A Workshop for Equipping Pastoral Visitors

 Saturday, June 9, 2012

9am – 1pm

St. John the Apostle Anglican Church

2208 St. John Street, Port Moody, B.C.

Facilitator:  The Rev. Dr. Dale Johnson,

Clinical Pastoral Educator

For pastoral visitors, lay Eucharistic ministers, and anyone who may be supporting a friend or family member in a time of crisis or challenge.

The workshop will offer participants an opportunity to learn the basic skills that can facilitate effective pastoral visits.   A variety of topics will be addressed including: confidentiality, when to pray, how to move from a social to an intentional conversation, how to use good listening skills.  There will be an opportunity for participants to ask questions and practice techniques.

Bring a bag lunch.  Tea and coffee will be provided.

To register, contact the Rev. Trudi Shaw,

tasdeac@shaw.ca 

Please register by Wednesday, June 6th

Sponsored by the Anglican parishes of St. John, Port Moody; St. Catherine, Port Coquitlam; and St. Columba, Pitt Meadows.

Homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter

May 13, 2012

All day Friday and Saturday of last week, the clergy and parish lay delegates of our diocese were gathered together for a diocesan synod. Synod is our special church form of government; the word comes from the Greek and literally means a council, a coming together.  It is a gathering of clergy and lay delegates from each parish of the diocese, as well as diocesan staff, guests and observers, under the leadership of our bishop, the Right Reverend Michael Ingham.

The Synod opened with a great celebration of the Eucharist at St John’s Shaughnessy.   We actually began the service outside, with the planting of a tree.  A tree can represent many things, such as the knowledge of good and evil, the future, stability, life itself, but one of the most distinctive things about a tree is that it grows up.  A tree is a symbol of maturity, of growth.

As such it is also a symbol of Christian discipleship – a reminder that we are meant to grow and mature in Christ, so Christian formation and commitment and accountability are central.  As 1John says: “By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments.  For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments.”  Discipleship is as important to the life of the faith community now as it was during the first generation of Christians.  I think our synod served to remind us of these things.

During synod we were reminded of many aspects of the life of the Church – that we are all connected, like branches of a great tree.  The Church is not just the local parish, and a synod is a great reminder and wake-up call to that effect.  We are truly part of a universal Church.

The opening service reminded us of our rich tradition of ministry, of word and sacrament, and music.  The huge procession of clergy all in white caused traffic to slow as drivers and passengers looked on in wonder (or at least curiosity!) and it was an inspiring sight to see St John’s filled, hosting a diocesan event, because until recently it had been one of the parishes in dispute with the diocese, over issues like the inclusion of gay and lesbian people in particular.  Its priest and trustees had left the Anglican Church of Canada and wrongly believed it was their right to take the church building with them.  It took many years and many hours in court and much expense and determination, but now St John’s is back in the family.  I could only imagine what Bishop Michael and others who have fought this battle must have been feeling as we began that service.  Our determination to hold on to a member of the family was a great witness in itself.

The theme of Synod was “world without end,” which was never very clearly articulated, but as we planted the tree there in front of St John’s, it was obvious that it was going to be a sign of the long-term intentions of the Anglican Church to grow and develop – a promise to continue on – and a reminder of the virtues of persistence and faith.  Being church is a long-term commitment.

Our special guest at synod was the Right Reverend Greg Rickel, Episcopal (Anglican) Bishop of the Diocese of Olympia, in Washington.

He preached at the opening Eucharist of synod and reminded us of the story of the man who lay for 38 years by a healing pool without ever managing to get in.   That passage has been an important one for me, because it is a metaphor of the Church.  I have met so many people who are close to the pool – so close to the living water – so close to the reality of their baptism – but not quite in it.

Bishop Rickel concluded his sermon by saying, “Stand up and walk,” which is what Jesus said to the man by the pool.  Jesus enabled people to get up and move, and stop being feeble and dependent.  In our day it becomes a challenge that the Church itself must first hear, and then practice.  “Stand up, stand up, take your mat, and walk into this world, a world we know does not end, but for now is ours to steward and to care for, not just taking the message of Jesus Christ to that world, but living as if we believe it.”

Bishop Rickel began his comments by saying what a daunting task it is to speak to such a “fabulous and important crowd” (of approximately 300 people), and he used the analogy of a mosquito at a nudist colony – he knew what to do, he just had a hard time knowing where to begin!  Bp Rickel’s insights and gift of humour were given a warm welcome every time he spoke to us.  It reminded me that we probably don‘t laugh enough together.  When I had my official diocesan photo taken, I was able to see the huge difference between my first pose, which was very tentative and serious, and the final one in which the photographer made me laugh.  I chose the last one, figuring that if anyone in the church ever decides to hate me for some article I’ve written or for offending someone, they’ll see my photo and say “At least he looks like a nice guy.”  It also was a reminder to consider how we in the Church are viewed and perceived by others, and whether we are putting our best face forward.

We met at the Italian Cultural Centre, a beautiful venue, and one of the highlights of Synod for me was the food. It was excellent and there was lots of it.  Seriously, though, the opportunity to eat together is an essential aspect of Christian fellowship and it is hard to say that you truly know or love someone when you have never broken bread together and really conversed, in a personal and informal way, around a table.  You learn a great deal about people when you eat with them.  In a perfunctory, impersonal world, the way we eat together can be a critical factor for the integrity of our communities, and a real sign of who we are as brothers and sisters in Christ.

Our scriptural and spiritual traditions also fed us during Synod.  Our bishop, Bishop Michael Ingham, in his address Saturday morning, offered an excellent interpretation of the themes of the Book of Deuteronomy, recalling for us the sense of calling and commitment and direction that shaped the people of Israel, and their theology linking prosperity with obedience.  The Bishop Michael reminded us how, at a later time, The Book of Job totally re-interpreted the theology of favour and material success that had once been so integral to Israel’s self-understanding.  It was a good lesson about the way the tradition evolves and develops into deeper and more complex understandings of the nature of God and our relationship with the Divine.  That process continues to unfold, because the Holy Spirit is alive and active among us, so our tradition must never be seen as fixed or static.  So, as Bishop Michael said, “Let us hear what the Spirit is saying to the Church.”

Bishop Michael also used our scriptural and spiritual traditions to begin to speak to us about raising our level of commitment to the Church as we launch a new fund-raising campaign, TOGETHER IN MISSION.  We used a Bible study from Acts 2 in a kind of lectio divina style, which is a way of reading scripture that invites the influence of the Spirit, and it was enlightening to reflect on the story of the amazing faithfulness, mutual accountability and commitment of those first Christians, to try to place ourselves alongside them in the continuity of Christian history, and to imagine ways in which the Church in our Diocese might move forward.

There were challenges (like Together in Mission) and there were concerns, for example the fact that we are not adequately supporting our provincial seminary at a time when it is literally struggling to stay afloat.  The Vancouver School of Theology (VST) has been an integral part of life in this diocese for many years, most of our diocesan clergy have been trained there, and it continues to be a great resource.  Without it, we would be obliged to send our would-be priests off to Toronto or the United States for a decent theological education.  Having witnessed the disintegration of my own alma mater, the College of Emmanuel and St. Chad, I raised the issue on the floor of Synod, but it is obvious we need to take a much deeper look at our partnership with VST and our responsibility toward meaningful and available theological education.

Despite some reasons for concern, overall I was reassured about the goodness and rightness of the Anglican Church — its care and compassion, its intelligence and willingness to engage real issues like racism, sexism, social injustice and environmental destruction.  I was reminded of its worldwide fellowship, its social conscience, its progressive vision, its capacity to include such a wide variety of people, and not to be judgmental and self-righteous.  The Anglican Church continues to be an important and necessary piece of the vast mosaic of religions influencing our world today.

The tree we planted and blessed remains for me the one great image of the Synod and a reminder that even in difficult times, we are not only called to build toward the future, but to continue celebrating life in the present moment.

