In the Wilderness...to see who we are.

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

First Sunday in Lent

February 18th, 2024

Genesis 9:8-17

1 Peter 3: 18-22

Mark 1: 9-15

The “I’m busier than you” conversation is probably the modern equivalent of “my dad is bigger than your dad” – and it’s just as ridiculous. But it’s also pretty human: we spend too much of our time, often unconsciously, sizing up our lives against the lives of others. And now it’s not cars and homes – now we want to have as little time for ourselves as anyone else does. That’s just crazy – and a recipe, sociologists say, for unhappiness. Because we become like the hamster on the treadmill, always chasing something we cannot catch. If we see ourselves only in the reflection of others, we never see who we truly are.

This is the first Sunday in Lent – and as much as Lent is a time for quiet contemplation, I imagine that for most of us, the real world isn’t going to clear away our schedules so we can wander off into the wilderness for 40 days and wrestle with our inner selves. The kids will still get homework, the boss will still lay down deadlines, whoever needs our attention is still going to need it.

But if any society needed to put the brake on, I think it’s ours. Those forty days that Jesus spent in the wilderness, winning riddles with the Devil and thinking hard about the days ahead and his connection with God, were key to setting him on the right path again. Before he went off into the wilderness, he was living a superstar’s life, thronged by crowds wanting his autograph, or to touch his cloak. I doubt he ever had to cook a meal. That’s a heady experience – and I imagine the human part of Jesus struggled with the temptation of fame. I suspect that like us, he occasionally felt overwhelmed by all the work that needed to be done, and the people clamoring to get his attention.

In fact, when he does meet the devil in the desert, many of the temptations are playing on the hubris of Jesus – asking him to prove that he is as great as his followers say, that he ranks in comparison. It was the Devil’s version of the busy conversation. And Jesus wasn’t having any of it. He knew who he was. He didn’t need to prove it – least of all to the Devil, who was never going to see his side of things anyway.

Now, I want to get back to that. But first let’s return to the wilderness. We aren’t winning the Lenten sweepstakes and getting our 40-day sojourn, so we must find the time to wrestle with our temptations in the here and now. That makes sense anyway, because the things that tempt us away from the good things that God wants for us, exist in the here and now.

Usually, they happen over and over again – and often we react in the same way. But Lent is the church’s changeover season: and our chance to change. Lent is meant to be a time for us to contemplate our connection with God. But these next 40-odd days create for us 40 opportunities to be deliberate in our actions, to defeat our temptations, and to break bad habits. A bad habit, according to science, takes about 14 days to break – so God has kindly given us some wiggle room. And this is not about giving up chocolate or movies or some other pleasure. This is our time, in the wilderness, to see who we are, to decide who we want to be and find the path between those two points. That was what the 40 days meant for Jesus. In the silence – in the quiet space he had – I imagine that he spent a lot of time on those three questions: Who am I? Who do I want to be? And what is the path in between?

I think that as Lenten resolutions go – that would be the first one I would propose to you. To ask yourself those three questions every day, for these forty days. I have no doubt that you will find that God is working through each one of those questions – and he has some pretty clear instructions for the third one in particular.

But today I am going to stick with just one: a variation on how Jesus responded to the Devil, and the core of what’s dysfunctional about that whole “I am busier than you are argument.”

Too much of our understanding of how people behave is about us, and not them. If our partner snaps at us, we often take it personally – rather than assuming first that they had a bad day at work. A friend runs late or cancels at the last minute – they must not want to be with us, we may find ourselves thinking – when the truth is that other parts of their life have swamped them. People do inconsiderate things without ever meaning to be inconsiderate – and we often forget that.

This week, I read some advice on how to handle this reaction. Every time someone’s behaviour irritates you, or insults you, the writers suggested, say to yourself: “That person is giving the best they can in this particular moment.” Even if you are justified in being irritated – especially if you are justified in being irritated -- you say: “That person is giving the best they can in this particular moment.”

