October 9th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse The act of being grateful makes us feel better. We know this. It reminds us to appreciate what we have, to focus on those around us. It helps us become comfortable in our own skin. Gratitude requires us truly to see the world around us as a gift. It lessens the energy we put into envy, into striving in unhealthy ways. So, in a way, it’s odd that sociologists have taken to studying it, to prove the value of it. For example, one study found that people who express more gratitude were likely more generous, more agreeable. People who kept a gratitude journal – and wrote every day a list of things for which they were thankful – reported better well-being and optimism. They even, apparently, exercised more. Gratitude is linked to positive mental health. It correlates positively with spirituality. When psychologists sit down to treat people who are depressed or anxious, getting them to shift their thoughts to feeling grateful for what they have is one of the key steps in therapy. What are you thankful for? Do you contemplate this regularly? Do you have a ritual that reminds you to give thanks? At every mealtime, do you say grace? The evidence is clear: when we do, we are all healthier for it. The thing about gratitude is it works in direct contradiction to materialism. It is an antidote for our craving for more, for our natural inclination to rank ourselves above others. The advice that Jesus gives in our gospel is profound. He is teaching us a lesson of faith, yes. But it is also a valuable recipe for happiness. Do not covet the food that perishes but rather the food that lasts to the end of your days, Jesus cautions the disciples. For it is the “bread of God which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” The food that Jesus speaks of is not just what we put on our table at dinner time; it includes all those material items which we desire. The bread of God is not a pile of do-gooder platitudes. It is a gift, for which we do not need to strive, which sits there, waiting for us to choose to open it. It is a gift that teaches us to seek out love and not gold; to have presence in the moment rather than always chasing the future; to live as one fulfilled, rather than never feeling full. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry,” Jesus promises. “Whoever comes to me will never be thirsty.” Can we learn to incarnate those words if we find gratitude difficult? I think we tend to underestimate the power of our inner voice prompted by God to change our thoughts, to shift our perceptions. What if we woke each morning, and said to ourselves – not, how shall I get ahead today? – but how shall I show how grateful I am for what I already have? What if we stopped asking ourselves: how can I justify my place in the world, but instead asked, how can I use the place where I stand to do real good? In our second lesson, we are given an elegant passage to remind us of what that would look like: “Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is commendable – if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think of these things.” The truth is, if we fill our thoughts in this way, we won’t have much room for anything else. We are, indeed, living off the Bread of God. Now, some might say, what is honorable and true for one person is not necessarily so for another. I would say they are wrong. We are individuals, that is true; our stories are unique, our beliefs may differ. But at the core, the Bread of God is what it is. It does not make up facts to suit bigotry or racism or homophobia or sexism. It does not argue for exclusion. It does not cozy up to those who would use their power over others. It does not fling around insults. And yet so much of the posture is fed by a lack of gratitude, a failure to be thankful, and a tendency to see what one lacks as something that has been stolen away by another person. We are all served the Bread of God. But if we cannot say thanks for that, we will not be filled by it. I have been sitting with people, listening to their stories, for 25 years. Stories of grief and regret, anger and envy, pride and success. And I can tell you, that in the end, the people who have been most content, who have seemed to shine with an inner light of peace, and who have been the most giving, the most loved by their families, are the ones who could so easily speak about the things that made them feel thankful. I sat with a man last Sunday night who was having a 9-hour surgery then next day for a very aggressive kind of cancer. He asked me to come the night before his surgery because he knew he needed the Bread of Life before he closed his eyes. He ended our visit with a thanksgiving for the gift of communion. I have sat with legions of people who expressed the same kind of gratitude living in situations that called for lament. Were they always that way? I doubt it. Did gratitude flow from them naturally? I don’t think so. They worked to see the better side of a situation, the good in a difficult loved one, and the bounty on every table. They were filled by the bread of life. In the end, on this Thanksgiving weekend, let us remember this lesson, the secret to happiness that Jesus offers to us this moment: Wake each day, and fall asleep each night, remembering what we are thankful for. Amen.