There were many presentations, on modern communication techniques, about the role of youth, the ACW, and of course, the budget.  It is always one of those situations where “you had to be there,” but I do hope that some of you will consider being a representative of this parish at future synods.  I felt that St John’s was very well represented by our delegates and that we play an important part in the overall life of the Diocese of New Westminster.

Today, we celebrate our mothers and for many, the experience of being a mother.  As we celebrate mothers today, I am conscious that the Church itself has often been characterized as Mother.  We may have typically pictured God as Father, but Christ has sometimes been imaged as Mother (ref. the opening prayer I created today from the writings of St. Julian of Norwich), and the Church has traditionally been cast as feminine, “she” – a source of nurture, a place of belonging, home and safety, our extended spiritual family, whether we choose to be intentional about that or not.

Mother is always to some degree “home” – she is where we come from, and whether she was a good, bad or indifferent mother, she is who we are, like or not.  A mother is a reminder that we come not merely from somewhere but from someone, and there is reason to be humble as well as grateful about that.  As such our mothers remind us of God — they keep us aware of our roots and connected as brothers and sisters of the one God.

Bishop Rickel had a cool way of picking up on things that many might have found irrelevant or even a nuisance.  He celebrated the fact that we had some children – babies – present among us – and he had obviously gone and met them and knew them by name.

The Church, like a caring mother, has an obligation to be loving and faithful in the present, because the future of her children is at stake.  A good mother does not play favourites among her children, or give them the false impression that they are intrinsically better than other children (as Bishop Rickel reminded us, “best” is not a theological category). A good mother does not let her children get caught up and immobilized by their own sense of inadequacy.   A good mother does not let her children grow up in isolation or ignorance or fear.  A good mother offers affirmation, encouragement, nurture, and acceptance, and a gentle push to move beyond the security and certainty of the nest into the questions and unknowns of the rest of the world.  The very presence of those babies actually spoke volumes to our Synod, and thank God Bishop Rickel had the wisdom and insight to articulate that.

As our Gospel for today tells us, the great commandment we have from Jesus is to love one another.  It is essentially his one and only commandment – that one thing we MUST do in order to be authentically Christian.   We are not just called to get together and talk about unity or justice or compassion.  We are called to live that unity, to enact that justice, and to be that compassion.  As St Paul said so perfectly, “all our doings which are done without love are absolutely worthless” (see 1 Corinthians 13).

May our Mother Church always be open enough to welcome all her children, that we may know ourselves as children of God in a vast family too large to be counted; may the Church always be warm enough that we may know what it means to abide in the love of God; and may she teach us to become wise enough to go out seeking and serving Christ in the world God loves.

The Rev. Grant Rodgers

RCL appointed readings for Easter 6:

Acts 10:44-48 While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter said, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” So he ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they invited him to stay for several days.

Psalm 98  O sing to the LORD a new song, for he has done marvelous things. His right hand and his holy arm have gotten him victory.  The LORD has made known his victory; he has revealed his vindication in the sight of the nations.  He has remembered his steadfast love and faithfulness to the house of Israel. All the ends of the earth have seen the victory of our God.  Make a joyful noise to the LORD, all the earth; break forth into joyous song and sing praises.  Sing praises to the LORD with the lyre, with the lyre and the sound of melody.  With trumpets and the sound of the horn make a joyful noise before the King, the LORD.  Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and those who live in it. Let the floods clap their hands; let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the LORD, for he is coming to judge the earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.

1 John 5:1-6  Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has been born of God, and everyone who loves the parent loves the child.  By this we know that we love the children of God, when we love God and obey his commandments.  For the love of God is this, that we obey his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, for whatever is born of God conquers the world. And this is the victory that conquers the world, our faith. Who is it that conquers the world but the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God?  This is the one who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only but with the water and the blood. And the Spirit is the one that testifies, for the Spirit is the truth.

John 15:9-17  As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.  If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.   I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete. “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.  No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.  I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.  You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name.  I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.

We often call this Sunday “Good Shepherd Sunday” due to its pastoral images of God and of Jesus as shepherd, in John 10 and in the 23^rd Psalm.  I can’t tell you the number of times I have recited this Psalm at someone’s death bed, or at their funeral.  “Ye though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I shall fear no evil. . .”   The valley of the shadow of death is one of the most recognizable lines from scripture,  a powerful image evoking fear of the unknown and of darkness; it suggests depression, and of course, death.  But it also speaks to us of the powerful presence of God helping us to overcome our fears and to move through the dark and difficult places of life we would rather avoid.

Today I want to suggest “the valley of the shadow of death” to you as a metaphor of aging, and as a reminder of the importance of realizing God’s presence as we move toward the final years of life, and the unknowns that the future may hold.

What is the ideal age? I can remember thinking; I can hardly wait until I’m 5 (because that’s when I get to go to Kindergarten); I can hardly wait until I’m 13 (because then I’ll be a teenager); I can hardly wait until I’m 18 (because that was the legal drinking age at that time); I can hardly wait until I’m 21 (because that’s when I’ll officially be an adult). When I was 27, newly ordained and just arrived in my first parish, I remember thinking, “God, I need 20 years more experience!”  The word priest derives from the Greek word Presbyter, which means “elder,” and here I was, at 27, being called to minister to people old enough to be my grandparents!

We seem to be rarely satisfied with being who we are.  When we’re young we’re always looking forward, wanting the in-between time to disappear.  One thing for certain about those arbitrary ideal moments is that the moment you reach them they’re gone – they become part of the past.  At some point many people start hanging on to chronological milestones they have already passed, whether that is 39 or whatever, thinking that their glory days are behind them somewhere, and realizing that time passes all too quickly.

Age has a way of sneaking up on us.  We don’t feel old but one day someone shouts, “Watch where you’re going, old man!” and we realize the person is talking to us. Eventually, we start to acknowledge the passing of time and its effects on us.  It seems weird that we see all these old-looking people and fail to realize they are our own age or younger,  but one day our age has a way of presenting itself.  As one comedian said, “I knew I was middle-aged when I woke up and had a 23 inch hair growing out of my nose.”

We live in a culture that is fixated on youth, stalled in adolescence you might say, a culture stubbornly unwilling to embrace the adventure of maturing and growing older, because to embrace that adventure means facing up to the reality of entering the valley of the shadow of death and it takes courage and faith to go there.

Many people put a great deal of effort and expense into the futile project of trying to stay young forever. Rita Rudner said: “I don’t plan to grow old gracefully. I plan to have face-lifts until my ears meet.”  For many, the designated place of worship and devotion is a gym or a spa, and the object of their worship is some idealized version of themselves.

We tend to think of aging in terms of loss — losing our youth, our hair, our looks, our strength, our virility, etc., and not in terms of gaining the opportunity of moving toward deeper wisdom and experience and a place of honour in the community.  Anti-aging strategies and products abound.  But that approach says it all: we are an anti-aging society.

The biblical tradition is emphatic that old age is a good thing.  When you think about the exaggerated ages assigned to people like Methuselah, and Moses, not only is being old a blessing – being really, really old is a sign of sanctity, and of significance.  The older, the better, seems to be the message. The Old Testament tradition in particular is enormously positive about age, experience, and wisdom.

In many cultures, that sense of veneration for elders is still a reality.  But when we think of elders in our society, our minds often run to ads for drugs, for products like Depends, retirement homes, and the news seems to have warnings each week about “scams targeting seniors” – it doesn’t paint the most appealing picture.  Age-ism is on the rise.  People are made to feel like they ought to apologize for being old, for not being young, and for being a burden.  And we tend to abandon our elders in ways that many cultures find quite shocking.   

Why do people hate growing old?  Maybe it’s because we’ve been conditioned to think that way – when all we see and hear about the elderly is mocking or impatient or dismissive, it’s hard to be positive.  There seem to be so few positive role models – but there are some.

In her book I Like Growing Old, 90 year old author K. Eileen Allen says “I like being old.  It amazes me that I can say this, but it’s true.  I like having time I never felt I had before – to ponder, to muse, to feel grateful for life’s many gifts.  I like learning to appreciate myself more, and others too . . . and I have to admit it strokes my ego when I get applause from old and young for being such a lively, engaged, happy old woman.”  Happiness in old age!  What a concept!

