don’t participate in bullying, it becomes harder for others to do so. If we stand up to bullies, other will join us. Paul is saying it is not just our responsibility as Christians to follow the gospel ourselves; it is our job to create a world in which the gospel is more easily followed by everyone.

At the beginning though, Paul says something really important: knowledge puffs up, love builds up. Knowledge puffs up. Love builds up. Let’s say you have an issue and you are trying to decide where you stand. Here’s a good exercise and it works especially well for Christians. Consider the position of the two sides, and put it into words. It’s best if spoken out loud. Then ask yourself: how does each viewpoint ring in my ears? Which one sounds like the right position? Which one sounds like Jesus? Try it out and the answers come to you. Are you puffing up? Or building up? What’s the example being set?

Paul had the sociology figured out even before sociology was invented. We understand intrinsically how much we influence one another. People who donate to charity inspire more giving in their social circle. Parents who drive too fast raise kids who drive too fast. Handle stress well, and it’s likely the people around you will also handle it well. The strongest contagion in humanity is not germs; it is behaviour.

But setting an example is not so easy; otherwise presumably Paul wouldn’t have to lay it out. It requires to think not just about our own behaviour, but also how that behaviour appears to others: what message is it sending? If we want to alter someone else’s behaviour, we have to consider what part we played in creating it. That’s tricky. It’s hard enough in society; it’s even harder in our personal relationships. But ultimately, the exercise is the same as the one I described above: look hard at your own behaviour; consider what message it is sending: is it based on knowledge or love, grace or law? And ask how you might change that message.

Of course, knowledge is essential to love: Paul is not saying to be blind. He is saying not to let knowledge influence everything, but to allow love – that is, the spirit of faith and trust – to guide you toward what you do with the facts you see or hear or hold to. Of course, in The Help, we can say easily that we could discard certain racist so-called “facts,” and respond with love – at least in our own homes, were we in that situation. And it’s easy to see how one good example in your social circle could give others the permission to do the same. But we can find out all sorts of examples, without looking very far, of so-called knowledge that has trampled on love; or law that has squashed the life out of grace.

Today, at our annual meeting, we will be asked to vote as a congregation to affirm the direction of our National Convention this past summer concerning the sexuality statement and the practice of the larger church in response to the GLBT community. You all know where I stand on this – and, to be clear, my knowledge and my love on this issue are not in conflict. In fact, while I sincerely hope we pass this resolution wholeheartedly, I am not sure how much praise we deserve for doing so. We are, as a larger church, extremely late to do this – and we have spent far too much time bickering about it, while most of the world – the one at least most of us want to live in – has settled it and moved on. The sad thing is, ultimately the church is the reason behind it all. At the root of a tolerant, democratic, rights-based society are the Judeo-Christian principals that the church first taught. If the world that The Help represents has decayed away, the church played an extremely important role in the civil rights movement to make that happen. The gospel created the bold idea of equality before God long before any government did. The church started the ball rolling. We ran beside it a while. And then it got away from us: the ball took off too fast for us and we did not keep up. That rolling stone of equality and tolerance that I believe the church first pushed into movement makes me extremely proud to be a Christian. I grieve for the fact that, in many areas important to the society in which we live, the church fell behind. And I have hope that the church can still set important examples in the world – even though, in this case, it seems as if the world set an example for us.

Looking ahead, now – for I believe we are sitting on our next rolling stone – it is right in front of us. Social inequality may be the most significant issue of the decades ahead. You hear the dissent everywhere you turn, the questions about unfettered capitalism and careless consumerism, and the mess we now have to fix. What we do next, both in our community and in the larger church, will be either a missed opportunity or a stone we help push down the hill. And we do not have to look far to find our own example to guide us.

Knowledge puffs up, Love builds up, Paul said. Gather knowledge. But, when all is said and done, live with Love.

Amen

Truth, Reconciliation & Equity: They Matter to Us!

admin — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 02:28:16 +0000

Members of St. John stand behind a banner reading “Truth, Reconciliation & Equity: They Matter to Us!“, as part of the Kairos Canada’s Put Yourself In The Picture Campaign in support of an Equitable Canada and aboriginal rights. The banner was made by Sunday School Participants.

