January 29 2017 sermon: What Can I Give? Myself!

When anyone presents a grain offering to the Lord, the offering shall be of choice flour; the worshiper shall pour oil on it, and put frankincense on it, and bring it to Aaron’s sons the priests. After taking from it a handful of the choice flour and oil, with all its frankincense, the priest shall turn this token portion into smoke on the altar, an offering by fire of pleasing odor to the Lord. ... You shall not omit from your grain offerings the salt of the covenant with your God; with all your offerings you shall offer salt.

(Leviticus 2:1-2, 13)

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     I don’t know how many of you remember a TV show from the 1970’s called “The Lost Islands.” It was an Australian show. Believe it or not, I thought about it as I was contemplating Leviticus – the book of the Bible we read from just a few minutes ago. There were only 26 episodes of the show produced, basically because – strangely enough – it was an Australian show that was just never all that popular in Australia. But after it was cancelled in Australia it started to be broadcast in syndication all over the world and it became something of a cult hit, and it became pretty popular among young people of a certain era in places as far flung as Israel, South Africa, Sri Lanka, the United Kingdom, the United States and, of course, Canada. I know I wasn’t the only one who watched it because a couple of days ago I was trying to refresh my memories of it and I was watching some You Tube videos of it in my office at home when Lynn walked into the room, looked at the video and said right off “That’s ‘The Lost Islands.’” So I know my wife must have watched it as a kid, too. The premise of the story was that a multi-millionaire had brought together a group of teenagers from all over the world – different cultures, different races, different religions – and they were put on a ship called “The United World” and they were going to sail together around the world, getting to know each other, breaking down barriers, etc. But the ship encountered a storm, and as a result five of the teenagers ended up shipwrecked on a mysterious island. On the island was a community of people of apparently European ancestry who had lived there for hundreds of years but had never progressed. So they had no knowledge of the outside world, they had no technology. They lived as Europeans had lived centuries before. It's a bit more complicated than this, and the show had a bit of a sci-fi twist to it, but the basic story revolved around the conflict between the community – who saw the teenagers as different and therefore as a threat to their way of life, and the teenagers who saw the community as old fashioned and threatening. And this TV show about a clash of cultures came into my mind when I thought about today’s Scripture passage.

     Think about it. Leviticus. The very name sounds ominous. Leviticus. In Jewish circles it's also sometimes called "The Law of the Priests," "The Book of the Priests," or "The Law of the Offerings." Which doesn't make it sound exactly user-friendly. It’s kind of like a technical manual. It's not a book that too many people would want to read from beginning to end. It's full of old and obscure laws and rituals, a whole series of strange sounding offerings that the people were required to make. It has rules that govern even the most intimate and personal details of people's lives. It prescribes harsh punishments for breaking even the most obscure of those rules. It's probably most famous for fundamentalists who take individual verses completely out of context and use them as what I refer to as "hammer verses" to hit people whose conduct they disagree with over the head with, while at the same time those same fundamentalists engage in hermeneutical contortions so that they can give themselves permission to ignore the rules about how to cut their hair and beards, or what materials can be used to make clothing, and I rarely today hear anyone condemn people with tattoos, even though Leviticus tells us that God doesn't much like them and doesn’t want people to have them! In other words, it's a book that's a product of a particular time and a particular culture (a book that’s definitely not of our time and culture) - and so we probably wonder why it's in our Bible? Of what relevance is this strange piece of writing from another age to 21st century Christians? And why is this wacky preacher even bothering with it? All good questions - especially the one about the wacky preacher!

     Actually I was talking with someone just a few days ago who asked me why books like Leviticus were even in the Bible. It’s probably a question that a lot of people have at least thought about from time to time. There are a lot of reasons I suppose – the most important probably being that Leviticus and other books like it were among the Scriptures that Jesus would have known. He would have been raised on the stories and educated on the laws that were contained within such books. They would have helped to form his worldview. They would have been at the basis of his understanding of all that he saw happening around him. When I read the teachings of Jesus I often wonder where this idea or that idea came from – because they often sound so different and even so revolutionary even to our minds but, usually, when you do a little bit of digging, you discover that at least the kernel of what Jesus taught you can find in the law that he would have known so well. He may have brought a fresh interpretation to the law, but he was steeped in the law.

