Idle Tales and Other Stories We Dare to Believe

Prepared for the Ecumenical University Chaplaincy’s Cathedral@6 (cathédrale18h de l’Aumônerie œcuménique universitaire) Sunday evening service on Easter Sunday, April 21, 2019, based on Luke 24:1-12.

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I have this bad habit of not believing people. I always think they’re bending the truth, making the story a little bigger than it is, or skirting around the timeline.

“Did you put the laundry away?”

“Yes.”

But all I hear is, “No I have not put away the laundry, but now you’ve reminded me of my intention to do it, so I’ll say yes, and then go and quietly put it away before you notice.”

Belief is about trust.

I am not inclined to trust that people are being truthful. I am not inclined to trust that people know right from wrong—especially if it has to do with how to wash the dishes. I am not inclined to trust that people know better than me.

**

The disciples, certainly don’t think much of the women in Luke, who bring a perplexing story back with them from their morning visit. They are dismissed…

“Women like to gossip.”

“Women like to stir up trouble.”

“Women are so gullible.”

Can you hear the angry muttering of the disciples? Crowded together in a house somewhere in Jerusalem, tired, worried and grieving.

Have you ever been in a house like that? Some people have brought over food—a lasagna. You’re in the living room, perched on couches and dining room chairs, feeling a bit numb. Grief washes over you in waves of sadness, anxiety and fury.

Because grief comes with a special kind of anger—it just sits below the surface, bubbling up with the slightest irritation.

And here these women come, talking about the Teacher. They were supposedt o be bringing spices to his tomb, they were supposed to go and care for his body—and then they come back with this crap? Shame on them!

**

Besides, if he wasn’t there, then what? If wasn’t really dead, which we all saw, then where is he?

Because he’s not here, with us.

He’s not… here.

**

Sometimes imagining the other possibilities, the impossibilities, is more painful….

But Peter—Peter who never wanted any of this to happen—he listens. He doesn’t believe the women at first, but… but there’s a chance.

Peter, who loved the Teacher so deeply, with the wild abandon of a toddler who would rushes forward so quickly he inevitably falls and stumbles. Peter who gets so much right and so much wrong in a single breathe.

Peter’s heart asks, What if?

And suddenly his sandals are slapping the packed dirt road, his cloak flapping madly behind him.

“What if” moments are terrifying, because while they go unanswered our deepest fears and greatest hopes hang in the balance.

What if… I don’t get accepted to the program?

What if… the cancer comes back?

What if… we can’t make this relationship work?

But, “What if” moments also offer us that tiny terrifying sliver of hope:

What if… the impossible could be true?

What if… there’s more than this?

What if… everything works out ok?

“What if” moments are terrifying—they are vulnerable acts where we silently mouth our deepest desires and squeeze our eyes shut tight, fingers crossed, barely able to breathe because as long as the question goes unanswered there’s that infinitesimal amount of hope.

**

Resurrection stories are not about proof, Luke shows us women who encounter two strangers when they find the world not as it should be—strangers who tell them the impossible has become reality.

And the women are “perplexed”, confused. Yet, they embrace that “What if?” and bring it back to the others. They open themselves up to the terrifying possibility of more.

There’s the risk in this story: the risk of sharing your hope, and of trusting it with another.

And, what happens when we dare to hope, even if it’s just that infinitesimal amount?

Well, this story is not tidy. Those who risk, who make themselves vulnerable, and they don’t get the kindest greeting. Even more frustrating is the fact that Jesus doesn’t show up and settle the issue for a little while yet.

But, it is the start of something, the beginning of the Easter season.

The belief that there is new life beyond death is the small shoot springing up from the desolation of the forest fire—it is small, fragile and painful.

As a church and as a community, we can choose to sit in the darkness of Good Friday, drinking sour wine, and beating our chests in grief, or we can dare to imagine an Easter morning filled with the hope and possibility of new life.

And that’s terrifying.

Believing the impossible could be true, that there could be more than this, that everything could work out ok, is terrifying.

Yet, every time we recite our baptismal vows and wet the head of an adult or child, we make a declaration of hope.

Every time we break bread at the Table, sharing the cup of remembrance together, we make a declaration of hope.

We say together, that despite the death and grief around us, we’re willing to let ourselves be vulnerable for the chance at something more.

Over Lent we’ve spent six weeks contemplating our human nature, our mortality, our creatureliness. And, now we step into Easter with the declaration that the Spirit transforms and uses us—springing new life within us as a response to the hard things in our world.

Good things come and go, tragedies strike, and we are reminded of our smallness and our humanity, but God offers us more. She calls us blessed and invites us to trust her, to risk ourselves and hope.

Hope that she will take what we find impossible and make it true.

Hope that she will offer us more than this, more than we can imagine.

Hope that she will work everything out in her way and time.

Stirred by this terrifying leap of trust we are invited, like the women and Peter, not to stay silent and patient, but to be stirred to action.

**

Have you felt hopeful this Lenten season? Have you watched the news and said, I feel really optimistic about where we’re headed?

