March 20th, 2022

As I contemplated the readings this week, one line jumped out at me: “So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.” That is a great line, and a useful reminder. “So if you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.” Let’s come back to that. Our readings today are rather grim: hearing them read out loud this morning only reinforces that impression. Who wants to hear about people being destroyed by serpents? But Paul often preached a grimmer message than Jesus – perhaps influenced by the panicky, dangerous days following the death of Jesus. Paul really needed the people to pay attention; the very act of preaching in the name of Jesus was a risk. So he gave an example of people who went wrong with God as a way to show his listeners how to stay right with God. And then he softened it up at the end, with a soothing message to the faithful: don’t worry: God won’t test you more than you can handle. Chin up, people. In the middle, though, there is this line: “If you think you are standing, watch out that you do not fall.” And here is where I think Paul really gets at the core of our gospel this morning: where he translates the lesson from Jesus into one easy-to- remember line. In the gospel, the emphasis goes in a different direction. Jesus is not focused on the wrongdoing of those who lost their lives in the example, but on the judgement of those left alive. Do you think, Jesus asks, they were any worse than their neighbors? Or, to switch it around: do you think Jesus is asking if their neighbors were any better than them? Or perhaps, to home right in on the true takeaway: Do you think that you are better than them? “So if you think you are standing, be careful that you do not fall.” Perhaps, as your pastor, I find that this phrase stands out so much to me because I observe and hear so much sadness, grief, and regret. And yet, often there is a common root hidden underneath: judgement. Family members judging the choices of other family members. Friends passing judgement on the behavior of those in their social circle. Partners making judgements about each other. Those judgements, in my experience, are often ways to circle around the real issues that are happening – it’s easier to be critical than honest. In some cases, it’s difficult communicating how people are really feeling. Or it’s a lack of perspective-taking, seeing the situation from the other person’s point of view. Sometimes, judgment comes from a sense of self-dissatisfaction. Those are perhaps the more palatable reasons why people judge others. Perhaps the hardest kind of judgement is self-righteous - when people fail to see their own advantage and privilege and condescend to others. And yet, with that line, there I go, judging the judgers. There is a reason why Jesus spends so much time trying to teach us to be humble, other-centered, and open-minded. Those qualities are the opposite of judgemental. But in our gospel this morning, Jesus endorses another action as a rebuttal to judgement: patience. He tells the parable of the man who has planted a fig tree that bears no fruit after three years, and he wants to give up on it and chop it down. It is, as he says, bluntly, a waste of space. But the gardener urges him to think twice: let me tend to it, the gardener says, and let’s see where it is in a year. The landowner said, this stupid tree; it hasn’t done what I wanted; let’s pull it out of the ground. The gardener said, let’s take a minute and consider what it might need from us. Let’s not judge too quickly; let’s see what a little patience creates. What an underrated virtue patience has become. Parents instruct their antsy kids on patience – when they are jumping in a long line, when Christmas is weeks away – but then it becomes an action meant to repress joy. We remind ourselves to have patience when someone cuts us off on the road, but then it is an action to suppress anger. In the example that Jesus gives, patience is not one of those things: it is life-giving, othercentering, it is a peaceful pause. How often do we use patience in that way – not as reaction to an event, but as a way to be? And so I come back to that great line: “So if you think that you are standing, be careful that you do not fall.” What did Paul mean? I would say he was cautioning those listening not to get so high and mighty that they considered themselves above everyone else – for how easy is it to trip when you fail to notice those around you? I’d say that line is also a reminder that when we are standing firm, when we believe we know better than others, when we are full of pride, when we think we have everything figured out, we have already started to fall. And I think it is also a reminder: when we feel the most puffed up about ourselves, we might take a moment - what are we not seeing? What’s another quality that prevents falls? Well, patience. Our steps are more certain when we pause and see our surroundings. Our path is clearer when we take a moment to reflect. And our reward is so much greater when we stop to look for ways not to tear people down, but to help them grow. Surely, if we were the fig tree that was not growing – for all kinds of possible reasons – we would want a kindly gardener - a caring community - to give us the same chance. We don’t know what happened to the fig tree. I will always imagine that it thrived and grew figs aplenty. But if it remained a spindly little fig tree, doing what it could, yet was well loved by the gardener, is that not still a success story? But we don’t know what happened because the fig tree’s future is not the lesson here. The lesson is that patience stepped in and soaked up the anger and judgement. The lesson is a reminder to us: when we think we are standing, let us watch out that we do not fall - into all the traps that human nature lays for us. And let us not judge too quickly, but see what patience creates. Amen.

