Faith is not about knowing every answer, it’s about asking the right kinds of questions

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday November 19, 2023

Gospel ~ Mathew 25:14-30

This morning, we are presented with another challenging parable from Jesus. Let’s recap: a wealthy boss who is headed out of town distributes wealth among three employees and tells them to look after it while he’s gone. And these aren’t small amounts of wealth. In the time of Jesus, a talent was worth a fortune – about 20 years of a day-labourer’s wage. That’s big, lottery-winning kind of money. In this parable, Jesus is obviously trying to get the attention of his audience.

So, what happens?

The first employee goes out with his five talents and comes back with ten to present to the boss. The second turns her two into two more. The third, apparently out of concern for the boss’s ethics, decides to risk nothing, and buries it. So, at the end, she can present only the same amount. For this, she is the only one punished: tossed out where there is gnashing of teeth. It’s all very grim.

This parable has been interpreted in many ways. There are actually three versions: we have heard the one in Matthew, with the most money and only three servants. In Luke, the money is significantly less and distributed among ten, though only three matter. And there is a third version in the Gospel of the Hebrews, in which the whole situation is turned on its head, and no one who saves the money is deemed the most worthy. The Gospel of the Hebrews was a text studied by early church thinkers but was destroyed because of an invasion in the 7th Century and never made it into what we now know as the Bible.

But in what we now know as the New Testament, the most common interpretation of this text is this: when we put the talents and other gifts that God has given us to good works, we reap the rewards. When we bury our talent under a bushel, we gain nothing. This is a good lesson, and certainly one for us to pay attention to.

Another interpretation of this parable, however, is that not everyone is equal, but we can all make contributions. The employee who doubled two talents was rewarded in similar fashion to the one who doubled five. And also, this parable could be seen as a push not to play it safe. To be out there with our talents and treasure. To take risks to make a real difference. These, then, would be three challenges of this parable: to make the most of our talent, to not get caught up in who is better than who, and to take risks in the world.

But what if we consider it from yet another perspective?

First, there is context to think about. Today, we can read the parable, ponder the words, go back and read it again. But that is not how it would have first been heard by the people. Jesus preached in an oral society, and he would have offered these parables to large, noisy crowds or groups. He was, in that society, deliberately provocative. His message was not mainstream. And surely, he would have encountered his critics in the crowd. Surely, he would have engaged in debate or been asked to clarify his message and repeat what he was saying. What would have been the goal of Jesus’s telling this kind of story to that kind of crowd?

We should also consider that this crowd would have just heard the parable we heard last week: the story of the ten bridesmaids who go out to meet the bridegroom; five bring extra oil and are able to meet him, and five forget and show up too late. God is in the background in that parable, asking: Have you stayed awake? Are you prepared for what is to come?

In the parable that follows, we might assume the landowner is God, but let’s take another angle: what if the landowner is just a rich man, and what matters is how the employees behave? This man is not just a little rich, he is very, very rich – he is travelling, for one thing, and he has staff that he can entrust with his money. He goes away for a long time; and while he is gone the first two servants get busy making their boss money, presumably on the labour and interest of others, and at the end turning a hefty profit.

How might the crowd have interpreted this with their own experience -- as people with much less money and much less power, more likely to be the workers many rungs down on the wealth ladder? As William Herzog observes, in his book on these parables: What did those servants accomplish, but to concentrate more wealth in the hands of an already wealthy man? And who might now be in debt to those servants because of it?

The third servant, then, takes the wealthy landowner to task: I knew you were someone who reaped what you did not sow – who, in other words, benefited from the labour of others – and I call you out on it. Seeing it from that point of view, what did the third servant do but refuse to exploit anyone to make more money for the corporation. But he didn’t steal it: he just put it aside and went on with his life. Who knows what he then did with his time? Perhaps, he worked on behalf of others, rather than exploiting them. Perhaps, as in the case of our five wise bridesmaids, this servant was the one who stayed awake to the gospel. The one who refused to work for the sake of achieving earthly riches. Perhaps he is calling out the system as corrupt, as creating inequality. Might that not also resonate with a mixed crowd gathered to hear the words of Jesus?

