Sermon for April 22 - Earth Day

The Scripture Reading for this sermon is Luke 24:36b-48

Meister Eckhart once said, “If I spend enough time with the tiniest creature – even a caterpillar – I would never have to prepare a sermon.  So full of God is every creature.”  This sounds like a great idea to me.  How perfect is it that I won’t ever have to write a sermon again.  And since, as many of you know, I love watching nature documentaries.  I watch them avidly, I figure I’m a step ahead.

The last time I saw a caterpillar, however, was in December.  And there was something quite tragic about that.  A caterpillar in December in Manitoba.  The little guy was in his full furriness, inching its way across the road.  There was melting snow all around it, but the possibility of spring was still very distant.  I’m not sure how this happened.  I don’t know whether the caterpillar was late in arriving, or whether it was early, hatching from an egg, its body somehow fooled by the warm weather.  Nevertheless, it would not survive until spring.  I pondered the idea of squishing it, I imagined that would be a quicker way to go than freezing.  But I didn’t.  I moved it off the road, and hoped that a hungry bird would see it. 

That I remember a simple encounter with a caterpillar 4 months later, I think speaks to Meister Eckhart’s words.  “If I spend enough time with the tiniest creature – even a caterpillar – I would never have to prepare a sermon.  So full of God is every creature.”  I say this with all seriousness, and all gratitude, but I built a little relationship with that caterpillar.  It was able to evoke feelings within me, feelings of joy and sadness.  That was its gift to me.  And I do still at times wonder what happened to my little friend, knowing full well that whatever it was, it probably was not good.

This seems so far away from our scripture story for today, where we once again find ourselves in the company of Jesus’ disciples.  Rumors are starting to fly among them.  They talk about the empty tomb, they hear about an encounter on the Road to Emmaus.  Excitement is building, but they don’t know what it could mean to them.  Finally, the Risen Christ appears before them, and their response is the most normal response I can think of.  They are terrified.  They think he is a ghost.

As in the Thomas story, Jesus then invites the disciples to reach out and to touch him, to feel his wounds.  He is no ghost, he walks among them, he breathes among them in the fullness of his body.  And sure enough, he eats among them, he physically needs nourishment.  Whoever wrote Luke is really emphasizing that the Risen Christ has a body.  This is incredibly important to the author.  This is not a story about some transcendent being.  This is not a story about an ethereal Jesus, a ghostly Christ who dwells in our hearts and minds, a heavenly presence that whispers from far away.  This is a story about flesh and bones, which we all have.  It is a story about physical bodies, about creation and the world around us where we all live.  It is right here.

So often we want to put God far away.  We want to put God in the heavenly realm.  When we do that, the purpose of Christianity becomes about getting somewhere else, about leaving creation.  This world becomes a sort of proving ground.  It becomes a world that doesn’t really matter in the long run.

But the emphasis on the body in this story, says something entirely different.  Christianity is not a faith about heavenly places and superbeings.  Christianity is about this world.  Christianity says, if we want to encounter God, we can do so right here, right now, in creation, not outside of it.  When I use a word like incarnation, that’s what I mean.  That God is incarnate, to me, means that God dwells here.  That God has a body, that God is physical, that God can be touched, and seen, heard, smelt and tasted.  This is the wonder of the Incarnation.

Today we are celebrating Earth Day.  I think this is an important day to celebrate in the Christian calendar.  It is a day where we are reminded that holiness exists all around us, that to spend time with a caterpillar is to spend time with God.  And so I’m going to invite you to do that.  Spend time with a caterpillar, or a fly, or a shrub, or even a blade of grass.  Take a seed before it is sown and marvel at it.  Just marvel at it.  Today is an invitation to the fullness of our faith as Christians, a faith that does not look for God far away in the future, but a faith that knows God right here, right now.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

Sermon for April 15, 2012 - The Wounds

The Scripture passage for this sermon is John 20:19-31

Following the execution of Jesus as a criminal, the disciples were scattered.  They were without direction, without hope.  Any sense of meaning that they had established around Jesus had died and was buried in a tomb.  His calls for transformation of individuals, and transformation of the world were gone.  Any belief that God was on the side of Jesus breathed its last, when he cried out, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?”  Their myriad of dreams, dreams of a world remade, of justice for the poor, of the powerful overthrown, were gone.

And so they waited in a room.  Terrified of the world around them.  They feared a wraith that would come quickly.  Should they stay together?  In hiding?  Should they say goodbye, and head off each in their own direction?  Their tails between their legs as they returned to a life they had abandoned?  Would they even be welcome back home?  Where were they to go?  What were they to do?  Those great existential questions cried out deep within their souls.  The only thing they knew was that they were alone.

But everything began to change on that first Easter morning.  Everything began to change for Mary Magdalene, for Peter, for John.  And when Jesus appeared behind closed and locked doors to the rest of the disciples, everything began to change for them too.

But everything had not begun to change for Thomas.  Not yet, anyways.

When the disciples came running and told Thomas what they saw he couldn’t believe it.  He probably thought they were joking, playing some mean prank and waiting for him to go along with it, before before Philip would jump out from under the curtain, yelling “Sucker!”  And everyone would laugh. 