Old people are not a liability.  They are, first of all, people in their own right, and they are also a tremendous resource.  The Church in our society is largely populated by senior citizens.  Instead of blaming them that they are not young, wishing they were something other than they are, our parishes need to celebrate them and give thanks for their experience and wisdom and faithfulness and invite them to tell their stories.  One of today’s readings (1 John 3), points to the way Jesus offered his life and says that those in Christian community ought to lay down their lives for one another – not in the sense of self-sacrifice, but in a willingness to be open and available and supportive.  Churches are not meant to be “communities of strangers,” and part of their wisdom of elders is their knowing the importance of being part of a community, their awareness that life is not just about the individual, and their willingness to admit their need for companionship and support.  In our society, there is a real need for shepherds or guides for people trying to find their way, and for elders in our churches to see themselves as  models or examples of what Christian maturity looks like. Churches can be a place of inter-generational support and learning and mentoring.  Over the years, I have been blessed by my association with seniors – people who have had to negotiate and explore the difficult and inevitable journey of aging.

In parish life, because our model is discipleship, we avoid approaches which encourage any disciple to be passive and not active.  In terms of our ministry to seniors, this means not just about caring for the elderly, or creating a chaplaincy approach, but of inviting the elderly to care for us – encouraging them to see themselves in a new light, not as useless or as burdens, but as sages with valuable experience and ongoing insight to impart.

How many of you have had an important elder/mentor?  How many would see yourself that way?  I think it’s important to see aging and eldering as a vocation.  I recall the woman I buried a few years ago who had been a difficult child, and a lousy mother, but came into her own as a grandmother – it was like that was her vocation in life and she couldn’t realize it until she was old.

We need to reclaim the beauty and dignity and significance of age and encourage attitudes of respect and reverence, and challenge the ridiculous attitude that the agenda for our elders is to shuffle off the stage and get out of the way as quickly as possible.   An ancient Hasidic saying suggests that  “For the unlearned, old age is winter; for the learned, it is the season of the harvest.”  If this is true, we are on a starvation diet regarding wisdom.

In the midst of tremendous affluence and abundance, many people are caught up in a life of acquiring and grasping with no thought about what is really essential or necessary for a good life.  Elders and sages can teach us the wisdom of not allowing the enemies of life to distract us from the abundant feast that life is meant to be.

Instead of expressing frustration about how slow the elderly seem, many people in our world need to embrace the wisdom of slowing down, of appreciating the “still waters” the 23^rd Psalm promises.  For many life is “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing” (Shakespeare, Macbeth).   In such a world, wisdom means slowing down and becoming more centered.  It means intentionally seeking quiet.  It means it’s OK to stop running your life like you’re on a hamster wheel.  It’s interesting to note how many books about slowing down and celebrating slower lifestyle are showing up.  It’s interesting to see the sudden interest in contemplative spiritual practices.  Our elders might be seen as the calm in the midst of the storm.

Aging requires the ultimate ability to embrace change.  I think of the changes my grandparents dealt with over the course of their lives and I am amazed at how well they adapted.  I valued my grandparents and miss them, but in any parish, we can connect with loving and wise elders who have done and continue to do amazing things – people who have learned the wisdom of living well – people who can teach us something about letting go of some things and hanging on to others. For young people, that could be seen as a healthy way of balancing their sometimes frantic lives and inviting them to slow down and meditate about why they are so manic, and reconsider their priorities.

This is not to dismiss the very real challenges involved in growing old.  There are a lot of aspects of getting older that raise fear – change; loss; vulnerability; loss of friends and isolation; abandonment by family; physical pain; redundancy and loss of purpose; financial anxiety; decreasing mobility – and ultimately, death.   “Old age is no place for sissies” as Bette Davis said.

Traditionally, Christians have put a lot of focus on Jesus dying for us, which in some ways encourages people to by-pass or avoid the real issues surrounding their own death.  Jesus himself didn’t go on about dying for (or instead of) others. Instead, he pointed his followers to move toward and through the Cross — to die to self — to die to fear – to die to limited perceptions of life.  At Baptism and during Lent, that theme is re-visited.  It is central to Christian doctrine and yet it is amazing how much we avoid it.   The reward of embracing that faith is overcoming fear and living in the freedom of new life, neither guilty about the past nor anxious about the future.  In Christ we are encouraged to look to the future in hope, and the journey forward as gain, not loss.

Pablo Picasso said, “It takes a long time to become young.”At Easter, we assert the faith that in Christ there is a new creation, that in death there is nothing to fear, that the Resurrection is a present reality for all who will believe.   Our faith suggests we can be renewed daily as we embrace the reality of redemption and resurrection.  I believe it is possible to live in a new creation, and to be renewed daily.

Let us look to our elders with gratitude as they remind us of the realities of life, and lead us through the valley of the shadow of death.

THE REV. GRANT RODGERS+

Psalm 23   The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake.  Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff– they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD my whole life long.

1 John 3:16-24  We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us–and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.  How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?  Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.  And by this we will know that we are from the truth and will reassure our hearts before him whenever our hearts condemn us; for God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.  Beloved, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have boldness before God;  and we receive from him whatever we ask, because we obey his commandments and do what pleases him.  And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us.  All who obey his commandments abide in him, and he abides in them. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us.

John 10:11-18   ”I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.   The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away–and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep.  I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”

It seems to me that society today is becoming more cynical with the need to know for certain. The need to touch and interact with another so their story may be believed, this is counter-intuitive to those of us that follow a Christian faith.

We are called to believe in God’s word through second and third hand accounts as recorded in our Canon of Scripture and integrate this with our personal experience of an unseen God and Risen Christ. We are people of the story passed down from generation to generation not people of an eye-witness encounter.

Living in this faith calls us to live a life that is based on the stories of others about what Jesus did while he lived on this earth. We live out this faith in the hope of God’s grace and love for all. Scripture records that Jesus taught people not to worry about getting hung up on the laws of faith traditions but to look at how we love, as Children of God

The reading from the letter of John states

“Little children, let no one deceive you. Everyone who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous”

Righteous is a tough word but the writer of 1 John puts it quite simply and clearly do what is right as children of God.

I think the link with our acknowledgement of Earth Day and the call to do what is right as stewards of God’s creation is quite easy to see.

I acknowledge that there are many issues on my mind this morning as we recognize Earth Day.

What I think about is how simple it should be to do what God asks of us in taking care of all we have received. Then I realize that once we incorporate our wants into our way of life, our greed for more becomes a driving force and our part in caring for God’s creation can become tainted and out of balance.

As ones that look to Jesus as an example of how we are to live our lives in God we also look to him as one who made a big difference in the world.

Recently my daughter and I went to see the movie, The Lorax, based on the children’s book by Dr. Seuss and was written in the 1970’s.

Today I am all too aware how in the way only Dr. Seuss can tell a story this is a story full of truth about where we could sadly be if our destructive ways continue. It is a story about new life and the hope we have if just one person listens and strives to make a difference. It is a story of resurrection, a story of new birth, a story of faith that one person with a dream can make a difference.

For those that do not know the story as presented in the movie, here is a simple synopsis.

There is a place where all the trees have been cut down so that a young man named the Once-ler could become an entrepreneur. He became rich by cutting down the Truffula trees and using the tops for his product. As this young man was going about cutting down the trees The Lorax came to try and save them and to make the Once-ler see the errors of his ways. But alas he did not listen to The Lorax and slowly the environment was destroyed as he cut down all the Truffula trees to make money from the sale of a fashion product called a Thneed.

With the loss of the trees the land became destitute and barren of life.  The villan named O,Hare created a town named Thneedville which was an artificial a self-contained bubble unit. He sold bottles of oxygen to the people, just like we today can get bottles of water brought into our home. O’Hare provided everything to them and became very rich and very powerful in the town of Thneedville.

