Acts 2 - Basic Equation to Be Church

 

This morning we are presented with the basic equation for a growing and vibrant church.

It is repeated many times in the book of Acts and the other letters that follow in our Bibles.

What, stands out from the reading in Acts chapter 2? Let’s review:

vs 14: Peter, standing with the eleven… addressed THEM, “MEN of Judea and ALL who live in Jerusalem”;

vs. 36-37: Let the ENTIRE house of Israel know … when THEY heard this THEY were cut to the heart and said to Peter and to the other Apostles;

vs 39: For the promise is for you, for your children, and for ALL who are far away, EVERYONE whom the Lord our God calls;

vs 41: we hear That day 3000 persons were added, baptized into the body of Christ.

If we continue with vs. 42, we read:

THEY devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and prayers. (v.42)

 

The basic equation has – Peter and the Apostles (more than one person), + add,

Preaching and proclaiming the gospel, + add, in a public setting, x multiplied by more than one listener = equals the body of Christ. The body of Christ are the baptized, a community who joins immediately in

 fellowship and the breaking of bread and the prayers.

 

Notice that the teachers and preachers are a group.

Notice that the language is plural – they, the entire, men, all, everyone.

We will notice in coming weeks that the collection of post-resurrection writings, have the body of Christ working as community. We will notice the sharing of resources and holding all in common.

There is no I. There is no my.

There is no building. There is no restriction on who can belong.

The church is the body of Christ - a living community working to manifest God’s kindom; resurrection now.

 

Baptist Pastor James Bell speaks about American Christianity, reflecting on how the culture of consumerism, the ideal of the American dream, and individualism, has skewed Christian values and been a detriment to the witness of the body of Christ. He writes:

We have millions of ‘saved’ individuals and no body. We have customers and no church. We have consumers and no community. We have people who love Jesus and cannot stand each other.

Because we made self the centre. And when self is the centre, the church becomes optional, community becomes inconvenient, and discipleship becomes shallow. The New Testament vision is far bigger than “me and Jesus.”

 

The 40^th Anniversary of the creation of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in Canada recognizes that the Canadian Lutheran church has structured itself and its weekly operations in congregations, like this one, to be heavily invested in the “me and Jesus” movement. We have practiced 40 years of this and are very good at it. Worship is for us. Programming is for us. It is what we want. It is saving what we own. It is controlling our space and our resources. It is deciding who belongs. We say all are welcome, as long as they venture in the door on their own and subscribe to the way we operate.

The 40^th Anniversary of the ELCIC is inviting the whole church, across the whole country, to reset –

to resurrect as the body of Christ. The idea of May 31^st as a Day of Action focuses on the basic equation for a growing and vibrant church. More than one person (a congregation), preaches and proclaims the gospel in a public setting – that is outside the building on the streets and in the neighbourhood. It is a return to a vision where church is bigger than “me and Jesus;” It is a return to living as a body – the body of Christ - in action in the world.

 

This week there has been a lot of action in this neighbourhood. Long-term-care workers from St. Vincent’s, the nursing home next door, are on strike. The church has been their rest stop. Picketers come in to use the bathroom, help themselves to food and drink, make signs, rest their feet and warm up and dry out.

Neighbours and organizations have been in and out supplying coffee and treats. Neighbours have stood on the picket line with them, encouraged them with honks and waves, and signed petitions.

Regardless of what one thinks of unions – as a group, a community, they have lived gospel outside of these doors. They stand together for all their members. They are in the community preaching their truth. They are working as one unit, one body in solidarity.

 

Offering hospitality has meant that the Tuesday Loneliness Café met surrounded by the hubbub of union work and people coming-and-going. There was a flourish of listening and conversation. For Pastor Kimber it has been the ministry of being present: listening, offering hugs, being calm, answering questions; gifts of time and hospitality. For church council -being the body of Christ- was sharing space; two meetings were held in the sanctuary this week so the larger community could keep on doing their work.

Regular groups who use the hall have graciously accepted the bigger vision – setting up their meetings in different configurations than their norm, to accommodate the extra items in the kitchen and hall.

There is energy in the building, on the corner, in the neighbourhood.

 This week living as community – symbiotic with another expression of community – together we have been manifesting God’s kindom.

 

Consider for a moment – that the union’s request to use the hall was denied.

We would have a nice quiet space, to do our regular programming, where we could meet where we wanted.

We would be comfortable and able to control the resources used. When entering the building everything would be where we left it and how we like it. As customers we would be satisfied.

 

The union – the actual human beings on the picket line – would see a church building with closed doors. The closest space to their need, not offering comfort of bathroom, a cup of water, or shelter; a congregation living for itself, oblivious to the world around them. The neighbours would have nowhere to bring coffee and treats; seeing the closed door they would wonder, “Of what use is the Church?” Not opening the door, would signal to this part of HRM that we do not live what Christians preach and profess: to love your neighbour, feed the hungry, do justice, show mercy, live kindness, welcome the stranger, do unto others as you would have them do to you.

