Compassion in Response to Chaos

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Baptism of Our Lord

January 7, 2024

Genesis 1:1-5

Acts 19:1-7

Mark 1:4-11

This past week while we were in Nova Scotia, my father told me a story about an old family friend and classmate of his named David Corkum. Mr. Corkum has always had a raspy voice. He was definitely not a member of any choir. Dad described to me what had happened to David Corkum’s voice. Once, during Christmas break, when he and David and a group of other Lunenburg teenagers were fooling around on the shore by a wharf, one of them fell through the ice and couldn’t find his way back to the opening. His winter clothing began to absorb the icy water, and he started sinking into the frigid waters.. There was yelling and scrambling, but none of that was stopping what they could see happening through the ice. In the middle of the chaos, David stripped off his coat and boots, dove through the hole in the ice, and retrieved their friend Robert from the icy deep, saving his life. As a result, David Corkum became very ill for months, albeit recovering, but left with a damaged voice. He had saved a friend’s life while risking his own - certainly an act deserving of legendary heroism.

I have known Mr. Corkum my entire life but had never heard this story before. When I asked him why he had never told me about it, Mr. Corkum was reluctant to talk about it and squirmed at the title of “hero.” He reminded me that Lunenburgers have never been raised to be bystanders. He mentioned a documentary he had seen years earlier as a teacher about the “bystander effect” - which has been used to explain how dictators rise unchallenged to power and how victims of crime are not rescued - and his long-held hope that he would never be such a bystander. His actions proved his goal had been achieved. And that is why my father - rightfully proud of his friend - told his story.

What Mr. Corkum did was to bring order to chaos with an act of compassion. That is how our first lesson puts the act of God, and what God has done for us with Christmas. Into a disordered scene, God brought a person - an idea, a vision of the world - around which we can all organize. God did not do this with law and rules. Jesus is an earthly representation for us of compassion. Is there a better response to chaos?

Let’s consider for a moment what we mean by compassion, and how it is interpreted in the gospel. A word that we often use in its place is empathy. That is the ability to see and even feel how another person is feeling and what they are seeing. There have been plenty of books written about the value of emotional intelligence, which, distilled down, is also the ability to have empathy - to experience the world beyond us. But empathy has its shortfalls. It can be interpreted as a neutral act, neither good nor evil, and even both. For instance, if we consider the conversation that Jesus goes on to have with the Devil in the desert, we might certainly say that the Devil character demonstrates empathy - he sees inside Jesus, and uses those weaknesses, those gaps of faith, to tempt him. The shortfall of empathy is that it doesn’t require action. (Indeed, it even suggests that we need to have a connection first to those we help, which is obviously limiting.) Empathy is like crying at a sad movie: we feel the pain of the characters, but an hour later we go home to our own lives.

Compassion, however, requires the next step. It can be defined as the act of our seeing someone’s need and trying to help them - at a cost to ourselves. Compassion requires sight and recognition, and then action. The cost doesn’t have to be risking our life through a hole in the ice. It might mean the inconvenience of buying a coffee for a stranger on the street. It could mean a few extra dollars for a charity, or just saying hello on the elevator when you’d rather be texting.

But suddenly you can see how compassion is the ordered response to chaos. A lonely person feels supported. A poverty-stricken person receives a gift. Someone in danger - the ultimate human chaos - is saved.

The gospel that we hear every Sunday defines Jesus by the compassion he shows, and the compassion he teaches. He doesn’t just feel sympathy for the widow at the well; he goes and speaks to her. He doesn’t tell us to feel sad for the injured Samaritan; he tells us to help him. He doesn’t sympathize with the prodigal son; he urges us to welcome him.

Of course, our gospel lesson today features John the Baptist, a master of chaos, and certainly a concrete example - he precedes Jesus, stirring things up, and Jesus, who follows, soothes, and guides. John the Baptist reminds us that chaos can be healthy - the kind of chaos that challenges social norms and rejects the way things have always been. And Jesus shows us that the next step - the healing act - is compassion.

Here’s some bad news: plenty of studies have shown that the more money we have relative to society, the more power we hold, the more status we claim, the harder it is to show compassion. We see this all the time when people in power take from others without consideration. And in some ways, this is just human nature: the more power we hold, the less we need community to help us. But this is a big problem for society - it means that the people most able to help - with their influence, their talent, their treasure - may also be the least likely to do so. The gospel is constantly waking us up to this tendency. If it is good enough for Jesus, the Son of God, it is good enough for us.