In this town lived a boy, named Ted, who was smitten by a young girl, Audrey, who knew of the Truffula trees that once grew in the area. She had a dream that if one seed could be found then they could grow the Truffula again. She believed that if the Truffula tree grew again then all living things would come back and they would not have to live in an artificial environment with plastic bottles of oxygen. So of course being a young boy in the throws of a first love he set out to find this seed.  Over time and after many potential catastrophes Ted did find one seed. After a battle with O’Hare the seed was planted and living things returned to Thneedville.

This for me is a wonderful story of hope  and trust and second chances. It leads me to wonder though how many second chances

do we get as we continue down our path of environmental abuse.

In the original book by Dr. Seuss The Lorax tells the Once-Ler

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it’s not”

The Lorax did not say that it would take a whole lot of people to change what may happen, he just simply stated that only one person needed to care and care a whole lot.

I am sure most of us here remember what happened on the Gulf Coast with the most recent oil disaster. I think this one huge event is going to give oil companies a lot of grief as they seek to find bigger ways to transport oil from our soils throughout the world.

On April 28^th at Christ Church Cathedral The Eco-Justice group of the Diocese is holding a “Compassion for Creation Workshop. What does faith have to say about pipe-lines and tankers?”

I am sure there are some in our world today that will say that the church must stay out of commerce and politics and should not be involved in this discussion. But, I believe that if we profess a Resurrected Jesus  who returned to the disciples then as a people of the resurrection we should be prepared to stand where society says we do not belong.

I was very pleased to receive an email from my Godson recently asking for my support in fighting the Enbridge pipeline proposal. After reading the info he sent me I knew I had no choice but to send an email to the government asking them to exam more closely what the dangers of such a pipeline would be.

Last week I was just as pleased to be able to let this same Godson know that the church he had been baptized into was planning this workshop on April 28^th. It is good for him to know that we are prepared to stand up and be counted as stewards of God’s creation.

Similarly, being a sailor and lover of living around the waters of our coast I am becoming more concerned with the yet to be fully divulged Kinder-Morgan proposal for increased oil tanker traffic on Burrard Inlet.

I am sure each of us here this Earth Day can think of a personal concern for God’s creation and our misuse of its abundant gifts.

I would suggest that it is time for each of us to think more deeply about why there is an Earth Day. It seems that each tree that is being cut down creates a greater risk of environmental disaster and a potential that one day a future generation may need to live in a self-contained city with bottles of oxygen being delivered to their homes.

We have spoken much about compassion in recent years and most recently about compassion to the Other. Perhaps, today, we can see that we need to broaden our horizon and incorporate into our compassionate thinking and action, God’s amazing creation.

Let us remember the words from the Letter of John …

do what is right as children of God ….

And let us also remember the words of The Lorax, as penned by Dr. Seuss,

….Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better, it’s not.

April 15, 2012

100 years ago today, April 15, 1912, the largest ship afloat was concluding its maiden voyage.  883 feet long and as tall above water as a 10 storey building, RMS Titanic was seen as one of the wonders of the modern world, a tribute to progress and modern technology, a symbol of the human triumph over nature.   The great ship, declared unsinkable, was ironically called “the greatest ship since Noah’s ark” by one of the builders.  One passenger asked a dock hand, “Is this ship really unsinkable?” and the man replied, “Yes, lady. God Himself couldn’t sink this ship!”

Titanic launched amid huge promise and publicity.  It was rushed into service to such a degree that basic safety measures were ignored.   None of the crew’s lookouts were equipped with binoculars; the crew had never done a lifeboat drill; the ship was only equipped with enough lifeboats for about half of the people on board.

Many of the most prominent people of the day booked a passage aboard Titanic, travelling in First Class.  In today’s terms, they paid tens of thousands for the privilege and prestige of being on board for that first voyage.  13 couples on their honeymoon were on board

At 2:20 a.m., April 15, Titanic sank, and along with it, a good measure of the early 20th century’s faith in science, technology and human progress.  Titanic carried 2224 people – 2224 people trusted Titanic with their lives.   Just over 700 survived.

Titanic can be seen as a kind of metaphor of the modern age, especially in its overblown confidence in technology, and in the sense of how people can be so desperate to be on board with the latest and greatest thing.

The ship’s Captain (Edward Smith) was quoted as saying “I cannot conceive of any vital disaster happening to this vessel. Modern shipbuilding has gone beyond that.”  The Titanic is a story of blind faith in technology and progress – and one of the messages we might take from the story is that you have to be careful about what you put your faith in, and sometimes it’s helpful to raise questions or ask where we’re headed.

In today’s Gospel we have the post-resurrection story of Thomas – “Doubting Thomas,” as he is called.  There are many speculations about why Thomas was portrayed that way (or at all), but one reason might be as a caution against too quickly bowing down before the latest guru or the latest fad (spiritual or otherwise).  In other words, the disciples themselves weren’t 100% sure, even about Jesus, so the Gospel seems to warn us to be careful about to whom, or to what, we sacrifice ourselves.  It’s also a way of saying that the authentic Jesus comes bearing the marks of human suffering and not as some kind of magical being who floats through walls.  All too often, people in our time want the easy, convenient and magical, rather than the hard work and personal commitment of real faith.  Thomas reminds us that doubt, uncertainty and the need for questions are an essential aspect of faith and of human life in general.

The Titanic story speaks to us of the danger of “hubris” – exaggerated pride, over–confidence and arrogance – in our own achievements.  Had there been a little humility, a little room for doubt, and the ability to recognize that perhaps a little testing might have been in order, the disaster might have been avoided.

A few weeks ago I approached Olivia about the possibility of having some of the kids create a skit for an upcoming Sunday.  We looked at dates, and it seemed April 15 was ideal; we looked at themes, and when she suggested Noah’s Ark, I thought that would tie in rather well on the 100^th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, because it invites some comparisons between the ship of faith and the ship of progress (although I don’t mean to pose these as polar opposites).

The comparison with Noah’s Ark is interesting, in part because, like the Noah story, Titanic can be seen not just as a terrible tragedy with a few lucky souls being saved, it can be seen in light of the beautiful and inspiring stories that emerged from the catastrophe – stories of care and concern and courage. Despite all the ambition, the competing egos, and the failure of the system, there were some great human stories going on in the midst of the disaster.

One of the stories is about how the ship’s orchestra continued playing until they were literally tossed into the freezing water by the tilting of the ship as it sank. Initially, they played their music in the hope of preventing panic; some pretty lively stuff, with some ragtime, and then, when death was inevitable, the tunes of sacred songs. The band leader was Wallace Hartley, a devout Methodist and son of a church choir leader.   Hartley had already been asked what he would do if faced with death on a sinking ship. He answered that he could think of nothing better than to play either “Oh God, Our Help in Ages Past,” or “Nearer, My God, to Thee.”  It’s one thing to say that in a calm moment, another thing to do it in the face of certain death.

One of the passengers who made it into a lifeboat and survived, said: “I shall never forget hearing the strains of that beautiful hymn [Nearer, My God, To Thee] as I was leaving the sinking ship . . .  It was always a favourite hymn of mine, but at such a time and under such tragic circumstances it had for me a solemnity too deep for words.”

There was a second class passenger on board by the name of  Thomas Rousel Davids Byles, the son of an English Congregationalist minister who had become a Roman Catholic priest.  He was on his way from England to New York to preside at his brother’s wedding.  He was 42.

On the morning of Sunday, April 14, which, like today, was the first Sunday after Easter, Fr. Byles had celebrated Eucharist with second-class passengers in their designated lounge and then with the third-class passengers. Picking up on the ambience of the great ship at sea, Fr Byles almost prophetically preached about the need to have a “lifeboat in the shape of prayer and the sacraments at hand in case of spiritual shipwreck.”

In their last minutes, many turned to Fr Byles to make confessions and final prayers, and he was reported to have ministered to dozens in their final moments as the ship was sinking, with them trapped on board. Apparently more than once he turned down an invitation to get on board one of the life boats.   Third class passenger Helen Mary Mocklare, was one who made it on to a life boat, told people later about Fr Byles’ calming manner and how bravely he continued to pray and comfort people despite the temptation to panic and save himself.

