Sermon for April 8, 2012 - Easter Communion

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting down with someone, and the conversation turned to communion.  She stated something that was very familiar to me.  Communion did not mean anything to her.  She went through the motions, but it was more just an exercise in tradition, or perhaps a “lets just get through this” sentiment..  Get the bread, dip it, eat it move back to sit down. “Why do we do it?” she asked.  She wondered if she was alone in feeling this, though she suspected others felt this way too.  I say this was familiar to me because it is something that I have felt.  Communion as a process of going through the motions.  I asked her if I could share this conversation, because I could not think of a better time to talk about communion than when we celebrate it on Easter morning.

I was going to come in today and describe all the different ways that communion has been important to me.  Just by way of example.  But I realized as I reflected on communion this morning that my understanding of it has changed this week, it is a very personal experience this week.

As some of you may know I was fasting this week, from Good Friday to Easter Sunday.  My thought was that, “Oh, I will spend time with Jesus through fasting.  Then, when we participate in communion it will taste so good, and I’ll experience it in a wonderful new way, and I can share that with the congregation.  What a great Easter Sunday it will be!”  That was my pride talking.  And if I know one thing about God, it is that God finds pride hilarious.

3 times I broke my fast.  Each and every time I was able to rationalize it for myself.  But think about it, in a two day fast I had to eat three times.  Really Crouch?  I was able to say, “Oh I don’t wan to pass out at the wedding, I better eat just in case.”  Or “Oh I don’t want to be sick for the Easter Sunday service, I better eat just in case.”  Or, “Oh, I don’t want to get too run down before the drama.”  Or, and this is my favourite, “In the Jewish way of counting days, the day begins at sunset.  So since the sun has already set, it is technically Easter Sunday right now.”  And I ran to the fridge.

And I felt awful afterwards.  I felt tremendously guilty.  Even this morning when I woke up, I was feeling bad.  I said to myself, “Communion is going to be awful today.”  And then I realized, Wait a minute… I get to have communion today.  It was such a profound moment of grace.  Even though I had not succeeded in my attempt, there is still communion offered for me, there is still Easter Sunday.

Suddenly, this morning I found myself in Peter’s shoes, his story playing out for me.  All full of gusto and bravado, saying I would go with Jesus where no one else would.  Peter who denies Jesus three times, and who in the moment is able to rationalize his own safety, but who feels awful afterwards.  Three times he denied, three times I ate.  But Peter is able to experience such a profound sense of grace when Jesus asks him three times “Do you love me?”  Today, I am very fortunate that I will get to have communion three times, one for each time I broke my fast… as though Jesus is asking me, “Tim, do you love me?”

Does this mean I won’t ever fast again?  No, I’ll try again one day.  It just means that today I am getting a far different lesson than I would have had I succeeded.  A lesson of humility and grace.  That’s what communion means for me today, that’s what Easter Sunday means for me today.

One of the reasons I was happy about the conversation I shared at the beginning of this meditation was because that is a wonderful first step.  I was thrilled when she asked, because that means it matters, or at the very least it means she wants it to matter.

I cannot tell you what communion should mean to you.  I cannot tell you what the resurrection should mean to you.  But we need to spend time with it.  If we want those to mean anything to us, we must spend time with them.  Spend time with them in the company of friends, in the company of family, on our own in prayer and meditation.  I love talking about this stuff, you guys pay me to do it.  But it doesn’t even have to be with me that you speak about it.  Talk with one another.  Be open and honest.  Say, communion means this or that or nothing.  Say the resurrection means this or that or nothing.

Sometimes it will hit us.  We’ll be struck by a thought or an idea or just a feeling.  And sometimes it won’t.  Perhaps more often than not it won’t.  But that’s not what matters.  What is important is the struggle.  What is important is spending time with it.  Today when you’re participating in communion taste the bread, feel it in your mouth.  When you drink the juice, taste it, be aware of it, what does it feel like when you swallow it.  Spend time with the sensations. 

More than that, today is Easter Sunday, this is the most important day in the Christian year.  What does it mean that Christ is risen?  Spend time with it.  Talk about it over dinner tonight.  Talk about whether you and your family and friends believe it literally, believe it figuratively, or think it really has no bearing on your life whatsoever.  Grapple with it.  Place yourself in the story, who do you relate to most?  Where do you fit?  Bring that story into your life today.  Where is there death?  Where is there resurrection?  Have you experienced either of them?  Both of them?  Neither of them?  Talk to me, talk to God.  Let yourself struggle with it.  Really struggle with it.  This is the resurrection of Christ, it is worth the struggle.  Thanks be to God, Amen.

Sermon for April 1, 2012 - Sexuality

The Scripture reading for this sermon: Mark 11:1-11 and John 12:12-16

A few years ago I was a leader at a summer youth program.  We brought in guests to talk about all sorts of things, views, opinions, and areas of study.  And I remember we brought in one retired theology professor.  A man who was held in very high esteem, but who, as a retired theology professor, had been stereotyped a certain way in our minds.  He came in wearing a three piece suit, I think it was probably tweed.  With those classic professor leather patches on the elbows.  This professor emeritus also wore a bow tie, and any time I have ever encountered him, he has been wearing a bow tie.  It takes a certain type to wear a bow tie with regularity.  Glasses, hair combed pristinely to the side.  He looked the role of the retired theology professor through and through.

Sitting there, I was trying to get a sense of the feeling within the room.  A bunch of adolescent young men and women, being lead by a bunch of twenty something young men and women.  We were not participating in this program in order to hear some dusty old man talk about whatever he had on his mind, using language that would fly over our heads.  “Ok,” I thought to myself, “an hour and a half of this.  I can get through it.  I just hope the participants can as well.”

Many of the previous speakers had brought in power point slides and interactive opportunities to engage all of us.  Not this man.  He just went straight to the lectern, pulled out a few pieces of paper, straightened them and looked out at the audience whose eyes were already beginning to glaze over.  I even seem to recall him pulling a pocket watch out and placing it down in front of him, so as to be aware when his hour and a half were up.