But what happens to that third servant? The cost is great: this servant is stripped of money, cast out into poverty. What did this person do? They called the wealthy boss to account, or as Herzog proposes, served as the whistle-blower in the story, the one who challenges society’s notions of class and labour – just as the gospel calls us to do. Was it fair what happened to him at the hands of the landowner?

So, what does the parable seek to teach? What did Jesus want us to take from it? That is for us to ponder. And in fact, isn’t that the challenge in a challenging parable? To get us thinking, and debating. Not to discern simple truths, but to consider the story against our own perceptions and assumptions? Who is right and who is wrong? What if what we always assumed was right is actually wrong? Faith, after all, is not about knowing every answer. In the days when Jesus told parables, as in our day, it’s about asking the right kinds of questions.

This is a great gift that our faith gives us—that sacred text gives us. The freedom to step back and consider all the angles, the call to put ourselves in the shoes of others. And the promise that when we wade patiently through the complexity of life to find truths centered on love and grace, we find God waiting for us with a fortune beyond earthy measure.

Amen

May we all set an example for the peaceful way we want the world to be.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday November 12, 2023

A couple of weeks ago, former U.S. President Barack Obama released a written statement on Israel. It was among the most thoughtful I have read from a political leader – perhaps the most thoughtful. Of course, Obama has the advantage of not being in power, and of speaking from the sidelines. But he still carries influence, especially when he speaks so eloquently.

In the weeks since, we have seen more reports of the terrible crimes carried out by Hamas against families, young people at a music concert, and children. And we have seen the results of Israel’s response in Gaza – the displacement or death, from air strikes, of countless people, most of them children. And we have seen hatred and prejudice in our streets – and even a swastika raised on the land outside Parliament. Our hearts weep for the tragedy of the history and the inhumanity of it all, committed on Holy ground in the name of God.

Obama’s words were measured and careful. Israel, he said, has a right to defend its citizens, to dismantle Hamas, to rescue those kidnapped from its borders. But Israel, Obama said, must also respond in a measured way, in keeping with international law. This is the complexity from which we must find a solution that, in the clearest of goals, values dignity, safety, and justice for both Israelis and Palestinians. Because, Obama wrote, “Upholding these values is important for its own sake — because it is morally just and reflects our belief in the inherent value of every human life.” We must, all of us, argue for those values to be upheld, not just for the sake of future peace in the Middle East, but for the sake of the world as well. That requires a search for balance, he argued, recognizing Israel’s right to exist, but also that Palestinians have been displaced, that the push by some of their past leaders on both sides to find a solution has produced too few results. That a person can condemn Hamas and not be anti-Muslim, and that one can “champion Palestinian’s rights” and be critical of some of the policies of politicians in Israel and not be antisemitic. We can accept complexity, but also firmly and loudly condemn every act of hatred – here and overseas. Certainly we must make sure we do nothing to feed the hate we are seeing in our country.

But in the end, he said, perhaps most of all, for us here, so far away, is that we must try hard not to think the worst of those with whom we disagree. In talking to one another, we will find solutions that yelling never can. What’s more, Obama suggested, if we want peace, we must be peaceful people. If we care for children, he wrote, it falls upon all of us “at least to make the effort to model, in our own words and actions, the kind of world we want them to inherit.”

In essence, Obama was reminding us to stay awake. And is this not the lesson also of our Remembrance Day, a day to remember those who sacrificed so much to keep our country, and the world free from tyranny. Isn’t remembrance also a reminder to stay away. To keep awake to our own prejudices. To keep awake to the forces that threaten freedom, and thrive on intolerance. To stay awake to the times when we fail to listen, when we assume knowledge too quickly, when we pass judgment without wisdom.

When we fail, we might say, to bring oil for our lamps, so that our lights may shine in the night.