As Lenten resolutions go, I think that’s a good one. And here’s why: first of all, thinking those words requires that we remove our own selfish wants from the exchange – and force ourselves to consider the other person. For just a moment, what flashes through our mind may be a charitable thought about where they could be in life right now, that goes a long way to defuse the tension. In that instance, we have stepped away into the quiet wilderness, however briefly. We say: “That person is giving the best they can in this moment.” Now let me be clear, this is not about being above someone else—that gets us right back to ‘who is busier.’ This is about assuming the best of that person—and that their intentions are good. The funny thing is, that’s exactly what God promises to say about us, every time we make a mess of things: “They are doing their best. I forgive them.”

But what makes this self-help step perfect for Lent is how it helps bring us to a better understanding of ourselves. We can see ourselves more clearly, standing outside the fray, than when we are wrestling with everyone else in the middle of it. When we refuse to be baited we are defining ourselves as patient. When we forgive even when we shouldn’t have to, we define ourselves as compassionate. We stop wasting our time – the little free time we feel we have – quibbling over who’s busiest. And even better, it focuses our energy not on the problem, but on the solution. Those actions – compassion, patience, service – they bring us closer to God.

Every time Jesus said no to the Devil, he set himself apart from the Devil: he defined himself as someone outside the fray. Each time, he came to understand himself a little better. And in this way, the path for his life became clear to him.

This is the opportunity we also have in Lent: to identify our temptations, to learn from them, resist them, and define who we are by a better response to them.

We have just about 40 days. More than enough time to change those bad habits, to decide who we want to be and make a path to get there. So set forth into the busy wilderness of life. And to get things started, the next time you meet with a conflict, think these words: “This person is giving me the best they can at this moment. I forgive them.” Who knows? Maybe they are thinking the same of you—maybe they are giving you the same wiggle room, erring on the side of grace. Wouldn’t that be a relationship, worthy of God? Amen.

The real Transfiguration of Jesus occurred with each step He took

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Transfiguration Sunday

Last Sunday after Epiphany

February 11th, 2024

2 Kings 2:1-12

2 Corinthians 4:3-6

Mark 9: 2-9

In a way, if you think about it, Jesus had it easy. His birth was a celebrated event, his place as the Son of God had been set out for him. All his life, people had been telling him he was special.

John the Baptist, certainly among the most holy of men, had announced his coming, and baptized him in the name of God. He was performing healings for the sick and bereft that were seen as miracles.

And now, on this Transfiguration Sunday, we are told of how Jesus, high upon a mountain praying with his disciples, was suddenly cast in a bright light from heaven, and how a cloud appeared, and the voice of God rang out, saying: “This is my beloved; listen to him.”

And so Jesus was transfigured, from a wandering rabbi with special skills at healing, and a wondrous birth story, to a divinity so much greater. God appears in a cloud, and names Jesus for the rest to hear. It could not have been clearer than that.

So that’s what I mean when I suggest that Jesus had it easy. The path to his transfiguration - his transformation – was laid out before him with holy fanfare. He had so many Easter eggs pointing him in the direction he was meant to go, he could have fed 5,000 with the omelette.

The path was not easy - let’s make that clear, as well. Few have travelled a more difficult distance, in the end. But he knew the way to go. It was brightly lit by signposts all the way.

It is not so easy for us to find that same transformative path, at least most of the time. We don’t typically get a cloud, announcing to our friends – announcing to our own selves, that we matter - that we are special—and that people should suddenly see us differently, that we are made for great things.

I would argue that we miss the more subtle ways that God imparts this knowledge to us. But mostly, we have to rely on more abstract ideas to be transformed along the paths of our lives - ideas such as faith and hope. We have to take the lessons of the gospel out of the time in which they are set and align them with our particular modern-day issues. This isn’t always easy. Our own transfiguration journey is not so clearly laid out before us.

So what can we learn from such a wondrous tale? How can the experience of the disciples on that mountain, that moment of divinity for Jesus, help us leap to our own transfiguration – that change we want to make?

Well, there is the obvious one: had the disciples not been on the mountain with Jesus, they would never have witnessed anything odd. And perhaps it also took that quiet space for God to speak in more a forceful way. In that sense, we may think that the disciples – and Jesus – together created an opportunity for the transfiguration to happen. They left the road and went up the mountain – to rest and pray and clear their heads, yes – but also to quiet the noise around them. To be transfigured, we must create opportunity; we must put ourselves in a place to listen or to be challenged or to be mindful.

