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Sermon by Pastor Joel

Isaiah 45:1-7

Psalm 96:1-9 [10-13]

1 Thessalonians 1:1-10

Matthew 22:15-22

The voices of those who use the Bible – and even the gospel – as a weapon against the vulnerable, have become the loudest religious voice in our society today. They use God’s word as a means to hold power over those seen as less deserving -- to make rules run contrary to love, mercy and kindness. We hear them all the time -- the Pharisees holding their gold coin, talking as if they know best.

But like Jesus, we do not need to fall into that trap.

Our three readings all pose versions of these same three questions from different angles: Where is God's authority located? Who is included in God’s work? What is the relationship between faith and political power?

How we answer these questions is not a theological debate. These answers translate into a defining characteristic of who we are as people, as Christians, and of how we serve the world. What sets the tone for all our interactions is the question of where we see the presence of the Divine.

Take our first lesson, and the story of Cyrus, chosen by God to lead, even though, as Isaiah says, Cyrus does not know God. A traditional reading has focused on God’s control, viewing Cyrus as an instrument of God. Some have used to it argue that political figures – at least certain ones – are appointed and raised up by God, promoting a blind loyalty that overlooks cruelty and tyranny. Like many passages in the Bible, it’s been used to argue that there is only one correct faith, and that no others are equal.

But the scandal lies in God’s appointment of Cyrus, a pagan emperor. For it shows that God is present and active in the world outside the religious rules created, in many ways, to contain and shrink God. If God can work through a pagan then God may work through anyone. God is free to do good works wherever injustice and persecution are found, in whomever God chooses. That choice is not ours to make. And now the question becomes: what gospel work in the world have we failed to recognize, and how can we support and learn from it?

In the same vein, the Psalm this morning might also be interpreted as elevating some humans and certain beliefs above others. But what happens if we focus on this line: "Sing to the Lord all the earth"?

If we place God in the centre of the forests and the ocean and nature, then we understand they have value beyond what we take from them. In that context, when the Psalmist writes, "All the gods of the nations, they are but idols,” we must ask ourselves what idolatry makes our song to all the earth a lie.

Is it doing nothing and sacrificing nothing, while waiting for God to take care of everything and save the right people? Or is it acting with those of different beliefs – those Cyruses among us - to defend conservation, to support decisions that allow all the earth to be equally shared?

In Thessalonians, we might see Paul’s message as focused on right and wrong belief. But that is an individual question – or it certainly should be: when we sit with the gospel, what is right or wrong is our own inner journey. If we extend that internal reflection beyond ourselves, we self-appoint ourselves to sit in judgement – like so many who have distorted the gospel’s message over history.

In the second reading, Paul is praising community, not individuals. And not a powerful, wealthy community, but a marginalized and vulnerable one. Paul is calling on the crowd to focus on collective action and relationships. Communities are built, not with judgement, but with openness to difference and change. Paul is saying that faith is about the care we show to others. And so, our question, while we search for God’s presence should be: what kind of community are we becoming?

Finally, we come to our gospel, the most divisive of our readings. This conversation between the Pharisees and Jesus has been seen, traditionally, as an argument for the separation of church and state. Give Caesar – the state – what is Caesar’s. And God what is God’s. By focusing here, the message is: “Pay your taxes and obey your leaders.” But it is much less clear on what parts of our lives belong to God. Does God have influence only at the end of our workday, when we’ve finished earning the money to pay those taxes? And how do we even divvy up what belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God? Does God get the sea and forests that the Psalmist writes about? Does Caesar get the marketplace that defines the needs and desires of the community Paul is celebrating?

Let’s step back; Jesus is getting a version of “proof-texting” from the Pharisees. They are trying to trap him; to have him say out loud that people should not support the emperor in the hopes that he will be arrested for treason. But Jesus is no fool. “Give therefore to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,” he tells the Pharisees, when they have shown him the coin, “and to God the things that are God’s.”

The religious leaders walk away amazed. Jesus has outsmarted them. Should Caesar hear his words, he would think that Jesus was indeed saying, “Pay your taxes.” The religious leaders could not complain either, for God gets what is God’s.

But what Jesus avoids doing is defining either, and yet elsewhere in the gospel, Jesus continually widens the people’s understanding over who and what falls into God’s purview. Jesus includes those who are outcast or seen as weak and irrelevant by society, those have done wrong but sought forgiveness, those who have done wrong and not yet sought forgiveness, those who believe different things. He tells parables that cast God as landowner or gardener over the crops we harvest and the seeds we grow, the most important part of that early, ancient economy.

What Jesus leaves unsaid when he responds to the religious leaders is that “all the earth” falls into God’s domain, and all the earth is part of the gospel.