“I remember when…” was how he started.  I could feel my own brain synapses starting to shut down.  “…I first met my wife.”  Oh God.  “I couldn’t help thinking about how she was very, very sexy.”  And he paused.  Eyes began to perk up, backs began to straighten.  “Oh sure,” he continued, “I fell in love with her eventually, but oh man, she was hot.”  He closed his eyes, his mind pulling up that image he held onto for however many years, a knowing smile crept across his face.  And he had each and every one of us.  A retired theology professor, with glasses, pristeen hair, and a pocket watch, in a three piece tweed suit, had easily gotten the attention of every single person in that room.

Sex.  All the teenage boys, all the teenage girls caught in that awkward phase of trying to both hide their feelings and explore them at the same time, were able to just release any tension they were holding back.  Any shame they felt around their curiosity, around their questions was momentarily lifted by that impish smile on his face.  It was wonderful.  And the youth weren’t the only ones who sat up and listened intently.  I was just as captivated as them.

It is odd that we don’t talk about sexuality.  Without it, none of us would even be here.  It can create marvelous dreamscapes of joy, of excitement; it can also be the source of nightmares, ruining lives.  It can create that wonderful sense of giddiness, of wanting to dance and sing with joy when we are besotted, while at the same time wanting to throw up with anxiety.  It is woven into our very bodies causing our hearts to race, our breath to gasp.  It can seem an unquenchable fire, it can be a source of tremendous energy.  But we don’t talk about it in an honest and down to earth way.  Why do we shy away from it, speaking only in jokes and giggles?

When we don’t talk about sexuality, the conversation gets hijacked.  It gets transformed into a discussion of a few dos, and a lot of don’ts.  Or it becomes meaningless, plastered across billboards, magazines, movies, and commercials without a thought beyond marketing simplistic pleasure.  Dom Bede Griffiths once said, “Sex is far too important to eliminate entirely, and it is far to important to do lightly.  The only alternative is to somehow ‘consecrate’ it.”

Imagine yourself as one of the people in Jerusalem.  You have heard about this Jesus figure.  His healings, his words, his message have all reached your ears, it has reached everyone’s ears.  One day, word arrives that he, this figure of story, will be coming into to town.  People are filled with anticipation at the prospect.  They all want to be healed, they all want to see him, to touch him, they all want him to transform the world, to change the way things are.  And sure enough, when he arrives, there is a flurry of excitement.  People flock to the streets.  The excitement builds, and soon people are shouting, they are waving palm branches, and they are crying out.  They cry out, “Hosanna!  Hosanna!”  Which means, “Save!  Save, please!”

These people of Jerusalem, they are longing for wholeness, they want that relationship with God, they want a new relationship with the world around them.  They desire it, they seek it, and they are expressing it in their shouts, they are expressing it in their waving of palm leaves frantically in the streets.  They can feel this longing in their very bodies.  The crowd is swept up in that ecstasy of it all, amid cries and heat and sweat.

That desire which dwells within, is more than just a desire for a physical act.  It is a desire for relationship, it is a desire for wholeness. We need to abandon the idea that sex and sexuality are just about certain acts.  Sure, those can be a part of it, but they don’t need to be.  Sexuality is about longing for something, longing for wholeness, it is about desire, it is about seeking relationship: relationship with one another, relationship with ourselves, and relationship with God.  And it is expressed and experienced in our very bodies.

What better way to describe humanity’s relationship with God, than through language of seeking, through language of longing, through language of desire.  And what better way to experience this than through our bodies.  Relationship with God is not just about our heads, not just about some far away transcendent mystical experience.  Experiencing God is about racing hearts.  Experiencing God is about gasping breaths.

It is bizarre to me that Christianity, has so often taken the stance of hating the body and embracing the spirit, when the focus of our faith is where the spirit and the body meet.  These two are inseparable.  We cannot move our relationship with God away from our bodies.  We cannot separate the love of God from creation.  This is the essence of incarnation.  God loves our bodies so much, that God chooses to have one.  God loves creation so much that God chooses to dwell within it.  This is the sign that is Christ.  God is here.  God is in this world.  God dwells within the body.

A healthy sexuality embraces that idea.  A healthy sexuality sees the wonder of bodies, of our own, and of other people’s and cherishes them as God’s creation.  A healthy sexuality invites us to explore a deeper relationship with ourselves, with others, and with God.  A healthy sexuality sees that longing as a wonderful gift, a gift that invites us to wholeness.

Sermon for March 25 - Depression

Scripture reading for this week: Jeremiah 31:31-34
I’m reading a tremendously powerful book right now.  It is called, Lincoln’s Melancholy by Joshua Wolf Shenk.  He opens with a preface relating a story told by the Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Tolstoy had found his way to an isolated clan out of the way in the Caucuses, a remote area east of the Black Sea.  He spoke with them telling them about the industrial world, and they were most interested in his thoughts on the great leaders of the world.  He told them about the Russian Czars, about Napoleon, and other leaders. 

But they pressed him, wanting to know of the greatest general and ruler of all time.  He was described as “a hero.” A man who “spoke with a voice of thunder; [who] laughed like the sunrise and [whose] deeds were as strong as the rocks and as sweet as the fragrance of roses.”  They described his foretold birth announced by angels, and spoke highly of his compassion for his enemies. His name was Lincoln of a land called America.  Tolstoy stammered to tell them what he could from his own knowledge. 

Afterwards, the writer offered to get them a picture of Lincoln.  He gave it to one of the riders who had accompanied him into town.  The rider looked at the picture, and his eyes began to well up.  When Tolstoy asked the man why he was crying; the young man responded, “Don’t you find, judging from his picture, that his eyes are full of tears and that his lips are sad with secret sorrow?”

The book is a wonderful read, describing the depression that Abraham Lincoln struggled with throughout his whole life.  A depression that was at times so acute, that his friends had to have a suicide watch for him.  It also describes how that pain, that struggle, would transform him into arguably the greatest president of the United States, and possibly among the greatest leaders in the history of democracy.