 

This is but one immediate example of applying what we read in the Bible to every day living. The post-resurrection followers of Jesus and those baptized into the body of Christ were figuring out how to be the church -faith community, in community, as community.  

Returning to the words of Pastor James Bell:

The New Testament vision is far bigger than “me and Jesus.”

It is a people. A body. A family. A living witness to the world that Christ is real.

Until we get back to that, we will keep filling rooms while emptying the Church.

We will keep producing consumers who know how to attend church but do not know how to be church.

"Low" Sunday

 

This is “low” Sunday. The Sunday following the hype and excitement of Easter has generally been a Sunday of low attendance and quiet services. People stay away, whether tuckered out and recouping from Easter celebrations or taking a weekend to enjoy spring-like weather. Perhaps people feel so filled up that they feel no need to go to church.

 

I think that the designation “low” Sunday is a good one, for another reason.

Through the season of Easter our first readings are from the Book of Acts, and second readings are from 1^st  Peter. I really like these readings. It is not the resurrection stories that I get excited about, as much as these snippets from Acts and Peter. The texts follow the early church who is applying the resurrection to their daily lives and communities. We witness the church figuring out the Jesus story – Jesus’ death and resurrection – and the cataclysmic change taking place at that time because of it.

 

Low Sunday  - the disciples after Jesus’ death and resurrection hole up in an upper room. Grieving and scared. As we follow believers in Acts, we notice that there are highs and lows. This fledgling movement starts in Jerusalem. Moving out from there, we hear stories from what are now, communities in present day Syria, Lebanon, and Turkey. As the Apostles go out, preaching and teaching the good news, there are

low days when nothing happens. There are low days because they are persecuted, scared. not knowing what to do. They sit in jail or defend themselves and their faith before authorities. Yet, in the low, resurrection moments, miraculous experiences, and extreme spirit events, surprise everyone. There are stories: of crowds coming to hear them preach. Thousands of people at one time believing in Jesus and being baptized. Converts unexpectedly and immediately changed, when hearing the gospel, freee their slaves and have their households baptized. Others who leave everything to follow in Jesus’ ways.

These experiences -with hype and glamour, excitement and far-spreading news- begin and end in a “low” Sunday.

 

When I go on my daily walks I take note of peoples’ flowerbeds. Snowdrops are out and crocus are opening. They have been resurrected. One can see the green beginnings of daffodils and tulips, and the sprouts on forsythia bushes. For these it is not yet time to bloom. To a viewer they are in a “low” period, but much is going on under the surface as they get ready to bloom.

I think conversion, faith, and belief take time – the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection has to settle into hearts and minds – a ‘”low” period where greening and growing are happening undercover. And then in a bold moment, “low” bursts into full bloom. Full bloom could be a big event, an influx of seekers, adults requesting baptism, an overwhelming number of newcomers. Full bloom is a church, a faith community, in a moment of transformation, transition, resurrection, … whatever you want to call it.

It is a time that is: Exciting. Fear inducing. Hopeful. Encouraging. And Daunting.

 

On this “low” Sunday the death and resurrection of Jesus is settling into our bones. There is stuff going on that is not visible. In this state we hear stories from the Petrine and Pauline traditions that shared the gospel and were the church at the end of the 1^st century in the Roman Empire. We witness the highs and the lows. We witness a church that rapidly expands, faces persecution, and struggles in their social and cultural situations. We witness communities applying and living Christ’s resurrection as they wait for Christ’s imminent return.

 

Two thousand years later the church waits on a “low” Sunday, where imminent return is still in the making. Be not hasty to turn to doubt, just because it appears as if nothing is happening. Under the surface resurrection is percolating.

 

In 28 years of pastoring, much of my ministry has been working in the “low” times. Planting seeds, tending hearts, shepherding faith, fertilizing spirits. This has been your work too. We don’t always get to see the full bloom of resurrection.

 

Walter Bruggemann a theologian and influential Old Testament scholar, wrote, “The prophetic tasks of the church are to tell the truth in a society that lives in illusion, grieve in a society that practices denial, and express hope in a society that lives in despair.”

In the readings from Acts and Peter, we learn that this is how the early church applied and lived the death and resurrection of Jesus. They spoke truth, grieved, and expressed hope. They spoke into a world lost in illusion, denial, and despair.

Consider the world we live in. Is it not lost in illusion, denial, and despair?

 

We are like the early church, having experienced the high of Easter Sunday, we set to work figuring out how to apply and live Jesus’ death and resurrection. We speak truth, grieve, and express hope. All of these are done in “low” time – with the expectation that our work will radically change, transform, invigorate, gladden, enliven, convert, redeem, renew; and YES resurrect, - people, communities, societies, cultures, and the whole world. This we believe.

 

This is how Easter people live. We believe that much is happening in that which is considered “low.”

