July 27 ~ In Prayer We Become the Hands, the Feet, the Hearts, and the Faces that Reveal God to Others

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Genesis 18:20-32

Psalm 138

Colossians 2:6-15 [16-19]

Luke 11:1-13

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

One of my gurus, [sad to say he is now dead] Roger Karban said this; “Some years ago when I was commenting on this set of readings, I had a friendly disagreement with the editor of one of the diocesan papers carrying my articles. She strongly objected to my talking about Abraham ‘haggling’ with Yahweh, believing that the term bordered on anti-sematic language. I immediately called a rabbi friend, asking his opinion. He assured me, ‘Roger, there’s nothing wrong in speaking about a Jew haggling. We are not only known for it, but we are also proud of it.’” Now let us be clear, we do not take this haggling between Yahweh and Abraham literally. But the writer is trying to demonstrate the negotiating prowess of Abraham, and also Abraham’s unique relationship with God. Yes, we can talk to God, just be careful where you do it, or they might haul you away.

Last week we heard of Abraham’s hospitality after he had talked to God in the form of the three messengers. Then today the three messengers, [God] left to investigate what was happening at Sodom and Gomorrah. Now God also remained with Abraham, and yes, God can be in two places at once. Now Abraham recognizes that Sodom and Gomorrah should be punished for their doings, but he takes up a prophetic role and intercedes for the inhabitants of Sodom and Gomorrah. Abraham calls for God’s justice which will be to extend mercy to the innocent. Abraham presses God for mercy but he also reveals humanity’s relative lack of innocence, even among those we love the most. Many people have taken the story of Sodom and Gomorrah as proof of God’s ire and readiness to punish sexual immorality. Sorry, that is not what it is about. The story is portraying God asking Abraham, “Ok, ask me about what is bothering you.” Underneath the question of the innocent suffering because of evil people - a blatant fact of life - Abraham is ultimately asking what we all ask; “Does evil rule the world? Do the innocent make any difference in the world?” We sure must be asking those questions in our world today.

So Abraham puts God on trial, as it were. “Should not the judge of all the world act with justice?” These questions come from a belief that God is in charge of everything that happens. God decides and creation, be it people or nature, cry God’s will into action. Another question that comes from Abraham’s story is, “Why bother to pray if God has already written the script?” Or do we believe, as some say, that if we pray hard enough, God will relent in punishment or cure our beloved’s cancer, or make the sunshine for the picnic, etc.? Do we really think that prayer functions to change God’s will about hard things that are in process? I have one friend in particular who is always asking, “What would Jesus say? What would Jesus do?” I hope it is obvious that this story is much more than that.

Then in our gospel, Jesus is offering a comparison to the scene with Abraham. The disciples ask, “Teach us to pray.” “How are we supposed to relate to God?” “What can we expect from God?” Jesus’ response is simple. Go to God as a child or a parent, trusting in God’s love. Also, look around you and see creation, let yourself be carried away in wondrous awe, then say, “Hallowed!” “Blessed!” “Overwhelming is your very name!” “May your desires for creation come true!” “Your will be done!” Jesus reminds us that the creator of the universe has given us what we need. ‘Our daily [Epiousios] bread’ is a phrase Jesus seems to have invented. It means more than day-to-day, it suggests something like the bread of tomorrow, or the coming age, that is the bread that is consecrated by how it is shared and nourishes. You see it is much more than a piece of bread. Thus Jesus is cutting to the chase, he seems to be saying; “Lead us to be like you, seeing possibility, believing like Abraham that evil does not have the upper hand.” In other words, if we really want God’s rule, then we have to keep badgering those who have the power to make it happen; to feed the hungry, to give children what they need, to rise above retribution, and to value justice and harmony over being supreme, over winning. Do you think Trump’s gang of Christians believe that?

And then we hear Jesus say, “Ask and you will receive.” Now notice, Jesus is not promising a new car or a cure for cancer or anything like that. No, what Jesus promises is that God’s spirit will be with us. So we hear; “When you pray say, ‘behold I am your servant, do with and in and through me according to your will.’” To pray then is to participate in God’s desire for good in our lives. If prayer does not change God, it often changes us. If prayer is not simply presenting a list of our wants and wishes to God to be automatically, even miraculously, fulfilled, it actually engages us in doing our part to meet human need. When we pray, we are inspired and motivated to act. Grace joins our effort and our perseverance to find the outcome that is best for us and others. Do we trust God enough to take our needs to God in prayer? If we do, not only will our relationship with God deepen, but we will learn to be instruments of divine purpose. In other words, the hands, the feet, the hearts, and the faces that reveal God to others.

