January 8th 2023

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

In 2017, a woman named Melanie Vogel set out to walk alone across the country - east to north to south. I heard a lot about Melanie Vogel in the week leading up to Christmas – some of you may have seen Erin’s story in The Globe and Mail. Yes, Ms. Vogel eventually achieved her ambition. It took five years. She walked through every kind of weather you can imagine – hailstones the size of golf balls, blizzards, and rain storms. And across every kind of terrain – through prairies, over mountains, across rivers. She had to stop in the Yukon to wait out the pandemic. But eventually, she made it from Cape Spear, Nfld, to Victoria, BC. Along the way, she met a stray dog she called Malo, who won everyone’s hearts - including her own. She was hosted and helped by all kinds of people in every part of the country. She earned the title as the first woman to hike the Trans Canada Trail – the longest hiking trail in the world – reaching the Atlantic, Arctic, and Pacific Oceans. Her hike was 20,000 kilometres. But this achievement, as my wife can tell, was incidental – it was the journey that drew Melanie to the trail, the call to renew her restless spirit in nature. To walk, and think, and experience the world, slowly and mindfully. Journeys captivate us; as a species, we are often tied to one place, we feel attached to that place even when we are away from it. But yet we admire those who get up and go somewhere, who seek out adventure and uncertainty. We talk to ourselves about the journeys of our lives, through time and places. About moving through grief. We look for what lies on the other side: the searching and seeking. The Christmas story is, in essence, a collection of journeys, real and metaphorical. Or, I should say, physical journeys that became spiritual ones. Mary and Joseph start things off, heading to Bethlehem; and their journey is characterized by resilience and determination, for surely it was sheer force of will that kept a pregnant Mary on that donkey, and a resolved Joseph at her side. Then we have the Shepherds, our leading acts last Sunday, whose journey from the field to the manger scene demonstrates courage and curiosity. And now, this Sunday, we follow the Magi, travelling from the East, tangling with and outsmarting Herod, and finally reaching this Baby everyone has been taking about. Everyone in our story had to travel to find God; they had to make a journey. God didn’t just come to them; they also went to God. And they did so, not knowing for certain how it would turn out, only trusting that it would. The Magi knew they were risking their necks to continue on their way, not sharing with Herod what they knew and learned. Yet what we sing most about them is not their guile in Herod’s palace, but the journey they made, travelling far, from the East. It is the ambition of their journey that captivates us. Melanie Vogel started out alone on her hike; but she was not alone, in fact for long. What I found most inspiring about her story is that she seemed, even in times of despair, to get what she needed. Running from a disturbing encounter with a strange man, she encounters a woman who offers her a hug and a place to stay. When she needs more confidence winter camping, a couple she has just met help her practice. When she is lonely, she finds company; when she is cold, she finds a hospitable home. When she is losing her spirit on the trail, along comes Malo, at the right time. When she needs community, she is not alone. This should remind us of all the absent people in the Christmas story whom we don’t read about, who aren’t immortalized along the way. Surely, along all our three journeys, there must have been helping hands – strangers who offered to share a warm fire with a young couple expecting a baby; villagers willing to feed the shepherds; watchful eyes ready to warn the Magi. But of course, what we learn from Melanie Vogel’s story, and from our Christmas journeys, is that community doesn’t just happen. Ms. Vogel created openings for those welcoming gestures by being friendly and taking an interest in the world around her; at times, when she most wanted to stop, and she was all alone, she was her own supportive community. Her journey – like the Christmas story – was external, and internal; it required strength of purpose, strength of spirit, and the strength of people. Now, we are not all of us, readying in on a physical journey. But the metaphor is a good one; we don’t need to be stuck in one place. We can move with purpose in the direction that we want to go. Like the travellers at Christmas, we too can be resilient and curious and crafty – and keep our eye on our destination. But we rarely get there alone. Even our Christmas traveller s had one another to lean on. Community helps us along the way – if we have the openness to welcome it and accept support. I think that’s what really draws me to the idea of a journey; the openness it requires. If your mind is closed, you can’t go anywhere. Starting a journey suggests a desire to be renewed or changed into something better. It says we are not stuck. We can honour a journey for its own purpose; the destination is part of it – and good to have, but it is not the only thing. Journeys can happen at any time in life; the wisest people I know are always travelling toward God. This year is only a week old. A journey just started. May we be resilient, and curious, and crafty; may we slow down enough to find community for ourselves and create it for others; and may we never be stuck. May we keep travelling toward God. Amen.