Because the protocol of that era was “women and children first,” about 80% of the men on board did not get into the lifeboats.  What an incredible commitment to duty – to principle – not to give way to the mentality of brute survival, or might makes right!  I can barely imagine the inner strength of men placing their wives and children in lifeboats as the ship was rapidly sinking, knowing it would be the last time they would ever see them.

As we reflect on the moment, it is obviously not just a cautionary tale about greed, arrogance, and blind faith in progress, but can be seen as a story of courage, honour, self-sacrifice, and redemption, in the face of death and destruction.

We need stories like that, but above all we need actions that inspire those stories in the first place.  There is nothing we can do to change the past.  We can learn from it, yes, but there is something we can do about the future, and that is to make good and faithful choices in the present moment.  People like Wallace Hartley and Fr Byles show us the way, in much the same sense that Jesus revealed the Way in the first place.

Good and faithful choices.  A baptism is one such choice, because it says something about how we hope the future will look.

So we greet Jack and Gavin today in the Name of the one who created and calmed the seas, and we say to them, Bon Voyage, as they begin their life in the ship of faith.

The Rev. Grant Rodgers+

I think that the Church is sometimes in danger of giving very mixed messages at Easter, like the church that decided to create a huge banner for their front yard, proclaiming the Easter message: “Jesus is not here! He is risen!” Unfortunately, the way the sign read from the road, the message appeared to be “Jesus is not here!”

But one of the great themes of Easter is that nothing – not even death — can stifle the life that is meant to be, which is probably quite fortunate for the Church, given how prone we are to garbling the message.   I hope you will leave here today grateful to have been in the presence of Christ, our fumbling efforts notwithstanding.

A new poll says the vast majority of Americans believe in the Resurrection (and one could reasonably expect Canadians to answer similarly).  Initially, it sounded somewhat reassuring.  But then I thought, So what?  What meaningful difference does that belief make?  How does that show up in any real way in North American lifestyles?

Many churches have tended to make it an issue of “Do you believe in the Resurrection,” putting a lot of onus on mental assent to a specific way of understanding the event, and the acceptance of Resurrection as a point of doctrine, and while it is important to know and believe certain things, the Resurrection can never be limited to being just a piece of information, or one brief moment in history.

We can get very agitated and very bogged down in trying to analyze  what the Resurrection looked like,  how it happened, whether the witnesses were reliable, etc.  Whether it is true or not is certainly an issue, but what is more important is how it is true. People can tend to get very caught up with the mechanics and specifics of it, and it isn’t as if those issues aren’t important, but it’s obvious that even the Gospel writers themselves are less interested in the factual history and details, than in helping people connect with that same spirit – that same mystical reality – into which Jesus had clearly entered.

The first disciples initially assumed that the body had been stolen – that was their understanding of the mechanics of it.  But the only way they could explain their experiences subsequent to that was to say that Jesus was risen – that he was not dead – not gone – but with them in a new and empowering way.  The movement, the momentum, the spirit, had not died with him, but lived on in some real but mysterious way.

The New Testament provides tantalizing glimpses, inklings, into what the experience might have looked like or felt like and it’s likely that it was something quite different to everyone who experienced it – something quite subjective, quite personal – but it is essential to note the complete transformation of dis-spirited, disorganized, defeated followers, who were suddenly (miraculously) inspired and empowered to lead the world into a new kind of community and a new way of being human.

The Gospels even seem to express confusion over when this new reality first began to manifest.  According to John’s gospel, long before his Crucifixion, Jesus has already become the Resurrection, as in Ch 11 Jesus says to Martha “I am the Resurrection and the Life” – not, “I will be the Resurrection,” but “I am” – present tense.  In other words, in this account, he has already become the new way of being well in advance of the Passion.  The other Gospels, in conveying moments like the Transfiguration, and the walking on water, seem to be saying the same thing – that the exact process of Resurrection is somewhat diffused.

So don’t get too caught up in the mechanics of it. Look instead at the impact – the transformation – the new life that it inspired and continues to inspire, as we open ourselves to its message for us.

As far as we are concerned, what is immediately relevant to us is not the details of what happened in the garden or even about the afterlife, but discovering the power and purpose to live THIS life.  Live life here and now and let God take care of the rest.

Mahatma Gandhi said, “You must be the change you want to see in the world” — a real case of “the medium is the message,” and it’s like Jesus took that to its ultimate level.  It seems to me we should always make sure that people realize it is a process of becoming.

Though we have traditionally put great stock in what people believe, that can be a very static and fruitless approach.  To me, it is less a case of “Do you believe in the Resurrection?” and more a case of “Have you experienced the resurrection?”  Are you prepared to live the Resurrection?  Are you willing to BE the Resurrection?

The Easter story is like a metaphor of the human journey – the spiritual journey – of breaking free from what nullifies and destroys us and becoming what we are truly meant to be.  It is like the transformation certain insects undergo.  They experience a metamorphosis and suddenly they are no longer what they were.  In the case of a butterfly, it is something quite obvious and dramatic and beautiful.

In the reading from Acts, we see Peter breaking through into a new way of perceiving the world, and letting go of an old way of relating to things.  He has just had a vision in which he has argued with God, wanting to uphold an old model which divided things up into categories of “clean” and “unclean.”  Realizing that God’s vision is vastly bigger than he once settled for, and just beginning to re-orient himself to the truth of God’s universal and even cosmic vision, he says “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears (respects/honours) God and does what is right is acceptable to God.”  That is a colossal statement and a massive turning point in Peter’s journey.  Previously he had seen the world divided into separate, conflicting and competing pieces – cultural, religious, political, racial – but now he has begun to realize that everything fits together – everything serves and honours God in some way.  St. Paul would say that once you have embraced this new vision, all things work together for good.

Parker Palmer says “The people who plant the seeds of movements make a critical decision: they decide to live divided no longer.  They decide no longer to act on the outside in a way that contradicts some truth about themselves that they hold deeply on the inside.”   That is when they start to live in the new creation, that is when the Resurrection becomes real, and that is certainly what I see being presented in the Easter accounts in the Gospels.

Like the women who went to the graveyard on Easter morning, we are now witnesses (and truly, you already have enough to go on).  We are the ones who can (must) let the world know about the life that breaks us out of our shells, and frees us from all the prisons and tombs the world imposes (and that we impose on ourselves), and opens up new horizons and possibilities.  And yet the women had to make the choice to become bearers of the Good News rather than a group of would-be undertakers, overcome with grief about the loss of Jesus.

So it is important for contemporary servants of Christ that they bring Resurrection, new life, into every situation,  by bringing attention, care and respect, energy and enthusiasm, openness and wonder and hope, and above all, compassion, into every encounter you are privileged to have – allow the Resurrection to be at the heart of the way you see and experience life.  Life is in a very real sense already in your hands – you have the power to transform any situation – because if Christ is in you, you can’t hold that life in any better than the tomb in which they vainly placed Jesus.

Like the women who went to the graveyard, we eventually discover that our job is not to tend to the corpse of Jesus.  Our job is not to stand guard over the history of Jesus, or safeguard the “proper” understanding of who he was.  Our job is not to tell the world that Jesus was, but to be good stewards of the incredible mystery, the incredible good news, that the reality, the life of Jesus is very much a present reality.  Our job is to tell the world that Jesus IS and to choose to live in such a way that embodies that truth.

So I think the message of Easter to any would be disciples – any would-be believers — is: BE the Resurrection.  When Jesus is quoted as saying “I AM the Resurrection” that is what he meant, just as when he told his disciples they were to become the light of the world.  So the proper calling of the Church is to BE the way for people, in the same sense that Jesus became the Way and the life, that we can be where he is, and what he is, to a world often convinced that there is nothing but death.   Again, “the medium is the message,” to quote Marshall McLuhan.  I believe we are not just to say to ourselves, Oh, isn’t that interesting (and then be able to say on some survey that yes, we believe in the Resurrection).  I believe we are meant to take this message somewhere and make it real some place in our lives.