October 2nd, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

Growing up as a pastor’s kid, I always knew what was expected of me – which was basically whatever my dad needed at the time. My own boys have lived that same life for much of their childhood, and for the most part, I know it has been a gift to help grow them into responsible adults. They were used to being asked to set up tables in the hall, or fill a last-minute empty spot as worship assistant, or play whatever role they are given in the pageant. Even older now, they’re still doing it – cleaning up the church property during the convoy. They are my dumpster boys, my heavy lifters. For the most part, they don’t complain. In fact, they complain a lot less than I used to. But I know it is sometimes a hassle, when they would rather be doing other stuff. We have all been there – doing duties which we quietly resent, or for which we would like just a little more credit. Maybe it’s the extra time you gave at work that no one seemed to notice, or all the cleaning at home, or running to get groceries alone at 5 pm on a Friday. When we train Gus, our dog, it’s entirely about positive reinforcement – he does something great, he gets a reward, even if it is just being told he was a good dog. That version of works righteousness has proven highly effective. And when I have tried to explain to him Article IV of the Augsburg Confession, he has been fairly unimpressed. The fact is we are all conditioned just like Gus: when we do something great, we want to be recognized for it. When it comes to my boys, I hope I am a much better boss than that manager in the our gospel this morning. Because that guy sure is a taskmaster. In the gospel, the question is posed: “If your servant has worked all day long, do you invite him to take a load off and sit at your table?” Heck yes, I am thinking! After a long day of work, that would be the decent thing to do. But if you are the boss in the story, Jesus says, you would be more likely to ask your servant to put on an apron, get cooking and get your dinner on the table. And after all that – do you thank your servant? I don’t think so. Because that’s his job. All I can say, is thank goodness I don’t work for anyone like that! Except, hold on: I do. Jesus is telling one of his parables again, and in that parable it’s pretty clear who the master is, and who we are meant to be. It turns out God is pretty demanding. There is no “one good deed for the day” kind of counting in the gospel. Yet, isn’t that the bargaining we do with ourselves and with each other. If you’re good, we tell our kids, you can get that toy, or do that activity, you want. I ate healthy all day, I tell myself, I deserve that chocolate bar. If I can just save this much money, all will be well. We are constantly living in this bargaining game of “I deserve.” Of course, this is an unhappy state, because what’s the flip side: “I don’t deserve this.” I don’t deserve this nice meal. I don’t deserve my good fortune. And that’s just as toxic. God wants us to avoid both. In the parable told by Jesus, we are directed to say “we are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done.” But of course, God means just the opposite: because we are worthy, we are called do what we should, and not worry about our standing, or who deserves what. It is a wonderfully freeing thing to stop counting good deeds, and to see our lives as a journey of doing good things, from beginning to end, with no tally kept. So God says don’t seek a reward when you have done well on behalf of the gospel; and neither should you inflict judgement when you fail. For a person who sees themselves as powerful and valued can accomplish countless good deeds. And as our example, we have this touching letter from the apostle Paul to his mentor Timothy. Now as for the origin of the letter, many scholars now take the view that it was written long after Paul’s death, by a Christian writer – but that is a subject of debate left to another time. They are powerful words, and it is their ability to transport us, to make us consider our own place, that is their true value. Paul’s letter reads like a last letter from a son to a father. It feels like a letter a soldier might write to his family on the eve of battle, knowing he will likely die. Certainly Paul, as we read the letter, is clear that he is passing on his charge to another. It is very personal: he takes time to recall Timothy’s mother and grandmother. He recalls Timothy’s faithfulness with love. “Recalling your tears,” Paul writes, “I long to see you that I may be filled with joy.” This is not a lament, but a charge to Timothy to carry on. “For God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.” In that sense, we are not to say: we have done all we can because our strength is spent. We are to say, we can do much more, because we are strong and determined. “Join me in suffering for the gospel, relying on the power of God,” Paul says. The term “suffering” is a little off-putting; I think we can all agree that we prefer to avoid suffering not join it. But Paul is saying that the gospel has a cost, it requires energy – that we step outside ourselves, and stop keeping score. This is no small thing. I meet people every day who are trapped in a negative image of themselves. This goes in two directions, usually: people who worry so much about their judgement of others, that they stumble through life. And those so concerned with how others judge them, that spend life always trying to prove their value. Someone once gave me a great piece of advice: people don’t think about you as much as you think they do. And it’s true: all of us have our own worries, our own preoccupations, our own standards. And much of that we impose upon ourselves, trying to manage what other people think. But once we accept that almost everyone else is doing the same – trying to get by, trying to do better – well, isn’t that a relief. The only one to whom must answer, in the end, is God. A God who seeks not to make us slaves, currying favour. But servants, valued and trusted. Paul writes: “Guard the good treasure entrusted to you, with the help of the Holy Spirit living in us.” What is that treasure truly for us? It is a new posture. One in which we no longer regret what we ought to have done. But we look ahead, to what we have yet to do. Amen