     I began thinking about that last week actually. If you remember we talked about Jesus calling his followers “the salt of the earth” last week. I wondered where the image came from. Salt isn’t actually referred to a great deal in the Bible, but one of the few places it does come up is this reference to it in one of the rules for one of the offerings in Leviticus. “Add a little salt to your offering” is basically what this passage says. “Why?” I wondered. What would be the point of adding salt to the offering? Obviously it was symbolic – but what was the symbolism? And could it have been from this passage that Jesus – as steeped in the law as he was – had first formulated the idea of his followers being “the salt of the earth”?

     This passage is about the “grain offering” that the people were instructed to make to God. Of all the offerings required by Leviticus, that’s an important offering. Let’s get some context here. This takes place after God’s people have left Egypt, but before they’ve arrived in Canaan. In Egypt there was a lot of grain. In Canaan there would be a lot of grain. But right now the people are at the foot of Mount Sinai in the middle of the desert. There’s not very much grain here. It’s very difficult to grow grain in the desert – and yet the people are commanded to make a grain offering to God. This is a special offering. I skipped over several verses, but suffice to say that from verses 3-12 you get all sorts of details about exactly how the grain offering is to be prepared. It’s special. You don’t just take some wheat and throw it into the fire. It has to be properly prepared. There’s hard work involved in this offering – finding and preparing the grain – and the offering is of something very valuable. So right from the start the message is that God’s people are to give their best for God. God’s people aren’t to hold back on the good stuff because it’s too good to give up - even for God. But it goes even deeper. Skip over those details of how the grain offering is to be prepared and you come to that strange little addition: “with all your offerings you shall offer salt.” Don’t leave out the salt! That’s what Leviticus says. In even this most valuable of offerings, you have to include salt. Grain was precious and hard to grow and therefore rare – but the people had other food. They didn’t absolutely need grain. But they needed salt for all sorts of reasons. Last week Karen talked with the children about all the uses for salt. We can’t live without salt. Back in the days we’re reading about we go back to the idea that salt was essential for preserving food. There was food other than grain. There was meat. But you needed to preserve it. You needed salt. Salt was valuable – even essential. So essential that in Jesus’ day the Roman Empire would often pay its soldiers with salt. So the point is that you not only offer grain – which is very rare and therefore very valuable – but you have to include some salt with it – and salt is literally life! This is no easy offering. This is an offering that demands a lot. And really, by the time Jesus comes along saying “you are the salt of the earth” he’s only taking this one step farther. Salt is life. Include salt in your offering. “You are the salt of the earth.” Don’t hold back yourself from the offering. Maybe that’s the whole point.

     Even in Leviticus – a book full of rules and rituals - apparently the ritual itself wasn’t enough. There had to be a personal investment being made. You couldn’t just go through the motions. You had to throw yourself – body and soul – into what you were giving to God, because all of the offerings – whether the offerings in Leviticus or the offering we take in church – are just rituals; symbols. They point to something greater. What do they point to? They point to our willingness to give not just grain or salt or money or whatever it is. They point to the fact that we willingly give of ourselves for the mission of God in the world around us. So whenever we find ourselves asking what we can give that would be in any way meaningful for God - the answer is simple: give yourself! Just give yourself!

A Thought For The Week Of January 23, 2017

"The Lord had said to Moses, 'Pharaoh will refuse to listen to you ...'" (Exodus 11:9a) For the last little while I've been doing some personal study with the Book of Exodus, and most recently with the series of plagues that were said to be sent on to Pharaoh and Egypt. It's really  a very ugly story. That's what keeps coming into my mind as I reflect on it. Ugliness. The series of plagues is bad enough. That they were ascribed to God is bad enough. But when you come to the end, the very idea of God literally killing all the firstborn of Egypt is nothing less than ugly, and I'll concede that before anyone else. What's especially problematic in the passage is that we're told that the people of Egypt - whose firstborn are about to perish - are favourably disposed toward the Hebrews. The Egyptian people aren't the enemies of God's people. Pharaoh is, but his people aren't. And yet still the people of Egypt are going to suffer this dreadful plague.  What do I make of this? Obviously my interpretation of Scripture and my general understanding of God tell me that God didn't kill the firstborn, although I'm willing to grant that there may well have been a plague in Egypt and that a lot of children may have died as a result. But, tragically, that's nature and not God, and the worldview of the times just assumed that God was responsible. I don't work with the same assumption. But I do assume that there is a moral of some sort to the story; a lesson to be learned that' s still relevant today. In the last few days there's been a lot of reflection on political and national leadership and how it's exercised. One thing we learn from this story is that when a nation's leaders do something stupid or act before they truly think their actions through, it's usually the nation's people who suffer the consequences. Leaders have great responsibilities and governing wisely and making sober and thoughtful decisions are essential to fulfilling those responsibilities. Pharaoh was a fool. He was stubborn. He insisted on doing things his way no matter what the consequences would turn out to be. Our prayer for leaders - whether Donald Trump or Justin Trudeau or Theresa May or Vladimir Putin or any other leader - should be that they will govern and lead with a humble spirit and always keeping the best interests of their people in mind. If there's one lesson I take from this ugly series of events, that would be it.