This is the lesson of our gospel this morning: stay awake. It is a lesson we will hear repeatedly over the next several weeks and into Advent. In a world of distractions, polarization, and argument, stay awake to the gospel in our midst.

Now, let me just say, I struggle with this metaphor in our gospel this morning. The notion of all 10 bridesmaids waiting for the bridegroom analogy has the strong whiff of patriarchy – the women waiting for the men to arrive, competing for that attention, and framed only around how they are judged once the groom shows up. As a parable, it is also clumsy: Jesus isn’t a groom waiting to assess us, and who then shuts the door on us when we fail. Jesus is the shepherd leading and guiding us, who goes and cares for the wayward sheep. Even the bridesmaids are problematic: does Jesus really want us not to share what we have so others may also find the gospel? I don’t think so.

But as always, we can find wisdom here – important wisdom even. So let’s talk about a bunch of people with their oil lamps waiting for Jesus to show up. They can’t say when he is coming. Some of them brought extra oil to keep the lights on to watch for him. And some of them forgot, so that when Jesus comes, they have fallen asleep and their lights have gone out, and in the night, they cannot find their way. The ones with oil refuse to help; and so Jesus cannot know them.

What do we learn from this about discipleship? First, we see that the people who stayed awake and found their way most easily to Jesus had come prepared. They brought extra oil to light their lamps. They made their effort well in advance of the arrival of Jesus.

And so, don’t we learn that staying awake requires advance work on our part? What might that gospel preparation look like? Kindness, surely, and generosity. In the case of Israel and Palestine, it may mean that we seek to educate ourselves, to read and talk through issues calmly. We gather knowledge rather than assume we already have it. We collect the resources we require to serve the gospel -- to be that shining lamp in the night.

Also, what actually happens when those of us with oil refuse those who don’t have any? They are left outside. Jesus does not know them. Is this not a failure on our part? When we have plenty and decline to share to lift others, when we leave others outside the gate even though they want to enter, have we served the gospel? If you look at the parable the other way, we might see that we are the ones who have failed. We have failed to make room. We have failed to help others stay awake. We have grabbed our spot and thought nothing for those left behind. In doing so, did we not abdicate our own responsibility as disciples on earth? When some are left behind, are we not also culpable?

I would think we should be careful not to judge the foolish who forget their oil – for who among us has not been foolish? Perhaps we should save our disappointment for those deemed wise who did not share that wisdom – and who among us has not, at times, kept our wisdom for ourselves?

It is as Obama said. We can spend hours debating what is happening in the Middle East. And we can do it in the safety of our borders, far from the atrocities we are debating. But if we do not hold this one posture true, we have failed. If we want a peaceful world, we must be a peaceful people. If we want people to be thoughtful and prudent, we must also be thoughtful and prudent. We must – each and every one of us – set an example for the way we want the world to be. We must share our wisdom and forgive our foolishness. So that we might – each and every one of us – be a shining lamp in the night. Amen

When dealing with the loss of someone, Jesus promised us it will get better.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday November 5, 2023

All Saints Sunday

Today, we have one of the most beautiful and comforting lessons that Jesus gave us: the Beatitudes, the blessings listed by Jesus at the Sermon on the Mount. In it, Jesus makes a list of promises to those who may feel that life is stacked against them. But on this Sunday, on the week leading up to Remembrance Day, on the Sunday of All Saints when we remember our dead, I want to focus on one part of this list of blessings.

“Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

What an impossible promise that seems in our darkest days, in these dark and difficult days for the world. We see such acts of terror, such suffering; we bear witness to atrocities happening far away that become anger and hatred here in our own country. How easy it is for grief to consume us, for death to mark us, for joy to desert us.

In these moments, that line from Jesus seems insufficient. How hard it is, in the midst of grief and loss, for us to cling to it. Like the thoughts and prayers that get spoken but don’t come with policy and decision-making and change.

