Mar 30, The Fourth Sunday in Lent

Click above to watch a recording of Sunday's sermon.

March 30, 2025

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Joshua 5:9-12

Psalm 32

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

(The context of this sermon was 100% written

in Canada by a human)

Our brains are built to make comparisons. It is how we learn language at an early age: What’s the difference between an orange and an apple? It is how we learn to function in our social environment: How is my house different from my neighbors? How is this situation different from the last one? Based on this, where should I go, how should I respond, which one do I really want – the apple or the orange?

But our brains also have a bad habit, one we know all too well. Psychologists call it the social comparison, and it is perhaps the main reason we find ourselves unhappy. We compare ourselves to others and reach judgments. Sometimes, we come out on top – smarter, better-looking, more successful. And sometimes – perhaps more often – we lose: the subject of our comparison is smarter, more attractive, wealthier. We choose whether to look up or down in our comparisons, and a lot of that depends on context. We use those comparisons to decide who gets loved most in our families, who merits a win at work, where we stand in the line of life.

Social media are designed to capitalize on our propensity for comparison, our instinct as social creatures to compare how we measure up to those around us. In this case, we are fooled into judging, as the saying goes, the insides of our houses to the outsides of everyone else’s. So we look at our messy lives, and compare them to the carefully curated front lawn, the all-smiles vacation, and if we are not careful, these flawed comparisons can make us miserable, can make us blind to what we have ourselves, and can be demotivating.

Consider how social media would have factored into our gospel this morning – the famous story of the prodigal son. The wayward son who comes home is instantly forgiven and gets the royal treatment from the father. The pain and anger of the dutiful son would only have been heightened by the fact that he would likely have been following his brother’s social platforms and seen all the fun he was having. Partying and frolicking with their father’s money, while he toiled away and did his duty. How that would have irked him even more. How it irks us when we find ourselves in that situation.

The lesson of the prodigal son is a hard one for us to accept. It goes to the heart of what is fair. Is it fair, that one son should have to stay home and work, while the other gets to go off and live the grand, irresponsible life? It’s not fair. How many times have we said that? When, as kids, our siblings got excused from the dishes when we had to do them? As adults, we are more likely to mutter it to ourselves – when, say, one sibling gets a helping hand from parents because they are down on their luck, while you, working hard, receive no gift. I see people trying to balance that family ledger all the time, and the conflict that flows from it. It is impossible. What’s fair is always relative. But it is not the same as equal.

That’s the lesson for us today. God is above fairness: but God is very big on equal. The prodigal son is meant to show us that God does not make comparisons. We are neither apples nor oranges. There is no line-up at the pearly gates. We arrive as individuals and we are judged that way. The forgiveness that the gospel describes and the grace that Jesus teaches mean nothing if God doles them out like treats for good behaviour; it must be equally available for all of us. Whether we are behaving like the wayward child, or the dutiful one – and be honest: are any of us always one and not the other? We are meant to understand that we are equal before God, that our relationship to God is our own, and is the only way to live a gospel-led life. God does not compare us to anyone, and we should not do it to ourselves.

But also – and this is important - God is saying: Butt out. Mind your own business, because your business is complicated enough. If the returning son is guilty of sloth, the dutiful son is guilty of pride. Both have lost their way.

We get this lesson in Lent, at a time when we are to be reflecting on our lesser qualities, on improving our relationship with God, and with those around us, because there is a tendency to use that time to make comparisons. When we say things like, “Sure I am not perfect, but look at that other guy; he’s a real mess.” Or, “Why bother? I will never compare to this other person; she’s got it together. “

But, as the gospel shows us, that is looking at things all the wrong way. This kind of self-talk gets in the way of making real change. When we are looking outward, there is a greater chance of feeling ourselves fall short. But change must happen inside, by rooting around, tossing what should go, treasuring what should stay. We cannot truly learn about ourselves, and truly change, if we do not first know who we truly are.

