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.

 

Grounded in the Wilderness

 Sermons through Lent begin with this quote from sculptor and environmentalist Anthony Goldsworthy. 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 morning, we find ourselves in the Wilderness of Sin with the people who have fled Egypt, following Moses through a river into a vast unknown-to-them landscape. The people journey by stages, as the Lord commanded. The land they enter, is the Sinai Peninsula. Its nights can be extremely cold and its daytimes full of intense heat. Strong winds blow as they please. The wilderness of Sin has high altitudes, mountainous topography, and lots of arid desert. The south is full of igneous rock and canyon-like wadis, in the North are massive plateaus, and the costal plains have extensive sand dunes. The landscape is dotted with scrubby plants, succulents, and on plateaus stubbly pasture. Animals are rare. In ancient times, the Egyptians built, Tjaru, in Sinai, as a place of banishment for criminals. The wilderness of Sin was noted as a hostile and inhospitable environment. This is the nature -the natural environment – the place of freedom that greets the people who have fled slavery.

 

In the Exodus story, human nature expresses itself early. It took just three days for the complaining to begin, What are we to drink?, the people ask. There was water but it was bitter. Complaints continued. No bread! No meat! Each time the people were provided for: the water was made sweet, manna fell from heaven, and quails appeared. And yet again, human nature wanted more. As we enter today’s scene, we once again hear that the complaint of the people is for water. This time the complaint is expressed as a demand, the first account in the biblical story of humans testing God, demanding, Give us water.

 

One April I went camping with my son and his Scout Troop. There were still large patches of snow on the ground and the temperature hovered around freezing at night. The first part of camp -we complained-was cold and wet, the second part was hot and sunny … the temperature went above 20C. Scouters are always prepared. Each Scout had brought their drinking water, calculated based on the duration of the camp, average temperature, and required hydration. Everyone ran out of water because of the spike in the temperature. Plan B was to use melted snow and extra water brought in large plastic drums that was intended for washing, doing dishes, putting out fires, and wiping down equipment. The water in the plastic drums was not intended for drinking. Anyway, water in the drums and melted snow was made potable by shocking it with bleach. Our water bottles were refilled – with water that was safe to drink. It was a little yellow, it had an off-taste, slight smell, and it was warm. It was kind of icky! No, it was really icky! We asked for water, and the Scout Troopers provided. Although we judged it as second-rate and complained about it, it was water and it was hydrating and it did quench our thirst.

 

Human nature tends to identify what is missing and then complains about it. Human nature, while provided for, judges and then complains about the provision. This is nothing new. The Exodus stories have Moses naming the places of complaint as: Marah, Massah, Meribah. Respectively they mean bitter, testing, and quarrel. Each relates to the response of human nature in each circumstance.  Bitter. Testing. Quarrelsome.

 

While the three consecutive stories of complaint are being told, listeners get drawn into the very human response to the conditions. As hearers we judge the people and their reactions. We assume that we would have acted differently had we been there. Would we not have been patient, grateful, and trusting? Not likely. These stories are memorable because they reflect our nature.

My Godson brought a book to my house last weekend that he thought I would enjoy. We had a lot of fun looking through it together. It was a small book square book filled with photos of animal faces. Some were bizarre, others humorous, some faces were serious – there was a wealth of expression and emotion.

On one page there was an owl’s head taken from a sideway perspective, the owl’s head slightly turned out towards the viewer and with a definite tilt of the head down, so the big owl eyes looked down their beak in a judgemental kind-of-way. Lent is the season of confession – I saw the look as one that I give. Or at least an expression I feel. It is ‘the look’ I have when I shake my head in disbelief at stupidity; utter the phrase– are you serious; the look I have when baffled by other’s intolerance or am aghast that others don’t see things my way --- the look I would have had in the wilderness of Sin.