I think another important part of transfiguration is love. Think of Peter’s request to Jesus up on the mountain: he wanted to stay. But why? Was it because he hated the world down the mountain? Or because he loved Jesus so much, he wanted to save him from the world? Peter, on more than one occasion, is the voice that seems to be pulling Jesus from his path – but why? It is all for love. We know this because of how Peter chose to live afterwards. That love is what made the transfiguration of Jesus so hard on the disciples. It brought them over the hill they had been climbing, to understand what the gospel and Jesus really represented. And what did Peter learn? It was something he continued to struggle with after that moment on the mountain, even though he knew it to be true. Jesus could not be kept from the world, because he was for the world. Jesus could not be who Peter saw on the mountain – and Peter could not be the man who followed that Jesus – without going back down the mountain.

I also think transfigurations require a measure of belief for them to happen. I don’t mean strictly a belief in the gospel, or even for Peter and the disciples, but a belief that God really had spoken in that moment on the mountain. That is still a very fact-based belief: it happened, or I heard it, so I believe. When I have seen transfiguration happen, it has been because people made the leap to believe that peace and healing and hope were possible. I imagine the disciples, there in that moment on the mountain, could see Jesus draped in light. They could see it, they could understand what it meant, it could fill every part of them, because they had already chosen to believe.

I see transfiguration every day. I visit someone who is a little cranky and I give them communion, and they relax, and smile, and they are changed by the gift of God’s grace.

Year after year, on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, I have seen families weep with terrible, crushing sorrow, and then I have seen them, reach a place where, on that day, they can laugh and tell stories and bask in the light of their loved one. This kind of healing through grief is perhaps the closest example, that I witness as a pastor, of the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop. Like Jesus, the loved one did not truly change; but their family loved and believed until they saw the fullness of them, their transfigured presence. And the family understood that their loved one could be gone but also present, lost but also resurrected. That they could be sad, but also laugh. That is the incredible power of transfiguration.

Transfiguration means a change, and usually a holy or divine one. But that doesn’t mean it requires a mountaintop and a cloud to happen. In fact, as we can also see, the transfiguration of Jesus perceived by the disciples began much, much earlier, probably even before he called them from their boats, in the questions they asked themselves in the quiet moments,

Most of the real changes I have seen people make have been much more down-to-earth. They happened without fanfare but with hard work and clear thinking. In fact, even for Jesus, we could argue that while God’s voice was a dramatic touch, a seminal moment, the real transfiguration of Jesus occurred with each step he took, with each person he healed, each lesson he taught. His true transformation happened when the people believed in him and in the gospel he was preaching.

Life isn’t static. Change happens all around us, for worse and for better. We know the statistics on climate change are not good, that the transfiguration of the earth is not heading in a positive direction. We see, so clearly among our Ottawa Lutherans, how the church is changing, morphing into something new - both because it has to, and because it wants to. Society is evolving. Because it has to and because it wants to.

It’s that combination of desire and need that pushes us into transformation. In fact, knowing we need to change is never enough on its own; we must also want to change. We must believe in it.

This Transfiguration Sunday, God is specific with us: Listen to what Jesus has to say. That includes the kind of forgiveness, knowledge, and gratitude that can be transformative in our lives, that can help us more clearly hear the voice of God speaking to us, to bring us more fully into relationship with others. It is not easy.

Because change is not easy. It’s true, we may not have a cloud clearing the fog for us. But we have the gospel, and the life of Jesus, to be a transfiguring influence in our lives. “Here is my beloved,” the voice of God said. “Listen to him.” Listen well, and be transfigured. Amen.

God is not out of reach, nor is God a prize

Sermon by Rev. Joel Crouse

Fifth Sunday after Epiphany

February 4th, 2024

Isaiah 40:21-31

1 Corinthians 9:16-23

Mark 1: 29-39

If you have ever taken an Uber, you know the clever way that the company has ensured that everyone is on their best behaviour. At the end of each trip, the passenger gets to rank the driver on a five-star scale. The driver does the same for the passenger. Your score is averaged out, so that you can see how well you have been perceived. What’s more, it can have consequences on both sides: a low score for a passenger means a driver can choose not to pick them up, or a passenger can decline a driver.