How moral are we, really?

admin — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 02:10:20 +0000

3rd Sunday after Epiphany—Mark 1:14-20—January 22, 2012

How moral are we, really? When push comes to shove, will we do the right thing? Some sociologists who study these kinds of questions did an interesting experiment recently in the Netherlands. They asked psychology students whether they would blow the whistle on an unethical experiment, one that would put the participants in harm’s way, or impact them negatively. This is against the code of social experiments. Eighty percent of the students said yes without question. But then the researchers did another experiment, with a different group of students but a similar sample: this time, they asked the students to write a letter recruiting people into the same experiment, the one that would negatively impact participants. This time, only 8 per cent of the students refused to do so and reported the experiment. The rest dutifully wrote up the letters.

This week, most of you have no doubt been reading a lot about the accident involving the Costa Concordia and especially the actions of its captain, who was among the first off the boat and then refused to follow orders from the coast guard officer in charge and go back on board to help save people. The captain has become a national coward; the coast guard officer a national hero. Certainly, the captain failed his call to service: he failed to follow his duty as the person in charge of the ship. People died as a result of his failure to do the right thing. But let’s go beyond that. We can pass judgment on him – and he certainly appears to deserve the charges he faces. But here’s an opportunity to discuss a bigger question and a more personal one: Are we moral ourselves? Would we fight over the life jackets, or give them up to the people least able to get off the ship on their own?

Clearly, Jesus calls us into this action. In our gospel this morning, he has asked the disciples to take a chance on him, to leave the lives they had known and the families they loved and follow him. They must have known the risk involved – Jesus, after all, was a voice against the powers that be. I am sure they had loved ones who no doubt begged them to stay. But still we are told they put down their nets and went. “Immediately,” we are told. That word strikes me as a bit odd – maybe they did make the decision, but I suspect only after meeting Jesus. And I wouldn’t want us to think that all moral thought has to come with an immediate decision – that sometimes thinking it over makes us less moral even if we make the right decision. Of course, there are times when immediacy comes into play – like standing on the decks of a tilting cruise ship. But in most cases, our moral decisions are produced out of reflection and prayer; if anything, that reassures us we have done the right thing. Perhaps in the moment, knowing what they knew about Jesus – and appreciating the inherent danger because of the arrest of John the Baptist – our disciples knew they could do only one thing without regretting it for the rest of their lives. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that: It was the right thing to do.

But how do we reach that point? Sometimes, it’s true, it’s pure instinct: we step in to help someone without thinking. When the purser – essentially the accountant – aboard the Costa Concordia ran below deck as the ship filled with water to rescue more passengers, I don’t imagine he spent much time weighing out the potential personal cost of his actions. But I also think that moral behaviour is the result of reflection, education and, yes, work: it takes initiative and energy to be a moral person, especially when so many other things are pushing us in the other direction. Indeed, there are programs in the States now designed to do just that: to train heroic behavior, to teach people to be “positive deviants,” and this year, when we have our 40-hour famine, we will be running our youth through one of the programs. After all, most real change in society comes from a certain amount of clever strategy: that’s something that needs to be learned.

I think these programs are meant to replace the vacuum that has been left by the liberal church in this country, since, essentially, they echo the gospel. We get our education on morality and risk-taking here every Sunday; we get our jolt of hero-training. But is that enough? We know it’s not. So let’s be more specific. I want to steal from a new program I learned about this week, and give you three practical challenges. They aren’t hard – but they are an espousing of the gospel in daily life. Here they are: smile at 10 strangers this week, go out of your way to open the door for someone, and write down 3 things you admire about three different people. How does this relate to the gospel? Well, the first exercise spreads joy. The second is a small moment of generosity. The third is a way of giving thanks. Ideally, you will write these down somewhere and then look at them at the end of your week to see how you did. And then make it not just a one-week deal, like Sunday morning, but every week.

The researcher who came up with this is a prominent psychologist named Philip Zimbardo, who studies in the university setting. He often cites the Millgram experiment. Let me tell you about this one: Participants were brought into a room and told they had to shock another person when they failed to answer a question properly. With each jolt the voltage increased. Of course, the other person wasn’t getting a real electric shock; they were just pretending. Researchers assumed people would stop after a certain point, if not right from the beginning. Instead, two-thirds of the participants went all the way to the highest voltage even though the other person was pretending to be in real pain, even begging them to stop. All the participants went half way. But then they did another experiment: before the participants started, they watched another person – a researcher – go all the way with the shocks: this time 95 per cent of people followed suit. When a researcher came in and stopped early, refusing to go on, 91 per cent of people also abandoned the experiment.

This tells us something very important: something reassuring. Jesus keeps telling us: the gospel is contagious. If all the strong swimmers give up their life jackets on a sinking ship, more will follow. If people blow the whistle, others will, too. If the fishermen give up their spots to walk with Jesus, the crowd will grow. Sometimes we bite off more than we can chew: we think that change is important only if it comes quickly, if it happens immediately. But Jesus certainly teaches patience as much as he practices patience: how a small conversation at a well can make the difference; how one invitation into the circle can change things for better.