 

The people complained and asked, Is the Lord among us or not? This is the crux of the story, attention finally gets around to God and their judging of God’s character. So wrapped in complaint they had forgotten the story of God walking the land with Adam and Eve, with Abram and Sari. Did they not trust in the stories of old, that clearly tell that God was and is present?

 

The story is told from the perspective of human nature. But it is God’s nature that is extraordinary. Perhaps you heard it in the story - God’s nature is expressed in rescue, freedom, and provision. God was present in Egypt. Through God’s power Moses is rescued as an infant and brought up in the Pharoah’s house. Through God’s walking the land with Moses, Moses remembers his people. Through repeated visits to the Pharoah, along with plagues, the people who are in bondage – slaves- are told to leave Egypt. The people are rescued, and as they flee, the waters of the parted sea cover over their pursuers. Once across the sea and into the Sinai Peninsula - there is freedom from bondage. God’s big dream continues. In this wilderness landscape God is already present, knowing the nature of the land, God knows there is provision for food and drink. It is hidden in new-to-the-people-forms and although not instantly seen sustenance is present. Rescue, freedom, and provision are God’s nature – God’s nature is the foundation of this story. It is unfortunate that in the story – and in human life – God’s nature gets overshadowed by human nature’s complaining and judging.

If we take the time to explore the text, we learn something else about God’s nature, God doesn’t give up. God remains present among the people. God continues to pursue relationship. God confirms with Moses, I will be standing there in front of you on the rock Horeb. In spite of the lack of gratitude and distrust on the part of God’s people, God gives water. God provides for the quenching of thirst.

Human thirst. The story is not just about physical water for the body. Human nature thirsts for more – the want, the complaining, the testing, the quarrelling, the bitterness – returns to a thirst for deeper meaning and deeper connection. Thirst is unsatiated when human nature remains on its own, disconnect from others, creation, and God. Living water -the nature of God- quenches thirst through relationship with God who is already standing there in front of us, at the rock, waiting for us to stretch out our hands to receive the water. Water. Rescue, freedom from bondage, provision.

 

Today’s story can be read from the perspective of nature, human nature, God’s nature. We are invited to reflect on our thirst, as a people. How do we face the challenges and crisis that cause us to want, to need? Are we grounded in our relationship with God? So that we trust in God’s presence and wait on God and God’s nature of rescue, freedom, and provision – filling us with life-giving water. Or do we choose to walk with fear and doubt, complaining, testing, quarrelling, bitter that needs are not met fast enough, that God is not present; will human nature overshadow God’s nature such that we believe that we will die of thirst in the wilderness… or do we remain grounded, even in wilderness, trusting in God’s big audacious promise and dream that is continuing in becoming whole.

Grounded in Ambiguity

 All our sermons through Lent begin with this quote from sculptor and environmentalist Anthony Goldsworthy. 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.

 

Our Lent journey continues this morning standing on the land with Abram and Sarai.

An intricate and diverse natural landscape surrounds them: vast flood planes of the great Tigris and Euphrates rivers; pastures of grass and scrubby trees; wilderness of rocky plateaus, shifting sands, and dry riverbeds; in the distance smoky horizons suggest a vast beyond. Across the land stretch animal runs, hunting trails,  footpaths, dusty roads, and caravan routes.

 

In this land, God approaches Abram. Today’s passage begins with this expression of God’s nature. God is present and relational. Just like God came to walk in the garden, to commune with nature, and to talk with humankind, God comes to the land to talk with Abram. We hear God speak of a potentially extravagant promise. We learn that God’s nature dreams really big. In conversation with Abram, God’s nature offers human nature an alternative to current reality. God’s nature offers a perspective beyond what is seen and experienced.

At first hearing, the passage, sounds hope-filled and encouraging. God is going to do the work, leading Abram and Sarai to a land that I will show you. Attached is a promise of enormous blessing that includes becoming a great nation with a great name. And to sweeten the invitation God declares that you will be a blessing. And what’s more is that all the families of the earth shall be blessed

God’s dream is inclusive in scope, abundant in blessing, filled with promise, excitingly adventurous.