We can never be blindly loyal to a leader, because we must view leadership through the principles of the gospel; we make decisions so that our actions, as much as possible, are the best chance of producing a just community.

In our country, that means we pay taxes – so that opportunity may be created and shared. And we follow rules, so that we don’t have chaos for the sake of chaos. But we also take to the streets to raise issues, and vote to make our priorities known, and question and challenge and debate.

But when we take all our readings together, what we learn is that spreading the gospel is not about the signs we hang on the walls in places of power, or the prayers we say in rooms of leaders, or the people we convert to our exact understanding of God. The gospel’s strength is bolstered by community-building and standing against wrong-doing; its strength, specifically, is other-centred action.

That’s the conclusion of all our readings this morning: The people who think they know exactly where God can be located often miss the gospel message. Meanwhile, God quietly carries on – working through foreigners, small communities, ordinary people, and unexpected places to bring more justice, inclusion, and hope into the world. We choose how to interpret that message. And we choose what to do about it. Amen.


Sermon by Pastor Joel

Deuteronomy 8:7-18

Psalm 65

2 Corinthians 9:6-15

Luke 17:11-19

Researchers have been studying gratitude for years now. And they keep finding the same thing. People who practice gratitude tend to be happier. Their relationships are stronger. They experience less anxiety and depression. Some studies even suggest they sleep better and may live longer.

Now, that sounds wonderful. But my first thought is not, "What a remarkable discovery." My first thought is, "My mother could have told you that for free."

Because every Thanksgiving, every birthday, every Christmas, every time anybody handed me anything, there was my mother: "What do you say?" And of course, we knew the answer: "Thank you."

Science spent about thirty years and several million dollars discovering generations of mothers and grandmothers were right. Which is comforting, I think.

The truly interesting question isn’t that gratitude is a happy gesture, but what it is about practicing gratitude that makes us happier.

One theory is that gratitude changes what we pay attention to. It helps shift our focus away from what's missing and toward what is already present. It makes us notice our connections to other people. It strengthens community and generosity.

In other words, gratitude teaches us to notice. Which is the story of the gospel this morning. Jesus heals ten people suffering from leprosy. They all leave to celebrate and meet up with their families. Only one returns to Jesus out of thankfulness. “Were not ten made clean?” Jesus asks. “Where are the other nine?”

Now I have a lot of sympathy for those other nine. It goes back to our challenge from last week when we read the gospel – to ask ourselves who are we in this story? If I’m honest, I think there's a good chance I wouldn’t have hustled back to express gratitude to Jesus either.

Think about it: You've been excluded from society, separated from family, diminished and abandoned. And suddenly your healed. You might have some people you’d like to see. Family to hug. Celebrations to enjoy. Those other nine, they just got busy.

And honestly, isn't that our problem too? I don't think most people are ungrateful. I think most people are busy, rushing from one thing to the next. And we stop noticing.

Moses understands that danger in Deuteronomy. But what’s worrying Moses isn't hard times. Hard times tend to make us aware of our dependence on each other. He's worried about success. He's worried about abundance. He's worried about the day when the crops are growing, the houses are built, the bank account is healthy, and life feels comfortable.

Because that's when we begin to tell ourselves a story. "My power and my strength got me here." Moses says: be careful. Be careful because that story isn't true. None of us got here alone.

Think about your Thanksgiving meal for a moment. Someone planted the grain, and harvested it. Someone drove the crop to the plant. Someone stocked the shelves at the grocery store. Someone cooked it and served it up at the table.

None of us are self-made, much as we’d like to tell that story. We like to imagine we did it ourselves. And then something goes wrong. And we remember how much we depend on each other. How many people carry us through life.

Paul understands this too. In the second lesson, he talks about generosity. But notice that it isn't really about money. It's about recognizing abundance. The more aware we are of what we have received, the more willing we are to share.

The grateful person becomes a generous person. Because gratitude reminds us that life is not a possession. It's a gift. Gratitude changes the way we see the world. It doesn’t make like perfect. It doesn’t spare us loss or stress. But it helps us see clearly. The friend who showed up. The stranger who helped.

The Samaritan in today's Gospel notices something the other nine miss. Not simply that he has been healed. But that someone healed him. And because he notices, he turns around. That is gratitude.

Gratitude is not a feeling. It is an act of noticing. The Psalm says: "You crown the year with your goodness." But then, we might say, well, some years are terrible. Some years contain heartbreak. Some years leave empty chairs around the Thanksgiving table. We know that. But somehow, even in those years, grace keeps showing up. God crowns the year with goodness, even when the year contains sorrow.

This then is the role of Thanksgiving. Be the one who turns back. Notice and remember the people who helped us get here. The blessings we have received. Remember the God who walked beside us, even when us couldn't see it.