All I know is that by all reports, it appears to be working. Uber drivers have an incentive to be chatty and gracious; and passengers the same. As the world of internet Likes and Yelp ratings has clearly demonstrated, we really enjoy keeping score.

But then, this morning, we have Paul, raining on our parade. For this is exactly what Paul is preaching against: the good deeds and kindness that we boast about, our need for constant affirmation. As Paul writes, the gospels give “no ground for boasting.” Good deeds and kindness are an obligation, with its own reward. If we do it for ourselves, sure, we might feel good. But following the gospel is something we are entrusted to do by God. The gospel is “free of charge,” so that we might make full use of it.

Indeed, Paul goes on, to truly serve others, we cannot place ourselves above them. We must be as them. We must be under the law, to help those who find themselves under the law. And outside the law, with those who find themselves outside of it. To help the weak, we must become weak; that is, we must walk in their shoes. And we must do it all “for the sake of the gospel” so that we may share its blessings.

In other words, following the gospel is the reward. The act of doing good is the good we receive. There are no Uber stars in the gospel. God just isn’t interested, we are told in the Psalm, “God is not impressed by a swift horse or the speed of a runner but finds pleasure in those who fear God.” Let us not get tripped up by the word fear – which means, in this context, to stand in awe, to listen to the directions we receive, to hear what God is saying to us.

These last few weeks have been focused on our personal responsibility as Christians, and the directions have been stern. It would seem our tendencies to brag, to flaunt our success, to puff ourselves up with pride, were well known 2,000 years ago, as they are clearly in evidence today. You have only to consult a Facebook feed to see it. It is perhaps the most dangerous risk to our ability to do good. When we need to boast about good deeds, we also need witnesses. We may help only where others we admire can see, and not where we are needed most.

But what is Paul saying: that we cannot feel proud of ourselves when we do good? That we should scorn accomplishment? And Paul wasn’t alone: Saint Augustine and Thomas Aquinas were among those who named pride as the “beginning of all sin.” They were talking about the pride that makes us blind to the needs of others – what psychologists today call narcissism. And perhaps they understand what now makes sense: confident people don’t need to brag; they don’t need to retaliate against those who threaten their self-image. What is hiding underneath the narcissist is not true self-pride, but as Jessica Tracy, the author of Take Pride puts it, “deeply hidden feelings of shame.” This kind of preening, arrogant pride is not about feeling good, Tracy concludes, but about not feeling bad. She argues that we need to learn the difference – between inner self-esteem, the “crown virtue” that pride can be, and the so-called “deadly sin” that leads to unhappiness.

And so, we begin to see that what Paul is preaching has a two-fold goal: his instructions are meant to facilitate the highest form of carrying out the gospel and also to keep those doing so happy. And what we learn is that each of these two aspects is necessary for the other to occur. Boasting of our gospel-led selves leads only to despair – the ways we don’t measure up, for starters. But internalizing the gospel as a way of being, and not as a sum of actions, extends that peace to ourselves. It is difficult to fulfill the gospel with our eyes continually on the prize, so to speak. And it is hard to feel good about ourselves when we are striving for a prize always out of reach.

But God is not out of reach; nor is God a prize. God does just what Paul describes: meets us where we are. What difference does that make for us, the skeptic might ask? What is really different in our life if we see our relationship with a higher power this way? Well, of course, when we can sustain the connection, it makes every difference. We don’t need the gospel to lift us up; we can be the gospel. And when that happens, the very first person we give it to is ourselves. We are the Good Samaritan who helps, the Prodigal Son who is welcomed, the Widow at the Well who is heard. We are the disciples on the fishing boat who are accepted. We are the tax collector who is invited. And having been treated so, we are free to respond. That five-star Uber rating doesn’t matter: we are kind and friendly not to get something back, but because it is the right way to be out of thankfulness for what we first received.

We can live, as Paul says, for “the sake of the gospel.” Because we share already in its blessings. Amen.