So let me remind you of your homework for this week: imagine you are on that dusty road with Jesus, gathering a crowd of the old, the poor, the disenfranchised. How, when you arrive at the next town, will you bring about change? Will you draw in new followers, as the PR team for Jesus? How will you make them listen? Well, you might try smiling at strangers. You might consider performing an unexpected act of kindness like holding the door open for someone not expecting it. You might write down one thing you admire about three different people, and then try to emulate that quality. Who knows? You may just draw a crowd into your way of thinking. Amen.

PRAYER OF THE DAY (ELW)

Let us pray…Loving God,
by grace alone you call us and accept us in your service.
Strengthen us by your Spirit,
and make us worthy of your call,
through Christ, our Savior who calls us into mission for others. Amen.

As God’s beloved people made radiant by the light of Christ, let us pray for the church, the whole human family, and God’s good creation, responding to ‘Hear us, O God’, with ‘your mercy is great’.
A brief silence.

Steadfast God, you call all people to turn to you and believe in the good news. Cast the net of your love over the earth, and make us willing messengers of your salvation. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

God our stronghold, you will never be shaken, and your sustaining presence holds all creation in life. Protect endangered species and fragile ecosystems, and give hope to those who labor on behalf of the environment. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

God of refuge, the cities of the world cry out for peace. Create new ways for enemies to be reconciled, and end the cycle of violence that perpetuates war. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

God of deliverance, we pour out our hearts on behalf of those in need. Bring to safety those who flee from war, poverty, and famine. We lift to you all who suffer from natural disasters. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

God who meets us in silence, you are near to those who wait. We pray for all who long for healing from addiction, despair, and illness. Especially this day we pray for Anneliesal and Leo and all those we name in our hearts before you (pause). Comfort the dying and ease their passing. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

Eternal God, you fulfill all things. We give thanks for your patience as we develop our moral character and seek to be the people you are calling us to be. Hear us, O God. Your mercy is great.

Holy God, we lift our prayers to you in hope, entrusting all for whom we pray to your great goodness and mercy, made known to us in Christ, our Savior who calls us into mission for others.

Amen.

Baptism of Our Lord

admin — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 01:28:51 +0000

January 8, 2012

John the Baptist has for me always been a fascinating character study. While the other disciples come across as gentle, even tentative, and certainly, with exceptions, dutiful to Jesus, John has the rebel in him. He comes across as a guy who didn’t mess with pretence, who wasn’t big on pretty words, who told it like it is, whether you wanted to hear it or not. He was rough around the edges, and he is often depicted in art – and in our own minds – as a little scruffy, a little disheveled, and usually with crazy hair and an intensity that would make a crowd weary even while they couldn’t resist hearing what he had to say.

He is the ideal forerunner to Jesus, the man of hard truths, – and often seems closer to an equal to Jesus than even Peter. What impresses us most of all, of course, is his unwavering faith, and his courage in the face is adversity. We have no sense of John ever faltering in his belief in Jesus. We are offered no sense, as well, that he tried to take power himself – other than preaching about the coming of someone better and purer then himself. At every turn he refutes those who ask if he is the Messiah: “I am not worthy to stoop and untie the thong of his sandals,” he says humbly. And when the day arrives when he meets Jesus, he refuses at first to baptize him – feeling himself unworthy. He follows through only when Jesus insists. If there are any campfire chats I’d like to listen in on, the ones between John and Jesus would rank near the top, if not the top. And we can all wonder what might have happened had John the Baptist been present on that fateful day in Jerusalem instead of being stuck, as he was by then, in prison. He was not, after all, the kind of guy to stay silent. If Jesus came to draw people in and bring them closer to God, to spell out the good news of the Gospel, John was the perfect rabble-rouser to shake them awake to hear the message. He prepared the way for the Holy Spirit. Directly, the gospel describes him carrying out the very baptism that allows the Holy Spirit to come to Jesus, and for God to name Jesus as the Chosen One.

Where are our rabble-rousers? Who is shaking us awake so that we might also receive the Holy Spirit? We might look to the protestors of the previous year – those in the Middle East, and the Occupy Protests held across Europe and North America as trying to rouse us. Virtually every week, there is a protest on Parliament Hill, but the media rarely pay attention to them anymore. Protestors, by nature, are crying out against the current system, but they don’t often come armed with many solutions. In that sense, we are discouraged by them. They are flinging stones, when we want the solutions, the resolve of Jesus to bring answers. Too often, the stones break glass, the protestors dwindle, and the rebellious voices drift away. Then things go back as they were. In fact, we can imagine that without Jesus’s following up – and coming through on his behalf – the warning and protesting voice of John the Baptist would have come to nothing.