Perhaps you made some New Year’s resolutions. To lose weight. Or stop smoking. To binge less on television. Apparently, one of the most popular resolutions is: to be happier. But perhaps there is one resolution we might all make - one tied to happiness and self-worth: to demonstrate more compassion. To respond to chaos with the gospel’s idea of order. To be the kind of people in our everyday lives, in the moments that appear to us, who, as Mr. Corkum put it, would save a person from the icy deep. Amen.

May we always be open to love over law

Sermon by Pastor Nelson

First Sunday of Christmas

December 31, 2023

Isaiah 61:10-62:3

Galatians 4:4-7

Luke 2:22-40

Because I am preaching this sermon at St. Peters, Ottawa, Ontario and the three lessons, in the lectionary I follow, other than the gospel for this Sunday, seem to vary so much I will try to stick with just Luke 2:22-40. If you have read or heard my sermons before you know that is against my DNA but…In many ways, Luke 2:22-40 is the after story that is rarely shared during the advent season.

For many churches the dramatic presentations of the nativity, [such as at a bus stop presented by St. Peters.] Stop at the scene of baby Jesus in the manger surrounded by angels declaring, “glory to God in the highest.”

We all take pictures and beam with pride and sometimes laugh in delight, the play ends and everyone disburses. But today’s lesson reminds us that there is more to share about the birth and purpose of Jesus in the world than simply the nativity scene, no matter how creative we have been in showing it.

Our gospel today, reminds us that there is yet more to share about the birth and the purpose of Jesus in the world, than simply the nativity scene. In Luke we encounter features in a story-line that are not in Mark, Matthew, or John.

We find similarities between John’s birth announcement to Zechariah and Elizabeth, Jesus’ birth announcement to Mary and Joseph, and Simeon and Anna’s reactions in today’s gospel. There is no marital connection between Simeon and Anna but they have parallel responses. The gospel of Luke forms most of the theology for our church year and here we get part two with circumcision and presentation being interpreted by Simeon and Anna.

This story is unique to Luke. This story and Luke 2:40-47 portray Jesus as a person of Israel. There leaves no doubt that this Jesus is an observant Jew, even at his birth and into his youth, indeed his Jewish identity is reinforced even by his mother’s observance of purity laws related to childbirth. How “good” Christians can ignore all this and become “Jew haters” is beyond me. Luke also makes clear where Jesus’ identity and origins of piety are at. Yes, Jesus’ family exists among the poor. When Jesus talks about the poor, he is talking about himself. Jesus was a part of that economic margin in his own community.

If we are honest, we have to ask ourselves, where did we decide to glorify Jesus with our exorbitant buildings, stain glass windows and the like? Where did the idea of golden creche’s come from? How many of you grew up on a farm with real animals and all the dirt and smells that went with it. Not the sterile hog farms or dairy cows of today. Did I open another “can of worms?” Now Luke’s gospel does not dwell on the issue of poverty for Jesus’ family but let us always keep it in the back of our minds.

Luke now has Simeon and Anna serve as external interpreters of the significance of Jesus’ birth. Zechariah and Elizabeth, Mary and Joseph were insiders, now we have outsiders, Simeon and Anna added to the witnessing. Simeon spoke of Jesus as destined to be the glory of God’s people, Israel.

We have moved beyond angels now.

We now must move beyond the manger as well.

We now must make room for women and men, young and old, poor, disappointed, and unsuspecting.

The good news of Jesus’ birth is that insiders and outsiders of our immediate communities and families can carry the good news of God’s salvation, liberation, and acceptance, not just to others in the world, but to us as well.

Like Mary pondered the words of Simeon we need to be reminded of what else God can do. This is again what the rest of the church year will do, beginning with epiphany and then the Sundays in ordinary time.

Yes, this holy family is the ideal family, if we understand there is no such thing as an ideal family. The stories of Jesus in the temple, the birth stories of John and Jesus, enable Luke to provide constant reversal of expectations of what a “holy family” is like. I have to confess I grew up in that “ideal family.” One mother, one father, one sister and me.

But Luke uses his stories of the “holy family” to do away with those stereotypes even though the church in some circles continues to peddle it. In a few verses Luke shows a disconnection for Jesus from his earthly parents. Not in a disobedient way but in fact Jesus does not abandon his parents’ teaching, but fulfills all that is required of the law.

