November 9th ~ Remembrance Day / Aim as High as Heaven... to Make Life Better on Earth

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Job 19:23-27a

Psalm 17:1-9

2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17

Luke 20:27-38

Sermon by Pastor Joel

The Levirate marriage that is described in the gospel this morning has a long history across religion. In this tradition, as it is laid out in the Old Testament, a widow marries her husband’s brother. In part, it was meant as protection, since women could not inherit property, and widows were often left in poverty with the death of a husband. If there were no children, the first son born in the new marriage would become the heir to the first husband – thus securing the family inheritance.

There was an out: the couple could perform the Halitza ceremony, in which the widow would remove the brother’s shoe, and spit in his face before the people of their community, as a sign that he was choosing not to marry his deceased brother’s wife. But choice was gender specific: whether the marriage went ahead was determined by the brother and not the widow. 

So that is the context for the scenario that is brought before Jesus – a riddle from skeptics to get him to clarify how the resurrection works. Jesus is presented with an unlikely scenario: a woman loses her husband, and by tradition, the dead man’s brother agrees to marry her. He dies, and his living brother does the same. It happens seven times. The question put to Jesus is this: in heaven who is the woman’s husband?

Now, when I first read this gospel, believe me, it was not lost on me how sexist this story is – that a widow would be passed from brother to brother by marriage. But we also have to add the historical framework – that in that time, without the support of a male family member, a widow would be cast off, without social and financial support. But how far have we truly come? In patriarchal parts of the world, where women have no property rights, it is still practiced. And even here in Canada, we tend to forget how recently our own laws changed. Until the late1960s – that is, about 60 years ago – women who wanted to divorce their husbands had to meet a high bar of proof – abuse or rape, for instance – and even if it was accepted, there was no guarantee that they would receive a fair share of the household assets, or future support. It wasn’t until 1968, that the reasons required for divorce were made the same for men and women. And it took at least another decade, for women – the one still most likely to be at home with the kids – to have a legal guarantee of a fair share of the household wealth, and support. Even so, relationship break-ups typically result in women’s being worse off than men. Single mothers are more likely to live in poverty than any other segment of the population. So, in the sweep of history, it’s been a fairly short period of time since the law changed - even here in a progressive country. And, for many women --  widows and mothers -- , there is still inequity.

We need to remember that. 

But look at the answer Jesus gives. On first glance he appears to dodge the question.  He says: “Those who belong to this age – that is, this life -  marry and are given in marriage. But those who are considered worthy of a place in that age – that is, heaven – and in the resurrection from the dead – neither marry now nor are given in marriage.” That’s a bold statement. Jesus is saying that in God’s world, people are not caught by earthly law and tradition -- they are set free to be individuals in their own right. And isn’t that a tacit rejection of the laws as they are designed on earth? 

It is subtle, to be sure: why doesn’t Jesus just come out and challenge the law itself?   I think there is a lot of evidence that Jesus was a feminist ahead of his time – but in this case the story is a riddle, one based in law but meant to challenge the idea of the resurrection. Jesus uses the question to make a different point. His response is, inherently, a statement of value for the widow in question – that in God’s eyes, it doesn’t matter what happened on earth. Those rules don’t apply. Why, he asks indirectly, should they exist on earth? 

Perhaps one of the most seemingly backward stories also has a most modern resonance.  Because what is our position as Christians—as followers of the gospel – but to try to recreate God’s vision of our own humanity on earth? If God, as Jesus says, sees everyone as individuals, valued in their own right – then it is also our job to aim for a society that does the same. We certainly aren’t there yet. We are actually living in a time that is becoming more unequal, where the gap between rich and poor around the world, and in our own cities, is growing. 

We must also remember the past to live in the present and change the future. 

This week especially, the week we remember those who sacrificed for our freedom, is a good moment to take stock. We cannot forget what came before, how recently times were different, and the struggles of so many. The men and women who fought in uniform against tyranny so that others could work in our streets and our parliaments to change the law to grant individuals value in their own right. 

We must remember this when we consider the freedom we now enjoy, because of the sacrifices and choices of those who came before us.  This freedom is not ours to claim like some personal victory.  Freedom is something for which to be thankful.  It is ours to help others experience. Freedom is the gift we need to protect.