As Parker Palmer says, “Let your life speak.” Realize that you are the message; you are the Good News; you are the Resurrection, because you have been raised with Christ.  Be filled with Easter joy and may you inspire and cause new life all around you.  If we truly choose to embody the Good News, I believe we could change the world

The Rev. Grant Rodgers+

Acts 10:34-43 Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.  You know the message he sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ–he is Lord of all.   That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced:  how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him.   We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree;  but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear,  not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.   He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead.  All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.”

Mark 16:1-8  When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him.  And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb.   They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?”   When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back.   As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed.  But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.   But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”   So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to any one, for they were afraid.

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Psalm 22   

Romans 8: 18—28; 31—39

John 18:1-19:42   

When I did my first observational ride-along in a police car, it was a bit of a wake-up call about the way things were, as a dark and mostly unknown reality was revealed to me that for most people is always just out of sight, down the alley, across the tracks, as it were — the dark side of the city that is out of sight and out of mind for most of us — “the underworld.”

On this dark day, as that Dark Night of the Soul of human history opens up to us, it is important not to lose sight of the light of Christ, and the fact that we are already children of the light and Resurrection people.  But on this day we remember the whole picture, including those parts we prefer not to see – the dark side of life.   And so on Good Friday we spend time meditating on the gift of the Cross, perhaps God’s greatest gift to us – the ultimate sign by which we know the extent of God’s love for us.

From the human side of things, the cross is a kind of ultimate darkness.  The killing of an innocent person is bad under any circumstances, but in the crucifixion of Jesus we not only see the suffering and murder of the innocent, we see the killing of goodness, the killing of truth, the killing of compassion and justice, the killing of hope.  We see the extent people will go to defend and justify keeping the world as they want it, as opposed to the kind of world – the kind of kingdom – that God might guide us to create.

We do not have Communion this day because it is the one day above all that we recognize the absolute failure of the world to embrace the unity that communion represents — it is the one day above all we sit with the hostility and hatred and suspicion and denigration that is in the world, and in us, and ponder the way we persistently choose death over life — the way we prefer to diminish and destroy others rather than treat them as the gift God made them to be, simply because, in the blindness of our insecurity, we perceive them to be a threat to our selves.

I remember well how good it felt to be chosen, to be wanted, to be standing on the side of success – whether on the playing field or in the classroom – and how desperately I wanted to avoid failing.  When I chose to become a priest, some people said things like, how can you stand to be near sick people – how can you stand to hang around old people — how can you stand to be with dying people.  They said things like, doesn’t it get depressing hearing all of other people’s troubles?  Today we choose to become re-acquainted with grief — today we choose to stand on the other side of the equation – to identify ourselves with the victimized, the oppressed, the left out, the weak, the losers.

The most painful and central words of this day are spoken by Jesus in anguish: “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachtani?”  My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Where is God?   If we are honest there are many times in life when we ask that question.  Like Job, we don’t necessarily get an answer.  Good Friday challenges our sense of what God is supposed to be – it seems to contradict the love he supposedly has for us, so many prefer to avoid it.  It’s hard to blame them.

The Jewish author Elie Wiesel, recalling his time in the Auschwitz and Buchenwald concentration camps of World War II, speaks of an incident where the prisoners were forced to watch a young boy being hanged – over some trifle – and how someone cried out derisively, “Where is God now?”   Wiesel felt, at the time, that God was present in the boy being hanged, as we might choose to see God present in the young man from Galilee hanging on a cross.

All of this and more we can see if we spend some time with the Cross. So, you are brave and unusually faithful people to be here today.   And I am deeply grateful to be able to share in this devotion with you this morning.

The Way of the Cross in Holy Week and especially on Good Friday is a kind of gauge indicating the degree to which we are comfortable with suffering – our own as well as others – because this week puts us in touch with it like no other.

It requires a difficult choice to believe that God is in the compassion and solidarity that we experience in suffering – that God is among those who weep – even as we struggle to imagine what Jesus could have meant when he said, “Blessed are those who mourn.”

In the eyes of the world, blessed are those who can place themselves above pain and suffering – blessed are those who are able to remove themselves from the struggles and failings of ordinary people.   Good Friday tells us a different story.  As opposed to the old idea that God was distant and beyond – all powerful — way above all that kind of thing – the passion of Christ reveals that God is not above all that – that he is with us in our suffering and futility and failure.

Relating this devotion to our ongoing reflection about Radical Welcome, Good Friday says something significant about our willingness and capacity to welcome the suffering and pain of the world – and to be compassionate and open to the suffering of others.  As St Paul said so wisely: “Carry each other’s burdens and thereby you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Yesterday at the Food bank lunch, I was standing in the hall and talking with some of the people, and one lady looked over at my portrait hanging on the wall and said, “Is that YOU?”  I said yes, of course, and we had a laugh about how I mostly go incognito, but her sense of amazement that I – a priest — would be among them – the poor – suggests that somewhere along the line, she was given the idea that to God, some are worthy and some are not, and that the clergy typically reflect that sense of social hierarchy.  I want to say emphatically that in Jesus that hierarchy is reversed.  While the world may yearn and strain to be upwardly mobile, even in their religion, we serve a God who purposely became downwardly mobile to reveal his true nature.

Good Friday should remind us all that God understands and accepts us in our brokenness – in the life we have been given to live, not some ideal life or self we might prefer instead.   And that maybe we are closer to God – closer to resurrection — in our brokenness and vulnerability, than when we are successful and strong.  In that sense Good Friday creates one of those “thin places” – places where the distance between the divine and our humanity is noticeably reduced – as we open to God in our need.

As I get to know you more and more, I am increasingly conscious of the burdens you carry – the things weighing on your hearts and minds about family, friends, the state of the world, personal health and aging  – and of the hope that is in your hearts as you come to the altar and hold out your hands to God.  Like Christ, those hands are wounded – bearing the scars of life – but to me, they are all the more beautiful for it, and so administering Communion is one of the most painful – as well as most meaningful – things I am privileged to do as a priest.  Today we do not open our hands to receive Christ in Communion, but we open our hearts to the emptiness and pain and suffering of the world and in ourselves.

The brokenness and humiliation of Jesus may be hard to bear, as we find our own imperfections difficult crosses to bear at times, but on this day, choose to believe that God is with us, as God was with Jesus, even though, like Jesus, we are not spared the pain of rejection and misunderstanding and suffering.

On Maundy Thursday, when I wash people’s feet, I can always sense the hesitation – the self-consciousness – as I felt when I first had my feet washed.  And I feel like saying to people, in that moment of awkward intimacy, in that encounter that causes some to want to flee from their own humanity and mine: you are beautiful – you are already a reflection of God – not just in spite of not being perfect, but BECAUSE you are not perfect.   We all fall short of the glory of God – yeah, no kidding!   You’d have to be extraordinarily dishonest to the point of being deluded to think otherwise.

On this day we remember that each of us needs the redemptive love which raises us out of condemnation (whether self-inflicted or imposed from outside), and so we participate in the love of God every time we accept mercy, grace, forgiveness.  And the flip side of that is that we participate in that love every time we show mercy – every time we show forbearance – every time we choose to forgive.

On this day we remember that that redemptive love is given by God through Christ without condition, without hesitation, as a gift of pure grace, because God loves YOU!

The Rev. Grant Rodgers+

(the sixth in the preaching series based on

Stephanie Spellers’ book Radical Welcome)

Isaiah 50:4-9a 

Psalm 31:9-16 

Philippians 2:5-11

Mark 14:1-15:47  

Quite rightly, we observe a profound silence in the face of such a Gospel.

The entry of Jesus into Jerusalem was one of celebration and promise – palm branches waving, shouts of joy and promise – perhaps some of them carried Jesus on their shoulders.  A few days later the crowds had withdrawn into the safety of their homes while the power of the state lifted the Messiah up where they thought he should be – on a cross – an instrument of execution.