 

But it doesn’t take long for my true nature to say, “Wait a minute.” Surely this invitation is too good to be true! Everything inside me screams, “This is risky!” The story presents to Abram and Sarai too many unknowns and much too much uncertainty. When I go on vacation I take a map, electronic and paper. Hotels are booked long before I start the journey. Each day I have an idea of the stops along the way. There is a plan from me leaving my home to the final destination. Before I decide to travel somewhere, I also take the time to evaluate my ability, do a risk assessment, and decide if my budget can handle the trek.

The story of Abram and Sarai surprises me. It surprises me because by nature I am more cautious and controlled when it comes to travelling and leaving home. As for reasons not to accept God’s invitation, human nature might have turned to excuses and focusing on inadequacies: from Abram, we are too old; from Sarai, we are barren; together, we are lacking. The surprise of the story is that human nature accepts God’s call to live beyond human ability and certainty.

Abram says, “Yes” – to go from his country and kindred, without a map, without a plan, without a destination, without a timeline, without answers to the million ‘who, what, when, why, where, how” questions that immediately flood my brain.

 

My colleague the Rev. Rick Pyrce wrote a poem about this story and the story of Nicodemus from the Gospel of John. The poem notes the ambiguity in the stories and considers the necessity of ambiguity to create curiosity and an openness to receive a ‘new-to-us’ perspective. Abram grows into the promise by entering the uncertainty, the ambiguity of the journey.  This kind of blew my mind. God is at home in ambiguity.

Human nature not so much. Not many of us will boldly shout to the world, “I love uncertainty!”

There is a reason humans create systems, institutions, spreadsheets, blueprints, and of order. Humans make reservations at restaurants and hotels, prepurchase tickets, keep calendars, follow routines, schedule events – because human nature tends to gravitate towards certainty. Humans hold on to certainty at all costs, even when the system or the-way-we-have-always-done-it is no longer working.

Ambiguity means uncertainty.

Ambiguity, is also defined by Merriam-Webster as the quality or state of allowing for more than one interpretation;

a word or expression that can be understood in two or more possible ways. In a world with ever increasing polarity and taking stands for or against, living life as if others are opponents, ambiguity is unwelcome.

 

On this second Sunday of Lent our human nature is invited to explore ambiguity by walking with Abram and Sarai as they follow God’s dream and promise into the unknown. Theologian Walter Brueggaman points out that their pursuit of God’s promise is a multi-generational journey – a willingness to walk beyond human nature of wanting to possess and achieve in ones’ lifetime. Abram and Sarai are fully aware that they are in God’s time, where they live fully in the present – in the very creation of each moment, accepting it as it is, behaving or responding accordingly.

Earlier in the year we read difficult to digest passages from the Gospel of Matthew. There was much ambiguity. Do you remember the discussion about righteousness? The ambiguity of a definition and ambiguity of the interpretation of the Law; no real answers to the question of who was in and who was out; who was right and who was wrong. There was more than one interpretation. We heard the Beatitudes, the blessed are they/the blessed are yous, that were quite ambiguous in nature and left much space for interpretation by the listener. When coming to the land to walk with the disciples why did Jesus speak with so much ambiguity?

 

Abram and Sarai went, I suspect following already made paths and roadways, established caravan routes – choosing in the moment what felt safe, looked promising; traveling with others by invitation or accident, changing direction due to weather, or need of provisions. They were on a journey -- an ambiguous exciting journey.