The lesson here is that we are not meant to feel better or worse when we consider the lives of others; we are meant to learn from one another and teach one another. We can hold one another accountable with guidance and support and not judgement or envy. This is the positive comparison that Jesus is trying to illustrate for us. What can we learn from that person we so admire? What can we offer the person who is struggling more than we are? How can we, like God, bring balance to life? How can we step out of the line – because who created that anyway? – and bring others with us?

It is not easy. There are plenty of days we feel like the angry son. But if we are happy managing the farm, why does it matter what anyone else does? If we are not happy, what might we do to change it? What can we control? Only ourselves.

What might that angry brother have done differently? He might have recognized that it was no skin off his nose that his brother had returned – indeed, it was a possibility for reconciliation, a chance for more help with the family business, an excuse for a party. Life, as we know, is a lot about how you look at it.

The gospel narrative is not always fair. Some people get more time with Jesus than others; some people, whose need is greater, get more help. But the goal of the gospel is to bring balance to the world. We cannot be a source for that balance if we are busy judging others. There is only one person we should be comparing ourselves to. And he is slowly, knowingly and generously, making his way to Jerusalem on our behalf. Amen.

Mar 23, The Third Sunday in Lent

Click above to watch a recording of Sunday's sermon.

March 23, 2025

Third Sunday in Lent

Isaiah 55:1-9

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

While there is no printed version of the sermon available this week, a recording can be viewed.

Bishop Carla Blakley was in Ottawa on the 23rd of March, to preside over a joint Ottawa Lutherans service at St. Peter’s. The service highlighted the different languages that make up our Lutheran family.

March 16 ~ Where Do You Draw The Line in the Sand?

Click above to watch a recording of Sunday's sermon.

March 16, 2025

Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 15:1-12, 17-18

Psalm 27

Philippians 3:17—4:1

Luke 13:31-35

The context of this sermon is

100% written by a human

How do we know when something is wrong? Is it because the law says so? Is it because our community says so? Is it because it feels distasteful or rude?

Certainly, right now, we are painfully aware that something is wrong. Our closest ally has launched a trade war for manufactured reasons, suggesting that despite our mutually beneficial economic relationship and our long history of support, we have no value. And persisted in threatening talk about our country’s very existence.

We know this is wrong because the emotions it creates in us are anger and betrayal. We know this is wrong because allies around the world – and many, many Americans themselves -- have said so. We know it is wrong because the rule of law is being broken.

We know, deep down, how to do the right thing. And we know, deep down, when things are wrong.

I want to tell you, in this season of reflection and change, about a change I experienced myself as a pastor. Upon reflection, it became a turning point for me, in my professional and personal life. I realized that while I knew right from wrong, I was not always responding to wrongs in the right way.

For a long time, as a pastor, I worked to accommodate every difference, to be universally welcoming. This is the example that Jesus set, and the posture we are called to as Christians. As a church, this should always be our goal – to welcome new expressions of the gospel and different voices, and diversity of opinion.

But as time passed, I began to recognize that there are times when "accommodation" is, frankly, wrong. Sometimes wide and open accommodation makes room for discrimination, and intolerance, and the acts of violence that result from them. I came to see that when accommodation means we allow some people to voice hate openly against other people, we are not serving the gospel -- we are allowing an injustice. Sometimes. I could see the injury being caused, not only to the people who were the target, but also to those who cared about it, and saw it happening. When accommodation means we expect some people to feel unsafe so we can have different voices, we need to ask ourselves: who is really being accommodated?

But it’s not an easy question. The gospel teaches us to practice kindness and tolerance, even when it is hard. In our gospel this morning, we have the example of extreme acceptance. Jesus is still prepared to embrace the people of Jerusalem, to give them a chance, even though they are about to send him to his death. The people of Jerusalem would judge Jesus cruelly and unfairly. Shouldn’t we do our best not to judge someone else ourselves?

Judgement is the theme of our reading today. Abram feels that in being left childless, he is being judged by God. Jesus is facing judgement in Jerusalem. We can imagine this from all sides: like Abraham, we often feel judged by those around us; and, like the people of Jerusalem, we are also often the mob doing the judging.

But there are times when our judgement is called for. We are not just unfeeling animals: what sets us apart as humans is our self-awareness and how that self-awareness leads to a higher awareness of others.

