My Peace I Give To You

Jesus gives us something: his Peace, or his Shalom. This gift is more than anything we can want. And it seems that in this world, and in our culture, we want an awful lot. Since we already want all that the world can give, it is difficult for us to imagine more than that, which the world cannot give.

Yet, that is God’s gift to us in Jesus: God’s shalom, God’s peace, is greater than anything we can desire or imagine. God’s peace, means becoming a people who seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbours as ourselves.

When Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you,” he is telling us to be people who bring God’s Peace to all people and to all the nations.

Jesus wants to give us all Peace. Jesus wants to give us all of this and more than we can either desire or imagine. Jesus doesn’t want us to worry, he doesn’t want us to get stressed about exams or about what other people think about us Listen as he calls to us, He says: My own Peace I give to you; I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. Peace I leave with you. It is yours to have and to give to the rest of the world.

Amen.

Love one another

The Collect for today asks God to “increase our love for one another, that both in name and in truth we may be disciples of the risen Lord Jesus, and so reflect by our lives the glory that is yours”.

Once there was a church that had the phrase “I am the way, the truth and the life” on a sign above its iron gate. The church and its message intrigued a young man, so he decided to go there on Sunday. He was not welcomed. No one spoke to him, or smiled, or offered him a handshake. After the service he left in a puzzled state.

In the Bible, God reveals that nothing in His creation is profane, that the “purity code” is a limitation imposed by humans, not God, and that keeping that purity could in fact be hindering God. This was something obviously lost on the folks in the small church that the young man visited. They were uneasy with somebody they didn’t know, so they kept their distance, “he might not be like us”.

Have you ever thought about what’s going on in the world today? Have you ever wondered why many are afraid of immigrants, legal or not? Have you ever wondered why many are afraid of people of different a sexuality? Do you understand that Sunday morning can be the most exclusive, segregated, and separate time of the week? All week long we work with, bump up against, commute with, and eat with people who are not like us, but often on Sunday we attend a church that consists mostly of people like ourselves.

There are exceptions, of course. But many of our churches do not look anything like the communities that we live in or the grocery shops we shop in. Why is that? Do you ever wonder?

The writer of Revelation offers a passage often read at funerals. The image of death having been vanquished, of mourning and crying being no more, and of God wiping away every tear is a powerful image, followed by the declaration that God is making all things new. One of those new things is surely the way we experience one another, as diverse gifts of the God who made us all.

If we begin to think about people who differ from us in race or culture or sexuality, then see them as gifts to us from God. And that gives us a wholly different point of view toward the many people sent to us by God. We can turn away from them, but are we not then also turning away from God?

When we hear the gospel and Jesus’ own words call us to love one another, “Just as I have loved you.” This is not a phrase easily dismissed. Jesus’ entire ministry, including his death and resurrection, hangs on this phrase, “Just as I have loved you.” Jesus loved people in a radical way. Today he would be – and often is – in the supermarket talking with the checkers, the shelf fillers, and the customers finding their way through a bewildering array of products. He is there because that is where all the community goes. He is there because that may be where a lonely newcomer to town gets a smile at the cash register, or even a query, “Are you new here?”

But what about church? What about that Sunday morning experience that is often the place where we see only familiar faces, only people like us, only people we know? Is Jesus there? Of course he is, but he is there to welcome the stranger – whoever walks in that door timidly and tentatively looking for new community. Are we ready for that? Do we seek those people? Would they be welcomed, truly welcomed here?

Not long ago the young man who had visited a church and was made to feel like an outsider was back in the neighbourhood and walked by the church he had visited on that Sunday. It had been many years. The sign “I am the way, the truth, and the life” still stood above the iron gate. Then he saw that the church doors were boarded over, as were many of the windows. The church was obviously closed and looked as though it had been for some time. He walked on, wondering what had happened. We can draw our own conclusions, but if that church had welcomed him and others instead of being closed to what God was sending them on frequent occasions, the end of their story might have been very different indeed.