January 22 2017 sermon: Salt & Light Christians

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

(Matthew 5:13-16)

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     Salt is always salty. It's one of the most amazing things about salt. It's always salty. It’s actually impossible for salt not to be salty. You see, salt isn't a food. Foods can change over the course of time. They can lose some of their flavour; they can go bad and start to taste awful. But salt is always salty. Time doesn't make it less salty; neither does time make it go bad. Salt is simply always salty. The reason is pretty simple. Salt isn't food. Salt is a mineral. We use it as a sort of food – usually as a spice; a flavour enhancer of sorts – but it isn't a food. It's a mineral. And one of the properties of the mineral called “salt” is that it tastes salty. In the same way, light always shines. Now, some people might say “wait a second. What about black light – or light that you can't see?” And, yes, they do exist – but they still shine. The purpose of light is to illuminate things; to reveal things that we might not otherwise know are there. Think about it: black light shows would be pretty boring without the black lights, and something like ultraviolet light can reveal a lot of things, even though we can't see the light itself. And, of course, regular sunlight we all know about. Light reveals things. It's simply what light does. Light that doesn't shine and reveal things is pointless; an oxymoron. It's not really light if it reveals nothing. So, in a way, Jesus is himself using an oxymoron in this little passage from the Sermon on the Mount. “If the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again?” Well, it can't be made salty again because it doesn't have to be made salty again, because if it's salt it has to be salty! “Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.” Well, light that doesn't give light just isn't light. For it to be light, it has to have the potential to reveal something.

     I take it for granted that Jesus was neither a chemist nor a physicist. He wasn't speaking about salt and light in a scientific manner. He was considering the effect of salt and light, and then he was applying it to our lives of faith. Basically, he said that the things that salt and light do are like the things that we should do as his followers. Let's think of ourselves first as salt.

     Jesus told his followers that they were to be the “salt of the earth” and he noted that if salt isn't salty then it's of no use. That's a reference to the flavour of salt; to the taste. Salt takes what might be a bland meal and turns it into something more zesty. Maybe what Jesus was saying was that both the church and the world need salty Christians who haven't lost their zest for their faith. Sometimes we're not salty enough. We come across as bland or uninteresting to people. Sometimes we act as though our faith means little to us, so others wonder why it should matter to them. Sometimes we seem to be more of a religious debating society – a spiritual cub – than a church of passionate believers. Sometimes it seems as if we try to stand for everything and nothing all at the same time out of fear that we might offend someone – and the end result is that no one knows what we stand for, and so we end up with no voice. We're not being salt when we do that. We're adding nothing of value to the world around us. The opposite problem is also true – sometimes we can be too salty and the excess of salt becomes a preservative. If you rub a lot of salt into meat, it helps prevent the meat from rotting. I learned a lot about that when I lived in Newfoundland, because a big part of the diet of some Newfoundlanders is salted meat of various kinds – salt beef, salt pork, salt cod. We don't really need to use salt in this way anymore, because we have something that Jesus didn't – we have refrigerators and freezers – but some people do still use salt for this purpose. I once heard someone say that there are Christians who spread on the salt with all the delicacy of a salt truck! If we become too salty – too fixated on laws and literalism; on rules and rituals and traditions – then we also die, because we become irrelevant; trapped by the past with no relevance to the present. John Calvin – one of the great figures in Presbyterianism, and therefore a part of our own faith tradition – used to wear a hat when he preached at his church in Geneva. For a long time after, Presbyterian ministers wore hats when they preached, to honour the great tradition and practice of John Calvin. No one knew why Calvin wore a hat when he preached – they just knew he did, and so it must have been important for the preacher to wear a hat. Eventually someone discovered that right above the pulpit in Geneva where Calvin preached there were rafters where a large number of pigeons nested. I'll let you reflect on why Calvin wore a hat when he preached! Meaningless traditions or rituals or doctrines lead to too much salt, and that salt becomes a preservative, preserving these things that are of no real importance and preventing us from using salt to flavour the world. In both cases – if we lose our saltiness or if we become too salty – we’ve stopped being the salt of the earth. We’re adding nothing to the world and we’re trapping ourselves into irrelevance to the rest of the world.

