March 9 ~ God Does Not Test Us. God Stands With Us While We Are Tested.

Click above to watch a recording of Sunday's sermon.

March 9, 2025

First Sunday in Lent

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

Romans 10:8b-13

Luke 4:1-13

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

Perhaps Lent is arriving at just the right time. We are living through a period when all principles and treaties are being summarily broken, when the most powerful country in the world is aligning with a dictator instead of allies. This week, my youngest son, Samson, suggested that by the time his kids were grown – if not sooner – the rules of the world will look very different. I could not say otherwise, although I still hope for the best; change is coming.

Lent is the time when we are supposed to confront the trouble in the world, and in our lives, and stare at it for a while. These are the times when we live in the shadows, and we are forced to come face-to-face with our own truths. If we take it seriously, it’s not an easy time. But if we do take it seriously, it is, in the end, a healing time.

This morning, we begin with a meeting between Jesus and the devil in the desert. It’s a good tale – one we’ve seen played out a hundred times since. Our hero is tempted by someone or something to leave his proper path. Maybe it’s pride, or greed, or doubt. But someone usually plants it, and he finds himself at the crossroads.

So, along comes the Devil, sauntering up to Jesus while he fasted alone in the desert. The Devil has come with his three challenges, his clever tricks for the Son of God.

First the devil taunts: “If you are really so great, turn this stone into a loaf of bread.” Jesus was probably hungry – he was fasting, after all. But he refuses: “No one can live by bread alone.” In other words, life, Jesus is saying, is about more than material goods – it is about self-worth, and integrity, and who we are at the core of ourselves.

So, the devil tries again, this time preying on the potential glory-seeking of Jesus. “I promise you kingdoms as far as the eye can see,” the devil says. “And all you have to do is worship me.” Jesus answers: “Worship no one else but God.”

Now, I have always thought that this offer was the easiest for Jesus to decline: the devil, in this telling, isn’t disguising his identity, and Jesus never seemed particularly greedy for fame and glory. But for us, it’s a lot trickier: for us, the devil may hide in more insidious ways and tempt us to seek glory, even if it means selling out, just a little, one small step to one larger step at a time.

Finally, the devil pulls out all the stops - his trickiest of tricks. “If you’re so special,” the devil says, “then throw yourself off the cliff and let God catch you.” Maybe this one gave Jesus pause. He had his own doubts, after all. Perhaps he was tempted to find out: did he really matter to God? Wouldn’t it be great to stick it to the devil and put him in his place?

But once again, Jesus refuses. He says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” And the devil finally gives up and wanders away – departing, we are told grimly, until a more opportune time presents itself.

It’s that last trick of the devil’s that I want to address today.

Who could blame us for not wanting to test God? This question gets put to me in a whole number of ways. Doubt is part of faith, and so it’s a question that often comes up.

People ask: how do you know God is real? Or more precisely, if God is real, why would God let this bad thing happen to me? Or how could God let this tragedy happen? Perhaps we are wondering, “Why doesn’t God step in and resolve what’s happening in the world right now?”

I have a close friend, who is an atheist, and we often discuss religion. Right now, in the middle of a very difficult time, he said this to me: “I wish I could believe as you do, to have this faith in a higher power.” And then he said, “But I know if I did, I would just be angry at God for letting this happen to me. So, any faith I had would be lost.”

This is a significant part of the Lenten journey, to help us develop a deeper appreciation of what it means to follow the gospel, and what it means to trust in the existence of God. When we put God behind the bad things - or even the good things - that happen in our lives, we have put God in the wrong place. God sits beside us and walks with us, and that is quite different.

The faith that each of us takes from the gospel, and, most importantly, the lessons we learn by following it, are what carry us through those hard times, and lead us to the better times. The knowledge of inner strength – that helps us withstand both hardship and temptation. The belief in our self-worth – that tells us we don’t need kingdoms to be powerful. The trust that we are loved and valued – that tells us not to waste time with trumped-up tests and trials.

That is Jesus walking beside us and even helping to carry us over rough patches. Which is what I told my friend: The God who has my faith doesn’t view me as a plaything to manipulate. My relationship to God is more loving than that and runs deeper than that.

God doesn’t let things happen to me; God guides me to get through the crappy things that happen and teaches me how to make things better for myself and for other people.

And that is far more powerful – far more life-sustaining – than a faith that spends time looking to heaven waiting for a sign. We are meant to look straight ahead, knowing heaven walks with us.

So, here’s the question: what if Jesus had leapt from the cliff that day with the Devil, would God have saved him? Well, I suppose that depends on your view of saving. Even when we leap off that metaphorical cliff by mistake or carelessness or intention, God doesn’t abandon us. It’s when we are mistaken or careless that we instinctively lean most heavily on the gospel.