Easter Sunday 2010

Easter moves around a lot from year to year. Unlike Christmas, which always falls on December twenty-fifth, no matter the day of the week, Easter can fall on any Sunday between March 22nd and April 25th. There is, in fact, an entire section of the Book of Common Prayer devoted to finding the date of Easter Sunday in any given year. Read it some evening if you are having a difficult time falling asleep.

Before you drift off, you will learn about golden numbers and Sunday letters, astronomical and ecclesiastical equinoxes, and the phases of the moon – all of which are critical in determining when exactly it is that we celebrate the feast of the Lord’s Resurrection. In fact, the dating of Easter was one of the earliest controversies to face the early English Church long before the time of Henry VIII. Sadly, it has not been the last. But that is another story.

Time has always been important to Christians for the simple reason that our redemption takes place in time. Unlike the gods and heroes of mythology, Christ lived among us in time and history. He was born. He grew up. He preached the kingdom, and he died. It is recorded there in scripture for all to read. It is part of salvation history.

And as the Gospel of Luke tells us, on a certain first day of the week – specifically at early dawn – Christ’s empty tomb was discovered, and the proclamation of his Resurrection began as the women made their way back to the eleven and told them what they had seen and heard. That proclamation continues to this day.

It is no wonder then that over centuries the Church has been so precise and meticulous about the timing of such an important feast. But as arcane as the computation is for establishing Easter Day, it is only part of the story. For not only is Easter a special time, it is quite literally special time. It is time out of time, time like no other.

The Resurrection is something completely unique and unprecedented. Here is how New Testament scholar Holt Graham explains the Easter event:
“We do not understand it and indeed cannot. … It never happened before, and it has never happened again. What we have learned from ordinary existence is no help when we come up against the absolutely unique happening. It is in the full and literal sense a mystery. It occurred beyond the boundary line of our existence.”

The Resurrection in other words, while a part of our salvation history, nevertheless occurs beyond our experience and senses. Other scholars explain the Resurrection as the “bursting forth” into time – into history – of eternity itself. It is as if all eternity were concentrated into this moment when Christ overcomes death and the grave, and the infinite sweeps away the temporal. Yet if the Resurrection is unique in our experience, it is essential to our existence as Christians.

No one saw the Resurrection. No one knows just when it happened or how. There was no car chase. No film on the News at 10. No leads. No body. No CSI. No Gill Grissom! The tomb is open and empty, abandoned except by a couple of ethereal, angelic figures and a few devoted, if somewhat disconsolate, women. For something at the very heart of our faith, this remains pretty slim pickings. Where was BBC News? Where were the press?

But of course we don’t get any of it. There is quite literally nothing to this story. An empty tomb. Our great Christian symbol of life and hope is found in something missing, something not there, a displacement. “The Case of the Missing Body,” as mystery writer Agatha Christie might have called it. It is indeed a mystery, but unlike anything Agatha Christie ever imagined.

For this empty tomb is full of meaning. From this empty tomb, hewn in rock, we as Christians draw forth all of our faith and hope for this world and for the kingdom to come. At this empty tomb we find the Christ of eternity alive in the here and now. From this chasm, a symbol of death and defeat, comes forth victory and life itself. Christ’s tomb is the earthen fissure through which God’s love pours out upon our parched world of sin and death.

We do not know how this is so. But then there are a lot of things we do not know. How life began in some ocean lagoon billions of years ago, for instance. Or even how our parents fell in love. Just as our lives today are in some real sense mysteries we shall never fathom, so is the Resurrection for us a sharing in the mystery of God’s own life. Or perhaps more to the point, it is a sharing by God in our lives.
Time is on our side. Our life and our world mean something. They are not random events, and we are not lost among the dust and debris of history, footnotes in a book of no meaning or consequence. In this single event, the Resurrection, everything is changed for all time. We live now in Christ forever. In Baptism, we have been raised with him, and death no longer has a grip on us. We seek now, as Paul says, “the things that are above, where Christ is.”