I once read a piece on the complications of solving poverty in which an advocate said: “I do not need to have all the answers to raise the questions.” That was John: he came in with the questions, and he did a fine job of putting us on the hot seat. For doing so, he paid with his life. But John could not do it alone; he needed Jesus to follow up with some answers, to be thoughtful about solutions. It’s no coincidence that the Holy Spirit is often portrayed as a flame – like a spark, you might say – an inspiration to action.

It’s a New Year – a time when we think about new beginnings, when we assess who we are. In our history as a church, we are, by our own definition, the protesters. The people who spoke out – beginning with Martin Luther – about what they saw wrong in the world and with the church hierarchy at the time, who were more focused on keeping the average person in line, and uncertain of God’s message, than giving them the spark of the Holy Spirit. Martin Luther cast some hard stones, like John. Unlike John, he made some grievous mistake in his interpretation of Scripture in his later writings. He forgot to always make way for the Gospel. But if I don’t need all the answers to ask the questions, I don’t need to agree with the whole of a person to admire the core of who they are.

What will we do now with the spark of the Holy Spirit and our role, in our faith, as the protestor church, the people of protest? There is value in throwing stones when the world is asleep, but what do we do if they don’t wake up? We have only to look within ourselves for the answer – and perhaps that is where we should look first. Consider our New Year’s resolutions – the things we want to fix about ourselves: To be more organized, for instance, or less critical. To hold our tempers better, or work harder on making our families happier. What are these but a protest against self – an inward stone- throwing? It’s all fine and well to know what’s wrong, but the next step is to find the answer to fix it. That is what moves us from John the Baptist to Jesus; from rabble rouser to solution-maker. The Bible put it in 10 steps — the commandments – which, we all know, if we followed truly, would make the world a pretty fine place, or at least nearly so. We need steps as well, and they don’t have to be big ones. Perhaps we turn off our blackberries in the evening. We learn to count to ten. We focus on new habits. We consider the feelings and views of others.

Those steps are actually part of a larger movement. Improving ourselves has a trickle-down effect. This is what Jesus understood, and it is why the Gospel begins ultimately with self: the act of treating others as we would want to be treated, or loving others as God loves us. It is hard for us, who are so wealthy, to resist the urge to give when we see the world from this light. It is hard for us, picking up the stones of protest, to consider the next step. Ultimately, it is the act of moving ourselves outside of ourselves, the act of passing on the spirit, which God lays upon each one of us.

Amen

What is Faith?

admin — Mon, 09 Jan 2012 01:23:04 +0000

Christmas Eve 2011

This month, a woman walked into an American Kmart store, asked the clerk to see a list of the store layaways and paid off several that were for children’s toys and clothes. She did so without getting any credit and left the store quietly. But her act started a chain reaction, and across the country, others began doing the same, making sure struggling families were able to puts toys under the tree for Christmas. In a year in which we began, around the world, to consider what it means to live in a moral society, what our obligations are to one another and how we might correct the stark social inequalities that we have allowed to develop, it was a story of human goodness and charity – not for a name on a building, or media fame. Just because it felt right and good and worthy of the season. Something to restore a little faith.

What does having faith mean? This is a searching time of year: we come to the manger scene, looking for something we often can’t put our finger on. Some guidance to set us on a new course. It is a hopeful time, full of possibility, fresh as a newborn baby whose future is not yet written. Even knowing the story so well – and what happens next – doesn’t taint it for us. If Christmas gives us anything, in these secular times, it should give us hope and freedom to really ask the question “What is faith, and what does it mean to me?” to each one of us.

I don’t ask that in a strictly religious way, though of course, for most of us here, God and Jesus are central to that question. But for too long we have wanted that answer to be the same; it’s human nature to want to simplify life, to make it as comforting as those heart-wrenching family scenes on TV, where everyone loves their gifts, and no one complains about anything. But that’s the Christmas drug: it’s not sustainable, and it’s not real. In truth, we live in a constant state of distance and embrace. Our families drive us nuts, much as we love them and could not live without them. Some days we wake up feeling pretty good about ourselves and sometimes we go to bed tossing and turning and wishing we were somebody else. Sometimes God makes sense and sometimes God doesn’t. And sometimes we have faith; until we don’t. That makes us uneasy – but it shouldn’t. Within that tension, live two of the most important elements of human life: hope and faith.

