March 2 ~ Be at the Centre of the Change You Wish to See

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March 2, 2025

Transfiguration of Our Lord

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:28-43a  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

We are living through a time of stressful, and anxiety-inducing change. Much of it we cannot do anything about - at least not directly. But we can make changes in ourselves, and in our communities. And that is the very theme of Lent: to enter into a deeper conversation about faith, about our values and purpose, and emerge on Easter Sunday, changed.

Change is central to Transfiguration Sunday, and the theme of our readings.

First, we find the disciples enjoying their time on the mountain away from the crowds. They witness the transfiguration of Jesus, and they are suddenly nervous about what that means. They want things to stay the same. What’s more, they want to stay on the mountain as a way to keep things the same, to preserve their relationship with Jesus. “Can’t we just hang out here?” they ask. “Do we need to move ahead?”

Secondly, we have Jesus, in a rare moment of anger, frustrated with the crowd. “How long,” he rails, “do I need to deal with you people? How many times do I need to show you the way to change, before you actually listen?” Jesus is angered by the lack of change he sees happening.

And thirdly, we hear the request of a worried father, seeking change for his son, the healing of his condition. He wants to make this change happen – he needs it to – so he comes to Jesus with his request, and it is granted.

Change we resist. A lack of change that frustrates us. Change we seek.

What can we learn from each of these stories?

Let us consider the times in our lives when we have resisted change that deep down, we know needs to happen, or is going to happen anyway. Perhaps we needed to make a move, or change out of a crappy job, or leave the safety of our parents’ home. In this case, we can see that the disciples achieve nothing by trying to talk Jesus into staying up the mountain. They might have said instead: “We are afraid of what happens next. We are not sure we can handle it. How can we move forward in the most helpful way?” Sometimes our resistance to change, prevents us from exploring what is really at the root of that resistance, and from making an intentional plan to change it.

Then we have our frustration around change we want to happen but doesn’t. In that case what happens? We tend to blame the person or group or circumstance that is not changing. Even Jesus, in that moment, makes that mistake – losing it with the crowd. And yet the crowd could not change on their own – they needed to be lovingly guided and taught to change – which is, of course, what Jesus does in his ministry. He doesn’t make it about the ones not changing – he focuses on his role to foster that change and be an example of that change himself. Aside from that jarring moment in our gospel, he makes the story about his relationship with the people. How often do we do the opposite – look for others to change, become frustrated when they do not, without seeing the role we play in preventing change, or the way we can foster it?

And then we have the father seeking healing for his son. He wants this change to happen. But he does not sit at his son’s bedside and hope for it. He does not just wish for it to happen. He makes it happen. He finds Jesus, and he asks for his help. He makes the step toward change. He pursues it. Do we always do this? Do we see the change we want to happen and run towards it? Or do we, too often, wait for it come to us?

In the gospel, Jesus is our star dynamic character. The baby who becomes a teacher who is transfigured and named as the Son of God. The dynamic nature of Jesus spreads like a contagion, and all around him, other characters – the disciples, members of the crowd, the people who receive his healing, even the ones to whom he gives a hard time - they also become dynamic. Jesus changes, and this changes those around him.

That is the fourth example of change we receive: when we choose to accept it, when we make ourselves the centre of the change we want to see, when we pursue the change we desire, we affect the world around us. The truth that Jesus knew is this: change comes to us all, whether we like it or not. If it did not, we would be the static character who never moves anywhere, who never accomplishes anything. Come down from the mountain: Be honest and wise about the change that must happen. Focus your frustration: Be compassionate and take responsibility for the change we want that isn’t happening. And take action: pursue the change we want to happen. These coming 40 days offer us an opportunity. This Season of Lent intentionally creates space for positive change to happen in our lives. May we all be dynamic characters in our own gospel stories.

Amen.