We expectantly, and with great anticipation, await big Easter moments of resurrection.

And so, we carry on resurrection as we address illusion, denial, and despair by boldly telling the truth, grieving openly, and expressing hope.

 

Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Three Days - Grounded: Sandpaper, Nails, Colour (Part 3)

 

Nailed it!

Incarnate love was poured out for the world – all creation connected - heart to heart with the Source of All Being.

Whether it was the experience of the earthquake, the sky turning dark, the spectacle, the suffering, the dying, the grieving, or the burying.

… maybe it was in the silence that followed …

 

 

I invite you to hold your colour patch.

 

This morning, what is the colour of your heart? Your spirit? What colour describes how you feel?

 

As the first day of the week was dawning, Mary and the other Mary went to see the tomb.

… amid the screeching of bombs, obliterated streetscapes, grey mounds of rubble, clouds of dust, scorching fire, shaking of the ground, wails of the people, and never-ending prayers …

Earlier this morning in the Old City of Jerusalem, amid the grey of violence and the colourlessness of fear, there was a faithful remnant whose hearts and spirits coloured over, around, and in the ashes. Palestinian siblings gathered in community, sang joyous hymns, dressed sanctuaries, heard the Word, declared Christ’s resurrection, and proclaimed good news --- resurrecting hearts and spirits, and hope through vibrant colourful alleluias.

 

Wednesday night a group of us joined for Bible Study, Raised from Dead. We explored four resurrection stories.

In an upper room, the dead on their bed, the bystanders sent out, Elijah, Elisha, Jesus, and Peter…cried out to God and life was restored. God breathed life – raising the dead- through an array of people and over a great expanse of time, God’s breath raised the dead. The colourful stories are set in colourless times; times of famine, drought, foreign occupation, and persecution.

The Bible Study group noticed similarities and patterns in the raised-from-dead stories. There was a hope that coloured us as we saw instances of continued presence and connection with the Source of All Being.

Just the simple hearing and talking about the stories was uplifting, happy, and hopeful for us. We left the session brighter.

 Hearing the Word changed the colour of our being.

This morning what is the colour of your heart? Your spirit? What colour describes how you feel?

 

I entered the Three Days – in a mix of grey and colourlessness –

Gloomy skies and dusty lungs. The draining of colour with every act of aggression, posture of war, and civilian with nowhere to go. I felt covered in the grey wash of the world’s sadness and grief.

This morning, although my heart was not fully invested, I dared to venture out and come here – to face an open tomb.

The Word of an open tomb doesn’t immediately spark joy or have me jump to talk of resurrection; to celebrate that all is made new and all will be okay. But over the morning, in the gathering of community, the aroma of breakfast, the hearing of the Word, the fullness and joy of the singing, the decorations, the declaration of Christ’s resurrection, the expectation of the effervescence of the Eucharist, and the proclamation of the good news ---- I am growing in colour.

 

The colour of my heart and my spirit is not one colour. It is a swirl, a little bit of colour from each of you, colour from the ambiance and everything here that is twinkling – sharing an expression of glory. It’s the bits and pieces, the scraps of colour, never-ending prayers, resistance and defiance to colour over the grey, that speak to me of resurrection – a collage put together to breath life into a colour-draining world.

 

This morning dawns with steaks of colour growing stronger as the woman encounter the angel, embrace Christ, and proclaim resurrection to the other disciples.

Last Sunday and again in worship on Thurs and Fri we heard colour-filled words by Oscar Romero. This morning he colours our hearts and spirits with words to breath colour – bring Christ’s resurrection- into the places where colour has and is being drained.

Oscar Romero wrote in the poem: A Future Not Our Own

We plant seeds that one day will grow.

We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.

We lay foundations that will need further development.

We provide yeast that produces effects beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that. This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.  

 

I invite you to take the sandpaper heart and the nail from the past two days. The heart has been pierced by the nail. -incarnational love poured out for the world – piercing our own heart. We long for colour and resurrection as we push the nail through the centre of our cross-flower shaped colour patch.

 

From ash – sand and grit –

From the cruelty and violence of the cross – death-

Colour is breathed into the world to blossom – into love, into hope;

Flower blossoms are coloured hearts and spirits – resurrected in Christ, empowered and enabled to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God’s grace to enter and do the rest.

 

May this be so. Amen.

The Three Days 2026

 

GROUNDED: SANDPAPER, NAILS, AND COLOUR PATCHES

 This is a three part sermon preached in parts on Maundy Thurs, Good Friday, and Easter. At each in person event a tangible item is provided to hearers.

MAUNDY THURSDAY

 

I invite you to hold your sandpaper heart.

 

One summer I was hired as a student summer worker by a woman who was redoing the entrance hall of her Victorian house. The hall was typical for a home of this era. To the right of the door a stained-glass widow, under it the start of a long set of stairs that rounded up to the second level. To the left of the front door were pocket doors closing off the parlour. Straight ahead there was a door to the back of the house and to the right of that a coat rack and bench.  The entrance could hold 10 people comfortably.  The wood floor was well-worn and various coloured stains were visible, some had gone tacky.