Take a look at the manger scene – the story we’ve all heard tonight. We know it well, one of those traditional tales most of us could tell from memory. It’s as if God sat down to write a screenplay and got every character right – because there is no one that does not speak to us. But let’s get some distance. Let’s look at these characters from another angle, and ask the question: Do we really think, knowing ourselves as questioning and flawed people, that these humans, these strangers, really came together quite so easily and nicely posed around a baby?

We often talk about the nativity scene in terms of the physical journey – Mary had to ride that donkey, pregnant, for miles and miles; the shepherds had to abandon the flock; the wise men came from afar. But that’s not really the journey that counts the most. How did they come to believe in the hope and possibility of the gift of Christmas? That’s what we want to know. And if we make it too easy for them to get there, we shortchange our own faith stories.

Each of one of them finds faith in a different way and for different reasons. Consider Mary, informed that she is pregnant and that her baby shall be a great leader. Mary is doubtful at first, but she chooses to believe, and her faith always comes across as the strongest and most unflinching, for her burden is the largest. She finds her faith through love.
Joseph, we might say, is a different story: he gets some pretty hard news about Mary, and he must decide whether to abandon her, and shame her forever. Joseph finds his faith through honour, in doing what is right.

The shepherds, well, we can bet that getting news from an angel was an awfully big deal, but then the life of a shepherd back then didn’t exactly count as white-collar work. So here they get news that a change is coming, that society might be heading for some upheaval, and from where they are standing — at best mid-tier of the 99 per cent — that sounds pretty good. They head off to Bethlehem, likely scared out of their wits. But their faith comes from possibility, from optimism, from hope in change.

And then there are the wise men whom we always put at the manger scene on the same night even though they show up much later, and only after word of Jesus has spread to King Herod. The magi arrive under orders to spy on Jesus, to report back to Herod, who, it’s safe to say, does not plan on throwing a birthday party. They arrive at the manger and present gifts. Where did their faith come from? Let’s say it was political: they recognized the flaws in the leader they had left and sought a new way of running society, someone with big ideas to stand behind. Perhaps, for them, it wasn’t really about God – at least not at first. Perhaps it was faith in transformation.

The point is their faith all originated from different places – but it didn’t matter. They all stand here at the manger with the same belief: that life can be better, that there is purpose beyond what we see, that we can make a difference. Mary would draw a straight line to God for that; the wise men might be more political. But does God really care? In the end, if we work together for a moral society, God makes room for everyone. God admires diversity. God accepts the ebb and flow of our own belief. There are many paths to the manger scene and many different contributions when you carry that experience with you. That is the lesson of Christmas.

If we are honest we are not always Mary, we are not always Joseph, we are not always the wise men. Some of us lean on the activist side of Jesus for faith, for others it is the divinity of Jesus that inspires us, and is essential to our faith. What matters is what we do with that faith – how we build upon the story of the manger.

We spent too much time on those little nuances of who’s better, or more faithful. It happens with our families; when we pick apart how our sister, say, is raising her children, and forget that she loves them as much we love ours. Or when we fume about some insult, and forget that, in the end, a perceived slight counts for far less than the time we have together. People don’t unite in defiance of their beliefs; they are brought into the fold and into our lives when they are respected.

So look at the manger scene, and find your place – find the character standing here who speaks to you most. But take a stand among them. In the face of our environmental and economic problems, we need to lean on all the resources humanity offers. The manger story – the story of Christmas – may speak to us in different ways. But the moral message is the same: hope and love for humanity and the promise of peace in the world. And only faith will make it so.

Amen.

The Ottawa International Drumming Festival Presents:

admin — Wed, 19 Oct 2011 02:09:28 +0000

‘Africa Night Benefit Concert’

It takes a village to raise a song! Come celebrate an evening of great African music, song and dance for a good cause.

Featuring:

Ottawa Folklore Center Jazz Band: Playing Afro-Jazz

The amazing New Edinburgh Community Children’s Choir

Ballet Esmeraldas de Colombia: Traditional Folkloric dance of Colombia

New Edinburgh Marimba Youth Band

Drum 4 Life – Rhythms of Afro-Cuban & West African

Marimba Mana Band – Live dance music from Zimbabwe

When: 26 November 2011
Time: 7pm
Venue: 270 Crichton Street, Bus route # 9
Price: A voluntary donation is appreciated.