And in the complexity of life, we are called to be self-aware and discerning. That line is even more complicated when our first obligation is to reach out to the stranger, whoever they are, and welcome them.

Nelson Mandela once said that he needed to reach out and understand his enemies in order to move beyond them. As we know, he opened up discussion between the white and Black citizens in South Africa, and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission kept the record of the nation's history, so history would be clearly understood. This work eventually led South Africa past the terrible history of apartheid.

But even as he brought the two sides together, Mandela did not make accommodations with his opinion: He never accepted that apartheid was right or justified from any angle. Yes, he tried to understand why those who perpetuated it would have done so, and to get them on to a different path. But at a certain point, that was it: the law changed, and the country moved on from there. Those who could not accept it might hold to their views, but they would not decide the law and future direction of the country.

Many years ago now, I began to feel similarly in my position as a progressive Christian leader. Our tent can be large, but at a certain point, we have to be done with certain conversations. And once we choose the just path of love and safety, then we have to stand in opposition to those who continue to force upon us thinking that is unloving and dangerous.

This applies to many parts of my life. I used to sit and nod patiently while people spoke of the church in an offensive way, or cast aspersions on my faith, as they presumed to understand - I was being accommodating and tolerant. I stopped doing that.

I used to sit and listen to interpretations of the Bible that directly violated the core message of the Gospel - that we are all loved and accepted and called to serve - and try to listen to a different point of view. I stopped doing that. When the view is intolerant of difference, or judging of a person's skin colour or religion or sexual orientation, I am not silent. I take the inspiration of Jesus who tore apart the temple for the money lenders doing business inside, and I speak up against an interpretation of the gospel that is not centred on charity, kindness, and love.

“Now Pastor,” you might say, “not everyone has your same understanding of what is wrong. Shouldn’t they have the same space to express themselves?”

And I say, no. There are some values that are abhorrent to the gospel. There are some opinions that should be shut down. And as Lutheran Christians bound to Article 4 of the Augsburg Confession, we are called to name them when we see them.

Otherwise what happens? Bullies win, hate takes over, intolerance succeeds, and love dies. None of those things honours the gospel. And we must stand up against them.

Here we are in a time when we must begin to ask the same question: How much should we listen to conspiracies and fake facts/ How much should we accommodate our relatives and friends who dominate the room with anti-immigrant and anti-democracy opinions? When do we speak up?

Over the years, the time to speak up has become clearer to me. That’s the thing about taking a stand: you find your line in the sand more clearly. For me, it comes down to this: If a person is behaving in a way that is doing harm to another in their presence, I cannot accommodate that. If the person is behaving in a way that causes harm to the bystanders listening, I cannot accommodate that. If I hear the message of the gospel being distorted or betrayed, I cannot accommodate that. Then I must stand, and say no. This is the line you cannot cross. And that can apply not only to our personal reactions, but to our political ones as well.

But there is another side to this story -- one which I realized only later. When you decide to stand up against something, you also find yourself standing more often for something. Because I was paying attention to ensure safety and comfort, I was also listening for warmth and compassion. And so when someone said something caring, I would also say: “I agree, and I support you.” When someone stood up for themselves to protect another, I would also say: “I agree, and I support you.”

Isn’t that what is happening with us now, at this very time in our national history? We are thinking more intentionally than ever about what we will accommodate and what we will not. We are deciding what values and principles are worth standing up for. And we are watching for those same decisions in other Canadians – and Americas - so we reach out to them and say, “I agree, and I support you.” Let us support each other

In this way, we are not silencing anyone’s voice; we are not saying we won’t listen to thoughtful and reasonable differences of opinion presented respectfully in the world. There are plenty of valid opinions about how to solve the biggest problems in the world – we need to hear them out.

But we will make our own voices heard. We are saying this is line, and here I stand. And if you want to know where to stand, you need only to read the words of the gospel, which stood, above all else, for self-determination, for freedom of will, for compassion, for community, for equality and mercy and loyalty, for service and for justice.

Make the gospel heard. Find the line, and stand guard upon it.

Amen