The staircase had been painted a few times, the last was in a thick white oil paint. The 12inch high baseboards that continued up the stairs, the spindles, railing, Newel post, and window frame were also painted white.

The woman decided it was time to return everything painted and stained to the oak that was buried underneath.

 

Did I tell you that that was my sandpaper summer?

Sandpaper in a plethora of grades from gritty to soft, was aided by scrapers and heat guns; no toxic strippers were used to remove all the paint and stain. The most ridiculous tool was a double handed electric floor sander, where the user, me, bent over holding both handles for dear life, as the sandpaper disk whisked all over the flat entryway floor. It was dangerous and dusty work. It took all summer and then some to finish the project.

When the wood was freed from layers of past sin, I mean paint, it was beautiful to behold. It was smooth to touch.

 

It is amazing that I still like sandpaper. But I do, I really do.

I appreciate the texture – textures. I appreciate the repetitive and meditative movement of sanding.  I appreciate the satisfaction of seeing and feeling the results of the physical effort put in. I appreciate that simple sandpaper can transform something so completely.

 

Maundy Thursday is a liturgy of tactile experiences.

The rituals of anointing with oil, foot washing, communion, and stripping the altar, engage all our sensate senses. We see. We hear. We smell. We touch. We taste. We embody the journey of the cross.

 

Maundy Thursday is the sandpaper of the Three Days. We come this evening covered in thick white oil paint and tacky stain. Each Sunday in Lent we were dismissed to go in peace. Do justice. Love mercy. And although we went and lived like nice people, we didn’t strive to do justice, we loved those we love but were shy on mercy, and in a troubled world went in peace but didn’t always surrender to that same peace to stay grounded. We are covered in layers of missed opportunities, nudges from the Spirit that were not put into actions, and hopes for justice in the prayers of others that we left undone.

Maundy Thursday is the sandpaper that works on removing the layers that bind and bury us.

 

Feel your sandpaper heart.

Whoever you are. Wherever your heart is. Whatever the condition of your spirit. However you live. Whatever has been done or left undone. Regardless of your perception of worthiness, forgivability, and belonging – the meditative rituals embrace us where we are, and sand away the layers that bury us.

 

Motion of sanding

Anointed, washed, fed, uncluttered

 

Oscar Romero said: A church that doesn’t provoke any crises, a gospel that doesn’t unsettle, a word of God that doesn’t get under anyone’s skin, a word of God that doesn’t touch the real sin of the society in which it is being proclaimed --- what gospel is that?

 

Sanded – our skin unburied- we- are grounded in an uncluttered place. Beautiful to behold.

With our senses engaged we embody the walk to the cross. Identifying and reflecting on the layers that bury us from going in peace, doing justice, loving mercy. As the story unfolds in these days we follow the disciples, paying attention to their layers, and through the experience we confess our sleepiness, betrayal, abandonment, and denial of Jesus. We openly lament our human nature that when confronted or bullied by Empire, religious authority, societal expectation, or cultural convention, we shy from proclaiming the gospel.

 

The gospel that is sanding away layers, provoking a crises, unsettling, getting under the skin – comes as heart shaped sandpaper. God’s heart - that was and is and will be poured out for all – embodied through Jesus’ incarnate action proclaims peace, justice, and mercy. And to the accepting and unaccepting alike the proclamation to each heart and community is simple: you are worthy, forgiven, belonging.

The sanding down of layers, with time and patience and care, transforms completely. Just like the entrance way in the Victorian home, once uncovered, freed, the wood was beautiful to behold.

 

Feel your sandpaper heart. Gospel is sandpaper. You are:  Anointed. … Washed. … Fed.  … Uncluttered.

 

Gospel transforms completely.

Gospel is in the shape of a heart.

 

 

GOOD FRIDAY

 

Last night -

Anointed. Washed. Fed. Uncluttered.

Sanded by rituals, freed from that which buries, we encountered God’s heart -  

We left the upper room, with the disciples, following Jesus. Although not understanding, knowing in our bones - the

Gospel transforms completely.

Gospel is in the shape of a heart.

 

I invite you to hold your nail.

 

Good Friday is represented in this tactile object.

In our world, nails fix things. Build things. Secure things. Connect things.

Nails we understand.

 

Gospel in the shape of a heart, not so much.

Jesus – God incarnate- is nailed to a cross.

The cross, a human instrument of torture and death, used by God to connect human beings, human hearts, human will, to the lengths to which God will go to love; to what lengths God will go to nail down connection and relationship --- to nail to our human nature a compulsion to peace, justice, and mercy for the healing of the whole world.