As Christians, we do not see and then believe. We believe so that we may see. And what we see in the Resurrection is our lives transformed. “Let the whole world see and know,” we pray in one of the final liturgies of Holy Week, “that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new.” Christ’s Resurrection is finally the most real thing there is… or ever was… or ever will be!

The Lord is risen indeed.

Amen. Alleluia.

Luke 2 v 22-40 Expect the Unexpected

Snow, something we are not really used to dealing with. When it fell recently in large quantities, we were somewhat unprepared. For a few days it seemed as if everything had ground to a halt. The roads were treacherous, people couldn’t get to work, services were grounded, and we ran out of salt-grit. Some children, were treated to that rare and wonderful thing: a snow day or two.

For so many, an unexpected heavy fall of snow – especially on a weekday – is inconvenient, dangerous and frustrating. But perhaps we can all remember (and maybe just a few of us feel this still) the joy of a few hours’ liberation from the normal course of events: that feeling that things don’t always run their normal course, that sometimes everything goes topsy-turvy and we can build snowmen, make snow angels and risk our necks on a sledge. Alas, it never lasts long, but these interruptions to the everyday course of events can become treasured memories that stay with us for the rest of our lives

We read today of a really intriguing part of the Gospel story. Intriguing, not because it is packed with angel choirs and extraordinary events as the last part of the story was, and not because it is smattered with miracles and drama like the next bit will be, but because it speaks of a time of getting back into the swing of everyday life. Apart from one other significant event when Jesus is twelve, it is the last thing we hear of Jesus as a child – in fact the last thing we hear of him for about thirty years. And in the meantime, things get back to normal. Well almost!!!!

Mary and Joseph circumcise their son after eight days, and they set off to the Temple at Jerusalem to perform the ritual that every good Jew would perform – they offer a sacrifice to the Lord for their firstborn boy. The pattern of life and worship begins to resume. But then they are approached by Simeon – someone whom we know nothing about apart from the fact he lived in Jerusalem and believed God had told him he would not die before seeing the Messiah. It’s easy to picture this devoted man being – well, slightly odd. He takes the child – a little nerve-racking for a parent – and praises God for having let him see God’s salvation, although not without offering some disturbing words too.

And as this is happening, Anna the prophet comes upon them and begins to tell all those around that that baby was the one they had been waiting for: the redemption of Israel. We’re very polite about Anna, and, of course, hindsight proved her right, but this is a woman who has lived in the Temple for what could have been about sixty years, doing nothing but fasting and praying. She’s eccentric, to put it mildly. It’s easy to imagine that Mary and Joseph might have been a little embarrassed by this interruption to their quiet ceremony. But it is in this interruption by two out-of-the-ordinary people that God speaks, and this human baby is once more named as the saviour of the world. Food for thought as Mary and Joseph return home to Nazareth and begin the business of raising their child.

Application

For most of us, it is not the drama of the angels and shepherds that best reflects our experience of Christian life, but the more mundane interruption of the presentation of Jesus at the Temple as Mary and Joseph get on with the rituals of life and worship. The Spirit of God often moves in the interruptions and disturbances that take place as we try to get on with things. The thing is, do we see it? Just like that snow, interruptions can be inconvenient, dangerous and frustrating. We do our best to avoid them most of the time. But they can be liberating, joyful and the key to opening up new ways of being God’s people. Mary and Joseph were probably attuned by their recent experiences to observe and listen to God’s intervention in their lives. But what would we have done? Hugged the child to ourselves and scuttled on our way? Laughed it off with that embarrassing laugh we do. Who knows? Let’s pray that we may be open to the interruptions that God sends and to the changes that they might bring to our way of looking at things.

SUMMARY

1. Interruptions to the flow of everyday life can be both frustrating and liberating; a heavy snowfall can be inconvenient and dangerous, but it also can result in that rare treat – a day off school.