Depending on your viewpoint, the presence of Jesus either promised or threatened great changes, and initially it suggests there was much excitement, but in the end the people sided with sameness – they sided with safety — because the authorities told them Jesus was a threat to the peace – to stability — and it was too much trouble to fight or even protest the killing of this agent of God’s promises.  Even his own disciples thought better of it and made themselves scarce – the cost was too great.

Perhaps it was then that Peter suddenly remembered that he had a wife, and a sick mother-in-law; Judas may suddenly have remembered that he had some investment property in Antioch or someplace; and Andrew may have had a sudden impulse to return to the serenity of his fishing boat.  Suddenly it was every man for himself.  Only the women refused to run away and those women became examples for later generations of what it means to persist in love and faith in tough and confusing times.

Why was Jesus killed?   Because he healed people?  No – apparently, it was because he healed the wrong people, even people of other faiths (Matthew 15: 21–28; John 4: 7—8).  Was he killed because he preached well?  No – he was killed because he preached the inclusion of foreigners, because his preaching was too radical and could not be comprehended/contained within a tribal outlook (Luke 4: 22—30).  Was he killed because he preached about love and justice?  No – he was crucified because he insisted that people not only had to talk about love and justice in some abstract way, they had to live it, and they had to live it not just in ideal circumstances where everyone loves you in return.  The real test of love for Jesus was whether you could love people strange to you – even enemies. Was he killed because he offered people forgiveness?  No – he was killed because he didn’t observe all the little protocols and regulations of a religious tradition that had grown old and hard and unwilling to bend enough to care about what was really going on in people’s lives.  Was he killed because he preached peace? No — he was eliminated because he was a threat – a threat to the status quo – to the established ways of doing things.

That is one of the hard truths we face during Holy Week: that the light of the world – the clue to the meaning of all things — can present itself, and (we believe) did present itself in the person of Jesus, and yet people will choose darkness instead (John3: 17—19).  And it raises a painful question:  Is the church supposed to be about fidelity to the way of Christ and how far are we prepared to go in exploring that?

During Lent that question gets more focused and more painful, because the purpose of Lent is to push us toward self-examination and repentance and transformation, which sounds great on the surface, but in actuality brings us to our own confrontation with the Cross – with what we most fear and avoid.

Stephanie Spellers speaks of the fear of change – how people become accustomed to seeing the church as being a haven, a refuge, a place of stability, almost as a place that protects them from life, and how they can become anxious and even militant about any threat to the status quo.

Years ago, Alvin Toffler, in the book Future Shock, warned of a speeding up of the process of cultural and societal change.  And Toffler said, “To survive, to avert what we have termed future shock, the individual must become infinitely more adaptable and capable than ever before. We must search out totally new ways to anchor ourselves, for all the old roots – religion, nation, community, family, or profession – are now shaking under the hurricane impact of the accelerative thrust. It is no longer resources that limit decisions, it is the decision that makes the resources.”

Where does the Church hope to fit in this tsunami of change?

Crisis can bring out the best and the worst in people. In times of crisis the church can have a tendency to become very closed – to start looking backward and inward.  At least our traditions don’t get washed away, but when we are closed, the solution might be knocking at the door, in the form of some new person or idea or inspiration or trend, but if we have determined to shut out all voices that may challenge us, it is likely that we will also shut out the voice of Christ.

Jesus was as radical as anything the planet has seen.  He called people to drastic change, and pointed to the future with hope not dread.  And his followers, believing that, changed the world. I cannot imagine the courage it must have taken for the disciples to regroup in the aftermath of Jesus’ crucifixion.  Yet somehow, they found that ability within themselves, and they did come back to the path Jesus had shown them.

Stephanie Spellers says that “fear will find a voice. Will it be a whisper behind a cupped hand, accompanied by a slanted glance and rolling eyes? (p. 144).  In this sense, the religious authorities, the crowd, the Roman authorities, were all giving voice to their fear – it’s a natural human reaction in the face of a perceived threat to our well-being and to what we know.  All of us carry fears around, but it is part of the role of the Church – as it was of Jesus – to help us examine those fears, to bring them out of the dark and look at them in the light of the Gospel to see whether they are really justified, and whether we are willing to take a step in faith and let go a bit.

Let us not forget our capacity to make changes, as individuals, as a church, by looking at the change that we have already faced.  Spellers points us back into the history of the Anglican Church, and the massive steps forward encouraged by people like Thomas Cranmer and others, as the Anglican Church became the unique Church it now is. Spellers points out that the Anglican Church has a unique heritage of being comprehensive enough to include extremes, both catholic and protestant.

But I think about the immense changes Anglicans have been through just in the last 40 years, within the lifetime of most of us – changes in liturgy, music, ministry, spirituality and church structure.  We have been through innumerable studies and assessment processes and new ways of looking at ourselves.   Over that time we have made decisions which allowed women into the ordained ministry, we have blessed divorced people, we have stopped discriminating against minority groups, and we have developed a global view of the Church, just like Jesus did, just like Jesus showed us.   We have done all this and not been destroyed, so let us not doubt that we can continue forward on his path, because it’s a path that leads to new life, and it is a profound witness to a world often overwhelmed by fear.

Being fearful or even reactionary is not the only option for the Church in challenging times.  There are always many who, by keeping their focus and attention on Jesus, find new meaning and purpose in spite of all the confusion and apparent risk.

Reinhold Neibuhr:  “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”  The wisdom to know the difference is what we call discernment. We have to have the wisdom to know the difference, to know what to hang on to, and when it’s time to change.   This is what it means to be stewards of the mystery of the Gospel.

The author Anatole France said: “To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe.”  And: “All changes, even the most longed for, have their melancholy; for what we leave behind us is a part of ourselves; we must die to one life before we can enter another.”

This is the path of Holy Week – this is the way of Christ – to recognize that instinct to run away or hide, and to choose instead to move toward all that represents threat, annihilation, death – to move forward through the darkness of uncertainty and fear, somehow trusting that if we can continue to face into it, keep moving forward, by some mysterious grace we will find ourselves on the other side, in a new place of life, transformed and not destroyed.   That is the path of Holy Week; that is the path of faith. If we truly wish to be in Christ, there is no other way.

For all her talk of change and welcoming the Other, Spellers is not really proposing anything radical, she is merely reminding the Church that it is, after all, supposed to be Christian – that it is supposed to be a reflection of Jesus.  In last week’s Gospel, some foreigners appealed to one of the apostles, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”  That is what strangers or newcomers to our church ought to expect to be able to see in us.

For 30 years it has been my calling to encourage the church to become what it is – the Body of Christ – an expression of the new creation – a place of depth and purpose and meaning – a living reflection of the person of Jesus.  In those years, I have been privileged to meet many who had suffered and persisted and believed and overcome.  The possibility to become what we truly are is only as far away as our faith.

The Rev. Grant Rodgers+

Deepening the Conversation

(based on  Stephanie Spellers’ book, Radical Welcome)

Considering the day’s readings and the homily, reflect on any of these questions:

• What are your personal fears around radical welcome? What are your congregation’s fears likely to be? Then delve deeper with these questions:

—What does it feel like to recall this fear? What does it conjure in my mind, in my body, in my spirit?

—What is the effect of fear on my ability to welcome and embrace?

—What practices help me to sit and work with my own fear and resistance?

—What practices and conditions open me up again, help me to trust and take risks?

• Imagine a member of your church came to share his or her fears with you.  Considering your own experience and insights you gained from the readings or the homily, what could you say or offer to someone struggling with this fear?

What practices and resources in your congregation could create the space and opportunity for people to express their fears?

What structures, programs, and practices would help your congregation to respond to people’s fears with “compassionate awareness”?

            Wednesday of Holy Week - April 4th

Tenebrae Service 7:00 PM

           Maundy Thursday- April 5th

Simple Meal and Commemoration of the First

            Eucharist 6:00 PM Eucharist beginning at 7pm

            Good Friday- April 6th

The Way of the Cross 11:00 AM

            A new service of Stations of the Cross for Kids – 3 PM

            Easter Eve Celebration April 7th

Potluck Dinner and Lighting of the New

            Fire 6:00 PM

            Celebrating Easter- April 8th

Traditional Eucharist 8:30am, Celebration-Choral Eucharist 10:00 AM

“Oh, that is easy,” said the young man, “tomorrow is Sunday.  Just go into any church of God tomorrow morning and you will hear more about Jesus and God’s love for you.”