January 1st 2023

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

As is tradition for the turn into a new year, social media and newspapers are full of advice and warnings. “New Year’s Resolution: Be More Incompetent,” read one headline, which I quickly demonstrated by not being able to open the story. The Globe and Mail offered this inspiring gem: “Your New Year’s Resolution Should include the Five Pillars of Tax Planning.” Don’t bother, some commented: 80 per cent of people fail at their resolutions anyway. For the determined, Time Magazine helpfully promised: “How NOT to Fail at your New Year’s Resolutions.” The article included the advice to avoid whatever is tempting you in the first place – your chocolate, or that glass of wine – and scored extra points, at least with me, for referencing one of my favourite literary characters. Odysseus, the article noted, did not just try to tune out the Sirens, whose songs drew ships and their crew to certain doom; he stuffed his ears so he didn’t hear them; he made a plan. So should we all – make a plan. But one article in The Washington Post proposed an entirely different idea: don’t make a resolution; find what is called a single nudge- word. The author, Tara Parker-Pope, encouraged the reader to pick a word “that captures the mindset you want to adopt this year.” To find that word, she outlined three steps: write down the things that made you happy in 2022. Think about the parts of your life that could be better. And check in on your body – how you feel, physically and mentally. From there, look for a word that inspires you. It might relate to change or connection, for instance. Gratitude was one example; so was balance. Yes, the idea of making a new year’s resolution about one sentence, or a single word, is, of course simplistic. But the idea behind it is sound. We are all renovation projects for ourselves. There is always something we could do even just a little bit better. But the idea of reflecting on what that is is a good practice. Our faith lives encourage us to do this every day, not just once a year. But we tend to fall out of the habit. We lose our intentionality around the gospel’ and count on it just to seep into our bones. So this morning our gospel returns to the shepherds, and I don’t think that’s an accident. The story is really focused on the naming of Jesus – a significant confirmation of God’s prophecy, but, to be honest, I think we could always count on Mary to make sure that happened. The shepherds were always a wild card – a lot like us. Let’s consider them again. Who would they be today? People doing a job to pay the bills, making friends at work, supporting their families. For most of us that’s not in a field under the stars; it’s in one kind of building under fluorescent lighting. If we are lucky, we get fulfillment from our jobs; like the shepherds who loved the sheep and being outdoors. But then, one night, working late, somebody appears before you, a person of depth and authority – and they say: “My news will change your life. Put down that work; what you thought was important isn’t the most important thing anymore. What I have to say will help you re-evaluate your life; you just have to trust me.” What would we do? What would most people do? They’d doubt the suddenly-appearing person and go back to their work. They’d be afraid of taking the risk and go on with life as it is. How many would do as the shepherds - set what they know aside and head off to Bethlehem? This call story, however, is all through the gospel. Jesus will later urge the disciples to come with him, leave their lives, and be fishers of people. We are told, over and over again, that following the gospel means change and renewal and risk. And also, that it is our choice. After all, we hear only about the people who answer that call; not the ones who refuse it. What do we know about what happened to the shepherds afterwards? Not really that much, but also everything we need to know. They left the manger, glorifying God and spreading word of what they had seen. So we know that they told people about Jesus. But we may also assume that they change their lives – they made different choices, sought new connections, saw the world differently. For how else does one glorify God, but by living out the gospel? In fact, from a Christian perspective, I think The Washington Post was on to something. Aside from the Word of God, the gospels give us a whole collection of good words to guide us. Words like faith. Words, as our children taught us, like joy, peace, charity, love, and hope. And so, what do the shepherds teach us, on this first day of the New Year? They teach us to be mindful of the messages around us, the guides who appear to show us new wisdoms and reveal the presence of God. They show us how change is possible when we take risks, on other people, but also with ourselves. And they return us to the gospel, revealing our call to glorify God, not only with the stories we tell, but also with our values and beliefs. So, choose your word – the gospel has a list of them. Maybe you will pick love – and use that as your reminder of a gospel-led life. Maybe it will be charity, a reminder to see the better side of people, and be generous with your own spirit. Perhaps you will choose hope – to see the world through grace-centred eyes. Maybe it will be faith, a choice to believe each day in what is good and right. Pick any one, and the gospel can be found. Pick any of these words, and you find positive change, and a path to glorifying God. When you choose, thank the shepherds, who set the example, and taught us their important lesson. Happy New Year! Amen.