2. There is a “getting back to normal” feel to Mary and Joseph’s actions as they take Jesus to the Temple to perform the rituals after childbirth. But that ritual is interrupted by Simeon and Anna as they prophesy about the child.

3. Our experience of Christian life is often very much like Mary and Joseph’s: it is in the interruptions to everyday life that God speaks. We need to be able to take the time to hear.

Julie Bowen

First Sunday After the Epiphany/The Baptism of Our Lord

January 10, 2010 – First Sunday After the Epiphany/The Baptism of Our Lord Year C

Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky." These lovely works by poet John Masefield talk about the sailor's almost irresistible draw to the water.

It’s been said that since our bodies may be up to 75 percent water, we are automatically drawn to water. We know certainly that the body cannot exist without water – picture the old film Ice Cold In Alex where the soldiers in lorry are overcome with heat and exhaustion in the desert, no oasis in sight, a burning sun scorching the sand. No flowing streams, no rain, no hope for those caught unprepared in the desert. It’s as if heat and drought themselves yearn for water and so pull the water of life out of living things until bones collapse and blanch on the desert floor.

“I must go down to the sea again.”

Our hearts ache for the touch of water on our dry skin when we consider the desert. But then we imagine other films, “The Perfect Storm” or “Moby Dick.” We remember the desperation and horror of those caught in real-life tsunamis. Plenty of water there. More than plenty – too much. Instead of being life-giving, the water brings death. The sea, the blue-green and tranquil sea that painters love to capture on a beautiful summer’s day, becomes an enormous force, bigger than life, dangerous, frightening. It becomes black with fury, tossing ships like toys, overwhelming miles of landscape and claiming to its black depths lives, villages, and a future’s hope.

Water – life and death – hope and despair. In a way, we have absolutely no control over water; some pray for rain, others pray for the rain to stop. Water, like the air we breathe, is completely essential, and yet it brings death as well as life. Perhaps it’s those properties of water that make it such a perfect symbol of the grace of baptism.

Water is one of the most evident features in scripture. From the graceful beginning words of Genesis where the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters, through the story of Noah and the covenant between God and God’s people, to the Red Sea, and then to today’s anointing of Jesus’ ministry through his own baptism, water has woven the story of God’s life and ours together.

Baptismal water flows over us today. In Isaiah, we’re reminded that even as we pass through raging waters, God is with us. Overflowing rivers will not drown God’s people. And why? Because the word of the Lord through Isaiah says, “Fear not: for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, and you are mine.” Of course water here is an image. Earthly water and fire – another image – can do us bodily harm, but when we dig deeper and hear what God is saying, we realize that God is reminding us that no earthly thing can keep us from the love and comfort of God. Even if natural water or fire overwhelms our bodies, God’s spirit is with us. God’s love comforts and heals.

In the gospel, water is used both figuratively and literally. John the Baptist offers the people of that time a baptism of repentance. The Jews are drawn to the waters of the Jordan to be cleansed of their unfaithfulness to God’s law. They are drawn by John’s words. Many may be drawn by the simplicity of his message. This is how you can live lives faithful to God’s law: tax collectors, don’t cheat; soldiers, don’t threaten or extort; all of you, share what you have with the poor. John offered them a chance to be renewed. And this was a very good thing. The Jordan’s water cleansed both body and soul.

It seems sensible that some would mistake John for the Messiah, but John introduces Jesus by using the two images heard in Isaiah: water and fire. “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” This is a new baptism. This new baptism will do more than forgive sins, it will create the community of God. This community would be guided by the Holy Spirit. This baptism announced that the kingdom of God was at hand. As the heavens opened at Jesus’ baptism, the voice of God anointed the mission and ministry Jesus would live out among God’s people. God has pitched a tent among the people.