The gospel reminds us, even in our outrage for the widow’s plight, how recently our own world was not so very different. And it reminds us, as well, to aim as high as heaven to make life better. The gospel represents a freedom beyond our understanding, to live in community and feel supported, to believe and debate and feel safe, to be ourselves and to be loved. This is the freedom that so many people throughout history have fought for and have been willing to die for.  It the freedom that Jesus stood for.  May we remember to stand firm and fight for it.   Amen

November 2nd ~ Remembering Wise and Loving Saints, With Wise and Loving Actions

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Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

Sermon by Pastor Joel

If you are present in my house these days, you hear a lot of happy news. This is the side benefit of living with The Globe and Mail’s happiness reporter. But there is also a lot of talk about the state and definition of happiness. And on that front, Canada isn’t doing all that well. In the most recent standings in The World Happiness Report, we had a poor report, falling out of the top ten and placing 18th out of 134 countries. The World Happiness Report is based on an international survey that asks people around the world about trust, and community, and life satisfaction. But when you slice the numbers a different way, you suddenly see what’s driving that unhappiness. If you count only Canadians over 65, the country jumps right back up to 6th place. If you count only those under 30, we slide all the way down to 58th. And when researchers looked at how much happiness had changed among Canadian young people, we tumbled almost to the very bottom.

Young people are having a hard time, and we can see it. In our kids, trying to figure out what to study with AI. Or sending off resumes and never hearing anything back. Or not being able to afford a house. This week, I read about a new study that found one million Canadians now experience climate anxiety so severely they have trouble getting through their day – and anxiety at any level is highest among young people.

And yet, if you read the comments on The Globe story about unhappy findings, you will see all kinds of readers suggesting that young people are babies, or that everybody has it hard, or that, even more inexplicably, climate change does not exist. Scattered throughout are occasional notes of compassion. But the tone overall is nitpicking, defensive, and judgemental.

Is that anything like what we hear from Jesus today? I don’t want to be a downer – and this will turn around by the end, I promise you. But today is All Saints Sunday, when we remember the loved ones who died and what they mean to us and what we learned from them. The lessons I hold dear from the people I remember today are compassion, curiosity, and other-centredness. These were the people who reminded me that I wasn’t alone, that God loved me, that people loved me, and that community was the essence of life. If you are grieving today for someone in your life who died, I hope you are finding your laughter, as Jesus suggests, in the stories of those happy, comforting lessons.

Do we talk about those lessons enough? Do we remind ourselves of them when we need to? Jesus teaches us today that life is full of emotions that flip from one day to the next, that good fortune can follow bad, that pleasure can follow pain, and vice versa. Those who think they are on the top can fall to the bottom, and those at the bottom may find themselves at the top. Our enemies may suffer. They may also, with kindness, become our friends.

The inevitable fluctuations of life are not meant to frighten us. They are meant to bring us together, to reassure and unite us. Change comes for better or worse, and we get through it. We don’t lose the emotion that came before: it becomes part of us. We don’t grieve and then stop; that grief become part of who we are, how we feel and see the rest of life. To do that we need one another, to listen to and comfort us, to provide a deeper understanding, and to help us work through the more difficult moments of life. The neighbors of a community need this from one another. So do the citizens of a country, the members of generations.

And so collective unhappiness is a collective responsibility. We all share in it; we are all affected by it. The community of the wise and loving saints we remember today must be reflected here in wise and loving actions here – otherwise what is the point of remembering them at all?

In today’s gospel, Jesus, who loved a good parable, leaves us some of his most specific instructions: Love your enemy. Pray for those who hurt you. Turn the other cheek. Those ones are pretty tough. But even harder, perhaps are the next on the list: to be giving to anyone who asks, and most memorably, to do for others what you would want them to do for you.

This statement isn’t perfect, but it’s a good guide. If we are struggling and afraid of the future, what would we want to hear from our elders? I doubt judgement is high on that list. If we are old, and need help, what would we want to hear from those younger? I doubt scorn is up there. We would want to be loved, to look for a deeper understanding together, to see ourselves as one community.