December 4th 2022

SERMON: by Rev Joel Crouse

One of the most memorable experiences on my trip to the Holy Land, was seeing where John the Baptist spent most of his years living. He wasn’t from the polished stones of Jerusalem. He didn’t come from the rolling green hills filled with olive trees and rich vegetation. He came from the yellow, dusty, rock of the wilderness. There is no wind or rain or life running over the hills. There is only dry, dusty rock to crawl around. I learned a lot about who he was by standing in that still, rough wilderness. When we talk about John emerging from the wilderness, our sacred text is not overstating things. He, quite literally, came out from under a rock. But coming from the wilderness, no doubt, shaped John’s message, as surely as our own roots shape ours. He learned to live with little, among people who had little. Living a life where you are just trying to get through the day, narrows your focus. You have less time to think about how your neighbors are doing, what your neighbors are thinking, how much your neighbors are buying. You are focused on surviving. Those attitudes stuck with John: he didn’t worry about his appearance. He wasn’t sucked in by wealth. He didn’t have much time for rules or manners. And when he heard the call from God, he translated it in that context: distilled the gospel down to his core message. He was not wrapped up in the airs of his position. He did not seek to take glory from Jesus. He was immune from all the trappings of society. And he was not shy about being the angry one, so that Jesus could be the loving one. But, be careful: don’t overlook the honesty and kindness of John the Baptist because he is yelling at us. Because his manner is not gentle. Because his clothes are not stylish. Because he is just a little bit smelly. If John the Baptist forces us to listen, then we also learn a lesson – to be awake to hear the word of God, and feel God’s presence, among those who may not look the part. It is not the dirt and grime that makes John the Baptist notable; it is that he did not fit in, he did not follow the rules, he was not the message people would have expected from God. And yet the people listened to him, because amid all the shouting, even with his camel hair clothes, John the Baptist was, in his heart, a protector. He drew the people in and he promised to keep them safe. He welcomed the downtrodden, the rejected, the outcast – for he understood their plight. And when the Pharisees sought to intervene, he shouted them down, and chastised them, for placing themselves above others. And ultimately, behind all that bluster, John was a good news guy. He was an optimist. He believed that the path of God would be put straight. He placed his hope in someone he had not seen since his birth. He trusted in the strength of his own faith, in the power of his own voice. And he believed that people would listen to him. But there is one line, in John’s message to the Pharisees, that would perhaps speaks especially to us today. He tells the Pharisees, that brood of vipers: “And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham.” John is saying quite clearly that it doesn’t matter where you came from, or what family you were raised in, or what status you claim today; God lifts everyone up. People listened to John. They gathered around him in crowds. They travelled great distances just to hear him preach. They sought to be baptized by him. He was a powerful, eloquent orator, however he might have looked. But in the end, it was because his message was one of hope, faith and grace. It was possible to get ready for a new life, John said, whoever you are. It was possible to turn around from all that stuff that was robbing you of life, and produce new fruit – to start over in this moment. It was possible to release yourself from the shackles of your past, and move forward. It didn’t matter where you were born, or whose daughter or son you were, God would accept you. Jesus would take the wheat in all of us, and leave the chaff behind. It may not sound like a radical message but let me tell you it was. In fact, I still believe it is. Ultimately, John the Baptist comes out of the wilderness to upset things, to rock people out of their perception of comfort, to shock people into action. But the reason why people responded to him, the reason why we might respond to him today, is because the core of his message was one of potential and hope. That is what we hold on to in Advent. The undying, unwavering welcome of God. The openness of faith. The path that John begins to mark out for us, leads straight to the manger, to where everyone finds a place. Behind all that bluster is a message of hope. John the Baptist knew that for us to hear it – so far from the stillness of the wilderness - he would have to get our attention. Listen to the words of John the Baptist this morning and hear the hope for new life that wants to happen. Amen