Yes, if we pray, it means we will be haggling with God. Given the example of Abraham and the teaching of Jesus in our lessons today, each of us gathered in worship might give some consideration to the quality, style, and attitude of our own attempts at prayer. If Abraham seems too bold and daring, then perhaps we are not sufficiently at ease and familiar with God. If Abraham’s manner appears too irreverent, then perhaps we are not completely convinced of God’s desire to become personally involved and available to each of us. Perhaps we have yet to believe in the doting, patient, and parental love of God, but only in so believing can we truly pray as Jesus taught us and as we ought to pray. The effectiveness of prayer is often found in the change it effects in us, not in God. While it is true that our prayer may not change the situations for which we pray, it is also true that frequently ‘we’ change in our praying. By persevering in prayer, we may come to acknowledge that all things are in God’s hands, and that we can rest content to leave them there, trusting the situation will be cared for as God sees fit. It seems trite to say God hears all prayer and sometimes the answer is no! It is better to say God respects the freedom of people and will seldom intervene to change the way events unfold. Prayer can change the one who prays and also the one for whom the prayer is offered, if only human need is recognized and divine solitude is acknowledged.

With the assurance that God is greater than every human need, more powerful than any inconvenience, and more loving than can be imagined… “How much more will God give…” [v. 13]. The Jesus of Luke encourages believers to; ask, seek, and knock, without doubt or hesitation and, like Abraham and the friend in the gospel, with utter shamelessness! Prayer has been a key component of faith for thousands of years. Prayer can be uniquely personal, but today’s readings provide some essential and expansive insights about prayer from both Judaism and early Christianity. Abraham and Jesus both extol the importance of persistence, and Jesus teaches us that prayer at its best is communal. The importance of the body of Christ, us, is that we pray as one body of God’s people. We pray most profoundly, and we dare to pray at all, because God is loving and just.

Lord, teach us how to pray aright,

With reverence and with fear.

Though dust and ashes in your sight,

We may, we must draw near.

We perish if we cease from prayer,

Oh, grant us power to pray.

And when to meet you we prepare,

Lord, meet us on our way.

Give deep humility,

The sense of Godly sorrow give,

A strong desire, with confidence,

To hear your voice and live.

Faith in the only sacrifice

That can for sin atone,

To cast our hopes, to fix our eyes

On Christ, on Christ alone.

Give these, and then your will be done,

Thus strengthened with all might,

We, through your spirit and son,

Shall pray and pray aright.

[ELW 745]

Loving God, we dare to come to you as we have been taught, connected to one another and to you through prayer. The boldness of our ancestors precedes us, and we trust in whatever outcomes you grant us. We pray, because Jesus encouraged us to pray. Amen.

July 20 ~ We are not alone in the work and we are not alone in the stillness, either

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Genesis 18:1-10a

Psalm 15

Colossians 1:15-28

Luke 10:38-42

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

This morning we hear the story of the two sisters—Martha and Mary—a story that has been interpreted through the centuries. It’s one of those gospel stories that seem straightforward, but when we look at it carefully, we find it’s nuanced, and full of tension. The kind of tension we live in every day.

Jesus is welcomed into the home by Martha. She gets to work. She organizes, she prepares, she takes on the invisible labour that often gets overlooked until it’s missing. Mary, meanwhile, sits and listens—she’s present, attentive, grounded. And then comes that moment we all relate to: Martha, overwhelmed and perhaps feeling a little alone in it all, says to Jesus, “Lord, don’t you care that I’m doing this by myself? Tell Mary to help me!”

It’s a fair question. And Jesus’s answer—“Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things, but one thing is necessary”—has too often been read as a dismissal. Over the centuries, we’ve been told that Martha was wrong, and Mary was right. That contemplation matters more than action. That domestic work is lesser work. And that Martha, the doer, should have been more like Mary, the listener.

But maybe we’ve misread the tone. Maybe Jesus wasn’t criticizing Martha. Maybe he was seeing her.