Towards the end of fall I read a line from Parker Palmer’s book Let Your Life Speak.  He wrote about a period of depression in his life where he sought professional help.  After conversation with his therapist, which he at first found insulting, he began to reflect on something his therapist had said.  He described his own depression this way,

Read from Let you Life Speak – pg 68-69

I read this, and I started to cry.  I actually cried a fair bit this past summer, fall, and early winter, it was not until I read this however, that I was able to admit to myself that something was going on inside of me.  I was emotionally exhausted but I was not letting myself realize it, subsequently it would just come pouring out at different times.  Palmer was able to label for me, that unmentioned presence within my gut, the one that made it so difficult to get out of bed, the one that would make me break into tears in the shower. 

It did not suddenly “cure” my feelings, but it helped me to recognize them.  I never went to the doctor, though a few friends and family counseled me to.  Subsequently, I don’t know if I was ever diagnosable as depressed.  Had it gone on any longer, I probably would have.  I am not against taking pharmaceuticals to help adjust brain chemistry, to give us the mental kick we need to get back on our feet.  I continued to see my therapist, (and still do), and she was incredibly helpful.  She encouraged journaling, and is always able to draw out that inner voice within me.

Depression is characterized by feelings of sadness, anxiety or emptiness, so much so that these effect our daily lives. It can sap energy and feelings of self-worth. Instead possibly filling the person with a sense of guilt.  Sleep can be elusive, or it can be over abundant.  Appetite can fade to nothing, or overeating can become a problem. Subsequently, it can be difficult to categorize.  Women and men can experience it differently, as can older people and teenagers or children.  Suicide can come from depression, as a way out of the experience.  The idea of death can be seen as a sort of rest from an exhausting struggle.  Depression affects over 121 million people worldwide.  It can occur to anyone, at anytime.  It can be affected by genetics, by biological factors, by environment, and by psychology.  It is often best treated by therapy and/or medicine.  If you or anyone you know is suffering from depression, I encourage a trip to the doctor to just talk about it. 

In our Gospel reading for today, Jesus uses a wonderful image.  He describes a seed, and how that seed must fall into the earth and die if something new is to be born.  Though he is describing his own crucifixion, he is also inviting us to follow him.  Not necessarily to the literal cross, but to follow him in a different way.  This is a common theme in the Gospels, death to an old way of life and resurrection to a new one.  And the image of a seed falling to the ground fits well with Parker Palmer’s experience of depression, a voice that was bringing him back down to the earth.  It is cold, and dark to be buried in the dirt of the earth. But it is there where a seed can flourish.

The bible is rife with images that can appropriately be viewed through the lens of depression.  Another example, is the common theme of the desert, which, as I have said before, is like a character unto itself in the bible.  Depression, can often be experienced as a desert, a wilderness, a place of struggle, a place of pain.  It was where the Israelites wandered through for forty years.  It was where Elijah fled to, and collapsed saying he had had enough.  And in the season of Lent, we symbolically follow Jesus out to the desert where he encounters trials and temptations of his own.

But the biblical witness of the desert never ends there.  It is out in the desert, where the Israelites are forged into a nation.  It is in the desert where Elijah encounters God in a gentle whisper.  It is in the desert, where Jesus is stripped of everything but himself, where he goes and finds his mission.  The desert strips us down, it tears away all of our comforts, everything that we define ourselves by.  Even the hope that we might get out of the desert is taken away.  We are naked to the wind and the sand and the sun.  All that is left, is our true self; that part of us that was created by God that can never be destroyed, and here we can encounter it within.  Everything is stripped away, all that is left is our beating, so we can finally read that inscription Jeremiah so eloquently speaks of.

I don’t know if we have any Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans here, but I was watching an episode that really rang true as a metaphor for the possibilities I experienced that helped me pull out of my own struggles.  In the last episode of season 2, Buffy is fighting Angelus, the big bad guy, a vampire who used to be her lover.  Following a sword fight he has knocked her to the ground, her sword just out of reach.  By this episode she has been kicked out of her school, she is on the run from the law, she has been told by her mom that she is not welcome back in the house, and she is separated from her friends.  Moving in for the kill Aneglus says to her, “No weapons, no friends, no hope.  Take all that away and what’s left.”  The sword comes down.  Buffy grabs it, and responds with, “Me.”

I would not dare describe someone else’s depression, I don’t want to assume that I know how depression is universally experienced.  However, I find these image fit well with my own experience, and was a tremendous part of my own healing.  The idea that I was being pulled down to the earth, down from all the heights I had created for myself.  That I was in some sense, being healed, being called back by a true friend within me.  The idea that I was wandering in the desert, where the wind and sand strips us of everything but our true selves, was important to me.  It helped me to see my own struggles as a sort of gift.  When I stopped fighting my depression, and instead tried to embrace it, I was slowly (and I emphasize that – slowly) able to move from despair to a reformed sense of hope.  From lethargy to a different sort of energy.  From sadness, to a sense of grace.  Read my sermons from Advent knowing they were written in the midst of this.  I think they are among my best sermons, there is a truth to them I was just beginning to discover.

I needed help.  I could not have done it alone.  I relied heavily on colleagues, on friends, and on family.  I had to read some very powerful writers who shared their own experiences with depression, writers like Parker Palmer or Henri Nouwen, and trust them.  I had to reach deep into my faith, and not just believe in, but trust in the life death and resurrection narrative of Christ.  To trust that I would find that inscription written upon my heart.  And it was very hard.  I could not always do it. 

Still, I count myself as fortunate.  I did not dive to the depths that some people do.  I don't know whether I was clinically depressed or not. I was still able to come to work.  Suicide was never a significant concern, though the image of death as a sort of peace, a sort of rest was certainly present.  Parker Palmer shares that he does not know why some people do commit suicide and others are able to find life.  I’ll echo that.  I’m not convinced that is something entirely within my own control.  My tears did not suddenly dry up, they still flowed readily. 

I’m sharing this because it is how I experienced depression.  My hope is that in sharing this, others who are experiencing it, or will experience it, will know that they can get through it.  People who have loved ones experiencing it, can know that it is not leperous or shameful, but something that carries the possibility of new life. Though it was painful, though I wish it upon nobody, though I never want to go through it again, God was able to use my struggles to form something new.  Though God does not want us to experience pain, God can transform it when we do.  Even out of death, God can create new life.  Thanks be to God.