This isn’t just an historical telling of the start of Jesus’ ministry. This message is for us, too. But you might say, we know this story. We know it’s important to be baptized. We even baptize babies, not only adults, as they did in the early church.

But do we really know? Do we really take our baptisms seriously today? We certainly still take water seriously, its ability to effect both life and death, but if we really took our baptism seriously, wouldn’t our world and our church look different? Think about those promises we made at our baptism and then reaffirmed at our confirmations. We promised to keep alive the apostles’ teachings and the prayers. We promised, as those people did at the Jordan, to acknowledge our sins, repent, and return to the Lord. We promised to see Christ in each other and to respect the dignity of every human being. We promised to work for justice and peace. We didn’t promise just to think all these things would be nice. We promised to DO something about them – to WORK for them. Are we? From the look of the world and the church, we must not be doing too good a job.

This is why we have a lectionary cycle. This is why the church asks us to consider the story of our salvation, and everything that entails, over three years’ of readings. It helps us to look at all God has done for us. It helps us to remember that no matter what, God cares deeply for us and promises to be our strength. Hearing again and again the story of John and Jesus at the Jordan should cement in our minds that we must keep the mission and ministry of Jesus alive. We are asked to pray. We are asked to keep Jesus’ teaching alive by sharing in the liturgy, preaching God’s word, and then taking what we have learned out to others.

"I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;"

Our call to keep alive the good news of the gospel and to spread the love and compassion of God cannot be denied.

The Pastor as Narrative Leader

My Archdeacon, The Ven. Dr. Paul Wright sent me this...

The Pastor as Narrative Leader
by N. Graham Standish

Humans are living stories of experience. Our lives can be scripted like a narrative. In fact, when we think of individual lives in this way, what we discover is that those who live what seem to be successful lives have a generally compelling life narrative of overcoming obstacles in order to achieve. Those who seem to have dysfunctional lives often have life stories that read like disconnected or stuck narratives in which the main character struggles to overcome obstacles. Instead of overcoming obstacles, these obstacles overwhelm her or his life. Understanding the role of story is crucial to understanding the role narrative plays in leadership.

Over the years I have noticed a definite difference between good leaders and great leaders, a difference that is more than just a matter of great leaders doing certain things better than good leaders. Good leaders lead people toward a goal. They are able to articulate a common aim for an organization, a department, a team, or a congregation. They are able to get people on board enough so that the goals become common goals. And these good leaders are able to motivate people to want to achieve these goals.

What seems to make great leaders great is not that they are better at envisioning and articulating goals, as well as being better at uniting and motivating people to achieve these goals. What I notice is that great leaders seem to craft a story, a story that inspires others in the organization, team, or congregation so that they willingly become a part of and live out this story in their work and lives. Great leaders, through their whole style of leadership, tell a story about the organization or congregation that becomes a blueprint for its ongoing growth.

To be a narrative leader means to be something very similar to a novel writer. It means to be able to see not only life in general, but also a congregation's life, as an unfolding story that to some extent she is the author of. Obviously the pastor is not the author, but then again, most writers of fiction will tell you that they are not truly the authors of their stories either.

Many writers also speak of writing as a process of listening to their muse.
Pastors also have a muse: Christ. The more open we pastors are to the Spirit as we lead, the more the Spirit guides us not only to craft our own story, or the congregation's story, but also to make these stories part of the larger story that God is writing about life throughout the universe. The great pastoral leaders write a story discerned through prayer.

As the author listening to his muse, the pastor recognizes when the congregation is or isn't meshing with God's story. And he finds a way to bring it back into harmony. At the same time, he still sees pain, crisis, death, birth, divorce, marriage, difficulty, and celebration as crucial elements of the story. He understands that without these elements, the story has no life. As a result, he is always looking for ways to turn the more difficult situations into times of redemption, reconciliation, and resurrection.

Adapted from Living Our Story: Narrative Leadership and Congregational Culture, edited by Larry A. Golemon, copyright C 2010 by the Alban Institute.