Martha is not being scolded for working. In fact, she is the one who invites Jesus in. She is extending radical hospitality. She is creating the space where listening can even happen. Her labour is not insignificant. It’s important work.

But something is weighing on her. The text says she is “worried and distracted.” The Greek implies not just busyness, but inner turmoil—being pulled in many directions. That’s the real issue here. Not that she is working—but that she is pulled away from her own center.

Mary, on the other hand, is still. She is rooted. She has chosen to be fully present to Jesus in that moment, despite what may have been expected of her as a woman in that household. She resists the cultural norms of the time—she refuses to be shamed back into the kitchen—and Jesus affirms her place at his feet, in the posture of a disciple.

This is not a story about choosing contemplation over action. It’s a story about the challenge of aligning our inner lives with our outer lives. It’s a story about what it means to be whole.

Let’s bring this story into our own time. Earlier this year, the Canadian Institute for Health Information reported that over the last five years, there has been a 31% drop in mental health-related emergency room visits for young people. Hospitalizations are also down. On the surface, this sounds like good news—and in some ways, it is. But dig a little deeper, and the picture is more complicated.

Doctors are warning that many youth in Canada are still struggling with anxiety, depression, and disconnection. But instead of reaching a crisis point and ending up in emergency, more young people are accessing community-based care earlier—like family doctors, counselors, and mental health programs in schools.

They are learning, in a way, to recognize when they’re becoming overwhelmed—and to choose help earlier. They’re beginning to say, “I don’t have to keep doing all of it alone.” They’re starting to see that slowing down, reaching out, and making mental space is not a weakness, but a strength.

And maybe that’s the kind of choice Jesus is lifting up in Mary—not because it’s better than Martha’s way, but because it reflects a life lived with presence and attention. Because it’s a reminder that we can’t be everything to everyone all the time. And that choosing to listen, to breathe, to be grounded in what matters—that is sacred work too.

Now let’s return to Martha. What if the issue isn’t that she’s in the kitchen? What if the issue is that she feels alone? That she isn’t being seen? She’s not just asking for help—she’s asking to be noticed. She’s asking, in her own way, “Don’t you care about me?” And that is a deeply human question.

How many of us have felt that way? How many of us have done all the work behind the scenes—planned the event, hosted the meal, held the family together—and still felt invisible?

Jesus doesn’t tell Martha to stop serving. He invites her to notice how she’s being pulled away from her own joy. “Martha, Martha,” he says—repeating her name in the style of the prophets, in the tone of love. “You are worried and distracted. But one thing is necessary.”

So Jesus is not saying “You’re wrong,” or “Be more like Mary.” Perhaps Jesus is saying, “Come back to the centre.” In other words, “You are loved not because of what you do, but because of who you are.”

Mary and Martha represent two parts of the human experience. Mary reminds us to pause. To take in the moment. To listen to the voice of God that still speaks, even in the chaos of our lives. And Martha reminds us that care, hospitality, and action are not lesser forms of discipleship. They are necessary. They are sacred. But even the most faithful work must be rooted in love, not anxiety. In purpose, not performance.

Both sisters are faithful. Both are loved. And we are called, not to choose between them, but to embody them both at different times.

This story also speaks to our life in community as a church. We live in an age of deep distraction. We are pulled in many directions—programming, budgets, attendance numbers, social media metrics, cultural expectations. It’s easy to become like Martha—not in her work, but in her worry. We forget why we do what we do. We forget to rest at Jesus’s feet.

And yet, we also know that someone has to make and bring the food for coffee hour. Someone has to unlock the doors. Someone has to plan the next worship service and work on the property.

Martha is alive and well in our churches. And thank God she is. But we also need Mary. We need those people who remind us that listening, learning, and resting in God’s presence are not optional. They are essential. The strategy for a viable expression of who we are in the future requires both.

The good news in our gospel story today is not that one sister is right and the other is wrong. The good news is that Jesus shows up in their home, just as they are. He receives their hospitality, listens to their questions, and calls them both—gently, honestly, compassionately—back to what matters most.

The life-giving news is that we are defined not by the distractions or our duties in our personal lives. We are not more worthy when our calendar is full, or our checklist is complete. We are loved for who we are right now. We are seen now. We are invited to sit and rest and breathe and remember who we are.