A theme of Lent is journey – faith journey, journey to the cross. Standing with Abram and Sarai on the land, daring to entertain walking into ambiguity with them along a caravan route… all of a sudden Matthew’s Gospel became less ambiguous to me because I realize that God is comfortable with ambiguity. There is no one answer, no clear definitions, no easy explanation to parables or teachings because it depends where the sojourner is: Where you are. Where a community is. Where we are as a church.  All are on a journey of faith with various degrees of relationship with God, creation, and others – so obviously the answer and interpretation of the Law, of scripture, is not the same for every listener, or every community – holy moly! talk about ambiguity!!!!! Faith and the path, what it is to follow Jesus is ambiguous because God has given humans free will to make choices, so we travel different routes on various maps, in uncharted territories, in foreign lands, in beautiful gardens. God didn’t give specifics because God didn’t/doesn’t know where freewill will lead us, or where the preaching of the gospel will take us, or where compassion stops us, where repentance turns us around, or grace re-directs us.

And God’s nature is okay with us.

 

An invitation is extended to us this morning to ‘go to a land that I will show you.’ It means intentionally stepping into ambiguity onto paths as yet untrod: the path follows The Way, it is a journey to the cross, it is a way of suffering and compassion, it is daring to say ‘yes’ and risking everything to the ambiguity of God’s big dream.

The journey requires a tremendous amount of grace and understanding, patience and acceptance. It will take practice and allowing our human nature to live beyond our ability, beyond our control, beyond our truth, beyond our interpretation. Once in a new environment, a new place where our patterns and ways of being no longer work and we are, in a sense, ‘lost’, it is then that we are born again  - birthed into a new perspective. One that is embraced in God’s nature.

This is the journey of Lent.

Grounded in a Garden

 All our sermons through Lent begin with this quote from sculptor and environmentalist Anthony Goldsworthy. 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.

 

I recall two books that I had on my bookshelf growing up. One was a little book called, A Children’s Garden of Verses. It had only a few verses from Robert Louis Stevenson’s book of the same name. The little book was like a garden of pretty flowers; the flowers were rhymes, poems, and prayers, all suitable for grounding young children. The second book was Beatrice Potter’s, The Tale of Peter Rabbit. Peter Rabbit was always in the expertly tended and meticulous garden of Mr. MacGregor, where he -Peter Rabbit- would rummage through and help himself to whatever he wanted to eat, leaving behind holes and pieces of plants. Mr. MacGregor and Peter Rabbit had very different understandings of garden. Each understanding came from their nature. Human nature is quite different from rabbit nature.

 

On Ash Wednesday we began the season of Lent, reflecting on nature – nature as in creation, human nature, and God’s nature. We thought about Ash Wednesday as turning over a sod – turning over hearts and wills to open ourselves to becoming rich soil, grounded, and eventually blooming in the glory of Easter. In a recent exploration of the Genesis text, Professor Valerie Bridgeman from Methodist Theological School in Ohio focused on ‘nature.’ She wrote, As a Lenten text, it does seem that we are being asked to ‘reflect on the nature and limitations of humanity, including the consequences of our actions and inactions and our responsibility in and for this world.’ –Working Preacher.com

Let us consider an interpretation of the Genesis story that follows a garden path less travelled. Human beings are placed in a garden. The vegetation is abundant. There are creatures of every kind. The soil is naturally perfect for hosting and supporting the life in its care; some have called the Garden of Eden, paradise.

But, if we think of human nature --- from a human perspective is the garden paradise?

Today’s story begins with Adam being placed in the garden and commanded to till it and keep it. That is a lot of responsibility; to arrive in a new surrounding, as a new creature, and figure it out.

We are told that Serpent starts a conversation. Serpent is said to have tempted humanity, causing humanity to sin. Serpent through the centuries has received a bad rap, and has been painted as the Devil, evil – non-of-which comes from the story itself. This passage has theologically been termed ‘the Fall’ and the moment of ‘Original Sin.’