Sermon for March 18 - Addictions

Scripture for this sermon: Ephesians 2:1-10

I remember once going on a day trip to Niagara Falls with my friend Bryce from back in Guelph.  We wandered around for a short while, but it wasn’t long before we found ourselves standing outside the casino.  We looked at each other, checked our wallets and decided to head in.  I only had about forty dollars, I’d never been to a casino before, so I figured it would be ok to lose all my money, and walk out saying I’d done it once in my life.  Forty bucks isn’t too expensive for what I thought would be a few hours of entertainment.

We wandered around, wound up at the roulette table.  And within a few spins of the wheel, we were up.  It was great.  We had it all figured out.  Undoubtedly we would be walking out of there with at least a couple of hundred dollars each.  I didn’t understand how people could lose money, when it was so easy.  Each time we won, it was quite a rush of excitement.  What we didn’t notice was that, those rushes of excitement were further apart than they needed to be for us to keep our winnings.  And soon, I’d say after about only half an hour at the table, we were both broke.

I remember as we walked away thinking to myself: “Boy, I know what I did wrong, and if I just go take out a bit of money, I can get back what I lost.”  Fortunately, I have a good friend in Bryce and he said we should leave even as warning bells were starting to go off in my head.  I can see why they say that the worst thing that can happen to you the first time you go to a casino, is to win.  That thrill is easy to chase.

I never became a compulsive gambler.  But addictions do take a hold of us all in different ways.  For some they may be associated with substances.  Alcohol, narcotics, pharmaceuticals, cigarettes, caffeine, just to name a few.  Some may be associated with behaviors, gambling, sex, pornography, adrenaline inducing activities, eating, even working.  All of these can become addictions.  Though some of these addiction might be socially acceptable, or even socially praised, for the most part we view these as unacceptable.  And any addiction cannot be considered healthy.

Often people with addictions are looked at as a sort of leper.  They are people who are judged for making poor decisions, for not having any self control, for being lazy.  This is why I think addiction is another example of a taboo issue that is never openly discussed.  Instead it is whispered and gossiped about, which truthfully, I think is even more damaging than helpful.

I’m not going to lecture today on the evils of addiction.  We’ve all heard that countless times, we’ve witnessed it, we’ve seen enough after school specials.  I’m not going to tell you how to get rid of an addiction.  I’m not trained in that, though if anyone is interested, I have contact information for groups, and you can feel free to ask me about it in private for yourself or for someone you may know.  All I want to do today is to break the silence.  I want to talk about it in such a way that we are not as afraid to talk about it with one another.

So what is an addiction?

Invite responses

Simplistically put, an addiction affects the reward part of our brain.  So for example, some substances can cause our brains to release dopamine, one of the chemicals responsible for us feeling good.  The more a substance is used, the more our brains become dependant upon them to release dopamine.  Our brain circuits get damaged as we continually fill our system with addictive substances, requiring more and more of them in order for us to feel good about anything.

Behavioral addictions, like gambling addictions or sexual addictions, similarily affect our brain’s reward system.  The rush of winning a big pot, for example, causes us to feel good.  Our brains release dopamine.  Eventually, our brains become re-wired to associate good feelings with gambling.

With chemicals or behaviors we can become obsessed, we can become compulsive.  Longing for that good feeling, longing for the reward system in our brains to be activated, we seek out those same stimulants to do it.  It gets to the point where it is no longer even a choice, our brains have become re-wired, and this is the dependence.  Sometimes this can happen after one or two experiences, sometimes it might take longer, years even.  This is effected by all sorts of factors.  Certain substances or behaviors are more or less addictive.  Our own genetic predisposition to addiction is also a factor.  Environmental and social factors also influence this.

The cycle gets worse when our compulsive behavior, seeking that high, seeking that good feeling, leads us to do things that make us actually feel worse.  An alcohol binge that goes wrong, losing a lot of money at the casino, feeling ashamed of a sexual encounter.  We want to feel better after them, so tragically we return to our addiction.  Addicts often know that what they are doing is having an awful affect on their lives. 

There isn’t reason to it.  There isn’t logic to it.  Don’t try to find it. The natural human desire for pleasure, or to end pain, believe me, holds a greater sway over any of us than logic does.  Many people who are under the sway of an addiction will express a desire to change.  Guilt becomes a factor, and not necessarily a positive one. Someone trying to quit drinking may feel guilty if they fail.  The logic becomes, “I feel awful about drinking.  Let me have a drink to feel better.”

Once the brain has re-wired itself, it is no longer a matter of choice, no longer a matter of will power or strength.  And often, people do not realize the negative effect certain influences can have on their lives until this re-wiring has occurred.  The cycle of addiction is truly one of powerlessness.  And it is heart breaking.  Heartbreaking because of how helpless the addict is, and heartbreaking because of all those who are influenced by it.  Addiction leads to great wounds in life, and not just to the lives of the addicts.  Addiction can greatly wound families, friends, and communities.

I’ve been reading the Big Blue Book.  This is the book put out by Alcoholics Anonymous.  It is a good thing to read.  I’d recommend it to anyone.  It is full of stories about alcoholics, about their lives under the influence of alcoholism.  This powerlessness is shown again and again. People who know what they are doing is hurting them, is hurting those they care about, but who cannot stop.

I think our scripture reading for today responds to that powerlessness.  Verses 8 and 9, “For by grace have you been save through faith, and this is not of your own doing; it is the gift of God – not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” 

Here the author seems to be speaking directly to our society’s view that people just need to get over their addiction.  People just need to develop more will-power, people just need to be stronger.  The author seems to be saying, no amount of strength in you, no amount work done by you, is going to move you into holy relationship with God, with ourselves, with the people around us.  Moving into a state of grace is not accomplished by us. 

And of course we don’t like that in our world.  We live in a pious protestant society.  Live and act proper, and you’ll get what is yours.  Anyone who is having a rough go of it, deserves it, and anyone who is successful deserves it too.  The reason I am not an addict is because I am a better person.  The reason I am successful is because I am better.  I have done all the right stuff, and someone else has done the wrong stuff.  It is their fault, they got where they are. 