Perhaps you have had days when it felt that laughter seemed to have fled forever. I have, in my family. I know that there are families in our church who have and, often still feel that way. We, in our place of relative safety, can only imagine what it must be like for the victims of the Hamas atrocity, for the Palestinian civilians caught in the crossfire, for the families in Lewiston who must now face the real-world consequences of another shooting spree. Those who have lost, who must go on in the now after, who must face what comes next, are weeping. We all face loss, in one way or another in our lives. If that awareness of loss cannot inspire us to do more than pray, to be more than thoughtful, then I do not know what will. Grief is an unwanted, and yet universal visitor in all our lives, a weight upon all our souls. And a necessary part of life.

That is at the heart of the promise that Jesus makes to us. Not that we will laugh tomorrow, or next week, or perhaps even next month. But that we will laugh again. In my family, after the loss of my brother, it happened when we least expected it and caught us by surprise. It sounded loud and out of place in our lives; we were out of practice. I know other people I have counselled in grief have described the same feeling – that laughter was not permitted in sadness, that it was wrong to feel happy, that looking to the future with any kind of expectation made them feel guilty.

But that is what Jesus is speaking to: the release from guilt. He is reminding us that it is inevitable that we will laugh again, that it is expected of us, and that it is promised to us. We should not feel guilty when that happens; we should feel blessed. For we have walked through darkness and crossed into light. We may bear the scars. But when the day comes, we have not been stripped of the gift of laughter.

But there is space between weeping and laughter that this line from Jesus leaves unspoken. We do not get there alone. We get there, as I well know, when we have faith that God is by our side, and friends who sit with us in our moment of need, who show up with lasagna, who understand us without prying, and who love us even when we are hard to be around. That is how we get to the other side.

And we can say the same for all our grief, and all our troubles. It is not prayers from afar that get us through it; or thoughts sent into the air. It is the real presence of God and the loving actions of others. A response of love that suggests peace may be yet possible. A call for justice that suggests policy can be changed to protect the innocent. A willingness to find the truth together, the way forward together. Otherwise we are trapped in our grief.

In our gospel this morning, Jesus also flips his blessing around: “Woe to you, Jesus warns his crowd, who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep.”

That sounds harsh. But it’s not a curse, it is a guide, a reminder that upon all of us grief will fall. So when we are strong and laughing, what should we do? We who live in comfort should have care for the afflicted. That is the society that the gospel envisions: one in which those in need today receive help from those able to give. We all have a part to play, and different roles at different times, depending on where we find ourselves in life.

What can we give those who weep? We can give the gift of solidarity. Or action. And, as we do each year, on November 11, we can give the gift of memory. We can give it when we stand at the cenotaph on November 11, remembering sacrifice. When we take time to hear the stories of those soldiers not remembered. When we make a commitment to learn something from those memories – whether it be the price of hatred and intolerance, or the cost of war, or the tragic fallout when the needs of the wounded are not met. Lessons the world still needs to learn.

And as we think about our personal losses and the 12 people who died in our community of faith this year, we can also share the gift of memory. To talk to one another about loss. To ask people how to help them in their grief. “How are you doing with all of this?” we might ask. “How are you holding up?” To put aside our own discomfort, or our fear of death, or our own worry about saying the wrong thing, and help someone burdened by grief.

Perhaps that is the real beauty of the blessing from God that Jesus promises to us. That in bringing laughter to those who weep, we also laugh. And, in that community, all our sadness becomes easier to bear.

We can believe in the resurrection and still be caught up in grief for those lost to us on earth. Jesus is telling us not to feel guilty about that, not to feel weak, or lost. “You will laugh again.” Jesus says. And in doing so, Jesus gives us the freedom to truly, deeply grieve.

Sit this week with your thoughts. About all those men and women lost to war. About the families they left behind. About a loved one who is no longer physically with you. And know that the resurrection is real, that God’s promise of new life is real, that Jesus’s words are real. But the only way through is a path we walk together. Amen