We hear many criticisms that Jesus lays against the empty traditions practiced by religious leaders and the empty rituals they held in high regard. When Jesus, as an adult, evaluates the practices of the religious leaders, he assumes reciprocal expressions of love of neighbour and love of God.

The tension that Jesus had with the law was never that as an outsider, but as one who had faithfully observed the rituals and figured out which ones did not work.

When I went to St. Paul’s, NFO, I had some credibility because I had 20 years in ministry, with 12 of those in my last parish. The pastor before me in NFO had been there 40 years. He had been a tremendous mission pastor but he had never taken them beyond “kindergarten.”

Dare I say, “a few years ago,” “I think here at St. Peter’s you had some of the same struggles.”

Anyone who ever raises a child has the same issue. How do we allow them to grow up and still protect them? Basically we can learn from Jesus that the practices of the law that subvert the command to love are unacceptable. Jesus repeatedly condemned those who attempted to flaunt their holiness before God, without hospitality toward neighbour.

Yes, Luke, some 2000 years ago, depicted a temple open to all that seek the presence of God, distinguishing between pausing to worship and honour God from practices that oppress and dishonour others. We in the church have continually struggled with the same issues.

I had the pleasure of starting my ministry when John the 23rd was doing something. Now Pope Francis seems to be stretching the boundaries again.

May we, as a group called Lutherans, always be open to love over law.

As we sift through all the early stories of Jesus, may we always realize what the stories tell us of the fulfillment of the promise is that God is indeed with us.

The bottom line in our gospels is that they are not meant to be biographies but they are seeking to undergird and strengthen our faith in God.

Both Simeon and Anna in our story today, reveal to Joseph and Mary theirs and Jesus’ future legacy. In doing so they are revealing ours.

Jesus was to be the hope of Israel – the Messiah and the long-awaited one—but as Simeon pointed out, Jesus was destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel and was a sign that would be contradicted again and again.

Furthermore Mary and Joseph suffered terribly because of their son’s mission. I would hope and pray that we, as parents, will never have to suffer for or over our children as Mary and Joseph did. But we know it happens to parents every day.

For Joseph, Mary and Jesus, joy, conflict, and pain laid ahead as a result of those who accepted or resisted God’s saving initiatives through Jesus’ mission and ministry.

Such is the legacy bequeathed to all who dare embody life through our lives,

Those of us who are willing to live as a part of “God’s family.” If we choose to live in love with one another, please do not feel that you will not suffer. Living as/in families, in fact, just living life, is and will always be a challenge. Though life had many different cultural values, then versus now, we realize that life interwoven with faith is never easy.

We do not know much about Jesus’ family, but we hear that they followed the laws of the day. We tend to think of them as very different from our own lives, from our own families, but just like us, they would have struggled to understand what they were called to be and to do.

In the face of all this mystery the human heart can only sing with gratitude. We live in the presence of God, and this sustains us through whatever seems impossible.

Let us live in thanksgiving which will open us to receive God’s promise and God’s gifts.

Let us pray,

God of life, we are all members of families, often struggling and imperfect.

Help us to remember Mary, and Joseph, and Jesus who lived together in faith and love.

Show us how to love, accept, and be grateful for our own families.

Teach us how to forgive family members who have wounded us.

And finally, grant us the grace to be the people you call us to be.

[...]

Amen.

Christmas ~ A story about Light

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Christmas Day

December 25, 2023

Isaiah 62:6-12

Titus 3:4-7

Luke 2:1-20

Have you ever noticed that when you get together with your family and start telling stories about when you were growing up, or what happened years ago, the same events sound very different as different people tell the story? Depending on who's describing it, the guy who used to live across the street was a scrooge or a saint; or moving from one town to another was either a disaster, a wonderful escape, or a thing indifferent, hardly noticed: same event, different points of view.

Try thinking about this very human business of memory and storytelling in light of the wonderful poetry of the first 14 verses of John's Gospel that we have just heard. This is the Christmas Story, the third time the Bible tells it. It is the same story we heard last night; the story of the manger and the Shepherds and the Angels -- and the same story Matthew tells in his Gospel, with Joseph's dreams and the wise men. But the point of view is different, and John's Gospel sounds strange to ears more accustomed to descriptions of crowded inns and Angel Choirs. That's because different folks in the family are telling the same story.