But don’t be misled: our understanding of the gospel should come from a place in which God assumes us to be -- at our best -- thoughtful, reflective, and independent people. I know there are some pulpits where ministers preach God’s grace when certain lives are spared in tragedy. Or where the congregation is encouraged to pray for wealth and prosperity to come to us.

That’s not this pulpit. Because that understanding of God assumes that some are chosen and others are abandoned. It assumes that all the active and gracious life taught in the gospel is just a great story, that really we just need to go home and hope for the best. That kind of faith assumes that God is either pushing from behind or pulling from the front. But God was sitting with Jesus each time he met the devil’s challenge. And God is the strength that sits with each of us the same way.

That’s the thing: We don’t test God. God doesn’t test us. God stands with us while we are tested. And however you articulate that presence, we all have to the make the teachings of the gospel true and active.

When the world is a grim place, when it seems especially dangerous and cruel, the smart question isn’t, “Why did God let this happen?” It’s “What, with God’s help, will we do about it?” The smart emotion isn’t fretting and stewing about what change is on its way. It’s staying curious, listening for the gospel and reflecting in prayer, “What change will I make happen?”

That’s the lesson of Ash Wednesday – accepting the dark thought that we are dust and to dust we shall return and deciding what to do about it. And it’s the journey of Lent, recognizing our shadow selves and seeing them for what they are. What will we do about them?

What will we do? What will we change? What world will we leave behind? Now, that’s the ultimate test -- one worth taking over and over again, until we get it right.

Amen

March 5 ~ Remember That You Are Dust,and to Dust You Shall Return

March 5, 2025

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:1-2,12-17

Psalm 51:1-17 

Matthew 6:1-6,16-21  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

Bronnie Ware used to care for people every day as they faced their mortality. She was a palliative care nurse in Australia. People came into her life in the last six weeks or less of their lives. Like the compassionate palliative nurses I meet during my own pastoral visits, she held their hands, and monitored their pains, and made space for their families. For me, to be present with people at the very end – in those most truly, honest human moments - has always been a privilege as a pastor.

A few years ago, Bronnie began asking her patients for their final words of wisdom, and she began to hear their regrets. Five regrets, in particular, came up over and over. When I read those five regrets she published in her book, I recognized each one of them. For I too have heard them. When you hear them, they may also sound familiar. Maybe because they echo a regret that already dwells in your soul.

These are the five:

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.

I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

I wish that I had let myself be happier.

Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of Lent, the time of reflection and contemplation in our journey of faith. These next 40 days are meant to bring clarity and resolution to the time we have left. This is why we begin on this quiet evening with a reminder of our mortality: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Who will you be when that moment comes?

Lent is our chance to consider this question, in partnership with God. To reflect on the regrets we may want to avoid at the end of our lives. You probably already know what they are or will be. So what stops us from changing our paths now?

A few years ago, a trio of American researchers set up an experiment. They asked 19,000 people, from the ages of 18 to 68, to predict how much they had changed in the previous decade, and then to predict how much they would change in the future. They were surprised by the result: both young and old all believed that they had changed significantly over the last ten years. But also everyone also believed that they would change little in the future. They saw the future only in terms of where and who they were today. The researchers called this “the end-of-history illusion.”

The consequence of this belief is probably obvious. We may think we know everything we need to know and stop being curious. We may assume the grief or sadness or stress we feel today will be with us, in the same way, forever. We may think we cannot change our personalities or habits. And when it comes to those regrets, this end-of-history illusion may convince us there is no way to fix them.

Now, consider the words that shape Ash Wednesday: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” On the one hand, we might say – that is extremely depressing; best to put it out of our minds”. Or we might say: “Great news, we are not dust yet. Our history is not at an end.”

In fact, our gospel is constantly reminding us that we can and do change, we can correct mistakes, and we can become better versions of ourselves. If it weren’t true, Jesus would presumably spend all his time teaching and learning from children. But the disciples were breadwinners. Mary and Martha were running a household. The taxpayer, we can assume, was not particularly young. Neither was the widow at the well.

And yet, Jesus approached each of them with lessons, and he himself learned from them as well; because human beings are meant to grow and change.

Perhaps the greatest risk of buying into the “end-of-history illusion” is that we base our decisions today on a fixed future. So we don’t take risks to change. We lose hope that broken relationships can be repaired. We believe that what we regret today will still be a regret when we take our last breath.

And yet, I can tell you that this is indeed an illusion. All the time, I see families that take the step to break away from a dysfunctional pattern; a system passed on to them by the generations before. All the time, I see couples that change the way they communicate and come to value one another in a new way. I see workaholics who decide to invest more in their families and friends. I see people who learn to get better at expressing their feelings more honestly.

I see people who choose to be happy.