All proceeds go towards the construction of a school in Liberia and in Zambia. For more info, ‘like’ the Fountains of Light Foundation on facebook or visit www.ottawaidf.com.

Sunday Sermon

admin — Fri, 14 Oct 2011 01:09:09 +0000

Pentecost 16- October 2, 2011—Matthew 21:33-46

Ah, the perils of power! In the gospel, we can just imagine how it went: those tenants getting fat and cushy off the land, figuring the owner had forgotten all about them. When the landowner – that is, God – finally sends some people to collect the produce from the land, the tenants kill them to keep the goods for themselves. The landowner sends another group and the same occurs. The son is sent and also dies. But in the end, though the price is steep, the landowner gets his way. When Jesus told this story, we hear in the Gospel, the Pharisees, the religious and political leaders, shifted uncomfortably in the crowd, still plotting: they knew the parable was ultimately about them, trying to remain the masters.

This parable has a lot of layers to it, but certainly it is about that familiar line about power corrupting. The tenants in the story had become so complacent in their holdings that they assumed the role of landowners. Even if their original intentions had been good, they had been corrupted by the power. We all know people like this and we have all seen institutions like this: those who enjoy the power of a position a little too much (or at least more than the actual good that the position does), and places where people in power have long stopped listening to any new ideas. The church certainly has its share of this problem. In fact, the people we often want to place in positions of power – the heroes we want to see in movies or books – are people who were thrust into power without ever desiring it. These are the people who have balanced two important roles in life: the benevolent master and the other-centred slave.

Theologians often talk about our place in the Bible as both master and slave, depending on the analogy. Sometimes, in the parables of Jesus, we are to see the situation from the slave’s side and sometimes from the master’s. The problem we have is when we fall too heavily into one role: we savour the power of the master and reject the selflessness of the slave, or vice versa. A single mom I know once told me how she feels that her whole life is about looking after others – her kids, her difficult ex-husband, her sick father, even her demanding colleagues. She spends a lot of time buying birthday cards and babysitting and preparing dinners – she’s the model of the other-centred slave. But, as she told me, she can only keep that going for so long, and then she’d feel so angry she’d find herself losing her temper with the kids, or at work. She had not mastered, so to speak, the role of benevolent master. So her life was not in balance.

What is a benevolent master? If we look to Jesus as the example – the cornerstone of God’s grace – we see someone who spoke the truth to other people, who took charge, who was decisive and thoughtful, who occasionally allowed others to do the work while he dealt with other matters. He was the benevolent master, in the end, who took the blame upon himself and made the sacrifice of leadership. But that’s only one side of Jesus: because he was also very much the other-centred slave, willing to serve and to listen, to let others shine, to do the messy jobs, willing to get his hands dirty. These two archetypes are, of course, just two sides of a single coin, but neither exists without the other.
Think about it: the Ten Commandments are trying to set that balance as well: we should not use our power as masters to harm others, or to steal or lie; we should be slaves in our honouring of our parents and partners, and especially to God.

But really, this is about something much smaller and simpler in our lives. It is about how we treat each other. We don’t live life-or-death days, and thank goodness for that. In the workplace, we usually have our roles down, as much as they may chafe sometimes. We understand that those tenants were way out of line in the gospel, denying the landowner the goods. But how often have we also closed our ears to those we love and refused to listen, deciding our way was better. We figured we already knew what they were going to say. We felt we knew best. How many times, in our homes, have we become careless masters, focusing on this 5-year-plan, or this renovation, or this upcoming test, without seeing what was really happening? Never asking: What do you need right now? How can I help you? When we see ourselves moving this quickly, that is when we need to stop and change our posture: to become the other-centred slave.

And what about our slave moments? When, like my friend, we stay silent when we should speak up, or continue to give even when the resentment burns in our hearts. That posture isn’t healthy. In those moments, we are to speak up, to God, to our loved ones, to seek help. That is a balance.

Otherwise, we go on beside each other, but never hearing each other. When we are truly serving another person – rather than our own agenda or assumptions – we can’t help but hear who they really are. That’s when we hear the moment when we are needed to be leaders, to take charge, and to give help – and help guide a person to a better place.

This is where the analogy of the cornerstone works so well, for it is both the servant, bearing all the weight, and the master, upon whom everything rests.

Take some thought to keep that balance in life. To listen, and to ask to be listened to. To give, and to accept someone else’s giving. To help, and to be helped. To bear the weight of someone else, and to carry them the distance they may need to travel.