Feb 23 ~ Forgiveness is a Gift We Give Unto Ourselves

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February 23, 2025

Genesis 45:3-11, 15  

Psalm 37:1-11, 39-40  

1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50  

Luke 6:27-38  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

I have been betrayed by someone I loved. It gutted me. It was unexpected and shocking, not least because this person was someone I trusted, who knew my secrets and was supposed to have my back. I know many of you have had a similar experience – that deep wound of being wronged by a person important to you. You know – as I do – what happens to that wound. It festers. It turns an angry red. It heals – but only partway – and leaves a scar of bitterness.

So, I read about Joseph, and I just don’t get him at all. His brothers didn’t bully him, they didn’t lie to him, and they didn’t sneak around his back. They were jealous and they tried to kill him. They left him for dead; they thought he was dead. And when they finally run into him again, they aren’t happy to see him alive. They are afraid for themselves. Now that he has power, they are afraid what he will do to them as an act of vengeance.

We go through life, all of us, suffering many cuts along the way. There are times when people disappoint us, intentionally or otherwise. At school, we navigate friend circles where some stay in and others are forced out, and as adults, that translates into workplaces where we tangle with colleagues who have their own interests at heart, just as we often do. We encounter bullies who appear to have no remorse. In the end, though, it is not the many small cuts of strangers that wound us; it is those we receive from the ones we invited into our lives, the ones we love most that do grievous harm.

And that is what makes Joseph’s act of forgiveness so remarkable – the harm was done by those who knew him best, those he trusted to have his back. And yet, he welcomes them lovingly as brothers. He offers them land and a place beside him. He releases them from their guilt: their act of violence, he says, was God’s plan. Don’t blame yourselves.

Could any of us forgive in such a pure and fulsome way? Rather, we might feel frustrated at the instructions in our gospel: to love our enemies, to turn the other cheek when we are slapped on the first one, to give our shirt to the robber who steals our coat. “Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you,” we are reminded. We know that one – we can try to meet that standard, we think. But we are not the robbers; we are the slappers. What of them? When the gospel says, you don’t get points for loving those who love you; go out and love those who hate and wrong you, we think, “Good luck with that.”

Of all the instructions of the gospel, forgiveness may indeed be the hardest. It is a wound we struggle to heal, pray as we do, try as we might. We want to forgive – we know it is the right thing to do – but we cannot. We might fake it for a while, but under the surface, the pain is there, and the wound keeps opening.

I wish I had a three-step-guide to forgiveness, for myself as much as anyone. Some of the advice I have read over the years is sound: talk it through with someone – including God; don’t hold it in, write a letter to the person who has grieved you as a way to get out your feelings; try to understand their side of what happened; see them as flawed, just as you are.

That might get you partway, but not all the way. Forgiveness ultimately is a choice; and you know when you have truly made it. You wake up and you feel lighter; you don’t feel angry; you can be benevolent and understanding even when the person commits the same offence. And not in a judgy and sanctimonious way – as our gospel also cautions – but in a loving way. I have experienced that as well – hopefully you all have – so we know the difference. It comes as a relief, a burden finally lifted, and we realize how heavy bitterness can truly be.

But, come on now, didn’t Joseph have the forgiveness advantage? He came out on top; he had all the power; forgiveness was his to offer and the brothers could accept his crumbs. Except, like so many stories in sacred text, the drama of the tale is meant to show us a universal truth: we all have the power of Joseph. We are loved by God, and through that love, we are granted the choice of forgiveness. By following the gospel, we are guided not only to heal others, but first to heal ourselves – of the wounds of bitterness and anger that we needlessly carry. The point that Joseph made when he saw it as God’s doing can be taken many ways: first, he recognized what he learned from this act of betrayal. Perhaps, he learned humility, and to consider how being favoured – as he was by his father – affects the lives and self-worth of others But, he is also saying to his brothers, “This isn’t about you; this is about God – my forgiveness is a choice between me and God, and how you respond to it is your choice, too.”