March 13th, 2022

This week there were so many heart-breaking images and stories from the front line in Ukraine. And there was remarkable bravery as well. There are many ways to tell that story. Of course, there is President Zelenksy who remains in the capital, urging the world to pay attention to whatever it can for this country. The untrained young people who are staying back or travelling home again to fight for their nation’s future. The grandmothers who have remained in Kyiv to help feed those who are defending the capital. For me this week, it was also the story that appears in The Globe and Mail of the convoy – a line of vans and buses and SUVs- that travelled from Lviv to Kyiv. A group of civilians had jammed their vehicles with supplies and food for those still in the capital, and they made the 500-kilometre journey – towards the Russian tanks and bombs - to deliver them. In a suburb outside Kyiv, they loaded those same vehicles with evacuees – including children who need medical care – and brought them home. It was a journey of courage, made at great risk - leaving safety and going purposefully into danger. . So many of these stories linger, even as we carry on living in Canada, watching the signs of spring slowly win out over the cold of winter. What happens to all that courage in the face of the evil of humanity? What happens if those exemplifying it eventually lose? Is courage a moment of conviction, or something more? Don’t we already know? Our gospel this morning helps reveal the answers. Jesus has been teaching in the small towns and villages on his way to Jerusalem. But word had spread. His presence – and the crowds he was gathering - had become known to Herod, who felt threatened by Jesus. The Pharisees have come to see him, to urge him to flee because Herod wanted him dead. But Jesus shrugs them off: Go and tell that Fox, he says, today and tomorrow I will be casting out demons and performing cures. On the third day, I will be on my way. - toward Jerusalem, where my fate awaits. It reads like a challenge to Herod, and perhaps it is. Indeed, it echoes the now infamous words of President Zelensky, who when offered an escape by the United States, declined with his own challenge: “I need ammunition, not a ride.” Zelensky has remained in Kyiv while the Russians close in. And Jesus continued to Jerusalem while the authorities closed in around him as well. In both cases, the grand city is symbolic. It was a place to take a stand. A place to face corruption and cruelty and not blink. What happens to that bravery? In the case of Jesus, he did not win. He was betrayed by his friends, sacrificed by a week leader wanting to appease a mob, and hung on a cross. Brave as he was, he did not win over Herod. And yet, he won. We are still telling his story all these centuries later. His teachings took on new life. His disciples went forth and spread the gospel. And here we are on this second Sunday of Lent, still marveling at the bravery of Jesus. Our world puts a great deal of stock in winning. And yet, it is not the winning that is remembered. It is the bravery and the burdens and the hurdles along the way. It is how we face the challenge of our times that defines us. Someone who wins by crushing others is no true victor. The one who loses by sacrificing for the vulnerable, for what is true, for justice, and what they believe, they are the heroes of the hour. It is as the Bible says: those who lose their life, will gain it. We are seeing that happen in the world right now. The Ukrainians are outmatched and outgunned. They were expected to fall to Putin’s Regime within a couple days at most – so quickly in fact, that little was done to prepare international aid resources on the ground. And yet they have not fallen. They continue to defend democracy, and their nation, and their freedom. Their actions have inspired historic cooperation around the world. So where does that bravery go? We know, of course. It lives on, in the stories grandmothers tell their grandchildren, in the scripture that is read at church. It weaves its way through society. It reaches into the hearts of future generations. Long after the end has come, courage continues to speak to us. Long after the end, courage continues to set an example for us. That, perhaps, is the best we can do. We can reach back in time and convince Jesus to leave Jerusalem; that would be a fool’s errand anyway. We cannot, on our own, change what is to come for the people of Ukraine. But once in a while, we have a moment where an act of courage can change the world. It happened that day in Jerusalem. It is happening now, in a grand city a continent away, even as spring comes peacefully here in Ottawa. Let us be true witnesses. Let us listen for what courage is saying. Let us follow its example. Amen.