We can start with what we want, but we cannot assume that the other person wants what we would want. A Boomer may not know what a Gen Z needs, if they have forgotten the memory of being 20. And a 20-something may not recognize the true needs of their grandparents, having never been old. That is where we must talk and ask questions and create community from a place of curiosity. Every person I remember today, whose wisdom I still seek even though they are no longer with me in the same way, taught me the power of a curious community. One day we will all be joined together. But until that day, let us be that community living with lives of complexity, with all the changing emotions, treating others as we want to be treated and then asking them what they need—seeing happiness not as an individual goal but as a collective one. I hope you have a wise Saint or two stored in your heart and saved in your memory, to guide you. Amen

October 26th ~ Reformation Sunday & Celebrating 130 Years with St John

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Jeremiah 31:31-34

Psalm 46

Romans 3:19-28

John 8:31-36

Sermon by Pastor Joel

When a congregation turns 130, it’s a little like standing on the bridge over the Rideau River and watching the water flow beneath you.

You see where the river bends — the calm pools, the rapids, the places where ice once clogged the current — and you realize it’s the same water, always moving, always renewing itself.

That’s St John’s story.

In 1895, a handful of German immigrants left St Paul’s Lutheran Church on King Edward Street, to build this wooden church, pinching materials from other job sites (this pulpit is built from three doors). They gathered for their first time in this church on Reformation Sunday to hear the very same readings you just heard in their own tongue and to sing the hymns of home and to baptise their newest infant member. They were bakers, carpenters, mothers with children on their knees, fathers still smelling of sawdust and coal dust. They probably never imagined a day when their church would worship in English, partner in refugee sponsorship with people beyond Europe, or host Zoom Bible studies with four other Lutheran churches in Ottawa that were born out of this place.

And yet the same river that began in their prayers keeps flowing through us — through every baptism, every confirmation class, every hymn sung in hope or grief, every pot of coffee poured in Ebinger Memorial Hall after worship.

Psalm 46 says, “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God.” That river is grace — and the people of this church have been standing in it for 130 years.

Jeremiah 31 gives us God’s promise: “I will make a new covenant…. I will write my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts.” It’s striking, isn’t it? God doesn’t mail a new rule-book; God performs heart surgery. This new covenant isn’t written on stone tablets, but on the living, beating hearts of people—so many people. I’ve been here for only 24 years and I couldn’t begin to name all the people who’ve lived out this covenant with their lives.

The Poulin Boys doing everything and anything that needed doing. The Wollenschlager clan running 4 generations of faithful service. Hilda Boehmer who had more fingers in pots than I could count. Her son Ted Mathesius who was the friendly, dog-loving Elmer Fudd of the neighbourhood and St John Ambassador. Frieda Schultz who quietly paid for the new roof on the Hall. Doug Clark, Jr. who spent more time on this property than he did on his own. Joan Poulin who would decide when the pastor’s robe needed cleaning. Herb Linke who could make anything look new with leftover paint cans of every colour.

Our longest running members are here with us today: Joyce Poulin who brought music to St John, Resurrection, her husband, and now her new retirement residence. And Dalton Poulin, who was in his 80s fixing a cold air vent alone in the church basement when he realized he probably shouldn’t be fixing stuff on his own anymore. Our little church choir that has never missed a beat. Bev Mathesius and Carol Christensen who have always been like church mice minding the everyday things that needed doing. And there are so many others, and names we don’t know, the ones who helped in the background, who were there whenever the pastor or the people called, including one person who, after learning about a difficult property situation, quietly handed over thousands of dollars without a tax receipt to solve the problem, giving money they’d been saving for years.

All of these people, and legions around and before them, did what they did because love and community and generosity were written on their hearts

Every act of kindness, every can of food shared at Partage Vanier, every time you’ve chosen forgiveness over frustration — that’s God’s handwriting showing through the life of St John.

Psalm 46 was Martin Luther’s anchor in stormy times. When plague swept Wittenberg, when political powers threatened to silence him, he sang: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble… Therefore we will not fear though the earth be moved.”

Church anniversaries remind us that the earth does move. The world around us has changed faster than our founders could have imagined — electric streetcars, two world wars, immigration waves, the Quiet Revolution, the internet, pandemics, climate change. Yet through every shaking, you discovered what the psalmist knew: God is in the midst of the city; she shall not be moved.