     It’s the same way with being light. Jesus told his followers that they were “the light of the world” and then went on to speak about how pointless it is to have a light and then hide it so that others can’t see it. There are those who try to water down what Jesus said a little bit. They argue that what Jesus really meant when he said that was that the followers of Jesus are supposed to reflect the light of God so that the world can see God. So by that argument we’re a little bit like the moon. The moon itself doesn’t shine. We can only see the moon because it reflects the light of the sun, and that’s how some people interpret Jesus’ words. We’re just called to reflect the light of Jesus so that others can see God. But that isn’t what Jesus said. He said that we are the light of the world, and that’s a very different thing. To simply be a reflection of light is a very passive thing that doesn’t really require anything of us. But when Jesus called us the light of the world he’s asking us to do more than just passively reflect – he’s asking us to actively shine! He’s saying that we have to be active participants in the mission of God. The moon doesn’t do anything to shine. It’s just hangs there in space and lets the sun’s rays bounce off it. We aren’t like the moon. We don’t just sit back and wait for people to look at us. We go out into the world. We look for those who need light. We find those who need God. We reach out to those who need Jesus. We shine for the world to see so that others will not just know God, but so that they will feel and experience the love of God. Brene Brown is a professor of social work at the University of Houston. She once wrote that “Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” The power of the light that shines from us is that it reveals not us but God. Jesus said “let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” When he said that he wasn’t telling his followers to show off all the good things that they do, he was saying that his followers should by their very presence bring others into an experience of God.

     There’s a story from ancient history about a Roman general who, having been defeated in battle, went to Caesar and asked for permission to commit suicide because he was so humiliated. Caesar looked at the pathetic, beaten down figure before him and asked, “Man – were you ever really alive?” Sometimes I think that story and that question sums up the church. The church today often seems to spend its time in a state of fear or uncertainty. Will we have enough money? Will we attract enough young people? Will our programs be successful? Important questions, perhaps, but they miss the whole point of the gospel we’re supposed to proclaim. They cause us to be inward looking rather than outward reaching, and the real threat to the church today is the temptation to simply huddle together for protection against the big, bad world around us and hang on for as long as we can until we can ask for permission to die. Friends – that’s not good enough. Not by a long shot. If you’re convinced that the church is going to die then you don’t belong in the church. Those in the church have to be those committed to living and loving, to joining together their gifts and resources and time and energy in order to make a difference in the lives of those around us. David Kinnaman – who is the president of the Barna group that does research for churches and other non-profit organizations - wrote that “being salt and light demands two things: that we practice purity in the midst of a fallen world and yet we live in proximity to this fallen world. If you don't hold up both truths in tension, you invariably become useless and separated from the world God loves.”

     We are called to be salt and light. Salt isn’t useful if it isn’t salty and light isn’t useful if it can’t be seen. In the same way, Christians aren’t useful if we don’t act and live like Christians, and if we don’t do it in a way that shows the world the love and grace of God.

A Thought For The Week Of January 16, 2017

"... but in accordance with the holy One having called you - be holy yourselves also in all your conduct. Because it has been written that 'You shall be holy, because I am holy'" (1 Peter 1:15-16) This seems like a tall order - seemingly equating our ability to be holy with God's holiness. But how can I possibly be as holy as God? That's the first thing that comes into my mind. That's not even possible. God is God, and I'm - well - just me. But there are a couple of things to keep in mind that perhaps make this seem a little more reasonable. First is that we aren't actually being called to be as holy as God. Actually, we're being called to match our conduct with God's holiness. That's a little different. By nature I am not and cannot be as holy as God. But perhaps I can live out holiness? Perhaps I can make my actions a glimpse of God's holiness? Perhaps this is why Jesus says that we (all of us) are the light of the world? Maybe that's what these words are asking of us. And there's the question of holiness itself. What is holiness and how does God display holiness? It's a common word but not an easy one to define. It relates to goodness, and even to perfection. I think that in simple terms perhaps saying that God is holy is also saying that God is other; that God is different; that God is not like me. But that brings me back to the first issue: if God is not like me, and if God is holy, then how can I be holy in any way? Perhaps my conduct becomes holy when they stand out in such a way that people feel they have some sort of experience of or even encounter with God after encountering me. Not because I'm like God (I'm far from it) but because if I allow the Holy Spirit to guide my actions, I will stand out as different from the world around me in a positive way - in how I accept, welcome and love. Those things I can do. They're tough. I can't show any of them as perfectly as God does. But I can offer a glimpse of God in how I show them. And maybe that's holiness.