As it happened, the next morning the fellow discovered that his hotel was very near a rather imposing, but beautiful old church.  Remembering the words of the young man, he slipped inside to see what he could see.

Well, the first thing he saw was rows and rows of pews and the backs of a whole lot of well-dressed people who seemed to be waiting politely for something to happen.  He slipped into a pew near the back, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.  A few people turned to look at him curiously but for the most part he was ignored. 

For the next half hour or so there was a sort of program.  People would get up to talk or read.  Sometimes the organ would play and people would stand to sing.  Sometimes everyone would kneel down or sit quietly in their seats.  All this movement was done in perfect unison but the fellow was unable to figure out how the people knew what they should be doing or when.

Finally, at the front, the man could see someone ascending the stairs of a speaking platform and realized to his astonishment it was the same young man he had encountered in Hyde Park.  As he listened he found himself being moved in the same way as he had on the previous day, and remembering the crowd in the park, called out a loud “amen” to show his appreciation. 

This time he was not ignored.  It seemed that almost everyone in the place turned to stare at him – mostly in disapproval.  And two rather serious fellows in business suits, who had been standing in the outside aisles, began to move toward him.  He tried after that to keep quiet and very still.  But the young man’s word’s and his passion for God seemed to be tugging at him and demanding some kind of response.  Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he jumped to his feet, threw his arms in the air, and cried out loudly, “Halleluia!”

 It didn’t take long to get a response.  The two men in suits were moving quickly now, honing in on him from either side.  They each grabbed an arm and began to escort him to the exit and through the door, depositing him unceremoniously on the sidewalk.

“But I don’t understand,” he said, “He told me that all I had to do was come to the Church of God and I could find out more about Jesus.”

“Sir,” replied the “suit” on his left, “ this is not the Church of God – this is the Church of England!”  

However amusing we might find this story, it also holds for us an uncomfortable grain of truth.  It is what Stephanie Spellers, in her book Radical Welcome, calls a “cultural artifact”.  It paints a picture of a  Church that is sober, values order and reason, and is aligned with the structures of power.  And even though we like to think that St. John’s is a very different place – and in many ways it is – the fact is that this “Church of England” is the cultural inheritance that still helps to define and shape who we are, how we structure ourselves, and how others perceive us. 

The Anglican Communion has its roots in the Church of Empire.  Since the time of King Henry VIII, it has been an effective vehicle for maintaining order and calm through some very difficult and turbulent times in England.  Bitter and violent disputes between Catholics and Protestants in the time of Elizabeth I were a threat to the stability of the nation.  By finding a theological and ideological “via media” – or middle way – and introducing a common tradition that was later rigidly enforced, the Church of England helped establish peace in the realm.  It also helped to further the interests of the Crown and the ruling classes as colonies were established in far away places where order and social stability were good for business.  In these far-flung places, rather than being influenced by the cultures and practices of the native peoples, the Church practiced assimilation, imposing English culture and traditions on anyone who wanted or needed to belong – often with devastating effects for those who were assimilated.

The fact is – with our identity grounded in Scripture, tradition and reason, and our stable and rational traditions and practices, the Anglican Church has been highly resistant to any outside influences.  This makes our ability to see and hear and welcome the other in our midst especially challenging – but not impossible!

But I do not want you to think that this is about “bashing” the Anglican Church.  This same history and tradition that can be an obstacle to our practice of radical welcome, also passes down some very effective tools that can facilitate transformational growth. 

As Spellers reminds us – though we may be resistant to change with respect to liturgy and cultural identity, we “share a tradition that prepares us to take risks and to sit with contraries and hard truths.”  And though we have an historical identity as the sober and orderly “establishment”, we are also the church of the “via media”  -  able to hold in tension those ideas and practices that seem to contradict one-another, always hoping for a way to move forward together.  I believe that when we work to find this “third way”, we are living out the prayer of Jesus that we “be one, as he and the Father are one.”  This unity is about walking together – respecting and welcoming the differences that enrich our common life and our servant ministry to the world.  It is not about uniformity or assimilation.

Even though political strife in England resulted in a strict enforcement of the liturgical traditions of the Book of Common Prayer, Spellers reminds us that Anglican identity is grounded in the belief that “no single person, generation or cultural group has the whole truth or can dictate the ways in which that truth can be expressed.”  We need one another.  We need the gifts and love and perspectives that each individual brings to our common life, and as a body made up of many individuals, we are better able to discern the workings of the Spirit in our midst and the direction in which God is calling us to move.

This discernment is an ongoing process.  It cannot be done on our behalf by a few in leadership positions, and it cannot be accomplished without the voices and contributions of the Other in our midst.

Our prayer books – so often a cause for contention – are also a sign of the importance of welcoming other voices to join the conversation.  When Thomas Cranmer wrote the first prayer book in the sixteenth century, translating the Latin liturgies and traditions of the Roman Catholic church into the vernacular of the people, he was welcoming the commoners – the ones who had been marginalized and excluded by the Church for centuries – to become full participants in the liturgies and traditions of the faith.  This welcome continues to this day every time we revise our liturgies and hymns to reflect our current context, and translate them into the language of the common people who will be using them.  But Stellers cautions us that this has to go deeper than just the linguistics – it must also incorporate a translation of the cultures of the Others in our midst.

Understanding our roots and the reasons why we do the things we do as Anglicans is just a first small step in the task of making Radical Welcome a reality in our community of St. John.  Our next task is to do an honest assessment of how radical is the welcome we at St. John extend to the community in which we are situated, the strangers who come to our door, and those within our congregation who’s voices are not being heard.

Spellers suggests a congregation undertake a systematic assessment of strengths and liabilities which takes into consideration the history of the congregation, its relationship to the surrounding community, and the reality of the current context.  This can help us to determine what are the obstacles to growth and transformation, but also to identify the gifts and resources we are able to bring to make our dream of Radical Welcome a reality.

We are going to begin this process in a small way today in our discussion after the service as we look at the reality of who and where we are today in comparison to our dream of who and where we want to be that was the basis for our discussion last Sunday.  And as we prepare to do so I am going to ask you to remember the story I shared with you earlier and compare it to your arrival here this morning.  What was your first impression?  How did people respond to you?  Who made you feel welcome or not welcome and how did they do that?  Look around at the people who are worshipping here today?  Who is like you?  Who is different or makes you feel uncomfortable?  Who is missing?

Our Lord Jesus was a devout and practicing Jew who was at home in the Synagogue and comfortable participating in the rituals of his faith tradition.  In the past months we have been following him in his journey as we share the Good News of his ministry:  his teaching and healing and welcoming in the name of the God of Love.  And we have also seen him gradually becoming “the other” in the eyes of those in authority, and sometimes even in the eyes of those closest to him.  This happened not just because he embraced those who had been traditionally marginalized in his culture, but because he asked difficult questions of those who were the “establishment” of his day.  Those who took the Law that God had handed down to Moses – the Law that had at it’s heart God’s Radical welcome for all people – and made it a tool of oppression and hardship so they could hold on to their own status and position and power.

In today’s Gospel reading, Jesus is nearing the end of his journey and knows it.  But he has been faithful to God in the work he has been sent to do.  He prepares himself for that last journey – this high priest, this Son of God, this Emmanuel – to empty himself completely on the cross to die as a common criminal so that God’s heart of love may be revealed.  It is the task to which we are called as well – that task of letting go of who we are in order to be signs of that same love to everyone we meet.  That is the secret of Radical Welcome.

At the heart of our liturgy this morning is the Eucharistic banquet to which we are invited by Jesus himself.  As we come to this table to share in the body and blood of Christ, may we all do so as commoners and as Other – as brothers and sisters together, finding that third way in unity and love -  seeking the healing and welcome that God promises to all.

Amen