Maybe not.

Yet, we are dared by a God whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we could ask or imagine, to face the new morning, hearts in our throats, with an infinitesimal amount of hope.

So what will you dare to hope for, this Easter?

A planet loved and cared for by humanity.

A city without poverty and addiction.

A news cycle without violence and massacre.

And, if you’re willing to risk that hope then who are you going to go and tell it to?

What road are you going to race down? 

**

May we dare to risk this Easter season, dare to see God’s new life taking root within us. Amen.

The Reformation, Gospel, and Good Works

This sermon was prepared for the Wesley United Church, Montréal, for Sunday, October 29th, 2017. The scripture reading it is based on is 1 Thessalonians 2:1-8 (Year A, Proper 25). 

Continuing our conversation on 1 Thessalonians from last week, we read of Paul, Silvanus and Timothy’s care for this early community. As disciplers, we see them leading by example, reaffirming the values of the movement.

Last week we spoke of the call to discipleship, and this week we continue that reflection as a call to a communal ethic.

Stanley Hauerwaus claimed, that whenever we talk about the church we’re talking about ethics, and vice versa. Whenever we talk about ethics we’re talking about the church. Because, the gospel message is an embodied message—embodied in Jesus of Nazareth, embodied in the lives of his disciples, and in his church.

What does the oldest piece of Christian writing tell us about the ethics of this early movement?

Well, we that it was brought to Thessalonica, as a God-centered gospel, which we could also call an “other-centred” or “self-less” gospel. We read that is not built on pride or greed.

And, we read that is a gospel that doesn’t rely on manipulative messaging, instead on a truthful representation of the character of God.

It is a gospel of tenderness which includes this image, I love so dearly: The image of middle-aged grumpy Paul and his friends, describing themselves as “wet-nurses” whose concern for their own children is so markedly different. A more modern analogy might be that of a daycare worker, whose compassion and tenderness is different with their own children than the kids they work with—it is more intimate. Intimacy is a quality we talked about last week—the intimacy between disciplee and discipler.

Continuing in that vein, there is also a sense of the vulnerability of this gospel, where people share this embodied message by revealing their very selves. A gospel of intimacy and vulnerability.

Paul teaches us that you cannot share the gospel without sharing yourself; it then follows that we cannot be the church, we cannot embody the message, without sharing how it has transformed us—as individuals and a collective.

This summer, the theme at the Rendez-Vous (national youth) gathering was, from our New Creed, to “Be the Church”.

How do we embody the gospel message, as people and together as a church?

We have a complicated history, where more often than not it seems like we have proclaimed a message of exclusion, of colonization, of selectivity, of damnation, and shame. We have definitely been on the wrong side of history, as a community.

Bonhoeffer wrote that “Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance, baptism without church discipline, Communion without confession…Cheap grace is grace without discipleship, grace without the cross, grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate.”

Bonhoeffer was writing in a time when the church was complicit, or at the very least apathetic, about the atrocities taking place in Germany and across Europe through national socialism. He spoke of a gospel message, a message of grace, that demanded its adherents profess its truth in actions as well as words. His theology, which started in grace, demanded the church get political, get involved in conversations about ethics, and hold one another accountable for their actions—he saw the embodiment of the Gospel in, what he called, the Confessing Church.

How do we embody the gospel message, as people and together as a church?

Before The Enlightenment, religiosity had very little to do with what you believed, and a whole lot to do with how you acted. Faith was based on your piety or right-living—it was demonstrative instead of conceptual.

Today is Reformation Sunday, the Sunday we’ve chosen to mark the 500th year since the Reformation that split the Catholic church into the Roman Catholic and Protestant churches. One of the big things that caused the split was the issue of salvation through faith alone. Protestantism rejected the idea that it was faith and good works that ensure our salvation, opting instead for “simple grace”.

However, Pew Forum has surveyed protestants across North America and discovered that, after 500 years, these two parts of our church are more similar than different. Pew Forum reports that 52% of American Protestants agreed that “Both good deeds and faith in God are needed to get into heaven.”

Now, I’m not saying that salvation through faith alone isn’t true or an important Protestant concept, I’ll leave that up to your own reflection, but I think as a community we’ve discovered that faith that isn’t demonstrated is hollow.

James 2:14-17 says: What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you?  If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?  So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.

How do we embody the gospel message, as people and together as a church?

How do we demonstrate that we are followers of Jesus, our perfect example? A man who called us to care, to clothe, to speak up, and to seek justice?

How do we proclaim the grace that God has extended to us, and show the incredible ways in which God has transformed us? Last we spoke of a message of liberation, so what does it mean to live a liberated life?

Well, if you’re looking for answers, don’t ask me. I can only tell you the ways I feel called to embody the message that was handed down to me. So, I want you to turn to your neighbour, and share for a few minutes.

Get a little vulnerable, and ask one another…

How do we embody the gospel message, as people and together as a church?

The community shared in discussion for five minutes, and then we concluded by singing “What Does the Lord Require of You”.