Of course we think this way.  It is logical.  It helps us maintain a semblance of control, it helps us see some sort of order to the world around us.  If I were not entirely in control of my own fate, that would be a terrifying prospect.  And since I am entirely in control of my fate, everyone else must be as well.  This is the American Dream.  The idea that everyone is in control of their own destiny, and everyone gets what they deserve. 

Unfortunately, this is counter to the passage that we just read today from Ephesians.  The author is very clear that we are not in control.  That the works we do in this world have no influence on God whatsoever.  No one is more loved by God because of the work they do.  No one is loved less by God because of what they do.  We are not in control of grace.  All we can do is surrender to the love that is freely offered to all, regardless of who they are or what they have done.

And when we think about addictions, when we think about the powerlessness that comes against such a disease, what a wonderful message of hope this is.

I was re-reading the 12 steps a few days ago at drama practice and I almost started crying at their beauty.  It is no wonder that Richard Rohr called the 12 steps, the greatest addition to spirituality that has come out of North America. 

Read the steps

The steps all carry this message of profound grace and surrender of control.  Perhaps this is why 12 step programs have an above average rate of success in helping people get over addictions.  They admit to that same biblical truth that we are not entirely in control of our own salvation.  That control is in the hands of a power greater than ourselves.  As Christians we believe this power to be the one who loves us, who cradles us, who cares for us, and who longs for the best for each and every one of us.  Maybe this is why many of the recovered addicts I have met and spoken with seem to have a deep understanding grace.

Perhaps the 12 steps can teach all of us a lesson, not just those of us who have struggled with addiction, but all of us who have made mistakes.  All of us who long for relationship with God, with one another.  Perhaps the 12 steps can remind us, that none of us have control over our salvation.  These are not about making us better, instead they are about re-creating relationships.  I would encourage everyone to take a look at these steps, and see how they can transform all of our lives.

Sermon for March 11 - Domestic Violence and Abuse

I’d like to start out by reading some words of poetry.

Open your ears, God, to my prayer;

don't pretend you don't hear me knocking.
   Come close and whisper your answer.
      I really need you.
   I shudder at the mean voice,
      quail before the evil eye,
   As they pile on the guilt,
      stockpile angry slander.

 My insides are turned inside out;
      specters of death have me down.
   I shake with fear,
      I shudder from head to foot.
   "Who will give me wings," I ask—
      "wings like a dove?"
   Get me out of here on dove wings;
      I want some peace and quiet.
   I want a walk in the country,
      I want a cabin in the woods.
   I'm desperate for a change
      from rage and stormy weather.

 This isn't the neighborhood bully
      mocking me—I could take that.
   This isn't a foreign devil spitting
      invective—I could tune that out.
   It's you! We grew up together!
      You! My best friend!
   Those long hours of leisure as we walked
      arm in arm, God a third party to our conversation.

And this, my best friend, betrayed his best friends;
      his life betrayed his word.
   All my life I've been charmed by his speech,
      never dreaming he'd turn on me.
   His words, which were music to my ears,
      turned to daggers in my heart.

As some of you may remember from a couple of weeks ago, that this season of Lent we will be journeying to those social deserts, those places we never want to talk about.  And today, we will be discussing domestic violence.  The words that I read, they are words of pain and sorrow.  The author was betrayed by someone they loved, and so they live in a world of fear, as words of music became words of death.  The poet cries out to God, saying “Don’t pretend you don’t hear my cries, O God!  Take me away from this terror, give me the wings of a dove, let me go to some place where I can escape this.”

I cannot even begin to imagine what the experience is like, and I won’t pretend to.  But words like this seem to carry something within them, something that resonates, something that cries out through the author.  Listen again.

Re-read words.

Has anyone heard this poem before?  Or possibly read it? This past week I have been reading a lot of poetry written by women survivors of domestic violence.  Many of the authors cry out for people to hear them.  Many of the authors try to grapple with why someone who claims to love them, could do something so horrible.  They evoke a sense of betrayal, a sense of fear and loss.  At times they bring forth feelings of anger and vengeance.  They are wondrous words of lament.  I was not sure about sharing someone else’s words around so intimate a subject, so instead I chose this poem.  I chose this poem because it is from Psalm 55, from the Message translation, and it carries with it all the same themes that kept showing up in every other poem I read.

Re-read a few selections.

A few facts about domestic violence.  First off, what is it?  This definition is taken from the FaithTrust Institute (http://www.faithtrustinstitute.org/), as are all the statistics I’ll give you.  “Domestic violence refers to a pattern of violent and coercive behavior exercised by one adult in an intimate relationship over another. It is not marital conflict, mutual abuse, a lovers quarrel, or a private family matter. It may consist of repeated, severe beatings or more subtle forms of abuse, including threats and control.”

It is reported to occur in 28% of homes.  These, however, are only estimates based on reports and surveys.  The number is probably higher.  By far, the majority of victims of domestic violence are women.  1 in four women will experience domestic violence in their lifetime.  Witnessing domestic violence in the home, is the strongest risk factor in transmitting violent behavior on to children.  Boys who witness domestic violence are twice as likely to abuse their own partners and children.  Sexual violence and child abuse, are very much related to Domestic Violence, though each could have a sermon to themselves.

For a long time, our scripture, our church has not opposed these horrible crimes.  At best, we have just remained silent, turning our backs on the issue, not offering ears to those whose voices cry out.  At worst our sacred texts, our Gospel story has been used as a weapon against victims.  Perpetrators, or clergy will cite the bible to ensure women believe they are subservient to men, or to force them to stay in abusive relationships.

These I think are misappropriations of scripture and theology. But the Bible still in places seems to condone a violent theology.  These are referred to as “texts of terror”, they highlight a theology of atonement, of sacrifice, they place women as subservient to men, they say that violence is ok.  Each example could receive a sermon to themselves.  I won’t make excuses for them.  They are there, and they need to be dealt with.  But those passages from scripture which can be pulled out from here or there, contradict with the great Gospel message. 