But this story isn’t just about Thomas not believing.  It goes far beyond that.  Thomas is not struggling with unbelief, or a lack of faith.  He is struggling because the very idea of the resurrected Christ is incomprehensible.  Resurrection is absurd.  That Christ had risen, for Thomas would have shattered his understanding of the world, of the way the universe worked.  How could God have possibly been on Jesus’ side when Jesus had been crucified?  What about now if he had risen?  What did this say about God?  What did this say about Jesus’ mission?  What would this mean for Thomas’ life?

“Unless I can put my fingers into the nail holes in his hands, and stick my hand into the wound in his side, how can I possibly believe you?  I can’t even understand what that would mean.”  Thomas is wearing the fullness of his humanity in all of its questioning glory.  He cannot let go of his understandings about the world simply on the words of a few of his friends.

And then, it happens.

Again, behind those closed and locked doors, the Risen Christ appears.  He invites Thomas to touch the wounds in his hands and in his side.  No one else has been allowed to touch Christ to this point.  Thomas is the first.  We can imagine the tenderness with which he takes Christ’s hands.  Exploring them with his eyes and his fingers.  Feeling, not only the nail marks, but each and every finger, both thumbs, the front and the backs.   This was a tactile encounter.  Thomas touched the wound in Christ’s side, who knows how deep he put his hand in.  The wounds are still there, they have not scabbed or scarred over, and so I imagine this whole physical exploration would have hurt Christ.  But Thomas proceeds, unabated.

And then he gasps, taking in his breath he drops to his knees.  “My Lord and My God!”  Thomas is the first to recognize God in the Risen Christ.  Everything had not begun to change for Thomas, it had changed entirely in that one moment.  “My Lord and my God!”

For me, Thomas is the first Christian.  Until Thomas is able to touch Christ, there was only an image, only an apparition.  But suddenly all those questions, all those fears that had been running through his head were confronted.  Thomas’ worldview was shattered by the wounds of Christ.

To be a Christian, means to have our worldview shattered by the wounds of Christ.

In the past I have shared with you my own story of when I first realized that was happening to me, of when my own worldview began to be shattered by the wounds of Christ.  It began in a small village called El Mozote in El Salvador, where we were given a tour by the only survivor of a horrific massacre that occurred in the early 1980s.  I was able to see the wounds of Christ in the world around me, and soon I was able to see those same wound within myself.  They popped up in a deeper understanding of the anger which dwelt and still dwells within me.  More recently, I have been able to touch those wounds in my own struggles with sadness, and in the tenderness that still exists just below the surface.  These have all dramatically re-shaped my understanding of and relationship with the world around me, myself, and God.

Where in the world have we touched Christ’s wounds?  Where in the world have we found a God, not of majesty and wealth, but a wounded God, a God of brokenness?  Where in our lives, in our hearts have we felt and experienced that?  Has it been a specific event?  A loss of some kind?  Or perhaps a specific encounter?  Or is it just a feeling that resides within?  A constant companion of sorts?  Perhaps anger, or perhaps sadness, or perhaps just a pervasive sense of loneliness?  We all have the opportunity to touch those wounds regularly.  Though it is often portrayed differently, Christianity, in its best sense, is tremendously open and honest about the tragic realities in the world around us.

Still, it is no wonder Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet come to believe!”  Touching Christ’s wounds as I said, can be world shattering.  Everything we may think we know about God, about ourselves, about the world around us, can be shaken to the very core. Jesus is not saying that those who have not seen but believed are better, I think he is saying they are more fortunate.  They do not have to have their world shaken to understand the nature of God’s brokenness in Jesus. This is not an easy experience, it is one we shy away from.

None of us runs head first to explore those shadowy feelings in ourselves, or to helplessly bear witness to the pain that is going on in the world around us.  I think that is why so many of us don’t like going to hospitals, or personal care homes.  I think that is why so many of us don’t like to talk or even think about those painful experiences in our lives, choosing instead to dull them.  I think that is why our fear of encountering the reality of poverty often translates into anger, hatred, and judgment.  Because exploring those wounds, as Thomas explores Christ’s wounds, (and I mean genuinely exploring them, in a tactile sense, probing and prodding, wondering and questioning) can create tremendous upheaval in our lives.  It is scary, it may even hurt.

I’d like to read a few words written by Henri Nouwen that wonderfully describes the opportunity behind this sort of upheaval.  This is from his book, Reaching Out.  “Often it is the dark forest that makes us speak about the open field.  Frequently prison makes us think about freedom, hunger helps us to appreciate food, and war gives us words for peace.  Not seldom are our visions of the future born out of the sufferings of the present and our hope for others out of our own despair.  Only few ‘happy endings’ make us happy, but often someone’s careful and honest articulation of the ambiguities, uncertainties and painful conditions of life gives us new hope.  The paradox is indeed that new life is born out of the pains of the old.

These are the great opportunities of conversion.  These are where we can reach out and touch the wounds of Christ in the world.  These are the chances for our worldview to be shattered, and remade in something new, remade in the image of a God who suffers with us, who cries out for justice, and who embodies love even onto the cross.

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?