Here is what I do know about forgiveness: you cannot force it. You cannot push someone into it. You cannot decide for them that the time is right. Just as you cannot force the person whom you feel is at fault to ask for forgiveness themselves. Even when we forgive, it may not bring about the results with that other party that we wish to happen.

But it didn’t matter to Joseph how his brothers received his forgiveness; it has to be a gift freely given. Just as there is nothing in the gospel this morning that says, “Forgive your enemies and all will be well.” The gospel is about us, and only us – and the cost of judgement and bitterness on our souls and psyche.

If I have one piece of advice to give about forgiveness, searching for answers in the Bible, it is this: Forgiveness, to happen, must first be a selfish act. It cannot be about the other person. It is not about making things right or fixing the relationship. It can certainly not be about getting that long- awaited apology which may never come. We must forgive ourselves first. God helps us along the way: by forgiving us for, well, everything, and by giving us countless examples of it in scripture and showing us the unexpected fruits of forgiveness in the gospel. But we must realize, that like Joseph, it is our act alone, and the weight we are lifting can’t be placed on the other person. We can give it to God, who carries all things.

So, let us admire Joseph, for this great selfish act, between him and God. His brothers may have gotten lucky, but they are not the recipients. The truth of forgiveness, as the gospel depicts it, is that it is not ultimately a gift we give others. It is the gift we give ourselves so that we might walk more lightly, more freely, and more graciously in the world.

Amen.

Feb 16 ~ To Pray is to Find Solid Ground, and then Send Out Roots

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Sermon, by Pastor Joel

February 16, 2025

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

In 1998, a Harvard cardiologist named Herb Benson came up with what was billed as the largest experiment ever to settle this evergreen question once and for all: does prayer really work? It was called the “Study of the Therapeutic Effects of Intercessory Prayer.” 

In casual language, it was known as the “Great Prayer Experiment,” and Dr. Benson’s idea was to test the power of prayer with 1,800 heart patients who had received bypass surgery.  There would be three groups.  One third of the patients would have no one pray for them.  Two thirds of the group would receive prayers from Christian congregations—half of the patients in this group knew about the prayers, and the half in the other set did not. 

The surgeries went ahead, and the researcher tracked which patients had complications. The study found that there was no difference in complications between those who received prayers and those who didn’t. But in a surprising twist, the patient group who knew about the prayers did experience a small but significant increase over than those who did not know. Researchers suggested this was because the patients expected the prayers to work and were perhaps less vigilant during their recovery. 

But once Dr. Benson published his results, his study did not, in fact, settle the questions once and for all. The debate about whether praying for someone – and even yourself – can change outcomes continues to this day, with some studies showing positive effects and others showing none.

Why bring this study up, you might ask? Given the February we have had so far, with a long winter ahead, our economy under threat, the world being destabilized by a president careless with soundbites, and all the other problems we face, do we really need to resolve this particular one? 

I guess it’s because prayer  -and the power of it – has been on my mind. This morning, we hear “The Beatitudes,” those graceful and warm blessings spoken by Jesus, and perhaps we find ourselves in them. “The Beatitudes” are essentially a prayer, spoken by Jesus, as a promise that we will survive the pain we feel and come through, and that we will not be alone while we do it. We hear the same phrase in our first lesson – “Blessed are those,” we are told, “who trust in the Lord.” How do we deliberate and understand that trust? We contemplate and pray to God. And what is our gospel acclamation but a  prayer of inquiry. We sing: “Lord, to whom shall we go?” This prayer is powerful in that we sing it in unity. We are asking the question, not to reveal an answer, but to reinforce the answer we already know.

Yet the question of whether we are heard bedevils all of us. We speak to God and wonder who is listening. We pray for the health and well-being of another and wonder if it will make any difference. We hear politicians say after a needless tragedy such as a school shooting, that their “prayers” are with the victims, and this seems so self-serving and pointless that we avoid talking about prayer much ourselves. 