It means choosing connection over comparison, presence over pressure, wholeness over hurry. It means knowing that whether we’re making sandwiches or sitting in silence—God is with us. It means trusting that we are not alone in the work, and we are not alone in the stillness either. It means, as our Canadian youth are slowly beginning to teach us, that we don’t have to wait until we’re in crisis to ask for help. We can choose what makes us whole now.

That’s the better part. And it will not be taken from us. Amen.

July 13 ~ Compassion Means Being Willing to be Interrupted

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Deuteronomy 30:9-14

Psalm 25:1-10

Colossians 1:1-14

Luke 10:25-37

(The content of this sermon was 100% written in Canada by a human)

Today, we are called to consider the wonderfully instructional parable of the Good Samaritan. In the gospel, a lawyer poses a question to Jesus: he seeks a guide for getting to heaven. “Love God, and love your neighbor,” Jesus tells him. To which the lawyer replies, “Define the word ‘neighbor’ for me.”

And so Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan. A man is lying injured in a ditch after being robbed. A priest walks by, sees him, and crosses to the other side. A Levite does the same. Finally, it is the Samaritan, the outcast, who stops and offers aid. The Good Samaritan doesn’t only help the injured man to safety, but he pays, out of his own pocket, for his care. “Which of these was the neighbor to the man?” Jesus asks the lawyer. The answer is obvious: the stranger who showed mercy.

This parable reminds me of something that happened recently, much closer to home. You’ve likely seen the headlines—yet another intense wildfire season in Canada. With 510 wildfires burning, and with at least 140 of those deemed out of control as of Thursday, entire towns have been forced to evacuate. Thousands of hectares of land have been scorched, wildlife displaced, homes destroyed. It’s devastating.

But what caught my attention wasn’t just the fires—it was the people who responded.

One story out of Garden Hill stayed with me. As the flames encroached and the air thickened with smoke, evacuation orders were issued, and residents began fleeing in every direction. But there were some who stayed—not because they had no means to leave, but because they refused to leave others behind. A young man, barely out of high school, loaded his pickup with bottled water and fuel, and drove back and forth on smoke-filled roads, helping elderly neighbours who had no transportation. He wasn’t a first responder or somebody trained in emergency aid. He was just someone who couldn’t bear the thought of people being left behind.

Other stories told of groups of volunteers in nearby communities who are turning their community centres, hockey rinks, and churches, into hubs for displaced families—setting up cots, offering food, and helping kids feel safe in the chaos. In many cases these weren’t people who had time. They had jobs, homes to secure, and families of their own to worry about. But they chose to act anyway.

Their actions raise the same question Jesus poses to the lawyer: who was the neighbor? The one who stopped. The one who showed mercy. Not because it was convenient. Not because there was a reward. But simply because someone was in need.

When we read the parable of the Good Samaritan, it’s easy to think we’d do the same. We’d stop and help. But the truth is, most of us live in a world that runs on tight schedules and full calendars. We’ve got meetings, appointments, kids to drive, deadlines to meet. We might see someone in need but feel we just don’t have the capacity to help. Or we don’t notice at all—because we’re moving too fast to see clearly.

The wildfire volunteers made me think about that. Like the Samaritan, they interrupted their lives for strangers. They didn’t just pause to hand someone a bottle of water—they stuck around. They drove people to shelters. They stayed up late comforting frightened children. They checked in the next day, and the next. Their response wasn’t a moment—it was a commitment.

Jesus’ parable is not only about compassion—it’s also about the willingness to be interrupted. The Samaritan doesn’t worry about the rules, or what’s appropriate, or what others will think. He sees need and he responds with his whole self.

And here’s the hard part: mercy is rarely convenient. Loving our neighbor, in real life, will often cost us something—time, energy, resources. But Jesus tells us, that’s the way to life.

Robert Funk, a New Testament scholar, once wrote of this parable: “The Samaritan does not love with side glances at God.” He doesn’t help as a performance or obligation. He helps the way God helps—completely, freely, and is fully present.

In a time when our country faces literal fires and metaphorical ones—climate change, economic stress, social division—what does it look like to love our neighbor? Perhaps it starts by slowing down enough to notice who needs us. Perhaps it means being willing to be interrupted. And perhaps, just like that young man in Garden Hill, it means turning around on the road and going back to where we’re most needed. Amen