 

Oscar Romero in The Violence of Love wrote:

We have never preached violence, except the violence of love, which left Christ nailed to a cross, the violence that we must each do to ourselves to overcome our selfishness and such cruel inequalities among us. The violence we preach is not the violence of the sword, the violence of hatred. It is the violence of love, of brotherhood, the violence that wills to beat weapons into sickles for work.  

 

The nail pierces the heart.  push nail through sandpaper heart

God’s heart – and it stops –

 

This love – tears, sweat, blood, life

Is poured out for the world –

The nail pierces the heart.

Our heart – and it stops-

 To be filled with this incarnate love

NAILED.

Heart to heart.

 

 

To Be 'Great' Has Everything to do with Love

 

20 years ago, in the Palm Sunday sermon I asked: What does it mean to be great?

We considered Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. It was said that if humans had planned it, it would have been a grander and more spectacular hero entrance; picture the Lone Ranger on a white horse, swashbuckling sword in hand, with strong accompanying music. Along side this image we dared to explore the nature of God, learning that to be “great” has everything to do with love. We learned that it is here, through the donkey ride into Jerusalem, the journey of Holy Week, the day on the cross, that God meets us. Here God becomes present...hidden in weakness, vulnerable, suffering, forsaken, dying. In the abyss of despair in the deepest darkness God comes. In the painful reality of our mortality, our ultimate loneliness, our weakness, God encounters us. This is what it means to be great.

 

20 years ago, Palm Sunday fell on April 9^th, which is the day Lutherans commemorate Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The discussion of ‘greatness’ was applied to the actions and writings of Bonhoeffer. For those unaware, Bonhoeffer was executed as WWII drew to a close. He openly participated in actions to overthrow the Nazi regime, took a segment of the church underground, and wrote about Christ being present in community and the cost of discipleship. Bonhoeffer is considered a martyr.

While we may or may not face martyrdom, I preached that Sunday, that God has holy jobs for all of us. Jobs that have been chosen for each of us alone. There are special unique times and circumstances that you alone are the one called to be love.

 

This past week was a commemoration of another person exemplifying God’s view of ‘greatness.’ 46 years ago, in March, Archbishop Oscar Romero was martyred while presiding at Holy Communion. He was shot while standing at the altar. El Salvador was in turmoil, the Salvadorian Civil War was raging, injustice was prevalent, government harassed priests to silence them, and the regime publicly removed dissenters. Oscar Romero was a growing voice for the poor, a voice denouncing social injustice and violence. He spoke openly, giving power to the poor and marginalized, reimagining land reform, social transformation, inclusiveness, and workers’ rights. The liberating power of the gospel and its application was front and centre.

 

But this ‘greatness’ was not how Romero began. When appointed to archbishop he was considered a social conversative. He presided at worship, did baptisms and confirmations, shook hands with the church’s rich donors and catered to their needs. He did not ruffle feathers and did not speak out against the government or the growing violence. But one day everything changed!

Romero had a friend, Rutilio Grande, who was a fellow priest. Rutilio was part of a Jesuit evangelization mission team focused on liberation theology, working and walking with the poor and marginalized. For them living the gospel was central, its application meant speaking out on social and political issues.

Rutilio was removed by the regime for living the gospel. Martyred. His death profoundly affected Romero.

At the funeral in Rutilio’s hometown of El Paisnal, as he was interred under the altar, people chanted:

“Rutilio’s walk with El Paisnal is like Christ’s journey with the cross.”

 

What does it mean to be great?

Before us once again is the nature of God, lived out in the lives of follows, who with their very lives show us that to be “great” has everything to do with love.

I learned something about palm branches this week. In the ancient world, Levantine and Mediterranean peoples, associated palm branches with victory, triumph, peace, and eternal life. Christian artists, shortly after Jesus’ death, marked graves of martyrs with a drawing of a palm branch. Paintings of martyrs through the centuries have in their hands a martyr palm. There are depictions of Oscar Romero holding a palm branch. The palm branch represents the victory of spirit over flesh. God’s nature over human nature. Romero expressed the living of this as: Aspire not to have more, but to be more.

 

Every year, Palm Sunday in Jerusalem, has the streets crowed with palm branch bearing pilgrims. Organized processions journey from the Mount of Olives through the Old City of Jerusalem along the Via Dolorosa, translated as the ‘Way of Suffering.’ The route represents Jesus’ journey to the cross. Along the route are the 14 stations of the cross, where people pause to pray. But not this year. The Latin Patriarchate of Jerusalem has cancelled the procession due to security reasons – due to war.

The Easter letter from the Patriarchs and Heads of Churches in Jerusalem begins:

In the weeks leading up to this year’s commemoration of Christ’s death and resurrection, a new and devastating regional war has once again plunged the Holy Lond and the wider Middle East into turmoil. Each passing day has brought increasingly fierce escalations – a relentless cycle of death, destruction, and frightful suffering that now ripples across the globe in rising economic hardship. From the blackened smoke of this expanding wreckage, a deep darkness has engulfed our region, as stifling as the air inside the sealed tomb of the crucified Christ. Hope itself appears to have abandoned us.