January 15 2017 sermon: Everything - But Not Much

He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

(Mark 12:41-44)

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     “Everything” sure sounds like a lot, doesn’t it. It’s a little bit overwhelming – and a little bit humbling, because – and let’s be honest here – none of us give “everything” to anyone. Not to the church or to any other charity or cause or organization. We just don’t. Honestly – we can’t. Like it or not we live in a society that virtually demands that we have to keep something for ourselves. So, we wonder about this poor widow who gave “everything.” How could she do that? And – really – what sort of precedent does it set for the rest of us? As I read this story I find myself thinking back to the story of Jesus and the rich young man who wanted to know how he could gain eternal life. Jesus, of course, said basically – “sell everything.” And the young man didn’t want to do that. And you know what? I don’t either. So where do we go with this? And in the context of stewardship, which is our focus for a few weeks, what does it mean to be asked or expected to give “everything”?

     Maybe the first thing we need to do is put some thought into what Jesus meant by “everything” - because it does sound so overwhelming. In some cases, it could be a stumbling block when it comes to some people feeling able to give and in other cases it could become almost abusive as we try to convince people to give money that they don’t have - and there have been more than enough examples of that happening unfortunately. But what did Jesus actually mean? Yes, he told a story about the people who were making their offerings at the temple - and what they were offering at least at that moment was money - but are we supposed to assume that all Jesus was thinking about was money? I don’t think so. I don’t think that Jesus’ primary concern in this teaching is the state of a person’s bank account; I think that what really mattered to Jesus was the state of a person’s heart. Now, what we do with our money can be an indication of our priorities - Jesus himself said that where your treasure is is also where your heart is - but faith is never just about money, and “everything” is far more than just money. “Everything” is just that - it’s everything. It’s our life, it’s our priorities; it’s our heart and soul. What’s important to us? What really matters? And how do we show that in terms of how we give - not just how we give money, but how we give of ourselves? To me, that’s the key to understanding anything Jesus teaches about giving - including his thoughts about these folks who were giving money at the temple on this particular day as he and his disciples were observing.

     That’s what Jesus and his disciples were doing at that moment - they were people watching. It was like they were sitting on a bench at the Pickering Town Centre a month ago watching people do their Christmas shopping and wondering whatever happened to “peace on earth, goodwill to all.” You discover a lot by people-watching, and they saw a lot of interesting things as they sat and watched, and what gets shared with us in the passage is an interesting contrast between the rich and the poor and their respective attitudes toward giving. Of course, Mark gives us a generalization. We don’t want to fall into the trap of saying simply rich = bad and poor = good. But there were some interesting things happening that Jesus apparently noticed and felt compelled to comment on.

     One interesting thing that struck me right off was that Jesus could watch as people gave - and that he could not only watch but that he could know how much people were giving. No envelopes, no PAR. Just money - and all quite openly. It’s interesting that this was all done publicly, and it’s interesting that, according to the story, one thing that was very noticeable was that “many rich people put in large sums.” In another translation of this passage, we’re told that people “tossed” their money into the treasury. Almost as if it was a contemptuous act, done with no real thought and with no real need to think because those who had enough to simply “toss” their money around also probably didn’t miss what they tossed very much. It was a show; it was an act. It was a “look at me” kind of statement. Was it an accident that what people gave could be seen and commented on? Let’s face it - some people don’t always give with the most generous and altruistic motives. Some people give for the sake of being seen to give and for the power and respect and attention that their giving gains them. If you’re a hockey fan and you’re over 40 you probably remember Harold Ballard. A wealthy man - and by all accounts a generous man in his own way. What always used to intrigue me about Harold Ballard was that there were regular reports in the media of how much money he donated anonymously to charity. Which begs the question - if he gave anonymously, how did everyone know? Because there are ways of making sure that people find out the things that we say we don’t want anyone to know about. Harold Ballard gave a lot to charity - and he made sure that people found out about it. I’ve seen that in churches. I wouldn’t say it’s a common thing, but some churches make darn sure that the minister knows who the big givers are. And even though it’s never said flat out, the implicit message is - you better be nice to those people, because they give a lot of money. And I’ve seen churches where those who don’t give as much or who simply can’t give a lot are kept at arm’s length, not really valued or appreciated. I wonder if Jesus was reflecting on things like that as he and his disciples watched the people put their money into the treasury.