This is the message that we hear spoken in the words of lament from Psalm 55, and Psalm 22 that we read earlier today.  This is the Good news that echos throughout every single one of the Old Testament Prophets, and is woven in and out of the New Testament Epistles.  It is the Good News that walks with the Hebrews out of slavery, throughout their captivity, and cries forth from the apocalyptic book of Revelation.

The Good News that God is on the side of the oppressed.  The Good News that God created us to love us.

You cannot pull out enough one liners from scripture that will contradict the Easter story of Christ which we are leading up to this season.  This is the image that lies at the heart of the Christian faith.

Women and children are crucified everyday.  Crucified by those they love, those they have embraced and held close.  They cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Often they are abandoned by friends, by family, by churches who should be crying out with them, who should be attending and responding to the violence; people who instead fall asleep or deny, deny, deny.  Every time violence is committed in a household, every time abuse occurs, a cross is raised. 

Yet, in Christ we hear God say, “I have been there, I am there, and I will be there with you tomorrow.”

This powerful image of the cross responds directly to the violence of the world.  It says without reservation, that though crosses will be raised up, though the violence of the world will try to reign, though the powerful may try to claim control over things.  They will not win.  Easter Sunday, the story of the Resurrection answers violence, answers oppression, answers abuse, with a resounding “No!” from God, who says “I control life!  Not you and your forces!  And as you have seen from my life on Earth, I am on the side of those who are wounded.”

Domestic violence is NOT the cross people are asked to bear by God, rather it is the cross upon which God joins them.

No one ever deserves to be the victim of abuse.  There is no excuse that can ever be made to make an act of abuse, or a system of abuse acceptable in any way shape or form.  It is the fault of the perpetrator, the one who may try to wash their hands of it, the one who drives in the nails.  It is their responsibility to repent, to change their lives, and that is a whole other sermon. 

God does NOT want us to be crucified.  God does NOT condone abuse.  God who knit us together in our mother’s wombs, God who hovers over us as a hen over her chicks, God who would choose to join us in our flesh, in our skin, who would live intimately with us, only wants love for each and every one of us.

This is the Good News that we must proclaim as the Body of Christ, as the people of the Way.  We are called to not only proclaim with our words, but with our hearts and with our actions, that we will stand with victims and survivors of domestic violence, of child abuse, of sexual violence.  That we will openly resist any system which says that is ok, that says women and children are subservient to men.  We must say that those who commit such acts must turn their lives around, and they must accept that they are responsible for their actions, that they must make amends and will face consequences, if they truly seek sanctification.  We must embody that same compassion that God holds for each and every one of us, share that same love, offer words of hope that things do not have to be this way.  As people of Christ, how can we do anything but?

Sermon for February 26, 2012 - Lenten Wilderness and Taboo

The scripture reading for this Sermon is: Mark 1:9-15

My family has a cottage on Georgian Bay in Ontario.  I remember as a child growing up, we would spend a lot of time up there over the summers.  Heading up for weekends, and the occasional full week.  I don’t know if I ever told my parents, but I always got a bit scared about going up to the cottage.  Even though it was well constructed, it had electricity and running water, I always felt exposed up there.  As I recall it, I would get nightmares far more regularly at the family cottage.

I had a similar feeling when I moved out to Strathclair.  The utter lack of people, made me feel very exposed, very vulnerable.  I can’t explain it.  It was not overwhelming by any means, but it was certainly there, in the back of my mind, a constant nagging anxiety.  I have been told by many people here that they get a similar feeling when they go into cities, a different sort of vulnerability, but a vulnerability none the less.  Or perhaps it is that same feeling I have often heard expressed by prairie folk about mountains.  It’s not a hatred, but a discomfort that grows the more time is spent hemmed in by the enormity of their reach.

Wilderness can have many different images.  I think depending on where you were born, the word “wilderness” will call to mind many different scenes.  For us in Canada, I think wilderness might best be interpreted by the forest.  This could be imagined as the Canadian Shield, with the massive rocky outcrops, or possibly the Old Coastal Forests of British Columbia.  The wild growth of trees, the mess of shrubs, the unseen noises which resonate throughout the woods. I find in the woods, there is that sense that something just beyond my control is at play in the wilderness. 

Other areas of the world probably perceive of wilderness entirely differently.  I would imagine in northern Canada, the tundra evokes similar feelings.  Perhaps those who are familiar with the jungle might express similar feelings of powerlessness.  Mountain ranges, Savannah, wild ocean waves all could carry with them those fears and trepidations.  For the Jews living in the Promised Land, the wilderness was often imagined as the desert.

In the desert where a storm of sand can whip up out of nothing, where you can suddenly find yourself without water; in a forest, where every tree could look like the last one, where every snap of twig signals something that is far worse in our imagination than what is beyond our sights; in the ocean where waves can capsize boats, where hurricanes are born and raised; in mountains where avalanches are possibilities, where people get lost for days, not knowing what even to eat; these are the places of wilderness in our world.  These are the places where we are at some level, afraid to go.  These are the places where, when we truly immerse ourselves in them, we lose even the illusion of control.  These are the places where we feel exposed, where we feel vulnerable, where we feel powerless.

We encounter these in our daily lives.  All of us have taken steps into the wilderness.  Whether it is dealing with a death that has greatly affected us, whether it is extreme financial hardships, whether it is the end of a relationship, or perhaps some great emotional turmoil we all have gone there.  These are places no one wants to go to, but where we end up through the natural course of life. These times can be isolating, they can be terrifying.  They fully embody that sense of powerlessness, that loss of control.

Often people end up in a wilderness that is dark and almost incomprehensible to anyone who has not gone there.  Drug addiction, or any addiction for that matter, violence and abuse, depression and mental illness.  These are some of the wildernesses that people walk through regularly, and yet where many of us are afraid to go.  And I don’t mean to participate, I mean we’re very often afraid to even talk about them.

One of our past Moderators in the United Church of Canada, David Giuliano, uses the image of the wilderness guide in his understanding of ministry.  As a protestant denomination, I think this goes beyond the calling of those who are simply in ordered ministry.  As members of the priesthood of all believers, in many ways, it is the call of all Christians to be willing to travel to those places where others might be afraid to go.  To meet people there, and to walk with them through that wilderness.