September 25th, 2022

Sermon By Rev Joel Crouse

When I was in Grade 10, my parents went away to a church convention, and a woman in our parish named Hilda Findlayson bravely came to stay with me and my brother. Mrs. Findlayson was a teacher. She didn’t have kids of her own, but she was an adult, in my life, who always seemed interested in what I had to say. I remember how she made her stay as special as she could. She bought us ice cream, which we didn’t often get back then. While my parents were away – and, let’s be honest, perhaps because my parents were away, I decided to shave my head. I remember coming home to Mrs. Findlayson, and she just looked at me. She didn’t judge. She didn’t freak out. She just said, “On my watch? Really?” So I guess if I had to say what something was that I liked about church growing up, I would have to say this: meaningful community. As a teenager, it was meaningful to me that an adult not related to me cared about what was happening in my life and didn’t judge me by my mistakes. I had a sense, way back, that church communities were special places that built those kinds of relationships. When death happened, when sickness came, they didn’t go silent and awkwardly slink away; they went into action, baking and cooking and offering support. On Sunday mornings they small-talked and had big discussions about meaning and faith. They mixed up generations in ways few community spaces do. Of course, they were not perfect. There were controversies and cliques. People didn’t always get along. But the common thread was the gospel and trying to live up to the ministry of Jesus and be purpose-driven people as best we could. It’s been my lifelong experience that when people are striving for that goal, meaningful community is what results. Isn’t that, in fact, what our very grim gospel is ultimately about? Jesus didn’t actually spend a lot of time, dividing people up between those worthy and those unworthy; the focus of his ministry wasn’t hell, but rather creating a heaven on earth. So I think we go wrong when we get distracted by all the hell and damnation part of this parable. If we – the comparatively wealthy of the world – just get defensive and offended – we also lose sight of the real message. It is not really about who is too rich and who is poor. It is not about how much money you need to give up to get into heaven. Or whether poverty is being depicted as a noble plight that brings you closer to God. This is a parable, to my mind, about meaningful community. We sometime struggle with how to define that in our church lives and in our own lives. What truly gives life meaning? What makes a community of people meaningful? These are parts of the discussion we will have this morning: what should our ministry as a community look like? Where, in the face of so much need, should we focus our time and treasure? What’s our brand? Those are important questions: ones we shouldn’t just ask once, but steadily, in our faith and church journeys. The definition of meaningful community – the kind that makes a difference – might take time to become clear. But we certainly know what it is not. And it is not the story of one person, rich and well-fed, warm in his grand house, while another person lies at the gate - freezing and sick and abandoned. We can see right away what is wrong with that picture: the one who is able to give is hoarding, and the one who needs help is not getting it. The relationship is not only broken: it doesn’t exist. Lazarus, lying at the gate, is not ignored; he is not even seen. His life seems to have no purpose, not even to make the rich guy inside feel a little guilty about his life’s lottery ticket. And the rich guy, overflowing in wine and food, lacks purpose and meaning as well: What will be his ultimate contribution? And so Jesus reminds us that when we are the haves in a story, it is much harder to give, and so easy to get distracted away from the choices that give life value. We create a trap – a hell – of our own making. How we get out of it is by belonging and being part of a meaningful community. That is what Lazarus and the rich man could have given each other. All it would have taken was opening the gate. I still connect with Mrs. Findlayson, and not only because she gave me some cover from my mom when she came home to find my hair gone. She was part of one of my first meaningful communities, the beginning of the places I have discovered throughout my ministry. They have always been created by imperfect, sometimes squabbling-yetalways-trying groups of people. I look forward to our communities continuing to create something meaningful and purpose-driven from the gift of the gospel. Amen