     The poor widow didn’t seem to have given very much at all. A couple of small copper coins - the equivalent of pennies - which are worth so little that we don’t even bother minting them anymore in Canada, because it cost more to make them than they were actually worth. That’s all the poor widow could give. I wonder how that made her feel, surrounded by rich people literally tossing money into the treasury with barely a thought in the world about it? Did she feel small, unworthy, looked down upon? Did she wonder why she bothered? Did it cross her mind at least for a moment that what she gave didn’t really matter? But think about the story. Jesus noticed. He saw the woman. He saw her faith. He saw her love for God. He saw her trust in God. He didn’t ask her to put anything into the treasury. But he noticed. And what he noticed wasn’t really the amount she gave - what he noticed was what it told him about her faith; about her spirit. “She gave everything,” Jesus said. Even coming from Jesus it sounds as if there was a bit of awe in his voice. “She gave everything.” And it wasn’t the money. The two coins may well have been her last two coins, but I don’t think that’s what Jesus meant. “She gave everything.” She gave herself. She poured her heart and her soul into her relationship with God. It wasn’t the money. It was the spirit. It wasn’t her bank account that mattered. It was her heart. As I read this story, I find myself thinking that even if the woman had put no money into the treasury, Jesus would still have been in awe of her because of her faith. Did the rich people have faith? I don’t know. They had money. Maybe they had faith in God; maybe they had faith in money; maybe they had a divided allegiance. But the poor widow was there at the temple, with virtually nothing of material value to offer - but her heart belonged to God. And Jesus seemed awestruck. “She gave everything. All she had to live on.”

     The rich gave out of their abundance. The widow gave out of her poverty. The rich gave what they would never miss; the widow gave what she couldn’t afford. The rich made no sacrifice and would hardly notice what they had put into the treasury; the widow engaged in an act of faith and believed that in some way God would provide for her. The rich gave sparingly; the widow gave extravagantly.

     The rich gave a lot - but they really didn’t sacrifice much. The widow gave everything - but really she didn’t give much. In the end the point of what Jesus said seems to have been not so much how much was given, but the spirit in which it was given. Do we give of ourselves in what we offer, or do we hold back on what we offer so that we won't really miss it? Do we give in the hope that people will notice what we give and shower us with honours for it, or do we give only to show God what’s in our heart, believing in faith that God will honour us for it? Whatever we give - do we give only in the hopes of getting something back and being blessed, or do we give simply for the sake of giving and being a blessing? Each one of us has to answer those questions for ourselves. What I know is this: God’s concern is not the amount of money we offer, but the abundance of faith we possess. God cares not for the size of our bank accounts, but for the state of our hearts. God is not impressed by the things we do to impress others, but by the things we do for the sake of others. God asks us to give everything - and everything doesn’t have to be much. It just has to be everything.

A Thought For The Week Of January 9, 2017

"There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush." (Exodus 3:2) The burning bush was not God. That's interesting because I think that many people have a tendency to equate the burning bush with God. Or at least to believe that God was in the burning bush - but the text doesn't even specifically say that. It says only that God spoke to Moses "from within the burning bush." That jumped out at me as I reflected on this passage. God was not the burning bush and God didn't even appear as a burning bush and God was not even specifically in the burning bush. Actually what the text tells us is that "an angel of the Lord" was "in flames of fire from within a bush." An angel is a messenger. The flames that didn't consume the bush were a message from God to Moses. That's what the story is telling us and, to me, that gives an entirely different feel to the story than what we usually sense. Whether the details of the conversation between Moses and God actually happened exactly as described - who knows? I expect that the words are more a description of how Moses' encounter impacted him than a verbatim account. And maybe it isn't the specific words that matter most anyway. Maybe the most important message we take from this story is to always keep our eyes open and to always be aware of what's happening around us. We have to do that because this story tells us that sometimes God appears and speaks in the strangest and most unexpected ways. We have to discern, of course. Just because something is strange and unexpected doesn't mean that it's of God. The test is surely conformity to what we as Christians believe is the perfect revelation of God - the life of Jesus Christ. But God does speak in and through the strange and unexpected: a burning bush, a baby in a manger, John the Baptist - and perhaps now and then even you and I! Meaning that we always have to be prepared for an encounter with God - even when and where and how we least expect it.