 

Yet as Scripture teaches and our faith reveals, the desolation of the tomb was not the end of the story. Death did not have the final word … but this week we do not jump ahead to Easter, rather we allow ourselves time to be sad. We allow ourselves to grieve for the world, to cry with the suffering, to lament injustice, to weep at the human need to have more, to ache for a peace that the world cannot give, and to mourn all that is broken and not whole. This is our prayer.

 

This Palm Sunday and Holy Week we are invited to reflect on what it means to be great. What it is to be more. What is greatness in a world where from the blackened smoke of this expanding wreckage, a deep darkness has engulfed [the world], as stifling as the air inside the sealed tomb of the crucified Christ?

 

Greatness - to be more – is to walk with love following Christ’s journey with the cross.

The heads of churches in Jerusalem bid the faithful and all those of goodwill to work and pray ceaselessly for the relief of the countless multitudes throughout the Middle East and beyond who are suffering severely from the ravages of this war. … advocate and interceded for an immediate end to the bloodshed and for justice and peace to finally prevail…

 

Romero, in troubled times, encouraged El Salvadorians:

Each one of you has to be a messenger, a prophet. The church will always exist as long as there is someone who has been baptized…Where is your baptism: you are baptized in your professions, in the fields of workers, in the market. Wherever there is someone who has been baptized, that is where the church is. There is a prophet there. Let us not hide the talent that God gave us on the day of our baptism and let us truly live the beauty and responsibility of being a prophetic people.

 

And 20 years ago the blessing for the confirmands, is true for this community and each of us: We believe that the Holy Spirit will become ever more alive in our life, that our faith will grow, that we will be guided, empowered in serving God. We believe that today we are ordained for ministry. God is reaching out and embracing each of us; calling us … to greatness.

Grounded through the Valley

 Sculptor and environmentalist Anthony Goldsworthy said: We often forget that we are nature. Nature is not something separate from us. So when we say that we have lost our connection to nature, we have lost our connection to ourselves.

 

This is the last Sunday of Lent. We are invited to the valley. Not one of rolling hills, green pastures, and still waters, but rather, a valley filled with dry bones. To be in the state of weathered, sun-bleached, and dry the bones have been forgotten in this valley for a long time. We are invited to the valley of the shadow of death as Jesus faces a rock cut tomb with a stone over the entrance. Lazarus is inside and has been dead 4 days, long enough to have started the process of decay. As a community we are invited to contemplate death – actually, beyond death. With Lazarus we may be tempted to focus on one death, Lazarus’ with Jesus coming to the rescue. We might think of our death, and what happens after – grasping at this idea of resurrection of the dead – for me, for my loved ones. I challenge you this morning to consider the Lazarus story, as a community story about dry bones.

 

Before Ezekiel is a vast valley filled with dry bones.

What comes to my mind is an extremely excited paleontologist surveying a dry riverbed and its banks, discovering fossils, dinosaur bones, and petrified trees. Ancient creatures preserved in the land. Such sites teach and remind us of the circle of life, repeated and continued through the eons.  I wonder at God’s nature – the imagination, the intricacy of details, and the vast web of relationships operating in creation, past and present.

When I consider the valley of dry-bones I also have a heavy heart. These bones remind me of mass graves that came to be because of human nature. In my adult life the valley of bones from the Rwanda genocide, the Srebrenica massacre, the Libyan Civil war, the Islamic State in Mosul, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the Gaza War. And how can we forget the hundreds of unmarked graves found at Canadian Residential schools.

 

The valley of dry bones is written in Babylon during a time of Israelite exile. The people have been subjugated. Exiled. Destroyed. Deported. Executed. There is active rebellion. And all of these actions repeat many times, over many decades.

Unlike other prophetic messages like Isaiah or Jeremeiah, directed specifically to people of the time experiencing the tyranny of Babylonian rule, Ezekiel is different. The prophetic is composed in the moment to be preserved for instruction and reflection by the community at a later date. Ezekiels’ visions are captured in writing, not waiting for fruition of prophecies to create a back story to actual events that have occurred. Not written to the contemporary audience means that the text has a timelessness and a veracity of words that speak to people in troubled times across the centuries.

Ezekiel’s purpose is timeless. Ezekiel’s purpose is to talk about hard stuff! The stuff that troubles humankind. Inquiries that dare to consider: God’s abandonment of the people? The purpose of suffering? Making sense of tragic history? Viability of renewed relationship between God and humankind? The capacity of human nature to live commonwealth? Hard stuff!

The prophet’s words address doom and gloom, … and then … through the valley a path of hope materializes. Hope is embodied by dry bones and there is restoration.