I like to think of the desert surrounding the Promised Land as a character in and of itself in our scriptures, in our stories of faith, in the history of salvation we read about in the Old and New Testaments.  It is through the desert that the Hebrews wandered for forty years, before being forged into a nation.  It was into the desert that Elijah ran, and there that he encountered God in a whisper.  It was in the desert where Ezekiel had his vision of bones growing flesh and being filled with the breath and life of God.  It was in the desert that David had compassion on his enemy, Saul who was trying to kill him.  The desert resonates throughout the book of the Psalms and the various prophets.  And in the New Testament, it is to the desert that John the Baptist calls us to transform.  And as in today’s reading, it is in the desert where Jesus encounters the devil and comes away prepared for his ministry, speaking of the kingdom of God.

I love that biblical metaphor of wilderness.  Maybe that’s why I preach on it regularly.  It is in the wilderness of our lives that we long for comfort.  It is in the wilderness of our lives where we long to know the Divine Love.  It is in the wilderness of our lives where we long to feel held by God. 

In the bible, the wilderness is often an agent of transformation. The wilderness transforms, the wilderness changes.  The wilderness creates.  To say that we are wilderness guides means that we are willing go to the wilderness, and show that God is present even there.  To go to the wilderness and say, even in this dark and painful place, you are not alone.  To go to the wilderness and walk with people helping them to grow within it, to become remade in God’s image.

I remember as a kid, I went white water rafting in Nepal.  It was a terrifying experience.  There were times when I was very scared.  But I certainly remember the feeling I got when I was done.  A sense of accomplishment, a sense that I had gotten through it.  I was sad it was over by the time our few days were done.  I have a picture at home of me in my life jacket, with a puffed out chest in a very manly and triumphant pose.  A gawky awkward, kind of doofy teenager.  And standing beside me was our guide, Hamish.  Chest just as triumphantly puffed out.  He got us through.  Sometimes he had to yell, sometimes he had to take control, sometimes he would sit back and let us do the work.  He knew the river, he knew the way the water worked, he knew the rocks and the undercurrent.  He knew all that because he had been there, he had been down that river, or other rivers, and he was willing to go there again with all of us. 

I think that is what it means to be a wilderness guide.  The church, a mish mash collection of all sorts of people, all of us with our different experiences.  All of us with our struggles in the wilderness.  Subsequently, all of us with our collected wisdom.  Imagine that church being willing to go to the wilderness with others.  To help them get through.  To tell them they are not alone.  To become the Body of Christ.  To show that God is present even in the midst of such struggle.

A note of caution; I am not by any means saying that we need to have certain wilderness experiences to develop our relationship with God.  We should not all go out and get an addiction of some kind just so we can try to meet God.  We should not become abusive or allow abuse to continue simply to meet the Holy One.  We should not be hoping for death, or for pain.  They are going to happen to us, we don’t need to go looking for them.  What I am saying, is that even those dark places, those places where we are vulnerable, where we are out of control, those places of wilderness in our lives, can be redeemed by God.  They can be wielded by the Holy One to create something new.

Over the course of Lent we’re going to explore a few different taboo subjects.  Subjects that may make us uncomfortable; subjects that we don’t talk about often enough in church; subjects that perhaps deserve to be explored.  These are wilderness subjects.  They happen across the world, and they happen here within our communities.  And for those who are experiencing them they are incredibly painful.

So here is what the next few weeks will look like.  After I’m back from my study leave we’re going to explore four different subjects through the lens of what I see as Christian faith.  That will get us up to Easter, and then throughout Easter and Pentecost, we’ll explore a few others, but on less of a rigid schedule.

Some of the issues we’ll explore are domestic violence and abuse, addictions, depression and mental illness, and finally, on Passion Sunday we’ll look at sex and sexuality.  Just a heads up, that last one will not be a how-to-guide, if you need tips and pointers I’m sure you can get those from the community centre or Dora’s.  Though I have to confess, I find it tragically funny when religions try to dictate proper technique.  You won’t get that from me, mostly due to ignorance on my part. But also because there are far more interesting things to talk about when it comes to God, Christ, and sex.  After that, if anyone has other subjects they’d like to talk about, feel free to let me know.

My intent is not to condemn, my intent is not to promote.  All I hope to do, is to show that even in the midst of the unmentioned, in the midst of such taboo, in the midst of suffering, in the midst of tragedy, and in the midst of ecstasy, God is there.  It is those very wilderness aspects of our lives that can inform and develop our relationship with God. My prayer is that just by talking about these issues shows that we are willing to at least start the journey into the wilderness. 

Jesus begins his ministry, his mission of redemption by heading out into the desert.  I think it is important for us as the Body of Christ to continue that mission and follow him there.

Sermon for February 19, 2012 - Pilgrimage and the Way

Scripture Reading for this sermon is: Mark 9:2-9

Christianity has gotten pretty easy.  It requires only an hour of our time on Sunday morning.  You just need to show up once to get baptized.  It doesn’t really demand too much of us.  Just believe a few things that don’t have too much of a bearing on our lives.  And very often those things that we are asked to believe will change depending on our life and politics.  We have misinterpreted what it means to be inclusive.  Where inclusivity should mean, if you want to join us all are welcome regardless of race, gender, orientation, or ability; we have used it to become a fast food drive thru with an “order what you want “ mentality.  These are just a few of the ways that Christianity has gotten easier.  It fits nicely into our culture of ease.  We want spirituality, to experience relationship with God, right now with minimal effort on our part. 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

In our scripture reading for today, we read about the Transfiguration of Jesus.  It is the story of Jesus up on a mountain, conversing with Elijah and Moses.  While he is there, he seems to undergo a radical change in front of his inner circle who have climbed the mountain with him.  A cloud descends upon the mountain, the voice of God rings out, “This is my Beloved Son!  Listen to him!”

As I reflected on this story, I read something proposed by the theologian Helmut Thielicke that the transfiguration event does not happen to Jesus, rather it happens to the disciples instead.  This story is not about Jesus, he remains as always the incarnation.  This story is about the experience of the disciples. Up on the mountain, it was something inside of them that changed.  They were shaken, they were rattled, and they saw Jesus in his fullness.  They experienced it only for a moment, but even in that moment, Peter knew he wanted it to last longer.