January 8 2017 sermon: Community Care

They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favour of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

(Acts 2:42-47)

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     We're going to take a few weeks during this early part of 2017 to reflect on some issues around stewardship. A few days ago I was talking with someone about the Mission & Service Fund and other ways in which the folks of PVUC support various kinds of missions and it struck me that it's never a bad time to be reminded about such things. In fact, it might be that the start of the year is a good time to reflect on such things. Epiphany was just a couple of days ago. Epiphany is one of those strange and mysterious sounding “church words” that we hear but don't necessarily understand, unless you're well versed in such things. It basically means a manifestation or revelation. For Christians, we always consider the Epiphany to be the end of the Christmas season, and we associate it with the visit of the magi to see the Christ child – which serves as “the manifestation” of Jesus to the Gentile world. We associate Epiphany with light, because it's light that serves to reveal otherwise hidden things to us. And I want to suggest today that we shouldn't be associating Epiphany only with that story of the visit of the magi to Jesus. That binds “epiphany” to a moment in time; to only one relatively small part of the story of Jesus. But epiphanies continue. Every time someone turns to Christ and becomes a believer it's because they've had an epiphany of sorts. And so I wanted to extend the idea of epiphany beyond the visit of the magi and to our own day – and, I want to link it to good and proper stewardship.

     In Acts 2, we get what may be the first ever description of a Christian community. I won't call it a congregation, because that word suggests a certain level of organization or structure, and that doesn't really seem to have been the case. What existed at the time in Jerusalem was a small group of people who were convinced that Jesus was the Messiah, and who were trying their best to live that belief out in an environment that wasn't all that positively inclined toward them; where most people had far more important things to worry about than technical points of religion, such as whether this person might or might not have been the Messiah. But for this small community living out what they believed was essential – and a big part of living out their faith was stewardship: how they used and shared their resources for the well-being of everyone.

     One of the things we learn from this passage is that before the church can properly care for others it has to learn to care for itself. I sometimes hear the phrase “charity begins at home,” and I flinch a little bit, because frankly it sounds on the surface to be self-serving; almost an excuse to not be charitable elsewhere – to simply take care of yourself and not worry about anyone or anything else. But I have to admit that the more I thought about this the more I realized that there's some truth to it. I'm not sure that you can convince others that you love them unless you can first convince them that you love each other. And I really do believe that qualities like love, compassion, mercy and generosity are contagious. Once you start to show them they grow, and they keep growing until suddenly they can't be contained and they overflow, spreading far beyond the original objects. That's what seems to have happened with the earliest Christian communities.

     Those Christians cared about each other. They weren't a church as we think of the word. They certainly didn't have any buildings and they don't seem to have had any committees. And, for them, living a Christian life meant more than just gathering together for an hour or so to sing a few songs and say a few prayers and then leave and go on about their daily business as if it didn't really mean all that much. These early Christians didn't compartmentalize their faith. Faith wasn't just one part of their life among many other parts – their faith was their life and their faith guided their lives and their life choices. They lived their faith; they lived it together; they looked out for each other; they took care of each other; they had each other's backs. “All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God ...” What an awesome picture. Actually, it's almost an unsettling picture. In some ways it sounds almost cult-like, in other ways it sounds like the epitome of a socialist community. Karl Marx would have approved. In fact, if the church had continued to exist like that Karl Marx would likely have had no complaints and as a result the world would be a very different place today. If you jump ahead a couple of chapters in Acts you come across another description of an early Christian community that sounds almost identical – but the following words are added to the description - “there was not a needy person among them.” Why? Because people shared and people cared. They didn't seek to exploit each other. They just helped each other. Those who had a lot shared with those who didn't have much and the end result was that everyone had enough. You can take that principle and apply it in so many different ways. How different would the world be today if rich nations simply shared with poor nations and expected nothing back? Or if the so-called 1% gave up their positions of privilege and helped raise up the other 99%? What an interesting thing to contemplate. And – it comes straight from the principles that these early Christians lived by! Fear not. I'm not about to lead a Marxist revolution. I'm not saying that we can turn the clock back and suddenly start living that way. The world is different, our society isn't their society, we have 2000 years of Christian history (and some would say Christian baggage) under our belts and sometimes binding us up. But it's a vision. And what a vision. And – for those few decades perhaps when that vision was more than a vision – when it was the guiding principle in the lives of the disciples of Jesus – what a difference it made.