I’m told that during the 1940s, when young men from this congregation went overseas, the sanctuary lights were left burning until they returned. During different waves, when new German immigrants arrived in Ottawa with little English, St John opened its basement for language classes. During COVID, you put the God Pod in front of the altar to bring people safely together. Every time the ground trembled, you found God still holding you steady.

When Luther read Romans 3, he heard thunder in his soul: “They are now justified by God’s grace as a gift.” Luther spent years terrified that he wasn’t good enough — and then he discovered grace, the scandalous news that God’s love is not earned but given.

Grace was the spark that lit the Reformation, and it’s the same spark that keeps the mission of the church alive long after their founding members are gone.

A few decades ago, St John could have closed its doors when attendance dipped. In fact, I was told at a call committee meeting that I had a 50% chance of having a job after 3 years. Instead, you chose to open them wider. You sponsored refugees from war-torn countries. You became the second Reconciled-in-Christ congregation in the Eastern Synod under the direction of Bob Pierce. You started a community playgroup and children’s choir. With a heavy push from Heidi Geraets you sent offerings for a well in Liberia and then built a 10-room school house there. None of that was done to impress God — it was done because people already knew they were loved.

That’s the difference between religion and grace: religion says, “Change, and God will love you.” Grace says, “God loves you; now watch how that love changes you.”

In John 8, Jesus says, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” And the crowd protests, “We’ve never been slaves to anyone.”

We might protest too — we who pride ourselves on being decent, law-abiding Canadians. But Jesus isn’t talking about Roman chains; he’s talking about the subtler slavery of fear, resentment, and self-righteousness.

Freedom, the way Christ sees it, is not the ability to do whatever we want. It’s the power to love even when we’re hurt, to serve even when no one notices, to live without pretending.

Herb Linke was days from death lying in a hospice bed when he said, “Pastor, after all these years I still can’t believe it’s free — all of it. I spent my life thinking I had to earn God’s love. Now I finally get it: it was mine all along.”

That’s the truth that sets us free.

Luther never meant for “Reformation” to be an anniversary on the calendar. He believed the church should always be reforming — semper reformanda — according to the Word and the Spirit.

If the Reformers once translated the Bible into the language of the people, perhaps today the Spirit is asking us to translate the Gospel into the language of a generation that speaks through podcasts and protests, climate marches and questions.

Reformation is what happens when a church asks, “Who is missing from our table?” and then pulls up more chairs.

It’s what happens when we realize that the Gospel is bigger than our comfort zones.

St John’s future won’t look exactly like its past, but change doesn’t have to be a loss; sometimes it’s a promise. The same Spirit who re-formed Luther’s church in the 1500s is re-forming ours today.

Let me tell you one more story.

15 years ago, Greta from our confirmation class was asked to sum up the Gospel in one sentence. She thought for a moment and said, “God never gives up — even on me.”

That’s it – 130 years of sermons, hymns, potluck suppers, and loving service outside these doors, distilled into four words: God never gives up.

That’s Jeremiah’s covenant. That’s Luther’s discovery. That’s the truth that makes us free.

And that’s the story we’re still telling — in our worship, our service, our welcome, our laughter, our transformational hope.

Anniversaries aren’t just for nostalgia; they’re for re-commitment.

The founders of St John built for their children. Now we are the founders trying to craft a viable expression of Progressive Lutheran Christianity for the future.

Ask yourselves: What does God want written on our hearts today? Where is the Spirit nudging us to cross boundaries, to rebuild trust, to share grace in new ways?

Perhaps it’s in caring for creation more intentionally. Maybe it’s mentoring young leaders. Perhaps it’s becoming an even bolder voice for justice in Ottawa — for housing, for reconciliation, for inclusion.

Whatever it is, the same God who began a good work in 1895 is not yet finished.

So be still and know. Know that the Lord of hosts is with us. Know that Christ’s grace is still enough. Know that the Spirit is still reforming hearts.

And when we leave this place today — when the cake has been cut and our bellies are full with schnitzel and red cabbage — remember that you are living letters of the covenant, walking testaments to a God who keeps creating something new from the flowing river of time, and never gives up. Amen