Amen

Galai School Project – a closer look

admin — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 00:37:25 +0000

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy. Proverbs 31: 8-9

Education System in Liberia

The Liberian education system was destroyed during the 14-year civil conflict. The country’s human resources development was neglected and the literacy rate fell below 32 percent. According to a 2003 Liberian Ministry of Education and UNICEF study, 20% of the schools had been destroyed, and many of the remaining schools are in urgent need of repair.

During the war, many educator including principals and teachers left the country. Therefore, teachers without formal qualifications or experience had to replace them. Currently, the unqualified teachers in Liberia are estimated at 62%. As a result, enrollment has dramatically decreased: Between 2000 and 2002, the gross enrollment ratio for girls declined from over 72% to just above 35% and from 73% to just above 48% for boys.

Due to the continuous disruption in the education system a large number of students remain in the primary school. For example, a recent school census found that 85% of the students in kindergarten were 8 to 20 years old, with 50% being between 11 and 20 years. In secondary schools, 45% of boys and 27% of girls are between 20 and 24 years old.

The limitations of poverty that are regularly imposed upon children in war-torn countries like Liberia deny them the opportunity to reach their full potential, and at the same time, inhibit the adult world from seeing exactly what these kids are capable of achieving.

Geographic Location

The village of Galai is located in the Province of Bong County in Suakoko district, Northern region of Liberia,West Africa. It is approximately four hours drive from Monrovia, the political Capital. Ninety percent (90%) of the villagers are rice and crops farmers. According to census, there are 2,760 people living in Galai, excluding surrounding villages.

Vision

When I visited Galai, I was moved with compassion after witnessing the devastating condition of the school building. In fact, Galai never had a proper school building before the civil war started.

The current school building was the home of one of the villagers who passed away. It was donated by the family of the deceased. There are 285 kids from kindergarten to Grade six, with five under-qualified volunteer teachers. The building is not big enough to accommodate all the children.

My vision is to help them build a new school up to Grade 9 by buying cement for a larger foundation up to ground level and plastering of the walls. Also with doors, windows, and materials for a new metal roof. Then the villagers can start the rest of the foundation to roof level from clay bricks. In essence, we are building with them, not for them. Once the building is completed and extended to grade 9, it will then become eligible for funding from the Liberian ministry of education. With this funding, Galai could secure qualified salaried teachers and purchase more resources for their children`s education.

Jesse Matthews
St.John lutheran Church

Africa Night Benefit Concert

admin — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 13:13:15 +0000

It was a great night! For those who missed it, check out this clip of St. John’s Michael Fry and Jesse Matthews!

. . . → Read More: Africa Night Benefit Concert

Sunday Sermon: Pentacost 2

admin — Tue, 28 Jun 2011 02:27:53 +0000

June 26, 2011—Matthew 10:40-42

Last week, I preached on the riots in Vancouver, and the escalation of a mob mentality. Now we have the sequel. So the mood turned quickly — from commiseration, to shock, to anger. By Sunday, people were outing the rioters on Facebook, identifying them based on pictures that ran on the Internet. Some of the pictures, showing young people smiling in front of damaged cars and store windows, could inspire only our outrage. One young woman, who went into a store and stole two pairs of men’s pants — for a souvenir, she said — lost her job. A few parents turned their kids in to police, forcing them to take responsibility for what they had done. A 17-year-old delivered himself to the police station and owned up to stuffing a lit rag into the gas tank of a police car.

The reaction by citizens has been angry and hostile. Parents have reported getting death threats to their homes. One family has even moved out. People who participated in the riots have been attacked verbally online. Even those who were on the streets when it happened — and as one woman explained on CBC this weekend — and who could not easily escape when the riot began have been the subject of nasty critics.

There’s a line here, and we need to ask ourselves whether it has been crossed: have we passed from righteous indignation to self-righteous scapegoating? We want to think that this was the work of disenfranchised thugs, but it wasn’t: many of these people were youth who are from families that are stunned they would act this way. It could have been any one of us. As parents, it could have been any one of our kids. We want to believe otherwise. But those parents, the ones forcing their kids to own up to what they have done, also believed it to be so.

The gospel this morning gives us specific directions most importantly, in these words from Jesus: Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple — truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward. We know our calling: to serve and tend to others, especially the little ones.
But this morning’s gospel may also be confusing, with all its talk of righteousness:

“Whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous.”

Let’s try to break that down. Look at it starting with perhaps the easiest part: the reward. What is our reward for good deeds? We might make it all about heaven, but that is too literal, and it makes us focus on a payback down the road. That’s like saying we do good deeds so we get something out of it, and good deeds done with this mindset are tainted. I like to think Jesus meant something deeper than this: that the reward of the righteous is the natural high that comes from doing something for someone else. Not only is this good for us, but practice makes perfect: doing good deeds lead to doing more good deeds. Following the gospel leads to more of the same: it takes work.