During my reading this week, I came across the famous essay by C.S. Lewis, written in 1959, nearly four decades before Dr. Benson’s experiment. It is called “The Efficacy of Prayer,” and it is the theologian’s answer to this question: Does prayer work? 

One point that Lewis argues off the top is, what would we need to do to prove that prayer worked? Prayer is a request, a petition to God, he says, which means the option of granting it is voluntary and may or may not happen. 

Lewis argued that even if all the patients in an experiment like Dr. Benson’s who received prayer had suffered no complication, that would not prove prayer, but magic: it would mean that certain humans were able to compel something to happen. 

What’s more, he argued, once you are praying to prove something or to see what happens, you are in fact no longer praying. Can it still be prayer, he suggests, when you are hoping for some patients to heal and others not? Or if you say the words, hoping to win a kind of contest? 

And if our prayers are answered, he then asked, what then? Are we to believe that some people are just more important to God than others because their prayers are answered, while other prayers are not? Are we to command God at our will? And why is prayer even the deciding factor? Why would the rain from the skies, the strength of our bodies, the sweat of our own labour – all derived from God – be as much responsible for our fine harvest as the prayer we spoke to make the grain grow? 

And so prayer is not a machine. It is not magic. It is not advice offered to God.  If our prayers are answered, Lewis is suggesting, it is not for us to ask why, or to think we have performed in such a way so pleasing to God as to be lifted above everyone else. A prayer is a request our human heart and mind forms; the mysteries of God and the universe surpass anything a single prayer can contain. 

Lewis signs off then, which is somewhat disappointing, for he cuts short what must be the conclusion: what then, is the point of prayer? Why pray at all? And this is where I would come back to the beautiful language of “The Beatitudes” in which Jesus prays on behalf of us all that our pain and suffering will be relieved. It is a prayer of many layers. There is compassion in the words: a recognition that suffering is real, and that Jesus stands with us through it. There is promise and hope that we will recover. There is also clarification -- a processing of a wider idea: those words make clear that all people matter to God, and should therefore matter to us, and that we, who may be rich and laughing, should not judge the poor or the hungry, for someday we may be them and they us. Even then, we will be cared for. And the prayer lands with a clarifying of mission: If those who are hungry will be fed, as God’s people, should we not feed?  If we believe that those who stand up for justice even if they fail, are valued by God, should we not take risks for justice?  

I thought about the importance of prayer this week because I know many of you are struggling now with feelings of anger about the state of our continent and the world, and frustration, and perhaps, even as we diligently buy Canadian, that the world feels as if it is slipping backwards in time, and we feel weary to start five steps behind all over again,

But this, I believe, is exactly the time when prayer works. Not to heal every complication or magically solve every problem. But because prayer is a journey we take with God, on our own time, in our own words, to our own destination. Sometimes, at the end, we find truth, sometimes comfort, at other times resolve, perhaps an answer – maybe all of them. And maybe we have to go back again with more questions.  

But hopefully, what prayer helps us do first is reach a place of compassion – where we clearly voice our pain and worries. We  reach a place of empathy for ourselves and for others. By listening to the response that comes forward  in that contemplative space, we have already found a promise: that we are strong enough to voice what is wrong, to send it out, and to look for an answer to return to us. And by thinking through what we have read in the newspaper, what we have heard from friends, what we have felt emotionally, we can begin to clarify what steps we need to take. This power of prayer that emerges out of a process of compassion, hope, and clarity, to take action in the world.

And is this not the definition of trust: that we gather all that we feel and think and know, and trust to begin a conversation with God, seeking compassion, hope, and clarity?

“Blessed are those who trust in God,” our lesson tells us this morning. “They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the stream.” 

When you feel unsettled this week, find your solid ground with prayer and reflection. In that quiet space, may we hear Jesus offering his blessings, along with his promise of presence.  And may we then send out our roots to be a unifying, thoughtful and generous presence of our own.

Amen.