     You can see that in the passage as well. Because of the good stewardship they showed within their community, what happened? They enjoyed “the favour of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.” In other words – people noticed that Christians were different. In a world that was often cold and uncaring, Christians were different. Christians cared. Christians loved. And Christians lived that out. And that's the root of good stewardship. That's where good stewardship grows from: a community of people who care as much about each other as they do about themselves and who take care of each other and who help to make sure that everyone's needs are met, without judgement and without hesitation. And, that comes from the faith we have in God.

     That's the last point I want to make today. Good stewardship flows from the faith and trust that we have in God. If we trust that God will provide for us, then we have the confidence to give of ourselves to help provide for others. This community we're looking at today wasn't just a community of good people who did nice things for each other. It was a community anchored in God and inspired by faith. That's why the description of this caring community begins by telling us that “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles.” This was a community guided by the light of God; this was the impact a community of light can have. A few days ago I read in The Guardian newspaper that astronomers had picked up radio waves coming from a distant galaxy. They don't think it's aliens – they think it's probably a powerful neutron star. Radio waves are a bit like light – they're energy, they come from a star, they reveal something. They figured out that these radio waves were coming from a galaxy that's three BILLION light years from earth. I struggle to get my head around that distance. Light travels at about 300,000 km per second. There are a little more than 31.5 million seconds in a year. So in one year light travels 31.5 million x 300,000 kilometres, then you'd have to multiply that by 3 billion to see how far away that galaxy is. I can't even comprehend that number – never mind calculate it. But we got radio waves from that far away. Light is like that. Light shines into even the darkest places and has an impact you can't possibly imagine – and we're called to be light, and a part of being light is being good stewards with what God has given us.

     God works powerfully when the people of God are truly committed, and one of the ways God works is by turning our hearts toward the needs of those we see around us. This is good stewardship. It's seeing need, and it's responding to need – not just with money but with love and compassion and grace and mercy. Not just through the offering we take in church every week, but through the offering we make in the world every day. Good stewardship within our congregation will make an amazing difference beyond our congregation, throughout the world and in the lives of people we may never even meet.

A Thought For The Week Of January 2, 2017

Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:18-19) I have mixed emotions about the message of this verse. As a matter of fact, I find myself disagreeing with it, at least depending on how it's interpreted. Certainly I have trouble with the advice that we should “not remember the former things.” I find myself actually more in agreement with George Santayana, who wrote in The Life Of Reason that “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” Basically, I think that's true. I think that v.18 probably means something more along the lines of “don't dwell in the past.” That I can agree with. Don't fail to learn the lessons of history, but also don't be held in bondage by the past. Nothing good ever comes of that. And, as verse 19 goes on to tell us, God isn't held hostage by the past. A good summary of the good news is that God is always doing “a new thing.” God is always working at moving us and all creation forward to the point God wants it to be at. This reminds me of God's work in my own life. God is always working at creating something new out of me. I am never exactly who I was yesterday and I am never exactly what I will be tomorrow.  Because God is always working a new thing. On a personal level, these verses remind me of God's grace. My past is set aside by God and I am made new; given a new start every day. These verses also remind me to face the future with confidence and hope. Things may sometimes seem bleak (just as I am consciously aware of my sins and failures) but God promises something better and God is constantly working to bring that something better about. God asks me not to fall into lament about the past (my past, or the past in general) but rather to play my part in God's work of re-creation. What a privilege and what a responsibility. At the beginning of a new year that many are approaching with uncertainty and apprehension the last words of these verses make a great deal of sense: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” God is in control, and God does have a plan being worked out. I choose to face the future with that assurance. Bring on 2017!