But who, as the gospel says, is this righteous person who merits our welcome? What do they look like? What do they act like? The dictionary defines the word “righteous” as “morally right or justifiable; virtuous. Perfectly wonderful.” I guess that limits our welcome down to, well, absolutely no one. Find me a person who is “morally right” all the time. Even Jesus, in the famous story of the woman at the well, was forced, on at least one occasion, to adjust what he believed on first reaction. Find me a person who acts, every day, in a way that is justifiable. Certainly the disciples, who at one point begged Jesus to stay up in the mountain in the hopes of keeping him to themselves, who scurried away in the darkest day – acted, on occasion, in their own self- interest. And “perfectly wonderful”? I don’t even think I need to touch that one.

Yet we know Jesus meant for us to extend our welcome to the widest circle we can. So that means we have to change our definition of righteous. In this context then, a righteous person has to be someone who tries to do their best, someone who screws up and feels badly for it, someone who faces up to the consequences of their mistakes. More than that, it must include the person that we hope our welcome may be of some service to – based on the idea that everyone has the potential to be better. Suddenly, under that definition: pretty much everyone merits our welcome, especially, you might say, the people who do something really dumb and out-of-character and feel the sting of shame afterwards.

And what about that welcome? What does Jesus mean by that? Welcome is a pretty full response: it suggests an embrace. It suggests a warm greeting, admitting someone into our circle. It also suggests that in some way, the person in question has turned up at our door, has sought out our welcome. That young man who apologized tearfully for what he did during the riot and paid a price for it deserves our welcome. Not threats upon his family. Not even judgement at this point. He, and others, have sought our welcome: our duty to the gospel is to accept it.

All the time, people in our lives come seeking our welcome. Usually they are seeking forgiveness or acceptance or understanding. The people around us disappoint us and screw up, and when we close our doors to them we have failed Jesus. We have not been righteous: the moral response must be to forgive and to embrace. And we know this because the opposite response is exclusion and anger. That is not to say people don’t pay a price for their actions; since we have all been there, we know we do. Sometimes it’s shame or guilt; sometimes it’s the punishment of society. Eventually, though, most of us seek out a welcome and hope that we receive one.

“Welcome a righteous person in the name of a righteous person.”

It is a thin line between righteousness and self-righteousness, and among misinterpretations of the gospel, this is one of them. We have seen self-righteousness well in play this past week, where the riots are concerned.

“Had these parents not raised their kids correctly — or spanked them enough?” as one man said on the CBC call-in show. “How could people be such sheep? That would never be me.” The problem with self-righteousness is that it simplifies life in a destructive way: it says I am right and that is the end of it. I have it all figured out, and I don’t need to hear anything else. I will close my mind to someone else’s truths. I will judge, but keep myself above judgement. We may disagree, but when that disagreement is rude or hurtful to others, then we step dangerously into a place of self-righteousness. In fact, we should be asking larger questions, questions we would all do well to ask. Could there be other things at play here besides negligent parents and stupid kids? What about the role of the media, who played up a game as measure of national pride? What about the Internet and reality television, that teach people – and not just youth – that being famous, for any reason, is something to strive for? What about the alcohol industry, that advertises everywhere, and the government, which profits when people drink more than they should? By being self-righteous, we make it all about those people in that place. A righteous person considers the role they play in any ethical debate – to what extent are their prejudices or their personal experiences shaping their own attitudes about an issue? A self-righteous person chooses blindness.

So this passage in the gospel may, on first reading, sound as if it is telling us to pick and choose whom we welcome. But in the context of everything else that Jesus teaches us, we know this cannot be true. We are to offer a welcome to everyone who seeks it from us. And we are to reach out to those who do not, or cannot, with a glass of water. That’s a tall order. But the gospel, if it is worth anything, requires us to shift perspective, to be understanding.

The second lesson talks a lot about sin, a dangerous word since it suggests we must decided who sins. But that second lesson gives us a warning: choose carefully whom you will follow, and you are slaves to that person. And this applies as much to one mob as the other: those who act wrongly and those who cast judgment. Be “slaves to righteousness” we are told, and enjoy the gift of eternal life. That may be as much about how we are remembered by the ones who love us, as about heaven itself. And how would we all like to be remembered? As someone who shut the door when others sought welcome? Or as the person who opened the door in the name of the gospel?

Amen.