Because the science says gratitude will probably make us happier. But the Gospel says something even better. Gratitude helps us see the world as it really is: A world held together by gifts, by grace, and by a God who never stops providing for us. Amen.


Sermon by Pastor Joel

Isaiah 5:1-7

Psalm 80:7-15

Philippians 3:4b-14

Matthew 21:33-46

This week, we remembered our country’s difficult history with Truth and Reconciliation Day. We heard stories about the terrible toll of residential schools and the struggle for people to move on from that tragic policy.

At the same time many of us followed the developments around the Cornell University sexual assault case. There has been intense debate about what should have happened, and what didn’t. Who should have stepped up, and who didn’t. The more details unfold, the more we decide where we stand.

This happens so often – when we hear stories of sexual violence or racism or scandals by politicians. Our conversations focus on what we think really happened. Who was in the wrong? Who should pay? Whose side am I on?

But I’d argue there is a more important question – one with more potential to stop the same injustice from happening again and again.

This harder, more thoughtful question is: Who would I have been? Whistleblower? Activist? Defender of the status quo? Bystander?

Would I have demanded justice for my indigenous neighbors when I saw their children taken from them? Would I have asked questions when I knew the school was operating in my town?

Would I have believed the victim? Would I have challenged the group at the risk of being cast out? Would I have spoken up when everyone else was staying quiet? Or would I have convinced myself it wasn't my business?

In our world today, we see clearly how much one power-hungry or corrupt leader can change the course of history. They may start the injustice. But the uncomfortable truth is that throughout history most great social wrongs were only sustained by ordinary people who failed to see themselves clearly in the story.

Segregation. Residential schools. The exclusion of women from public life. The criminalization of 2SLGBTQI+ people.

Most people living through those moments did not think they were the bad guys. Most thought they were decent people. And that is precisely the problem.

Today's Gospel is about people who cannot see themselves in the story.

Jesus tells what seems at first like a simple, though grim and tragic, parable. A landowner carefully plants a vineyard. He builds a fence, with a watch tower and wine press and then leases the vineyards to his tenants. But when the harvest arrives, and servants come to collect the landowners share, they beat them and kill them. The landowner sends more servants, and they are also killed. The landowner then sends his son, for surely the tenants will respect the son. But they beat and kill the son as well.

Jesus then asks the religious leaders a question: "What should happen to these tenants?"

They don’t even hesitate - they know exactly what justice requires. They condemn the tenants. They identify the villains. They pass judgement.

And then slowly, it begins to dawn on them: The chief priests and the Pharisees realized that he was speaking about them. They are the tenants they have just condemned.

The trap that Jesus lays for the Pharisees, depends on one basic truth of human nature. We are very good at identifying sin in other people. But we are often blind to that same sin in ourselves. That is the genius of Jesus' storytelling.

That question is just as uncomfortable today as it was then. The temptation is always to place ourselves beside Jesus. But the Gospel tell us again and again to look at ourselves more honestly. Where are we really in all these stories?

When we read about homelessness, about Indigenous communities waiting for clean drinking water, about violence and exploitation, are we the person helping, the person noticing, the person passing by? Are we, in fact, part of the problem?

Martin Luther said, God’s law functions like a mirror. The mirror does not condemn us, it shows us the truth, and some truths are unpleasant.

In our second lesson, we hear Paul reconciling his own personal unpleasant truth. Paul was a respected, successful Pharisee. He had a list of shiny credentials. He was convinced he was doing God’s work. He considered himself the hero in his own story. Until he met Jesus and realized he was the opposite.

Many people would have continued to living a self-serving lie. But Paul made an incredibly brave choice: he chose to look at himself honestly, and own his mistakes. Staring into the mirror, he no longer saw a hero. And that honesty, not only allowed him to change, but helped him learn how to spread positive change to others. Where else does any transformation and any repair, any reconciliation, begin but with honesty. With truth.

Thankfully, discovering we are not the hero is not the end of the gospel, but the beginning.

Because once we truly recognize ourselves in the story, we have a choice. Just like Paul. Just like the Pharisees. We can become defensive. Or we can change.

God has not abandoned the vineyard. God is still tending and pruning and nurturing it, hoping for a good harvest. And that is the work of the gospel-led life as well. To have the courage to see when we have failed, when we remained silent or judged too quickly, when we benefited while others were harmed. And then, having looked in the mirror, to become better than we were yesterday.

When we read the Gospel, when we watch the news, when we encounter injustice in the world, let us not first ask, "Who is right?" or "Who is wrong?”

But instead: "Where am I in this story?"

Because the moment we can answer that honestly is the moment God can begin to change us. And changed people can change the world. Amen.

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