It is not easy. It does not happen in a day. It takes reflection, intention, and mindfulness. But we have a guide in God and the gospel; and we have a time that is set aside to try – the next 40 days

Now, not every regret, sadly, can be corrected directly – the other person may refuse to participate, your parents may be gone from this earth. But there are very few regrets that cannot be, in some way, remedied. We can change by forgiving ourselves or others, by not repeating the same behaviour with our children, by choosing to say today the loving and kind things we wish we had said earlier. We can indeed change our futures. Our history does not end today.

Let this be our challenge for the next 40 days. To think intentionally about what story we want to tell at the end of days when we look back on our lives; what story, even that we want to tell about this day and this week, when we fall asleep each night. And then to set about writing that story into our lives right now. Set your priorities. Connect with the people you love. Be true to yourself.

From dust we came, and dust we shall become. This, we cannot change. But we are not dust yet.

Amen

The Top Five Regrets of the Dying - A Life Transformed by the Dearly Departing is a 2011 book by Bronnie Ware

The 'end of history illusion' (EOHI; Quoidbach, Gilbert, & Wilson, 2013)

March 2 ~ Be at the Centre of the Change You Wish to See

Click the graphic above to watch a recording of the service.

March 2, 2025

Transfiguration of Our Lord

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:28-43a  

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

We are living through a time of stressful, and anxiety-inducing change. Much of it we cannot do anything about - at least not directly. But we can make changes in ourselves, and in our communities. And that is the very theme of Lent: to enter into a deeper conversation about faith, about our values and purpose, and emerge on Easter Sunday, changed.

Change is central to Transfiguration Sunday, and the theme of our readings.

First, we find the disciples enjoying their time on the mountain away from the crowds. They witness the transfiguration of Jesus, and they are suddenly nervous about what that means. They want things to stay the same. What’s more, they want to stay on the mountain as a way to keep things the same, to preserve their relationship with Jesus. “Can’t we just hang out here?” they ask. “Do we need to move ahead?”

Secondly, we have Jesus, in a rare moment of anger, frustrated with the crowd. “How long,” he rails, “do I need to deal with you people? How many times do I need to show you the way to change, before you actually listen?” Jesus is angered by the lack of change he sees happening.

And thirdly, we hear the request of a worried father, seeking change for his son, the healing of his condition. He wants to make this change happen – he needs it to – so he comes to Jesus with his request, and it is granted.

Change we resist. A lack of change that frustrates us. Change we seek.

What can we learn from each of these stories?

Let us consider the times in our lives when we have resisted change that deep down, we know needs to happen, or is going to happen anyway. Perhaps we needed to make a move, or change out of a crappy job, or leave the safety of our parents’ home. In this case, we can see that the disciples achieve nothing by trying to talk Jesus into staying up the mountain. They might have said instead: “We are afraid of what happens next. We are not sure we can handle it. How can we move forward in the most helpful way?” Sometimes our resistance to change, prevents us from exploring what is really at the root of that resistance, and from making an intentional plan to change it.

Then we have our frustration around change we want to happen but doesn’t. In that case what happens? We tend to blame the person or group or circumstance that is not changing. Even Jesus, in that moment, makes that mistake – losing it with the crowd. And yet the crowd could not change on their own – they needed to be lovingly guided and taught to change – which is, of course, what Jesus does in his ministry. He doesn’t make it about the ones not changing – he focuses on his role to foster that change and be an example of that change himself. Aside from that jarring moment in our gospel, he makes the story about his relationship with the people. How often do we do the opposite – look for others to change, become frustrated when they do not, without seeing the role we play in preventing change, or the way we can foster it?

And then we have the father seeking healing for his son. He wants this change to happen. But he does not sit at his son’s bedside and hope for it. He does not just wish for it to happen. He makes it happen. He finds Jesus, and he asks for his help. He makes the step toward change. He pursues it. Do we always do this? Do we see the change we want to happen and run towards it? Or do we, too often, wait for it come to us?

In the gospel, Jesus is our star dynamic character. The baby who becomes a teacher who is transfigured and named as the Son of God. The dynamic nature of Jesus spreads like a contagion, and all around him, other characters – the disciples, members of the crowd, the people who receive his healing, even the ones to whom he gives a hard time - they also become dynamic. Jesus changes, and this changes those around him.

That is the fourth example of change we receive: when we choose to accept it, when we make ourselves the centre of the change we want to see, when we pursue the change we desire, we affect the world around us. The truth that Jesus knew is this: change comes to us all, whether we like it or not. If it did not, we would be the static character who never moves anywhere, who never accomplishes anything. Come down from the mountain: Be honest and wise about the change that must happen. Focus your frustration: Be compassionate and take responsibility for the change we want that isn’t happening. And take action: pursue the change we want to happen. These coming 40 days offer us an opportunity. This Season of Lent intentionally creates space for positive change to happen in our lives. May we all be dynamic characters in our own gospel stories.

Amen.