It is no coincidence that this happened up on a mountain.  Throughout the history of human myth and religion, mountains have become symbolic as seats and homes of the divine, where people encounter the holy.  In Judaism, Moses encountered God and received the Law on Mount Sinai.  In Greek Myth, it was Mount Olympus that was the home of the gods.  In Hinduism there is Mount Meru, the seat of Brahma, and the centre of all things.  Mount Kailash in Tibet is another Holy site for Hinduism, as well as for Jainism and Buddhism.  Mount Kailash is so holy, in fact, that it has never been climbed.  And in Islam, it is in the mountains outside of Mecca, where Muhammed received the revelations from God that would become the Koran.

Mountains reach up to the very heavens, and to ancient people it only makes sense that these would be the seats of heavenly beings.  Trying to climb these vast and mighty peaks would have been daunting, a rare occurrence if it ever even happened.

Even today, they are not climbed half heartedly.  People die every year on the great peaks.  And getting within a stone’s throw of the summits does not guarantee reaching them.  Mountains are intimidating, though awe-inspiring.  They are terrifying while beautiful.  But it was when these three disciples climbed one, Peter, James, and John, that they encountered something marvelous, something inexplicable.  It was through this unknowably difficult journey up the mountain that they experienced God.  This was their pilgrimage.

And that’s the way that Christianity should be.  It should be difficult, because it is difficult. 

What do you know about the practice of pilgrimage?

The practice of pilgrimage has been a part of religious custom since long before Christianity. It is the practice of going on a long journey to some far off destination.  There is the Hajj, the pillar of Islam that calls for Muslims to journey to Mecca at least once in their life if they are able. Mount Kailash is in one of the most isolated areas of the already isolated Tibet, where Hindus and Buddhists make a pilgrimage to.  In medieval times, Christian pilgrimages were common, venturing to the Holy Land, or to a relic site was often considered an act of penance.

Pilgrimages are difficult.  It is in their very challange that they are transformative.  If I just had to cross the street to get to the Santiago Cathedral, El Camino, that famous pilgrimage through Spain, would not be a pilgrimage at all.  It would not have any effect on me whatsoever.  If I could just get in my car and drive past Mecca as I look out my window, how would that effect me?  My pilgrimage will cost me something.  My pilgrimage will not be easy.  It is trial.

This is wisdom that we all know.  Certainly for myself, as I look back at my most trying times, those are the times that forged me.  This past year, though very difficult on a personal level, has greatly effected and strengthened my faith; though I may not always have said that as I went through it.  Anyone who has been through a 12 steps program and met with some success will tell you that it is not easy, but out of it they were transformed.  We are not made, we are not transformed in times of relative ease and abundance.  We are created out of the difficult.  I’m a big Calvin and Hobbes fan, and I always love how every time Calvin goes through something that is tough, his dad shouts out that he is building character.  There is truth to this.

This is the pilgrimage.  This is the journey up the mountain by the disciples.  This is exactly what Christianity should be.  This is how we should be looking at our faith.  As a pilgrimage. 

Christianity must reflect that fundamental truth of life, that out of struggle comes growth, out of fire comes steel, out of death comes resurrection.  That is the great pilgrimage of life that is reflected in our faith.

Christianity should not become a faith that says life is tickity boo.  Any time we try to make our faith easier on people, we are re-enforcing the lie that everything can and should be easy.  We are nodding our heads along with the culture, which tries to sell us that garbage.  And which, we all want to agree with, which we all want to believe for obvious reasons.  But deep down inside, we know it is not true.  We know it is not true because all of us have experienced trial and tribulation.  All of us have experienced suffering and pain. 

And so, if we want our faith to be true, if we want our faith to be deep, and transformative, we need to struggle for it.  It must honestly reflect that reality of life, otherwise it loses all credibility.  It must mimic the trial, the challenge of life, and all the while say to us God is present.  The incarnation exists even in times of difficulty, and it will transform us to new life.  Christianity must challenge us, it must call us to live that eternal cycle of life, death, and new life, resurrection.

For the month of February, our book club is reading Karen Armstrong’s The Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life.  Since selecting this book, I have had a number of people come up to me and tell me how difficult it is.  More than that, some of the steps that she says are a part of the journey to becoming more compassionate are tough.  Certainly the last step, Love Your Enemies, that same commandment from scripture, is not easy.  I have had numerous people express to me how intimidating this book is, and how intimidating the work she asks of us is.  And to all of that, I say, Good.  It is not an easy book, and the path she invites us to, is not an easy path.  It is hard.  But I find it tremendously praise worthy that everyone who has come to me and said, “this book is hard” or “I really am struggling with this idea”, has also said to me “but I really want to read it.”  What I hear when this is said “I am willing to do the hard stuff… I want to walk the path towards compassion.”  That’s a good thing.  This is a wonderful example of what Christian faith looks like.  Pushing our boundaries, experiencing ideas that may make us uncomfortable and trusting that we will somehow experience God along the way.

And so let us abandon the idea that religion is simply a set of beliefs someone has.  Instead let us see it as a journey.  Christianity is the path we tread, it is the climb up the mountain, it is the pilgrimage we take throughout our whole lives.  One of the earliest names for Christians was “People of the Way”.  It wasn’t “People who believe certain things”.  It was people of the Way.  And as we find out in our Gospel reading, for Christians, that Way, that holy journey, that walk up the mountain, is called Jesus, the Beloved of God, who God tells us to listen to.  God doesn’t say, “Believe this about Jesus”, God says “listen to him.”  Even when the bible uses the term “believe” a more accurate interpretation would be “trust”.  Listen to Jesus, trust in his way, follow him.  As Christians Jesus is our path of pilgrimage.

And it is hard.  It wouldn’t be true, it wouldn’t be relevant in the world, it wouldn’t be worth anything if it wasn’t.  Christianity is hard.  It is our long climb up the mountain.  And yet, it is through climbing the mountain that our eyes are changed to see the glory and wonder of the incarnate God.