In describing the prophet Ezekial, the study notes of my Oxford Annotated Bible, talk about the general vocation of a prophet who uses many means and creative forms to articulate God’s message. For Ezekiel this includes elaborate stories with bizarre and extreme images. The notes read: Ezekiel “has inspired fear, awe, and wonder in readers because he attempts not merely to name but also to embody, God’s sovereignty, holiness, and mystery in words that come close to the limits of expression.” The words embody an expression of the nature of God.

 

When standing before the valley of dry bones my first thoughts and gut reaction, does not turn to God’s sovereignty, holiness, and mystery. My human nature is overwhelmed in doom, gloom, hopelessness, and the largescale suffering humans inflict upon each other.

 

I have been reading Prime Minister Mark Carney’s book, “Value(s)” It is primarily about the importance of moral value within the valuing of an economic system. He commends economic definitions that are more robust than value based solely on utility. In the introduction he writes:

The second set of risks derives from our human nature. We are far from perfectly rational. We tend to support past decisions even when new information suggests they are wrong. We think that examples that come readily to mind are more common than they truly are. And we’re irrationally impatient.

If we value the present more than the future, then we’re less likely to make investments today to reduce risks tomorrow. -pg. x Mark Carney

 

The utility of the valley of dry bones from a human perspective is non-existent. The people, humanity, have been here before, continually one pile of bones heaped upon another. The people have lost patience in waiting for peace, friendship, and kindom. People lament: Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely. God however remains patient; through generations the dry bones continue to hold great value. God asks, Mortal can these bones live?

Human condition in the valley gives a tired, far from perfectly rational confession– Lord only you know.

After generations of human nature beating on each other, story after biblical story of exile and occupation, God’s kindom not coming, can a people trust in the word “that you [that they] will know that I am the Lord.” I will cause breathe to enter you, and you shall live?

Ezekiel stands with a vast valley of bones, a community of bones, before him and dares to put new information, a new approach into action as he prophes[ies], and say[s] to them, Thus says the Lord God” I am going to open your graves, … you shall know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves, and bring you up from your graves, O my people. I will put my spirit within you and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act.”

 

At the beginning I challenged you to consider the story of Lazarus to be a community story. The story describes human response to death. Community has gathered around Mary and Martha. A wake of sorts is described, along with burial rituals. There is sadness and grief. But because of the placing of the story in John’s gospel, there is more to the story. In this group of Jesus followers the kindom of God has come near. Bones have been given sight, been given the ability to walk, been freed from demons, been released from cultural boundaries, been challenged to live rather than prescribe to the law, and in experiencing the incarnation, the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us been given hope for today and trust that generations of prophecy and promise are about to be manifest. A people, future generations, are about to be restored -no longer a valley of dry bones. Rather a people placed on their own soil, grounded through the life and death and life of the Word made flesh.

 

In the story only one person sees beyond death, beyond dry bones. It is Martha who proclaims the confession of faith – Yes Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world. Her confession is a continuation of proclamation by those grasping the nature of God. It is a prophetic statement over dry bones. God has not forgotten the people. God has not forgotten us. There is purpose and promise. We are more than dry bones. Dry bones have value. God is patient with humankind. God is and never stops coming into the world. Yes, there can be holy relationship. Yes, human nature can trust, can change, and can embody life. Yes, there is restoration – not in one specific moment, but rather a continued active agency, a continual coming of God’s nature being breathed into and embodied in dry bones.

 

Valley of dry bones – breathe deeply. Embody the coming of God’s nature.

 Go into the world professing to the Breath. Breathe restoration and confess: Yes Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.

Grounded in Green Pastures

 Sculptor and environmentalist Anthony Goldsworthy reflected: We often forget that we are nature. Nature is not something separate from us. So when we say that we have lost our connection to nature, we have lost our connection to ourselves.

 

You are standing in an unplowed field, in a landscape of gently rolling hills. There are a few gracefully grazing animals in the distance. The sky above is blue with puffy clouds. Its brightness goes on and on for eternity. Rays of sunshine flood the meadow and warm your skin. The land is covered in grasses of greens and yellows with a variety of textures. A pleasant aroma of fresh plants and rich earth embraces you. A gently moving breeze kisses your checks. It carries a sweet scent of camomile and clover. There is a cacophony of sound. Birds of all kinds are singing and dancing. They flit from plant to plant, as do the graceful butterflies. There are bees buzzing and delighting in the flowers of the field. Take in the view. Take in the smells and the textures. Enjoy the orchestra of nature before you. And breathe deeply 

 

Through Lent the Hebrew scripture readings have led us to explore nature, human nature, and God’s nature. Each text has provided an earthly environment where God’s nature has consistently pursued relationship with God’s creatures. God’s action has remained trustworthy and steadfast, no matter the expression of human nature shown in each story. God came to the garden to walk with Adam and Eve. God walked the land with Abram and Sara. God was present, waiting before the rock, for the people in the wilderness of Sin. The Psalm for today describes an environment, a green pasture and still water. Once again God’s nature is present in the land. Here God walks in the role of Shepherd. In the description of the place, God’s nature provides release from want, safety for rest, and restores the soul. Everything that happens in the Psalm is in relationship to God’s nature.