March 6th, 2022

This morning, in our gospel, Jesus tangles with the devil in the desert. It is one of the great scenes from the gospel. For Jesus, having gone out alone into the desert for mindful contemplation, for a moment to think on his own, what creeps into his mind? The temptations the devil presents. We imagine Jesus standing with the devil at his side, taunting him to play along with his riddle game. The devil is wily; he knows humanity’s weaknesses well. He begins with a good one, the one that whispers its larger question: Are you good enough? Can you prove it? “If you are who you say, turn this stone to bread.” But Jesus declines: One does not live by bread alone. (Translation: I don’t need to prove myself to you. I know my worth and don’t need to show off.) So the Devil goes with greed: “Look at these kingdoms; join me and they are yours.” Jesus answers, Worship God and only God. (Translation: the path you promise might lead to riches, but the cost of my soul and morality is too high a price.) And finally the Devil tried doubt: does this God really exists? Does God even care about you? He tells Jesus, “Throw yourself off this mountain and see if you are saved.” But Jesus says: I don’t need to test God. By which he means: my faith is enough for me; it keeps my feet on the ground and my eyes looking forward. The tests are passed, and at an opportune time, we are told, the devil gives up and goes away. Still - those challenges! What tests they were: pride, greed, doubt! Temptations that have long plagued humanity before and since, whispers that reach out to us at night, or slip in when our minds are quiet. Am I good enough? (And how to show it?) Am I rich enough? (And how to get richer.) Am I loved enough? (And how to test it.) The devil chose those challenges well. For they lead us down a path of despair to focusing on what we don’t have and losing site of what we do. Even more, they distract us from the gospel. If we are worried about showing how good we are, we are not lifting up others. If we are worried about how rich we are, we are not sharing with others. If we are testing the love of those around us, we are not focused first on loving those around us. The devil is a formidable adversary. Jesus outsmarts him, but we shouldn’t underestimate that. And yet, what happens when the devil is challenged – when instead of hubris, greed, and doubt, the world chooses the opposite? What happens when we don’t give in, when we resist temptation? This week, The Atlantic Monthly published a piece online with the headline “The Impossible Suddenly Became Possible.” The essay explored the world’s unexpected reaction to Russia’s invasion of democratic Ukraine. “Human beings,” the author wrote, “do not always act the way they are supposed to act.” They don’t always “duck and cover,” take the easy way out, give in to an easier path. Sometimes, as we have seen, they stand strong, and together, and face the devil. Sometimes a leader who everyone underestimated refuse to be cowed, and shows remarkable bravery; sometimes, in response to that bravery, other countries step up, and companies sacrifice their bottom line for a greater good. Sometimes, people who were supposed to run refuse to run. They refuse to run even in the face of all but certain defeat because not to fight at all is a more terrible loss. And so the impossible becomes possible. In that moment, whatever happens now, the devil has already lost. This is what we are seeing right now: the power of courage, loyalty, and faith. What happens when a leader stands by his people and risks everything? What happens when people say there are things in life more important than money and profits; qualities such as integrity, that, as we see now, are priceless? What happens when we say let us not doubt and dither; let us act in the way we know we should? In this, whatever happens now, the devil has already lost. So it was with Jesus. We know that after those days in the desert, whatever was to happen next, the devil had already lost. Jesus had prevailed; he had kept his soul, and held to his beliefs, and remained true to himself. Those values would carry him all the rest of the way. I wrote the first draft of this sermon on Thursday; just as the port city of Mariupol fell to the Russians. The convoy outside Kyiv was still stalled, but that wouldn’t last. Putin, in a TV appearance, was vowing victory no matter what. The President of Ukraine has said the Russian plan is to erase Ukraine, and yet they are still here. What’s more, the Ukrainians who refuse to bend to a tyrant have already changed the world. And yet, they fight on, as Andrew Coyne, a columnist in The Globe and Mail wrote this week of the people of Ukraine. “Because they have no choice?” he asks. “No. Because they have chosen.” On that day in the desert, Jesus was playing a game of wits with the devil; he was making choices. He was deciding his path. When we choose courage, faith, and hope, we are making a choice; we are deciding our path. When we need reminding, we might look to the example of everyday Ukrainians – baristas, and grandmothers, and businesspeople – who are defending democracy. Not because they have no choice. But because they have chosen. Amen