Taking a fresh look at the garden passage, could it be that the story is about nature, human nature, and God’s nature? God’s nature created humankind as a creature with freedom of heart and will, with the ability to choose their relationships, with nature, other humans, and God. This story is a conversation of living within this freedom, and it means discerning boundaries. Being in relationship requires boundaries: who to listen to or not listen to; what to eat, not eat; what or how to take or not take; what to till and tend and what to leave alone. To cope with freedom human nature developed an internal process to help discern who to be, how to be, and what to be. The process is an on-going internal conversation -some might call this the conscience. Internal conversation is a consideration of all the choices human’s have to make and all the boundary decisions to be made. In this story, is Serpent the internal conversation partner of human nature? Neither good nor evil – just a conversation partner, to reflect on the options. God said don’t eat the fruit.  But why not, go ahead and eat the fruit. Where the conversation goes between Serpent and human determines how a particular human will act in the same situation. Genesis continues the story we heard this morning, with the story of God walking in the garden. God’s nature of being present and relational to have conversation with God’s creatures. God’s voice in addition to an inner Serpent fertilizes an idea of a relational garden that is abundant and flourishing the world over.

 

One of my all-time favourite paintings is the Tangled Garden -by J.E.MacDonald, an artist of the Group of Seven. The Tangled Garden - in the background there is a small portion of a wood-sided house overlaid with a gnarly apple tree. In the middle is a patch of abundant brightly flowering plants. The foreground has large sunflowers whose season is done; their heads are bent, leaves are turning brown. The garden is full and overgrown. It appears that as the seasons turned it has been left to its own nature. Boundaries - human-made edges and planting groups- have disappeared. Everything is tangled together – blossom and decay, life and death, buds and harvest, plants and weeds. I find the Tangled Garden and its nature beautiful. My nature sits well with this nature. In it I see God’s nature.

 

Mr. MacGregor would not like the Tangled Garden. Mr. MacGregor gardened by bringing his sense of order to the plot of ground. He dug the soil. He tended his plants. Protected the garden with a boundary fence and gate. Traps were set to rid the garden of rodents and pests. Gardening as a verb was hard and time-consuming work. Every plant had its place in the eyes of Mr. MacGregor and weeds were immediately hoed and removed. Order. Productivity. A garden was to be tamed, commanded, and controlled.

 

Peter Rabbit, on the other hand, experienced garden as a bountiful space, full of food and fun. He enjoyed the garden. Gardens were places of adventure and play. Yes, gardens were beautiful but also dangerous, due to Mr. MacGregor’s human nature, but being in the garden was worth the risk! Peter Rabbit got into quite a lot of trouble. He lost his coat which Mr. MacGregor turned into a scarecrow, and almost his life, ending up in Mr. MacGregor’s stew. Peter Rabbit no matter how much his mom and cousins told him to avoid the garden, he did not show any restraint.

 

God tells human beings that they may eat of every tree but of the tree of knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die. This is a conversation about boundaries and consequences. Just because something is good for food does not mean we should eat. Just because a flower is beautiful does not mean we should take it out of the garden to place it inside and ‘own’ it. Just because a tree is good for wood, does not mean we need to cut it down. I am currently reading a book with writings about birds from the 1800s where because there were so many birds, humans decided to kill thousands at a time for sport – simply because they could.

 

Today we visit a garden. The garden is the original grounding spot for humanity. It is the place where human nature began to discern what it means to be human and in relationship with nature, other humans, themself, and God. We learn that gardening is not as easy as saying till and tend. There is a lot of discernment required and that discernment comes through internal conversation. Human nature doesn’t always choose wisely. We learn that God’s nature is to come to the garden and be present; to walk among creation and grow relationship with humankind, if humankind chooses to come out from hiding and walk through the garden too. Enjoying the garden, with respect, entering into relationship with it, not rummaging or ruining but caring and keeping.

 

The garden image challenges us this morning. How do we garden? How are we grounded in the garden? Lent gives us time to consider nature, human nature in the eyes of Mr. MacGregor or J.E.MacDonald, experienced via Peter Rabbit’s nature. This week consider experiencing garden in an alternative way to your usual nature. Discern boundaries. Think on consequences. Grow relationships.