You see, Luke, who wrote the familiar story we heard last night, was a bit of an historian. He was very concerned with getting the dates and rulers right and locating everything in time and space. He was also likely a gentile and was very concerned about the role of people who, like him, were considered outsiders. So, he is more concerned with shepherds -- who were social outcasts -- than about kings. And Luke tells the story from the perspective of Mary -- a radical move in itself, since women were even lower on the social ladder than shepherds.

Matthew is more traditional. He was certainly a Jew and may have been a scribe. He was very concerned with making it clear that Jesus fulfilled all the Old Testament prophecies as Messiah, King of the Jews. So. shepherds didn't interest him as much as royal wise men; and he cared much about the flight to Egypt and parallels of the Exodus in Jesus's return from Egypt to Israel. Also, the more conservative Matthew told the story of Jesus's birth from Joseph's point of view.

Then there was John. John knew, in one way or another, about the stories in Matthew and Luke, and he assumes that we know about them, too. But John is a theologian, and a mystic. So, since he (and we) already knew the "historical" details of Jesus's birth, John writes of its meaning, and he writes from his theology, and from the holy imagination of his prayers. But it is the same story -- all three are talking about the same birth – all three are saying the same thing.

John does begin the story earlier -- he reminds us that Christmas really begins just before where Genesis begins -- before the beginning with God in creation. So, using language evocative of Genesis, John begins by talking about the Word of God -- the Word of God here is God in action -- God creating, revealing, and redeeming. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. Then he tells the Christmas story -- in nine words (in Greek and in English). "And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us." He who was with God at creation, the one who is God at work in history and human life, this one became a person, became flesh -- as completely human as you and I. Not God with a "people-suit" disguise on; not a really good person whom God rewarded and made special, not a super angel God created early and saved up for Bethlehem.

But a person, who was the Word -- who was God's own self. Soaring words for the most down-to-earth thing that ever happened. But still the Christmas story, still the story Luke tells, and Matthew tells: the story of the birth of Jesus.

In addition to telling the same story, Matthew, Luke, and John share one special way of telling it -- there is one image, one symbol, and only one, that they all use to talk about Christmas. (Can you think of what it is?)

They all talk about light -- the light of the star, the light that shone around the shepherds, the true light that enlightens every human person. They all continue Isaiah's vision of light shining on those who live in darkness.

Where Christ is, people who understand talk about light. They have to -- there is no better image of what is going on. The light shines in the darkness -- John proclaims. And somehow we understand this, and we understand that this truth cannot be fully expressed in any other words.

In large part, we probably understand because we know about darkness-we know what it is like to live in and with darkness. Remember what it is like to try to walk through an unfamiliar room that is in total darkness -- or wake up confused in the middle of the night -- trying to get somewhere? We know what it's like when we don't know where things are, and when we don't know what we have just bumped into, or whether we're going where we want to go, or if the next step will be OK or if it will break something and make a mess. We know how easy it is to go in circles in the dark, and to get turned around, and to stub a toe and get angry and hit whatever is handy.

And we know what it is like to live like that in broad daylight.

What John and Luke and Matthew all say about Christmas is that a light begins to shine: suddenly, quietly, but absolutely certainly. And by that light we can begin to see. By that light we can begin to see who we are and who we are created to be. For it is in the person of Jesus that what it means to be a human being is finally made clear. In the Christ Child we see that our lives are made whole as we surrender them in love and service; in the Christ Child we see that really being alive means risking everything for-and because of – the love of God and the Reign of God. In the Christ Child we see that hope need never be abandoned -- never -- and that we contain possibilities beyond our imagining.

Also, by that light that has come into the world we begin to see God really clearly for the first time. "No one has ever seen God," John reminds us. But God is made known to us in Jesus. So, all that we thought about God, all we had figured out, all that we were sure we knew about God -- all of that is put to the test in Jesus. Who God is, in relationship to us, is fully revealed in Jesus. Not in one saying or one parable, or one miracle – but in all of Jesus -- in his life, death, and resurrection -- we finally have the light to see God.

The light of Christ, the word made flesh, comes among us at Christmas – and we celebrate its coming into the world. God had revealed God's love to us in Christ. That first Christmas, the stable stank, and the light shone – and it continues to shine -- and continues to allow us to see, and to show a world living in darkness what we have seen. For by that light we have been given power to become children of God -- and to take our places with the light. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Amen.