 

Psalm 23 is considered a Psalm of trust. Components identifying trust psalms include a perceived calamity, and trust that the disaster will pass, and that all will be well. In this case, trust in the relationship with the Shepherd. Trust in God’s nature. Trust is not a virtue immediately attributed to human nature. Consider the world in which we live, with fake news, doctored photos, and deep fakes. Who do you trust? Who do you put trust in? Do we trust politicians and world leaders; do they trust each other? Do we trust AI? Do we trust another’s word or a handshake or a deal on FB marketplace? Do we trust in a future as temperatures rise and weather patterns change? Do you trust that your children, and those following after, will be okay? Do you trust that despite calamity, these things shall pass, and all will be well?

 

David the writer of this Psalm is the last character introduced in the first reading. David is chosen by God to be anointed by Samuel as the next King. The choosing of the next king happens in an unusual place, not a palace, not a Temple, not with lots of people around to witness the event. The choosing of the King happens on the land. The prophet has asked Jesse and his sons out to the hills to offer sacrifice. While on the land, Samuel examines Jesse’s sons. Samuel’s human nature takes control. Human nature identifies king-material by appearance, stature, being the eldest. Samuel becomes less convinced and less trusting as God says ‘no’ to each passing son. When Samuel has exhausted the candidates that meet human criteria, it is mentioned that there is another son. He is out on the land, in the fields, keeping the sheep.

God’s nature is exemplified in choosing the son who is the closest to the land. What is it about the relationship with the land that makes David king-material and God’s choice? Could it be that walking the land, where we have already determined God is present and choses to walk and journey with humans, grounds a person and opens their hearts – to nature, to human nature, to God’s nature? Does connection and relationship with the land change the soil of the heart, and thus changes what kind of leader that grows? Can it be this simple?

 

There are those who spend time walking, working, and playing on the land, in an embracing field of creation. Consider for a moment the pastors and other leaders in the church that you know. It is astounding the number of currently serving Lutheran pastors who spent summers on the land working at Lutheran Church camps. There is a large number who grew up in farm communities, or working on farms. And there are those who are avid hikers, canoers, campers, and runners. Could it be that nature cradled these persons and gently nurtured and whispered to their human nature, such that their hearts were opened. Their hearts were nourished with good soil, able to hear and grow God’s call to vocation as pastor. And they continue to walk the land and to be fed through connection with nature.

 

Think about the last time you were outside for an extended period of time. Maybe you were on a walk, sitting on your balcony watching and listening to the birds, maybe you went for a sail, put your feet in the surf, gardened, or watched the night sky. Did the time communing with nature and in nature affect you? Change your mood? Calm your anxiety? Clear your mind? …  If a short time in nature can affect a change in you, imagine a life of centred on living, playing, and connecting with the land. For that matter, consider the feeling of change that comes over you in simply hearing, the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.

Connection to nature changes the response defaults of human nature. Connection to nature grows human capacity – beyond our nature – for deeper relationship with God. Grounding attunes us to God’s nature – God’s created orchestra changes paths of thought, creative imaginings, and nurtures a different kind of leadership. Can you imagine changed leaders? Leaders who are not paralyzed by the world for they trust in the Shepherd and so fear no evil. Changed leaders are those who lead in a way where goodness and mercy follow them. This goodness and mercy heals the blind, satisfies the thirsty, and blossoms from one community to the next.

 

Wendell Berry, an American novelist wrote a poem called, The Peace of Wild Things. His poem applies Psalm 23 to present time. He starts in being disconnected and finishes in God’s nature.

The Peace of Wild Things –

When despair for the world grows in me

And I wake in the night at the least sound

In fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

Rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

Who do not tax their lives with forethought

Of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars

Waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

 

I rest in grace.

I will dwell in the house of the Lord – Perhaps you have thought of the house of the Lord as heaven. Afterall Psalm 23 gets read at many funerals. We think of the house of the Lord as a place like a palace or a mansion with many rooms. A place filled with choirs of angels, Saints listening to prayers, and the great cloud of witnesses gathered at God’s banquet table. We hear the words and consider a future place, for a future time when our life is done. We have not interpreted that the green pastures are present now; that we can rest in the grace of the world, and be free.

Why does human nature put off that which grows and nurtures wholeness? I will dwell in the house of the Lord is a statement of faith and trust written by David. David is on the land, walking the land, keeping sheep. Dwelling in the house of the Lord, is dwelling with all of creation, standing in the field where this sermon began. Trusting that God is present and coming to walk with us in a place that reminds us of who we are.

We are invited to ground our human nature by reconnecting to the land, a connection that nourishes us. Where belonging is grounded to the Source of All Being from in the beginning when God created. Connection is earth to earth, ashes to ashes, and dust to dust. Resting in grace, for the healing of the whole world.